Several humans were starting to get more than just a little annoyed at constantly being called insane. Even at school, when their kids would goof off during breaks or if the kids were in the park playing, others treated them as though they were mind-damaged. When they joined the Galactic Alliance, they thought they would be treated like equals, but instead, they find that they tend to be treated like savages even by other Deathworlders. Sometimes the view that, simply because they were human that they were automatically deranged and dangerous, was hindering them finding good jobs or having the lives they'd hoped for when they left the harsh, pollution-choked, worlds they'd come from. But would anyone listen to their complaints? And, more important, would anyone even try to help? Or, as one man put it as he angrily spoke with another who, like so many, told him he was nuts, "Humans are NOT insane! We're just different!" -- Anon Guest
[AN: Actually, there's nothing preventing Humans from finding the jobs that fit them best in my pet universe, and being a little bit off the wall isn't necessarily a bad thing. I say as much over here More on that philosophy here, I should think.]
There's two ways to go when the world around you keeps telling you that you're bad. You can be everything they expect you to be, playing into every trope, or you can fight your whole life against it, breaking your heart and soul in the process. Plenty of Humans had tried both. Sometimes, it's easier to surrender and agree with everything they say about you until you believe it yourself. On this day, Human Sal had just... had enough of it.
"We're not insane," he protested, apropos of nothing in the middle of the Valiant Star's mess hall. "We're different. Why does everyone think we're going to just fly off the handle and hurt everyone and everything around us?"
The rest of the crew stopped what they were doing. Some put potentially dangerous tools down or at least rendered them safe for the interim. Companion Ulla gently put hir hand on Sal's and said, "Why do you think we think that?"
He said, "You keep saying it..."
Which lead to an impromptu group therapy with snacks, because it was the mess hall. Sal sat with all the crew as they explained that the Human cultural association with insanity wasn't the same as the Galactic one. Humans did have their moments when they were scary, it was true. Anyone who ran afoul of the 'mama bear' archetype could testify as much.
The same with the ones who loved battle, or daredevil flying stunts. Even the moments when a Human laughed at something blowing up were frightening to some. It didn't mean that every Human was going to be that frightening at every minute. They never expected that.
As Deathworlders, Humans could withstand -and deal- much more damage than the average Galactic Citizen. That did not mean that they -or anyone, in fact- expected such violence at any given second. The insanity and resilience of the Human race was renowned, but that didn't make them less. It never had. It made them valued.
A sane pack of Deathworlders, for instance, would naturally expect any other species to be as resilient as they were. If they were not, it made sense to treat weaker species with the same care and dumbing-down of concepts as one of their own infants. Only Humans, in their complete illogic, would take the time to learn how each species could withstand certain things and then use that knowledge, even to the point of studying beforehand. Only Humans had anxieties that made them prepare to a ludicrous extent. Only Humans were ready to learn, accept, and adjust to other species' differences, because they could love literally everything that crossed their path.
Only Humans would tell the Last Lie so that others could be safe. Only Humans would sacrifice themselves for a chance, not a guarantee, that their allies would escape a predicament. Only Humans would gladly march into Hell because a small fluffy creature asked nicely.
Only Humans could create the fantastic conglomeration of technology and cargo cult that was the Gravity Generator and have it work. Only Humans were capable of such enormous strides of illogic that they could -if temporarily- warp reality around them for better circumstances.
Only Humans could come up with the concept of bravery being as scared as hell and doing the thing anyway.
"Deranged is not dangerous," repeated Companion Ulla. "Dangerous is not deadly. Deadly is not always detriment. Association with Humans has progressed many Havenworlders to becoming more resilient themselves."
"Epigenetics," said Crewmember Yote. "The presence of -to use a Human oxymoron- safe danger... helps toughen up Havenworlder genes. Only Humans are the safest danger in the known Universe."
"But... you keep saying we're horrible people."
"Er," said Yote. "I think you keep hearing that you're horrible. You are valued and treasured. All Humans are sought out for your valued insanity."
"Valued... But... why am I cut out of certain occupations?"
The crew looked to each other. "Which occupations were you told you were unsuited for?"
Sal took a breath and stopped. The sudden clarity was dizzying. He had not actually been rejected from those jobs. He had laboured under the assumption that he couldn't have them because he thought others thought he was untrustworthy. "Oh," he said, and, "Oh crap."
Crewmember Zhoot looked worried. "Are you planning to leave us for a... dreamier job, now?"
A week ago, he might have said 'yes'. "Naw. I'm going to stay and re-set my assumptions, at least."
Of course they were all going to help. Sal was, after all, their dangerous, insane, but not necessarily dangerously insane Human. They would do anything to help him.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / kentoh]
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