They were a level 3.5 to level 4 deathworlder. Yet they wore a livesuit because they were quite small and looked almost like a humanoid jellyfish in appearance. Their world would be considered a 'gas planet' where none could land, but in a world where there is tonnes of organic matter, life would evolve. Not quite a gas giant as far as size and gravity, but not a small world. Yet the livesuit was not to protect them from the atmosphere of the station they had walked on to, it was to protect others from the stinging fronts that made up the majority of their body. -- DaniAndShali
They have a saying in the Alliance - assumptions will get you. The more common model of cogniscent follows the general rule of smaller Havenworlder, and bigger Deathworlder. Such is not always the case. It's always surprising when a small cogniscent unleashes a can of violence, or when a relative giant attempts to hide themselves from what they perceive as a menace. Then there's the matter of livesuits.
Some people wear livesuits to protect themselves. Some wear livesuits to protect others. It's never polite to ask which one was their reason. Some just decide to play it safe until they're in a guaranteed environment. Some unfortunate souls believe that livesuits are some kind of control-and-trace plot by shadowy figures and it's no surprise that they hardly go anywhere[1].
Livesuits only seem to be uniformly humanoid in shape. That's because one standard gravity is the most common area in which cogniscent life arises. Nevertheless, life finds its way. From phytoplankton in Venus' clouds to tardigrades hibernating inside comets, and cogniscents on the very edges of conceptual space. Cogniscents like the Zaang of Renkyn III.
They evolved on a gas giant, sailing the rough winds and farming microbiota in the whirls of super-cyclones. The Deathworlder Categorisation System acknowledged that the weather, the environment, and the biosphere made evolution difficult, with a fraction allowed for the general hostile conditions of evolving on a gas giant in the first place.
As Medusazoans, the Zaang were often confused with the far more harmless Jelly Dancers, and it was because of that that traveling Zaang kept themselves apart from the rest of cogniscent life. They carried within their tentacles some level-four grade toxins. It was dangerous to dance with them in the low-grav environments they preferred... and the Humans would keep on trying.
Those crazed balding apes would take any punishment - accidental and deliberate - and laugh.
Nevertheless, snagging something too large broke off their tendrils, which could take hours to regrow and further hours to envenom. That always messed with their meal cycle. So, in order to prevent painful mistakes on both sides of the protective shielding.
Then there was the Size Assumption. Humans tended to assume a Zaang's small size meant that they were delicate little creatures and therefore moved to protect them. This was exactly the circumstance that Zaang Hif and Human Det had just encountered.
"Let me loose. This atmosphere is compatible. I can get to the pirates."
Human Det, clinging to a handle, looked worried. "You're a jelly. They can squash you flat and damage your internals."
"I have irikanji levels of toxins in my stinging tendrils. They won't be able to try," said Hif through hir translator.
"Oh right. Yeah. You're not a hive. I keep forgetting."
"It happens a lot," sighed Hif. "Please hit my eject button and keep any exposed flesh well clear."
"I'm only doing this because I'm out of stunner charges." Det hit the button and Hif floated free. The trouble was pushing against the air instead of sailing with the rip-winds. After that, it was all sneaking up on the enemy and rationing hir toxic spines.
And then, as the Human was fond of saying, it was all over but the screaming.
Human Det was considerably impressed.
[1] When they do travel, they become everyone else's problem.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / devon]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [51 remaining prompts!]
