Unfortunately, the Ship's Human was bored -- InterNutter
Long haul missions are no place for an active Human. Nevertheless, every ship with business in the Alliance is better off with at least one Ship's Human. The best hope is to have enough enrichment strategies to keep their Human or Humans entertained between destinations.
The crew of the Pack Animal Pilgrim had never thought that a Human could get bored with the enrichment.
They had complete access to the Archivaas' digital library. All the knowledge and fiction of any species that was literate, and quite a few from peoples who weren't. Lovingly translated, localised, and footnoted for maximum understanding by the hands of dedicated acolytes. They also could access any electronic game they desired. But, in spite of all that, Human Wynn was bored of all of it.
Fortunately, Humans can be very inventive when it comes to making their own enrichment. Unfortunately, the same applies.
Most Alliance species wish to prevent this for increasingly obvious reasons. Human Wynn had a super-bouncy ball, non-Newtonian fluid, speakers, and a love of parkour. This was a bad combination inside an interestingly large cargo bay.
When Companion Diij found her, there was loud music echoing through the chasms of shelves and parcels, one ball rocketing along a trajectory punctuated by Jerry-rigged surfaces, and the aforementioned speakers that now had platters of non-Newtonian fluid attached.
After the ball ricocheted off its various platforms, Human Wynn followed soon after. Using the shelves and their uprights as either handholds or launching points. At one point, turning an entire cartwheel over the topmost shelf before leaping ever onwards through the labyrinth of parcels deliverable.
All the while some ancient singers were describing something called mecto amore. Humans and their legends and lore. It was endless.
"Safe zone," Wynn called as she hurtled through the labyrinth. "Get there. Quick."
Companion Diij didn't need to be told twice. She raced for the marked area where no machines would move. Which also had a set-up monitoring and recording both the ball and Wynn via the securicams. Text on one of the screens present read, Take 15.
"Bugger!" Wynn. She strolled to the safe zone with the ball in one hand. "Okay Jimmi. Stop recording."
"Recording. Ceased," intoned the rig. "Save. File. Y. N?"
"Yeh, save it. There's always the outtakes." Wynn flopped into the chair at the improvised console. "Got further than thirteen. Didn't reach fourteen. Missed the swing and ate it."
"How do you eat a swing?" wondered Diij. "And what are you doing?"
"Little bit of art, little bit of exercise. Little bit of physics in motion," Wynn panted. "I didn't eat a swing. I failed at swinging and hurt myself. It's slang." She rubbed at her knee. "That'll be a big bruise tomorrow." She set off the recording, watching her own performance.
"There are far less risky occupations," said Diij. They practiced their stability breathing. Watching the views of a Human endangering herself to music played out.
"I didn't want to strap a knife onto the ships' roomba or try to put costumes on the Skitties. Been done so much that it's old hat. Cliche. Pat. Blah." Wynn paused for a sports beverage. "If I'm gonna do something for the shits and giggles, I want it to be something a bit different, you know?"
"How many times have you hurt yourself?" asked Diij.
"Eh. A few." Wynn shrugged. Which could many any number between three and seventeen. "Better than going out of my gourd from boredom."
"What's wrong with reading a book?" yawped Diij. "Or crochet?"
"Not in the mood," said Wynn.
[Photo by Buddha Elemental 3D on Unsplash]
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