Skinny’s Log

Log entry 01668: short morning (7:15 Earth time)

This is Quill the Ninth, personal diary record enabled. Password “squinch”.

It is my first day of employment in almost two years. With my failure of becoming a professional freelance holo persona, I have taken work with the Human Mentor Initiative. It certainly seems promising. The meteoric rise of these mammalians has been the center of discussion on all the media centers. With the new HMI program, perhaps I can glean some of their success. Failing that, it would not be amiss to make bonds with such an up and coming species.

Today I am working at a machining facility. Not my area of expertise, but that is what this Initiative is about, yes? I am confident that I will learn fast and soon earn these human’s respect.

Wish me luck.

Log entry 01669: long morning (9:30 Earth time)

This is Quill the Ninth, personal diary record enabled. Password “squinch”.

The earthlings have given me time to leave my machine and make this recording, calling it a “smoke break”. I can see why, the facility air is somewhat polluted.

I have been assigned to a human by the name of Charles Johnson, although I am to refer to him by his title of “Chuck”. I can only guess at the glories he must have won to earn such an epithet. He is large and loud, but all of the humans here seem to be.

I am just beginning, but I see much potential for me here. Already Chuck has given me the title of “Skinny”. It is obviously for deeds to come, not deeds achieved, but to think that with hard work I could join the Earthling nobility!

I will strive to be worthy of the name.

Log entry 01670: short noon (11:47 Earth time)

This is Quill the Ninth. Password “squinch”.

A terrible event has occurred.

Chuck was working on the lathe when a fellow worker addressed him. This worker, known as Bill, began criticizing my mentor's workmanship, calling his labor slow and unmotivated.

Chuck responded with “yeah, so’s your wife!”

I froze in horror, not four feet away. To think that on my first day, I would bear witness to a blood challenge. What were the odds? Shrinking against the side of my machine, I could only hope that he would not choose me as his second. Although I am not a coward, I have so much to live for. I am not ready for the duel to the death that this insult entailed.

Rather than issuing the challenge then and there, Bill responded by questioning the integrity of Chuck’s mother. If even possible I shrunk back even more. I considered hiding under the machine. Both humans wore a fearsome expression, teeth bared in a primal display of aggression. That they were not already beating each other with their tools was astounding in itself.

I have excused myself on another “smoke break”, but I will have to go back inside soon. Will the duel be over by the time I return? Will I see my mentor victorious, or will this Bill also seek vengeance upon me by proxy?

I fear for my life.

Log Entry 16071: long noon (3:08 Earth time)

This is Quilnine. Password “squinch”.

Let this log be a record of my last words. My brothers, know that I did the best I could for all of you. Quilfour, please take care of Squinch for me. He needs to be fed twice a day. Quilsix, you can have my ray board. I know how much you have wanted it. Quilten, I need you to go to my closet and find the data drive under the loose plate. Get rid of it before mother sees.

I love you all.

The blood challenge has not been settled, only escalated to an absurd degree. Bill has accused Chuck of having been sired by some sort of pack animal. Chuck has responded by suggesting that Bill’s mating prospects are impaired by a deformity of his genitalia. How can they continue to work at their machines in the grip of such insane rage?

Just as I think it could not possibly become worse, the other workers are drawn in. First one backs Chuck, declaring that Bill’s ancestry was originally derived from a lump of animal feces. Another questions the first speaker’s qualifications for such a claim, considering his genetic deficiencies through inbreeding. In no time at all, every worker has been insulted and has insulted in turn. I have never heard of a blood challenge involving more than two participants, but it seems that Earthlings do such things differently.

Now every human has their teeth bared, ready to rip out each other’s throats in a moment. I can see the foreman, attempting to suppress his raw hatred as an authority figure, but unable to stop the grimace spreading his lips again.

Many workers are making sharp brays and barks as a particularly scarring remark is made. Clearly their overwhelming anger is bubbling through in the form of this noise. I could see some of them bent over, gasping with the effort of controlling their fury.

I have no doubt that when the threshold is reached, the entire facility will devolve into a bloodbath. How will the galaxy react when they hear of this workshop massacre? Will the HMI disintegrate with the news of the humans gone mad and the one innocent creature caught in the middle?

I am hiding in the restroom. No doubt they will find me, but at least my words will live on.

This is the day that I die.

Log entry 16072: long eve (10:24 Earth time)

This is Skinny. Password squonch. Squanch. Squinch. Right.

The humans have introduced me to the concept of a “pub crawl”.

I’m not sure what that is yet but they brought me to the human sector and there was a little building and a nice lady, very nice lady, gave me something to drink and it didn’t taste good and then she gave me more and it tasted better.

Everybody’s nice now. No one’s killed anybody, I don’t think they’re going to. They’re still doing that teeth thing but I asked and they barked and said that it’s a good thing. A nice thing. They’re all so nice and this drink is nice and the nice lady is nice and this thing, this sticky thing, that’s nice too and everything’s so nice. So nice.

We’re at a different building. I think. There’s a, a, a thing, a head, a dead head, on the wall, and it wasn’t there before so it’s gotta be a different place.

Moose. That was it. Moose head.

Something wasn’t nice and I tripped and spilled my drink on a guy. I said please don’t kill me, no blood challenge, not nice. Then he threw up and I got him to the toilet and he said we were good. That was nice.

The thing is. The, the, the thing. Is that. Is that, ah, the thing is that. I like my new job.

Humans are nice.