I’m usually pretty particular about the sorts of traits that get assigned as humanity’s “special thing” in sci-fi settings, but I have to admit that I have a weakness for settings where the thing humanity is known for is something tiny and seemingly inconsequential that it wouldn’t normally occur to you to think of as a distinctive trait.
Like, maybe we have a reputation as a bunch of freaky nihilists because we’re the only species that naturally has the capacity to be amused by our own misfortune.
Alien: Why are you happy? You’ve been seriously injured!
Human: *struggling to control laughter* Yeah, but I can imagine what that must have looked like from the outside, and it’s pretty hilarious.
Alien: …
Captain XXlr’y: First Officer Jane The Human, your olifactory protuberance is severely damaged! Why is this a matter for mirthful celebration???
First Officer Jane The Human: A SPARKLY LITTLE POMERANIAN THING WITH A GODDAMN UNICORN HORN CHASED ME STRAIGHT INTO A WALL! OH MY GOD! DID YOU SEE THAT? I RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE WALL.
Captain XXlr’y: Yes I just observed this sequence of events! It was terrible!
First Officer Jane The Human: OKAY WHO GOT THAT ON CAMERA, I WANNA SEE.
Captain XXlr’y: So you more fully understand that this is a situation you should never get into again?
First Officer Jane The Human: SO I CAN SEND THE VIDEO TO MY MOM!
Captain XXlr’y: For… for the solicitation of maternal concern…?
First Officer Jane The Human: NO, BECAUSE SHE’LL THINK IT’S HILARIOUS TOO.
Sidetrack but: I am of the opinion that we will be known as the Throwers. The biomechanics of our shoulder joints, which allow us to hurl things farther, faster, and more accurately than any other animal, set us apart almost as much as our intelligence. And indeed our dominance as a species on Earth has a lot to do with applying that intelligence to throwing more better.
When the aliens come visit via seventh dimensional space fold like sensible people, I can only imagine their reaction when we ask them to point out where they come from so we can fling our ambassadors at them.
That would be fascinating. Imagine if, for whatever reason, they were simply very badly adapted to throwing, and never picked up the habit. And the first time they saw someone toss a thing to someone else, they’d just be like “why did you … drop that thing sideways?”
oh my god that’s fascinating. imagine a bunch of alien species that never evolved a socket joint. like, tentacles or hinges, that’s it. maybe some pivoting paired bones like our radius and ulna. then we show up and we’re like ‘haha watch this’ and windmill our arms and the Zygosian ambassador gets really grossed out.
later some aliens are like ‘so, as remarkably throwy guys, what’s your opinion on this mathematical acceleration experimentation tensile device one of our philosopher kings recently invented?’ and show humans a little desk-sized catapult.
humans: it’s cute. try this tho. *gives alien a paintball gun*
alien: WHY IS THIS FUN FOR YOU
Tzan’liip was on xir way to the cargo hold to check inventory before launch. Their ship, the Basilica, had docked at the Sirius IV Port three rotations ago to refuel and resupply. As xe passed the airlock that separated the hallway from the designated living quarters of the humans, xe heard a loud cry of triumph, muffled slightly by the thick glass doors. Tzan’liip paused, intrigued.
The ship xe had been on previously only had one human in its crew, and so xe never got the chance to witness their intense pack-bonding instincts amongst their own species. Xe was curious as to how they interacted with each other, and how that pack-bonding played out. Not wanting to intrude, but also feeling extremely curious, xe stood outside the airlock to try to glimpse what they were up to.
Moments later, the door to the bunk nearest to the airlock slid open, and all five human crew members rushed out, trailing behind their knife-wielding cleaning droid, dubbed Stabby, which now had a new attachment taped on top: an old-style waste bin with its disintegrators removed, leaving only a useless metal cylinder. What was the point of a waste bin if it didn’t get rid of the waste? Also, why was it attached to a cleaning droid? Already, Tzan’liip was confused. Xe also wondered at why all of the humans had come out of one room. The bunks were small, and surely, it must have been uncomfortable.
Four of the humans had small, round objects in their hands, and were chattering excitedly while the fifth used a manual control pad to maneuver the cleaning droid to the far end of the hallway. Technician Orozco was the first to notice xim, turning and baring her teeth – a human sign of happiness and affection. She spoke again to her crewmates, and they bared their teeth at xim, as well. Lieutenant Johnson pressed the intercom button and spoke enthusiastically to xim in Terran, but Tzan’liip understood none of it. It was then that xe realized that the humans had their translators off. Johnson must have noticed this, too, because he hurriedly flipped the switch at his neck.
“Sorry, Tzan,” he apologized. “What’s up?”
Tzan’liip glanced over Johnson’s head to the cleaning droid that was still at the end of the hallway, lifting xir tentacle to point at it. “What are you doing with that droid?”
Johnson looked back at it excitedly. “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “Orozco found a few tennis balls while we were docked and we thought we’d have a little fun. Want to join?” he offered.
Tzan’liip hesitated. What kind of fun could they be having that involved a cleaning droid, a waste bin, and a “tennis ball”? Whatever that was. Xe finally accepted Johnson’s request, insisting that xe just wanted to watch. Turning the filters on in xir helmet, xe stepped through the airlock, and into the living quarters.
“We were trying to get these balls into the basket while Stabby was moving around,” Johnson explained. “But the bunk rooms are a little small, and… well… there’s five of us, so we decided to move it out here.”
His explanation didn’t help very much. Tzan’liip looked at the distance between the humans and the droid, and knew that it would be impossible to get anything into the bin without the help of a projectile launcher. Before xe could say anything, though, the human named McBride took a ball in her hand, pulled her arm back, and twisted it forward, launching the ball sideways. It bounced once, twice, three times, and then landed with a ding in the waste bin. The rest of her crewmates cheered ecstatically, hitting her in the shoulder, apparently as a sign of congratulations.
Tzan’liip stood, stunned. “H-how did you do that?” xe stuttered. McBride’s arm had moved with the flexibility of one of xir own tentacles, but that should have been impossible. The joints in human shoulders seemed to swing either forwards, backwards, or out to the side, not rotate like McBride’s just did. That would require flexible cartilage, not stiff bone. Even then, tentacles were not suited to precision or power when it came to launching projectiles.
McBride looked back at xir, confusion in her eyes. “Do what? Throw a ball?”
Ah, yes, that was the word. Tzan’liip had forgotten about the humans’ outstanding ability to throw. Xe remembered hearing about their primitive hunting techniques and countless pastimes that revolved around this ability. Xe had never seen it first-hand, but it truly was a gift, as xir instructors had called it.
“That was incredible,” Tzan’liip managed to get out.
McBride made a noise in her throat, something the humans called laughing. “I can teach you sometime, if you want,” she offered. “I didn’t play basketball all four years of high school for nothing.”
That Odd Boy 