The Galactic Council has placed a temporary moratorium on complaints related to human conversation. It is understood that any being capable of communication is also capable of understanding and appropriately assessing the risks of human conversation, and in the interest of our time and yours, the Galactic Council would like to remind its citizens to not engage in long conversations with humans, as their storytelling nature can render you immobile for quite some time. Thank you for your understanding. Enjoy the rest of your next waking cycle or power equivalent.

"There is a new directive," observed Dett.

"Inconsequential," Zodius replied.

A series of beeps and differing frequencies of static told the group that M-210215 agreed.

"Have either of you ever seen a human, let alone talked to one?"

"No."

A single negative chime echoed Zodius's answer.

"It cannot be so bad as to require such an action by the Council. This is clearly a dereliction of responsibility. Another example of our own ruling body failing to fulfill its purpose."

"False. We are fortunate."

M-210215 made it known that there was little to be gained from this interaction, and rolled away.

"Twunnotwunfive agrees," Zodius added. "Further conversation unnecessary."

But Dett was unsatisfied. He found it inconceivable - both that a species could hold such an appreciation for stories, and that it had become such a problem as to require a warning from the Galactic Council. He would put this to the test himself. But first, he needed to find himself in a sector were humans still lived.

It was a near millenia since the cullings had ceased, but it had been several millenia before that of back and forth, humans on one end or the other, often splintering into factions among themselves to stand with one race or cause or another. Their disunity was unique among the races of the Galactic Council. And though they were (mostly) unified and peaceful now, they still retained a reputation for being both fickle and resilient, leaving them largely sequestered to their own sectors.

Dett was not phased by this. The Dathlarii were a part of the same coalition as the humans in the Douran secession crisis, and had never heard of any complaints about humans from the veterans he had spoken to. Then again, the topic of human conversation had never come up. Still, Dett thought, it should not be hard to find a human outpost within a couple lightyears. And so he sought the nearest waystation, luck on his side.

Dett found a small crew there, humans conveying goods from one sector to another. There was a weariness about them. Clearly the Council's advisory had had an effect - their heads were downcast, and the tables around them were empty. Even their own was barren. Glasses were running low, and there was no evidence food was coming any time soon.

The humans looked up as Dett approached, variably apprehensive and defiant.

"So," said Dett, "let's hear a story."

.

.

.

.

Dett's family never saw him again.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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