Mirald Prime, Team Harriet. Part 4/4

Miraldese Pygmy Historical Annals. Chief Fred. 04.10.3001

(Translated)

A group of humanoids happened to cross our quaint abode once again, undoubtedly looking for the fabled "Great Intelligence". We gamely donned our loin cloths and face paint and hefted our faux idol of a tree frog. Inviting one of their members into our "prayer circle", we chanted an old child ditty they like to coo before dinner.

Good food
Good grog
Be a chap
And pass the frog

Then we gave the human a frog to suckle which he thought would bring him a sort of euphoria, but will only result in noxious emissions erupting from his arse for two or three days. It's sort of a little joke we like to play. It always gets a good laugh.

Then one of the humans ran out like a bloody lunatic into our circle and destroyed the tree idol with a plasma powered, photon vaporizer – an archaic weapon by our advanced standards. Before he could harm anyone, we collectively agreed to paralyze him with our minds. Of course we hid our higher cerebral abilities by shooting him with blow darts giving the impression that he was poisoned.

At that moment, a female human appeared, one that we sensed could understand our extremely diverse and dense language. Our forefathers stipulated that should any species decipher our language, then they are advanced enough to be led down the path towards the "Great Intelligence".

When the humanoid female spoke to us, mentioning something about shrimp egg rolls in a voice that was both mechanical and indicative of Earth's East Asian continent, we were somewhat perplexed. Apparently the human fast food conglomerates had decided to expand to our planet and this female represented a Chinese drive up microphone.

We were getting ready to order when they grabbed their frozen friend and departed. I have heard of a human saying that appropriately relates to this situation. "That's the way the fortune cookie crumbles."

Well it's off to work. Apparently one of the vacuum transports in Giroque malfunctioned. Our job as enlightened keepers of the "Great Intelligence" and caretakers of the Miraldese primitives, while keeping up the guise of a pre-industrial Pygmalion tribe, is never done.