Birds, A Rec... and a Ridiculous Ficlet
It's been a mild, quite damp spring so far... which suits the duck community on campus perfectly well :) Out at lunch, I've been watching at least four families of 'em, fussy parents and 8-10 scuttling bubs, all of whom are made very happy by the rain the last few days filling the ponds and leaving puddles everywhere for them.
Definitely cuteness abounding, and it reminded me (not that I need much reminding) of a splendid little Magnificent 7 story by the wonderful J Brooks, The Good Mother, (you don't have to know Mag7 to enjoy it, trust me... the warm'n'fuzzies are pretty universal :) Do go, read... enjoy.
...then of course, I couldn't help thinking that were I inspired to the same pretty conceit, it would be decided less charmingly magnificent, and begin like, err, this...
Motherly...
"It... thinks you're its mother, Avon."
There might have been the barest of tremors in his Fearless (but Not That Stupid) Leader's voice, coming from the teleport bracelet... he chose to ignore it. He had more important things to think about.
Like the enormous, scale-and-fluff-covered head looming over him, like a manic green blatherskite with feathers. And a beak. And fangs. And huge goggle eyes on stalks, whirling with something that might have been ravenous hunger, or some sort of fathomless adoration, or both. He wasn't sure he wanted to know which.
What he - and from the confusion in Blake's voice, the others - didn't know was quite how he had ended up on his own in the coppice filled with unearthly 'trees' like living barbed wire. He did know that they had his location via the teleport bracelet, Orac's less-than-brilliant tracking, and his own running account of the flaws and inadequacies of the local flora and likely fauna of this so-called refuge from the Federation. An account that had ended with an ear-splitting screech from behind him...
And with his present position, bruised, battered, and sprawled on a reeking mound - nest? he neither knew or cared - of rotting greenery, and staring up at the most hideous, monstrously unbirdlike bird he had ever seen or never imagined. And he would die before he admitted it, but as huge and ungainly and fang-and-claw-bedecked as it was, there was something about it that looked rather.... young.
Fortunately, Avon had never been cursed with sentimentality towards the young, even of his own species, let alone... whatever this noisy alien... thing actually was.
"Or at least," Blake went on - over the bracelet's intercom, of course, and from a safe distance, "that's what Orac thinks."
"Can you shoot it from there?" he said finally, wondering even as he did so why he was whispering - then yelped as the enormous head jerked down and the beak (or jaws, he wasn't sure) tried to snap around his arm, at the noisy bracelet. "STOP THAT!"
The scream was pure reflex, but it worked - it shuffled back, with a noise that in a bird from Earth would have been a querulous, even pathetic cheep, and in this sounded like a demented spacetug's shriek.
"What? Avon, I can't shoot it! For one, I'm as likely to hit you, the way it's moving."
The baby - for want of a better term, avian - screeched again, and he winced, covering his abused ears. "Just do it, Blake!"
"Can't you -?"
"I can't get my handgun out, you idiot, the... creature is sitting almost on top of me! Blake, do something!"
"We can't shoot, Avon, we'll risk hitting you. Is it doing anything - anything else - threatening?"
"Not at this precise minute." It seemed to be trying to move closer, even though Avon was in danger of being smothered by emerald fluff as it was.
"What sort of a creature is it?" That was Cally, trying for some sense. "Blake, surely Orac knows something more about the animals on the planet by now and can tell us if it might kill him -"
"Or eat him -" Oh yes, and he knew quite well who that muffled murmur would be. Blake had to bring the idiot, didn't he?
"Shouldn't we teleport up and see what else Orac has to say? So we can rescue him, of course," Vila was adding quickly, Avon could imagine the identical looks he was getting from his more moral team mates. "We don't want to go rushing in, after all, might get Avon hurt or worse, after all it might turn nasty if it sees all of us. Maybe you and Cally -"
"Thank you for your input, Vila," Blake's voice sounded peculiarly strained, and Avon made a mental note to kill him later. If he was alive to do so. "Avon, we'll think of something, just try to act..."
"Motherly," Vila supplied helpfully.
"Blake, just kill it."
"Avon, it's only an infant -"
"Hatchling," Cally supplied even more helpfully. "Chick. It is wrong to kill the immature, except to eat."
"Then you can damn well eat it, Cally, just -"
The alien avian squawked again - almost as if it heard that! - and butted at him with its huge head, nearly pushing him straight off the 'nest' in a six-foot drop, then grabbed again at the bracelet, snapped it in half and... ate it.
Avon stared, for once lost for words. The avian made a noise that might have been its idea of a burp, and snuggled closer, seemingly happy that the evil chattering alien... thing on its new parents' arm was gone...