Duck
Dr. Bob Rich
Harry
noticed her as soon as he walked into the cozy dimness of the bar. A new bit of
talent sat at one of the tables in the far corner. It was quite early yet, few
of the guys were there, and nobody seemed to have latched onto her.
He did a slow slalom
among the empty tables and stopped by her side. She was a blonde, maybe even
natural, and looked nervous. Probably about thirty, though it was hard to tell
in the indirect light. Nice tits, but then again you can’t tell when a girl is
dressed, can you? He flashed the famous friendly smile.
“Hi. Welcome to the
pub. Can I buy you a drink?”
Her eyes measured his
six-foot-two frame and managed to return the smile, though he could see it was
an effort. “I’m… I’m not that used to alcohol. A shandy maybe?”
“Good. I’ll have the
same, but if you don’t mind I’ll leave the lemonade out.”
Well, that got a
laugh. He fetched the drinks, a beer for himself, the adulterated version for
the chick, and sat down on the next chair, at right angles to her.
“Thank you,” she said,
“I guess we’d better introduce ourselves.”
“I’m Harry Tompiere.”
He spelt it out, knowing from long experience that otherwise people never got
it right.
“I’m Midge Martin. At
least, I’ve gone back to that.”
Harry was quick. “You’re
divorced, are you?”
“It’s a happy
anniversary today: we split up exactly a year ago. That’s why I thought I’d
celebrate. This is the first time I’ve gone out since then. I’ve… I’ve decided
I’m ready for a new start.”
“Good for you. Nothing
ventured, nothing gained. You got any kids?”
“No, that was part of
the reason we had problems. He fired blanks, and wouldn’t hear of raising
someone else’s kid, and I want children.”
“Oh, there are too
many people anyway, aren’t there?” He laughed, to show he was only teasing, but
she changed the subject.
“And tell me about
yourself, Harry. What do you do?”
Harry finished his
beer and leaned back. “Most people think that question means your occupation.
There’s nothing wrong with mine, I’m an electrical engineer. But I do that only
to make money. What I do is to hunt.”
Her face froze over. “You
mean, you kill animals?”
“Well, they do taste
delicious. Do you eat meat?”
She was silent for a
little while, then admitted, “Yes.”
“Yeah, what you eat is
poor animals raised in slavery, then killed in an impersonal way. I’m a hunter.
I care for nature, do things to ensure that conditions are right for the prey
species. And it’s more honest than leaving it to some butcher.”
She looked up at him
with a defiant look on her face. “Dress it up however you like, you get
enjoyment from killing. That’s wrong.”
“No it’s the natural
condition of…”
“Fair go, Harry, I
heard you out.”
“OK, go on then.”
“What do you hunt?”
“Whatever is in
season. Foxes and rabbits are vermin, I hunt them any time. Deer ducks, feral
pigs…”
“All right, Harry. Imagine,
you’re this deer, a beautiful creature minding his own business, happily
eating, being with your kind, out in a forest where you belong. And then
suddenly something completely beyond your understanding happens, and a great pain
blasts through your body. You turn to run as you hear the bang, but collapse
after a few steps.”
Her face glowed, and
she looked far prettier when angry than when she was apprehensive.
But Harry had lost
interest. A bang in the bedroom wasn’t worth a constant argument about a bang
in the bush. So, when he saw Tom and Jim barge in from the street, he waved
them over. “Fellas,” he said, “let me introduce you to this lovely lady.”
He soon made his
excuses and left them to it. “I need an early night,” he explained, “I’ve got
to get up before dawn. Tomorrow is the first day of the duck season.”
But of course he
didn’t go to bed, no point to do it alone. Wasn’t there a party at Jack and
Judy’s place?
***
First
shot of the season! Harry smoothly tracked the huge cloud of birds clattering
off the lake, but shifted target with a gasp. One mallard rising from the
grassy edge was twice the size of any other, though it had the duller female coloring.
He’d never seen a duck that big!
He tracked the monster
duck smoothly, then squeezed the trigger. He saw feathers scatter: a hit, but
the great bird didn’t fall.
Unbelieving, he watched it change into a large,
thin grey sheet that formed itself into a strange curve. Bright colors chased
one another across its surface: brown and black swirls that changed momentarily
into yellow, as it volplaned after each feather in turn. Within seconds, the
giant mallard reappeared, and was again spiraling down towards the grass.
Harry blinked and
shook his head. He must have imagined it. Too much piss at the party last
night? “Fetch!” he called.
Slinky reached the
mallard just as she touched the ground. There was an indistinct grey melee ¾ then bitch and duck were both gone.
Disappeared.
I’m going crazy! Harry thought. He walked over and stopped a
few steps from where they should have been. There was absolutely nothing to see
but waving blades of ryegrass, clover in flower, paspalum, cooch, the same as
everywhere else. Except, Slinky’s neckband lay there on top of the grass.
I’ll be buggered. He stepped forward onto solid-seeming grass to
have his boots slip on something slimy. He landed with a thump, the gun flying
from his hands.
The grass instantly
rose into an oozy grey mound, enfolding his feet, his legs, flowing along his
body with great rapidity. Terror stretched time, so that he saw every detail as
the grey tide engulfed him, as an incredible pain started in his feet, flared along
his shins, his thighs, his innards. Within a second, he’d been consumed by a
fire, a supernova of agony. His mouth was still opening for the scream he’d
never have time to make when his heart was eaten, when his dimming eyes saw the
rising river of greyness swallow his head. Then, mercifully, his brain was gone
too.
Having consumed dog
and man, the grey jelly had grown to many times Its previous size. It formed a
seven foot high standing egg shape, covered in purple and green swirls, the color
of repletion. After a loud click It disappeared.
The mussed grass held
no clue other than Harry’s few scattered belongings: his clothes, the gun,
ammunition pouch, the backpack (but with the lunch gone), his sturdy boots. Oh,
and Slinky’s neckband.
***
The
Earth circled the Sun, and the Moon circled the Earth. Several bits of man-made
junk also orbited the Earth, but there was nothing else around.
And then, suddenly,
the interstellar vehicle appeared, neatly hidden beyond the far side of the
Moon. Several cubic kilometers of space was occupied by a bewilderingly complex
network of glistening ovoid shapes of varying sizes, joined by tubular ooze
passages.
Eight Beings waited
for the Captain in the Conference Module. Katloi felt both nervous and proud at
having been chosen for the initial reconnaissance. From their rapidly changing
bright colors and the animated waving of pseudopoda, obviously the other seven
felt similarly.
Tading oozed over to
Katloi, Its shape a tall cylinder. It was covered with a mixture of colors:
bright green and yellow stripes indicating excitement, the red of laughter
below, but with flashes of brown and black swirls breaking through. That was
the color of fear. It sent out a stream of pseudopoda, signaling, “If only we
knew a little more!”
“Then we wouldn’t need
to go,” Katloi answered. “From their electronic emissions, we know they’re
primitive enough to kill their own species, and that they have distance
weapons. So, they’re dangerous.”
“Of course. But what
about the chemistry of the planet?”
“It’s a water and
oxygen world.”
“Sure, but their DNA,
is it right or...”
The valve from the
Command Module dilated, and the Captain oozed through. Tading stopped in
mid-sign.
The eight scouts
formed a line facing It. Each assumed a smooth ovoid shape, and became the
snow-white of receptivity.
Showing the pink and
orange swirls of declamation, the Captain signed, “My friends, I won’t
understate the risk. You’ve seen the evidence, just like I have. We are sure
the simpler of the radio-wave emissions are designed to be translated into
atmospheric vibrations, hard as that is to believe. However, the more complex
message format seems to represent vision as well as this exotic sense-modality.
On the basis of our decoding, we know what they look like. They are locked into
a fixed shape. Somehow, they bear their weight on two stalks, we think by
having a hard internal framework.
"These Beings are
on the cusp of achieving space travel. Already they’ve sent primitive devices
through their planetary system. And we suspect they are dangerous. So beware,
don’t risk yourselves. But even more important, under no circumstances must
they detect your extra-planetary origin. You need to go, in order to find out
just one thing: the accuracy of their broadcasts. Are there any comments or
questions?”
There were none. “Connect
up to your translocators, and good luck.”
Katloi’s
pre-programmed point of arrival was near a large population center, but far
enough from it for an almost certain unobserved materialization. On finding
Itself on the planet, Katloi assessed Its surroundings, and spread out to
exactly imitate the ground cover: a mixture of soft-bodied green plants. The
only disadvantage of being this low was that It could see little.
Therefore, It
extended a stalk that almost immediately became a miniature copy of nearby
brown shanked, green foliated tall plants.
The yellow light of
the primary shone on blue water. Motile Beings half Katloi’s current size swam
on the surface, waddled along the shore, or flew above it. Katloi studied them
and assumed an experimental copy.
It was no good, the thin downward stalks
wouldn’t bear Its weight. It oozed toward the water, maintaining the shape,
until It was among the strange Beings. As several rose into the air, Katloi saw
their flying mechanism. Two airfoil cross-section articulated limbs were
covered with frondy extrusions. Achieving such a complicated shape took time
and considerable effort, but soon Katloi was soaring among the smaller shapes.
It was pleased at having achieved a suitable, motile camouflage. Its next task
was to find one of the dominant Beings. It landed.
And by great good
fortune, one was just approaching. It was using a similar form of locomotion to
that of the flying Beings when on the ground, so in this regard the decoding of
the transmissions was accurate. A smaller Being accompanied It, on four stalks.
The smaller Being
rushed forward. It had a sort of elongated lump sticking out in front of the
leading pair of weight bearing stalks. A wide gap at the forward edge of this
lump opened and closed several times. Katloi deduced It was making atmospheric
vibrations to frighten the flying Beings, because they rose in panic. Wishing
to blend in, Katloi accompanied them.
Without warning, swift
metal pellets blasted through Its body. Not only did this cause great pain, but
several components of Its body were separated off by the attack. It retrieved
scattered components. Angry, hurt, disoriented, It resumed camouflage and
landed.
The smaller Being
attacked. Katloi defended, and got a nice surprise.
***
Katloi
was the first to return. It materialized, then separated from Its machine. The
Captain was alone within the module. When It noticed Katloi, It turned a bright
orange, the color of eager anticipation, as Katloi gathered Itself. “Tell me.
How did you go?” the Captain signed.
Katloi swiftly rose
into a respectful oval. “Respectability, I have good news. They taste
delicious!”
For more on Dr. Bob Rich:
