21 years ago there was a container spilt at sea containing thousands of bright yellow rubber duckies as well as frogs and turtles. Scientists are still using the data from where they are found to make better charts of ocean currents and point out anomalies and there were notices posted on loads of beaches of a number to call and where to find the duck’s serial number to make sure it was from the spill.
Most have been recovered, but every year a few more wash up.
With that background out of the way, may we see more of the bird-alien from the “humans are scary” prompt? Either encountering a rubber ducky in the wild, or observing a child finding one on the beach. Squeakiness of rubber ducky optional.
[AN: I DID mention that this is happening on a freshly-colonized planet. This is going to be tricky]
T'reka settled herself in the underbrush. The humans came along this path to gather fish and pumice stones. How would they react to her own anomalous find on the beach?
It was a Water Chick. A toy from her culture, to encourage the little ones to bathe. Some had spilled from a supply drone after it crashed into the ocean, and they were turning up in unexpected places.
Like this island, where everything was toxic, poisonous, venomous, or merely capable of ripping a living body to pieces.
There some were. Fascinating creatures. Evidently, this was a family group. Two parents and three smaller children, the latter group spent all of their time running from point of interest to point of interest. Some were poking at things with sticks.
The littlest, fastest child ran over and picked up the toy. “Mamamamamamamama! It'sayellowrubberduckie! Looklooklooklook!”
‘Mama’ came over and took it from the child. Turned her back on T'reka’s hiding spot.
Adult humans had been turning their backs towards her a lot, lately.
*
“Don’t look now, our little friend is back.”
“Grey Chicken? Yeah, I spotted 'em.”
“This… isn’t a rubber duckie.”
It looked a lot like one, but some details were definitely off. Ducks, for example, did not have pointed beaks. Or blue crests. Or writing on the bottom unlike anything known to earth.
Dave gave it an experimental squeeze. It made a sad noise like a deflating balloon.
“Heylookthere'sanotherone!” Tim raced off and held a second one high. Jumping up and down and waving it in the air.
Bea took out her datacorder and started mapping co-ordinates. “With some data on water flows, we could track these back to their source.”
“Think Grey Chicken isn’t alone?”
“No-one goes down a one-way wormhole alone, Dave.”
“They’re obviously not out to get us. Maybe we can come to an arrangement.”
“Yeah, but they’re skittish. Two more steps her way and Grey Chicken is out of there.”
“We don’t even know where or how she lives.”
“Yeah, but we can work out where these rubber duckies are coming from.”
“They look more like rubber chickies, though.”
“Argue later. Let’s see if we can’t get some more data points.”
*
Journal, Toxic Island. Month seven, day 28.
The humans have taken to combing the beaches, finding all the Water Chick toys that they can. There is extreme interest in their camps surrounding their presence.
Some have taken to constructing a large vessel on the eastern side of the island. It is too big to be a proper boat, and the building materials will surely sink.
Nobody can build a boat out of metal!
*
Journal, Toxic island. Month eight, day fifteen.
It FLOATS!
Against the advice of the elders, I am concealing myself aboard to observe the humans’ behavior.
*
Journal, Metal boat. Month one, day thirty.
I keep finding food at convenient times. I think they know I’m here. Why do they provide for me?
The humans continue to track the Water Chicks. Collecting and cataloguing them.
I think they’re learning where the Water Chicks are coming from. Something we were never able to find out, on our own. They are relentless in pursuit of prey. Even when that prey is inanimate.
*
Journal, Metal boat. Month two, day twelve.
One saw me. They were waiting by the convenient food. In a place I would not initially see them.
It was a young female. Not yet mature enough to be an adult, but no longer completely a child.
It had some of my favourite fruit in one hand.
*
“Here, chick chick?”
T'reka froze. Seen! Humans killed anything they saw as the Other, and none was more Other than herself.
Every instinct told her to flee and hide. But T'reka had been trained to overcome her instincts. To analyze the situation and make new choices.
She rose from her huddle, slowly, and tapped her collarbone. “T'reka.”
A many-toothed smile. “Wila.” A copy of the gesture T'reka had made.
They learned fast, these humans.
T'reka showed her empty hands. The human did the same, but still offered the fruit with one.
Step by step, T'rek approached the most dangerous being known to all cogniscents. And took food from its hand.
The human gently stroked her wing-feathers. “So soft…”
*
Journal, Metal boat. Month two, day thirteen.
The humans are friendly.
Who knew?
[Muse food remaining: 4 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]