TWO: QUACK, QUACK

“Quack, quack,” I said, as the feathered biped stared down at me.

I had just gotten sucked off the surface of my favorite pond by a giant cone of bright light right as I was diving for a tasty fish treat. I was absolutely pissed. And not just hormones-off-the-chart mating season pissed. I was human driving a noisy bass boat near my family pissed.

The creature started speaking gibberish to me again, so I did the only reasonable thing any duck would do in that situation. I bit the bastard on the finger.

“Yow!” it screamed. Now that was a language I could understand. Pain. Pure primal pain. Served him right for messing with my perfect day of being top duck on my pond.

“Quack, quack,” I said again, hoping the bird got the damn point and sent me back down to my kingdom. My pond.

It stared at me inquisitively for a moment and typed something into a flat glowing thing it was holding while it mumbled those strange words again. Then it pulled this pointy thing out of its pocket, stuck it into a slot on the glowing thing, and stabbed me right in the neck with it. All I felt was fire. The pointy thing was so big it nearly came out the other side of my damn downy neck.

I squawked in pain, then tried to bite it again. It pulled its feathered finger away before I could clamp down. Quick bastard, I thought. Not unlike that hen I had fooled around with at the nearby farm when I was a young drake. Then it hit me. The creature was practically an oversized chicken.

“What’s your damn problem, you oversized chicken!” I said. But the words came out sounding different, kind of like those pesky humans that were always messing up my pond. Only I could understand what I was saying in that weird language. The sounds still didn’t make any damn sense, but I knew their meaning. And I wasn’t one to waste an opportunity to use my new skill to speak my mind. “Where the duck am I? Take me back to my goddamn pond, you dumbass!”

“I’m sorry. I didn't get your name, Mister…"

Nobody had ever asked me my name before. I didn't even have a name, so I took a second to come up with one. “The name’s... Merganser. Flap Merganser.”

“That’s not—”

I quacked and unfolded my wings to show him my enormous feet—feet that had allowed me to move so fast through the water none of the other males had a chance in hell during mating season. “Now I don’t know who you are or why you’ve got me on this weird metal egg with sparkly dots outside, but you send me home right ducking now!”

“That's not what we have written here, but as I understand, it's not uncommon for people of your world to take on a new name… at times. So, I’m sorry, Mr. Merganser,” it said. “But I can't. The Cluck Collective has repossessed your home for failure to pay nearly two hundred million years of back taxes. In keeping with the terms of the contract our cousins the dinosaurs signed, and that you inherited when they vacated the premises, your planet was condensed and placed into stasis storage, pending the outcome of the Trials. We have scanned your population and selected the most capable of your species as its Champion. Should your Champion prove the innocence of your homeworld in the Trials, the Cluck Collective will restore your planet, and the debt of the dinosaurs will be forgiven. Only then can we return you to your beloved wetland—or one similar to it.”

“Is that so?” I squawked. “Well, show me this ducking Champion. I want to have a word with them about getting their ass in gear so they can get me back to my pond.”

The chicken creature frowned. “That would be... impossible, Mr. Merganser.”

“Oh, yeah?” I clenched my bill tight with anger. “Is it because you’re a dumbass? I bet it’s because you’re a dumbass.”

“No, it isn’t, sir. I am actually quite smart for a Gallic. I'm a lawyer, actually. Trial Prosecutor,” it boasted, breast puffed out.

I nipped at its feet. "I don't know what the hell a lawyer is, but it sounds like something a dumbass might do. Talk plain with me, dumbass. I only just learned to speak."

"Fine." The enormous bird hesitated, then fidgeted with the beard dangling from its neck. “You cannot speak to the Champion, Mr. Merganser—"

"Call me Flap, dumbass." Right then, I decided that was my favorite word. Dumbass.

"Okay, Flap. You cannot speak to the Champion because… you… are… the Champion.”