Been kicking this idea around for ages. Figured quarantine was as good a time as any to flesh it out . . . .
Three weeks he'd been stranded on this accursed planet without so much as a ping on his distress beacon or commlink. Three. Rotting. Weeks.
Oh, the air was clean, the water was fresh, and there didn't seem to be any large predators about that would give him any trouble. Food was plentiful, and the native animals were slow and easy to catch, if somewhat flavourless. The local sun was a bit on the bright side for his tiny red eyes, but there was a copse of nearby trees he could shelter in and call his tak for a while. All in all, it was actually a very nice region on a very nice planet to be stranded. But the natives . . . .
The natives were just plain annoying. Standing two heads shorter than him, with skinny little limbs and round, toothless mouths, they were no danger to the imposing Amani at all. They were curious, and apparently friendly, but he was starting to wonder if they were sentient, or even semi-sentient. When the first pair of furry little aliens approached his downed craft, he tried to introduce himself to them and ask for help. Since he had difficulty getting any non-Amani to pronounce his name correctly in the best of circumstances, he usually just introduced himself using his nickname.
He bowed at the pair of aliens and opened his wide arms and huge hands to show he wasn't carrying any weapons. And the aliens bowed in return. So far, so good. Then he pointed to himself and spoke his nickname by way of introduction.
"Amanaman," he said, and again pointed to himself. "Amanaman." And then he pointed to the aliens. They goggled at him with wide eyes and slack expressions on their cowlike faces. And then they spoke. In unison.
"Doo DOO doo doodoo!"
It went downhill from there. Every time he tried to introduce himself and ask for help, the natives would chant variations of "doo" back at him. It was the only phoneme they seemed to know. And they would chant it every time they laid eyes on him.
If someone didn't pick up his distress beacon and rescue him soon, he'd soon be wearing a large pink furry cape and have loads of horned skulls to put on his staff.
PESTS: AMANAMAN'S TALE
A Very Short Story
By Nigel "Beedo Sookcool" Willis
A Very Short Story
By Nigel "Beedo Sookcool" Willis
Three weeks he'd been stranded on this accursed planet without so much as a ping on his distress beacon or commlink. Three. Rotting. Weeks.
Oh, the air was clean, the water was fresh, and there didn't seem to be any large predators about that would give him any trouble. Food was plentiful, and the native animals were slow and easy to catch, if somewhat flavourless. The local sun was a bit on the bright side for his tiny red eyes, but there was a copse of nearby trees he could shelter in and call his tak for a while. All in all, it was actually a very nice region on a very nice planet to be stranded. But the natives . . . .
The natives were just plain annoying. Standing two heads shorter than him, with skinny little limbs and round, toothless mouths, they were no danger to the imposing Amani at all. They were curious, and apparently friendly, but he was starting to wonder if they were sentient, or even semi-sentient. When the first pair of furry little aliens approached his downed craft, he tried to introduce himself to them and ask for help. Since he had difficulty getting any non-Amani to pronounce his name correctly in the best of circumstances, he usually just introduced himself using his nickname.
He bowed at the pair of aliens and opened his wide arms and huge hands to show he wasn't carrying any weapons. And the aliens bowed in return. So far, so good. Then he pointed to himself and spoke his nickname by way of introduction.
"Amanaman," he said, and again pointed to himself. "Amanaman." And then he pointed to the aliens. They goggled at him with wide eyes and slack expressions on their cowlike faces. And then they spoke. In unison.
"Doo DOO doo doodoo!"
It went downhill from there. Every time he tried to introduce himself and ask for help, the natives would chant variations of "doo" back at him. It was the only phoneme they seemed to know. And they would chant it every time they laid eyes on him.
If someone didn't pick up his distress beacon and rescue him soon, he'd soon be wearing a large pink furry cape and have loads of horned skulls to put on his staff.
