“Champion of what, again?” I said. “My pond, dumbass?”

“No, not your pond.” The bird shook its head. “Champion of Earth. All of Earth.”

I stared at the walking family feast for the longest time, not sure what to make of it. I pursed my bill, nodded, and tried to play it cool. It was always best to play it cool around the hens at the pond. They liked that. But then my curiosity got the better of me. “Uh, what the duck is Earth?”

The giant chicken blinked at me with all three eyelids. “You know? Earth? Your planet? The planet you live on?”

“Planet? I don’t know what kind of rotten fish you’ve been eating, guy—are you even a guy? You have a beard, so I’m assuming you’re a rooster. I kicked a rooster’s ass once. Tried to cut me with his nasty, shit covered spur, but I bit through his wing like a badass.”

“Yes, I am a male. A rooster, using Earth terms. My name is—”

“Is it true that roosters don’t have penises? Because I got a penis. A big one, too. I could use it to open a wine bottle.”

“Uh, I have a papilla, not a—”

“Your mom loves my penis. Don’t look at me like that, dumbass. You should show me some respect. Hell, for all we know I could be your dad.”

The big chicken launched forward, foot raised with his spur ready to strike. “Listen here you little shit, nobody talks about my nest mother like—”

“I’ll take it from here, Prosecutor Silkie. You can stand down,” said an unknown voice, spoken with such snide contempt that I felt a shiver run from my breast to my wingtips.

I ignored the feeling and turned to see the source. “Ah! Well, I’ll be dipped! Another dumbass! I see news of my penis travels fast around here. Did you bring your nest mother, too? No? You must be one of them weird guys that likes to look at another bird's junk, then. Well, get on down here and I’ll show you. The first look is free, but you gotta pay if you want to see it again.”

“Interesting,” said the man as he adjusted his plain black suit. Or as much as a giant anthropomorphic chicken could adjust a suit. Then he ran a feathered hand through the comb on top of his head, slicking it back like he had just gone for a dive in a pond. It made him look like a sleazeball used nest salesman. “I’m not here to see your… breeding appendage, Mr. Merganser. My name is Sector Administrator Brahma. I’m in charge of the repossession of Earth. Do you understand?”

“Duck no, I don’t understand! And there’s that word again. Earth. I don’t know what this Earth is, Sector Administrator Dumbass Brahma. I know about ponds, though. I was born near a pond. I live on a pond. I eat from a pond. I fly to another pond when it gets cold, and then I fly back to the first pond. Unless you’re telling me the name of one of those ponds is Earth, then no. I have no ducking idea what the hell you’re talking about… dumbass.”

“Very interesting." Brahma frowned. "And concerning. Give me a moment, please.”

He spent several minutes flipping through his glowing flat thing, his beak clenching tighter and tighter as he dived into whatever mystery he had in front of him. Eventually, he groaned, then threw the shiny pad into the air as he hung his head and squawked, “Leghorn!”

“Problem, dumbass?” I said.

He gave me his best chicken smile and pointed at a cushy thing at the far end of the room. “Please take a seat… Mr. Merganser. This will only take a moment.”

“Whatever, dumbass.” I shrugged, then waddled over and picked up the cushy thing with my bill. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do with it, but I held onto it like it was the last fish just to show that bastard how strong I was.

Several minutes later, another chicken man came into the room, this one dressed exactly like the one called Silkie, just with way less shiny things hanging from his breast. The way his eyes wandered in different directions gave me the impression that maybe his mother hadn’t sat on his egg for long enough.

“Uh, yeth, Adminith—Adminith—Ad—uh, cwap! Yeth, Ad-min-ith-twator?” Leghorn said in a lispy, cartoonish drawl as a dopey smile spread across his beak while his eyes spun.

“Private Leghorn,” Administrator Brahma said. “Is this the Earthling I asked you to bring me?”

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He nodded. “Yeth, thir. Thure, ith.”

“First Egg, Leghorn! Does that implant do anything in that thick skull of yours! Have it teach you to clucking speak like a proper Gallus!”

“Thorry, thir. Let me twy again.” He cocked his head, shook it several times, nodded, then straightened. “Sorry, sir.”

“Much better. Now do you take this fresh start with the Collective’s Office of Repossession seriously, Private Leghorn?”

“Yes, sir!”

"Hard to believe." Brahma brushed what looked like chicken feed off the front of Leghorn’s uniform. “You know I only accepted you for this position because your father fought with me during my Trials, correct?”

Leghorn nodded, but something about the mention of his father caused him to fidget like there was a farmer with an axe outside the coop. “Uh, yes. Yes, sir!”

“Good. You know I would have gladly given my life in place of your father’s if I could. He was an impressive addition to the Collective, though somewhat flawed in his ideals. One of the best cockfighters I had ever seen.” He let out a sharp bawk. “Ba-kawk! And your father also had an exquisite attention to detail, which, sadly, it appears you lack.”

Leghorn eyes spun like they were attached to a model airplane motor. The way they looped around and around doing their corneal acrobatics made me feel queasy.

"Ka-kawk!" he clucked. “Um, what do you mean, sir?”

Brahma motioned. “Come with me, Private.”

“Uh, okay.”

Brahma grabbed Leghorn by the arm and walked him over to where I was standing, still holding the cushion in my beak. I looked up at the two chicken men towering over me and got an uneasy feeling. I was really missing my pond.

“You were supposed to bring up the greatest gladiator alive on Earth, were you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you… remember his name?”

“Yes, sir!” Leghorn saluted. He paused, almost as if something inside his head was feeding him the information. “The gladiator's name is Russell Crowe, sir!”

Brahma placed his hand on the privates’s shoulder, then pointed to me. “Tell me, Leghorn. Does this look like a crow to you?”

Leghorn shrugged. “Uh, I dunno. I don’t know about all of Earth’s birds, but my implant gave him the highest score on the planet when I did my scan. So he’s definitely an avian, sir! Not that it matters, I know what you—”

“What, Private? You know what I what?”

Leghorn stirred. “You want to make sure the Earthlings, um, wose, thir. I mean, lose, sir.”

“Private Leghorn,” Brahma said with a glance towards the Prosecutor. “I would never disrespect the spirit of the Trials by placing the Earthlings at a disadvantage for my own personal gain. And even if I did, I would never speak of it out loud on a Collective vessel!”

“Thorry, thir. I thought—”

“You thought wrong, Private. And you brought me a duck. A ducking common pond duck!”

“I ain’t no common pond duck!” I honked as I spat out the cushion. “I’m a ducking red-breasted merganser, dumbass!”

Brahma ignored me and grabbed Leghorn with his wings.

“Oh, shit. Not again!” Leghorn yelled as he tried to pull away, but Brahma gripped his arm so tight the younger chicken man let out a squeal of pain.

“And I hate to be the one to tell you this, you idiot!” He threw the younger avian on the floor with a thud. “But Russell Crowe is a human! He isn’t even a ducking bird! Do you have any idea what will happen if the Collective finds out I took an Earthling that can’t even understand the Trials as its Champion?!” He pointed at me again. “It will invalidate the whole repossession! And that’s not even mentioning the fact that the stupid duck only gained sentience five minutes ago! He made up his own ducking name, for duck’s sake!”

Leghorn tried to scramble away, but Brahma placed a clawed foot on his chest.

“Pleathe, thir. It wath an accident! I didn’t mean to meth up aga—”

“That’s what you say every time, Leghorn. Every ducking time.”

They went on like this for a while, arguing back and forth about this mess up and that mess up, and frankly about a bunch of other stuff that didn’t even register with my duck brain. I just sat there and watched the show. It was kind of like watching humans trying to catch my fish as they drank from those silver cans until they got so mad at each other that of them stabbed the other one, then tied a rock to his leg and threw him in my pond.

“Pweathe, Brahma,” said Leghorn. “You practicawy waithed me. You’re wike a father to me. Pweathe... dad!”

Brahma softened and took some pressure off his foot. “I suppose I am, to an extent. Tell me... son. Does anybody else know about this?”

He shook his head. “No, not a thoul. It’th the middle of the night, so everyone elthe on the ship other than me, you, and Thilkie is athleep in the coop.”

“Prosecutor Silkie, Leghorn. But good. You were always a sorry excuse for a Gallus anyway,” snapped Administrator Brahma, then he shoved the cadet to the ground with his foot and raked his spur across the bird’s throat. A jet of red blood shot out and splattered against the deck. Then Leghorn let out one last gurgling bawk and went still.

“Is this going to be a problem?” the administrator asked Prosecutor Silkie.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir. Private Leghorn just had an unfortunate accident in the weapons training room. Always trying to live up to the legend of his father. Shame we had to recycle the corpse before we could do a thorough investigation.”

“You, Prosecutor, are not a waste of a Gallus. The Collective appreciates your discretion.” Then Brahma turned to look at me with his spur raised in the air. “Now, what to do with you…”