Invasion of the Turkeys
To the Great Leader,
The following is my report on mission EI.427 that you have honored me as to send me on. The mission, though I am sure you do not need reminding, was to scout out the planet Earth looking for a suitable, inconspicuous body host through which we could perform our invasion in perfect secrecy. The creature of which I embodied was known to the humans as a "turkey."
Before you review my report, I would like to apologize for the fact that I did not completely fulfill my task. I was ordered to stay a turkey for one Earth-week, but I only remained one day, due to a threat on my life. However, you will see that I was able to collect all needed information on these turkeys, and you have not lost anything by my six-day absence.
Upon landing, the first thing that I noticed was that the climate was extremely humid. The air had a certain thickness to it that I had never felt before. My instruments recorded the temperature as 16 degrees Celsius, the humidity at 35%, and the time as 6:43 in the morning. The landscape was flat and featureless, just tall grass and a few scrappy trees. To my right was a simple wooden box-shaped structure, which I assumed to be a human dwelling. It looked old and very weak. A Type-093 Latimer would take care of it easily.
My new body, the turkey, is a large ungainly bird with more weight than its spindly legs can balance and support correctly. This lack of biological accuracy can cause much trouble in movement. I was unable to travel great speeds or distances. The turkey is covered in large reddish-brown feathers, which could provide good camouflage in the golden vegetation that covers the ground. The turkey's only natural defense mechanism, as far as I could tell, would be the beak, which is hard enough for pecking, but sadly lacking teeth or any other useful addition. The turkey also sports short claws on its feet, but the use of them would be difficult due to their location, and would not inflict great damage. The turkey has wings as well, but is too large to do more than flap clumsily. Were we to pick this turkey as our body host we would have to rely on weaponry to protect ourselves.
At 6:51 in the morning, a human exited the wooden structure. He was a little less than six feet in height, and as far as self-protection goes, he was even less equipt than a turkey. He was amazingly thin, and seemed to be near the dying age. He had no apparent muscles, and no hair for that matter. The only bodily enhancements that this creature had that allowed him to lord over the other animals were his strange "opposable thumbs." The human was carrying a strange weapon, a large stick with three metal prongs attached to the end. A "pitchfork," I believe it is called. The points looked mildly dangerous, but I doubt much damage could come from them. In my opinion, if these are the best weapons the humans can supply themselves with, our invasion will take a matter of seconds.
Upon seeing me, the human walked over and picked me up around the waist with apparent ease. Despite his withered appearance, he seemed to be relatively strong.
"Whadda yew doin' out heah, mistah turkey?" he bellowed at me, with an insane grin on his face. I tried to reply but it came out as an idiotic gobble.
"Ah thought so," he said, as though I had answered. Then he walked, with me under his arm, toward a small mesh box that seemed to have other creatures in it. He lifted its lid and shoved me inside before locking it.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized that the other creatures in the box were, in fact, other turkeys. I gobbled a greeting to them. They all shrank towards the back wall and glared hostiley at me. I tried again, believing an alliance with other creatures of the same body would be a great asset to us. One of the turkeys began hissing at me. I realized that they knew I was an impostor turkey. That surprised me. I could go undetected among humans while lower forms of life were able to recognize me. I ceased communication with them immediately. No matter–even if the turkeys know that we are coming, they are not likely to warn the humans.
Judging from the state of the box, the turkeys have no sense of sanitation. Food and water was scattered all over the floor, and raw feces (both of turkeys and scavenging mice) littered the ground. I had to be wary of each step I took.
At 7:29 AM, two new humans approached the box. They were both of a smaller variety–one male and one female. The small male approached the box with interest, but the small female seemed a little frightened of the turkeys inside, so she kept her distance.
"Which one do you think is the biggest?" the boy asked. The girl shrugged her shoulders and looked longingly at the house.
"Susie! C'mon and help me pick! Grandpa said we both had to agree on which one to have for dinner tonight," he said. The girl shook her head fervently and refused to make eye contact with either the boy or the turkeys. I was unfamiliar with the word "dinner," but was surprised that such awkward birds had any purpose at all.
"Oooh, you're scared!" the boy continued.
"Am not." the girl said huffily.
At this point the boy started making chicken noises. I'm still not sure of the meaning or reason for this action. He also stuck his fists in his armpits and made a strange flapping motion with his elbows. This action seemed to upset the girl, for I watched as her face turned redder and redder, until she finally stormed defiantly over to the turkey box. Humans are peculiar creatures.
After a moment of consideration, the little girl pointed at me. The boy seemed to agree, saying, "Yea, he's the fattest." So he opened the box and tied a bright red ribbon around my neck. I was confused as to the purpose behind this action, but I assumed it was some human tradition. But as they walked away I thought I heard the boy say, "I bet he'll taste real good."
However, I thought myself mistaken. As primitive and uncultured as these humans were, I did not believe them so barbaric that they would actually practice a carnivorous diet. It's practically inhuman (no pun intended.)
Unfortunately, these humans were to surprise me.
At the time of 3:38 PM I happened to notice the older human who had first greeted me come walking out the door of his structure. He strode into the afternoon sun with gritted teeth and a new weapon–an "ax." It looked to me much crueler than his former three-pronged stick, and as I noticed the dark use-worn handle I have to admit a chill ran down my spine. The chill increased as I realized that he was heading toward the turkey coop. His cold gray eyes found the red ribbon on my neck, and his pace quickened a bit. Before I could think, he was lifting the lid, and I knew what he had come here to do.
And here I found myself suddenly thankful for the turkey's dull beak. As his arm reached for my neck, I gave him a swift hard bite with as much force as I could muster. He let out a short gasp of surprise, and I saw my chance. I launched myself out of the box and as quickly as possible began to flee. I ran, flapped, scurried and stumbled across the yard, knowing that if I could just make it to bushes five yards away, where I had hidden my ship, then I would be safe. It was pure misfortune that human legs are more capable of sprinting than the thin ones of a turkey. I tripped over a stick and the human had caught me before I could stand, (despite, as I noticed with a hint of pride, the bloodied beak mark on his arm) with a grip so strong that I knew at once it was too late for me. This was very sorrowful to me, not only because I was facing my ultimate doom, but also because I had just noticed that those bushes I so longed for were but two feet away.
And my few weapons, my claws and my beak, were firmly clamped in the human's hands, giving me no chance to strike again. These humans learn quickly.
But, as it seemed, the Greatest Leader had not deemed it fit for my life to end that day, because from the house appeared a large dumpy woman in an apron, who looked to be the same age as the man I was wrestling with.
"Hon, what's taking so lo–OH NO YOUR POOR ARM!" she shrieked, dropping the platter she had been drying. The man's attention turned to focus on her, and I momentarily felt his grip slacken. I didn't waste an Earth-second. In a burst of brown feathers I forced myself out of his hands and was safely in my ship before he knew what hit him.
And so, I have (more or less) completed my duties on Earth, and I have deemed the turkey specimen unworthy for our purposes. It would be unwise to appear on Earth as an animal that is often devoured by the very humans that we wish to conquer. I believe, though, that I might have found a solution to the problem. Adjacent to the turkey coop was a herd of black and white bovines, and they looked very intimidating. I believe that if we could inhabit these animals and somehow equip them with these mysterious "opposable thumbs," the invasion would be in the bag. However, I have decreed my time on Earth finished, and would please ask that I am not volunteered for another mission.