The baby chicken looked at me askance and I looked back. We were two creatures who shared a celestial connection, as the first alien and the first human are likely to share; one built not on communal spirit, but selfsame experience: we were both completely confused by the other. For me, that confusion expressed itself in a raised eyebrow—or, I must admit—a slacked and on-the-verge-of-drooling jaw. For the chicken, that confusion was expressed like this: he bit me.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been bitten by a baby chicken but the fact that chickens are as rarefied as real customer service suggests to me that it is as foreign to you as the bite of an intergalactic alien. Two words can sum up the experience: salubrious and yikes!
Salubrious for the pleasing lack of pain. Yikes for the surprisingly painful result: the Ambassador exclaimed—"Ta da!"
Yes—the horror in Macie's eyes oozed—it was true. It didn't seem possible, but the reality couldn't be avoided: in addition to serving as the most notorious autocrat in the land, Ambassador Revevevicez was an amateur magician. It sent chills down the spine.
And the worst part: he was rather good at it.