The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic

Date [standardized human time]: September 10, 2136

The human ambassador strode up to the microphone, and scanned the cavernous auditorium. Every guard on the premises was flocked a safe distance away from the predator, with rifles trained at his head. Barricades and barbed wire stretched in front of the podium.

“Hello, leaders and citizens of the Federation. My name is Noah, and I come seeking peace on behalf of humanity.”

Silence reigned supreme over the chamber, and the human’s words hung in the air with an echo. The seats in the front row were vacated entirely; many of their occupants were sharing stations with the species near the rear wall. Others were pacing by the exits, and a few were absent altogether. Remote viewing must have seemed the best option.

“I am sure all of you have heard terrible things about my species. Perhaps some of them are even true. Predators ravaged your worlds and twisted your altruism, and you fear that we bear such intentions.” Noah turned his head toward me, and I flicked my ears in support. “But your conclusions are a product of confirmation bias; selecting only evidence that confirms your pre-existing beliefs. Humanity is not the same as the Arxur.”

The reporters in the upper decks were filming every word. Commentators spoke in soundproofed booths, offering live opinions on some of the most influential political shows in the galaxy. The public viewing balcony was almost empty, so most of the citizenry would witness this display secondhand.

The anxious murmurs rippling around showed this wasn’t what anyone was expecting. They were expecting the human to come here, brandishing mocking footage and lobbying threats. It was clear they were concerned how close I was standing to Noah; a few tried to signal ‘Run’ to me with tail language.

“You come in here, wearing a mask, and think that hides what you are?” Jerulim, the Krakotl ambassador, leapt out of his seat in outrage. His feathers were puffed out behind him in a semi-circle. “You’re a slaughtering lot of slavers! You round up and gas children!”

The nearest dignitaries glanced at the avian, and signaled their agreement with tail-waves and ear flicks. It seemed to embolden others to vocalize their opinions.

“Wars where millions die are a regular thing on your planet,” Darq, the Farsul high elder, joined in. Her thin ears drooped with horror. “You use weapons that maximize suffering and destruction. You invade your neighbors and bomb cities; just like the grays.”

Noah raised his hands placatingly. “We have inflicted grave suffering upon ourselves, and I admit we have self-destructive tendencies. But as the Venlil can attest, there is another side to humanity. The side of us that is protective and familial, and has always reached to the stars in earnest. We have the traits of both predators and prey.”

“Yeah, sure. Like what? Mortality? Breathing?” Jerulim jeered.

“Let’s start with the forward-facing eyes, which seem to be the focal point of your disgust.” The human was unfazed by the widespread contempt, keeping his voice level. “They evolved for depth perception, since primates are an arboreal class of mammals. They have nothing to do with hunting, and—”

“Just happens to help with tracking and killing living creatures too, doesn’t it? Funny!” Mazic President Cupo interrupted.

“Well—”

“Which ones of us look tasty to your ‘arboreal’ eyes?” an unidentifiable voice asked.

A cacophony of similar-minded leaders spoke up. Animosity and fear were two words that captured the collective mindset to a tee. The shouts ranged from panicked, to accusatory, to blood-seeking. The Kolshian guards stiffened as the meeting dissolved into chaos; no doubt they expected the discordance to elicit a violent response from the predator.

“You’re just here to terrorize us! To scope out your enemies.”

“You kidnapped our civilians! Your first action as a space-faring species was to hold innocents against their will.”

“Flesh-eating filth. You defile this chamber with your presence.”

“Why did you assault the Gojids in cold blood?”

“We should execute this beast. I’d like to see its head roll!”

My eyes widened in dismay, and Noah ducked his head. This was a beatdown televised to the galaxy; not any genuine attempt at listening. It was only solidifying the viewers’ prejudices, hearing their leaders trounce any attempts for the predator to speak. I noticed a few dignitaries seemed interested in what the human was saying though, which was a glimmer of hope.

“SILENCE! I said we would let it speak, and I don’t break my word. Can you not hold your tongues for a few minutes?” Chief Nikonus roared.

Noah took a deep breath to collect himself. “Thank you. Unlike the Arxur, humans are omnivores. That means our diet is primarily plants. Plants, vegetation, you hear me? We are capable of subsisting without meat, and some of us choose to do so.”

“But you eat flesh?” Jerulim called from the crowd, ignoring the chairman’s glare. “Yes, you personally.”

“Er, yes. No animal has to die, thanks to science. We grow our meat from cell samples in a lab,” the predator added quickly. “Does that not overrule the moral dilemma? Of killing another creature? There is no suffering caused. We’ve done our best within the confines of our nutritional needs.”

The representatives bore squeamish expressions. While the ethical argument was correct, the mental image that answer evoked was unsettling. They were probably visualizing an unmasked Noah, stooped over a maggot-ridden corpse, with blood dripping down his chin. How could they take the person talking seriously with that thought?

Humans seemed to understand the reaction when we asked how they would feel, if they knew someone chowed down on human legs. It wouldn’t matter whether they were “ethically sourced.” The idea of consuming animal parts was utterly reprehensible to most species. I respected the Terran’s honesty, but that wasn’t earning him any brownie points with the Federation.

Even when I thought about Noah, munching into some artificial animal carcass, it made me shudder. I was happy he didn’t do it in front of me, but I still preferred not to think about it. There was a crevasse of my mind that wondered if humans would find Venlil tasty. Did that craving really make the lovable ambassador salivate?

Nikonus retched into the wastebin under his station. “Growing flesh in a vat? Let’s change the subject… please.”

“Gladly. I don’t have time to go over everything on the data cache Tarva shared with you all in detail, as I hoped,” the predator stated. “But we’ve included our art, music, relationships, philosophy, culture, architecture, and scientific achievements. You may find beauty in our creation and innovation.”

I finally found my voice. “The experiments conducted by the Venlil, which proved humans have a wide-range of softer emotions, have been uploaded as well. Your scientists are welcome to review those findings; and I promise, they are replicable, if you wish to see for yourselves.”

“Ultimately, this is about you, not us. Do you want to kill a race of thinking, feeling people, because they are predators? Just because they have a violent history, and a few biological traits you curl your noses at? Is that reason enough to—"

Jerulim tossed his sunset-colored beak. “YES!”

“If cruelty and violence are reason enough to genocide a species, we should kill all of you.” Noah had synced his holopad to the auditorium projector, and cast a video to it. “You want to wipe out humanity without ever hearing us out; with no remorse. How would you respond in our position? What choice are you giving us?”

A handheld video of a young predator appeared on screen. I winced as recognition dawned on me, and I realized where Noah was taking this.

Marcel was holding a light-pink baby prey creature in one arm, feeding it milk with a bottle. The infant suckled eagerly, while the human supported its tiny front legs with gentle fingers. The leaders’ expressions softened at the cute animal, though they seemed worried about the predator dropping the ruse and gobbling it up.

“This is Marcel. He volunteers to care for animals in his spare time. Before we learned about the Arxur, he wanted to go to veterinary school. He’s never consumed meat in his life.”

Noah swiped a button. The footage switched to a news reel, which captured Marcel as he was carted away for emergency care. The prolific wounds presented a stark deterioration from the pristine condition he was in before. It was tough to tell this gaunt, ungroomed human was the same fellow. The red-haired primate looked like a wild predator plucked from the woods.

Gasps echoed around the room, and I was relieved to see some genuine pity. Many species averted their eyes. I don’t believe even the ones who wanted humans dead could stomach the execution of such violence.

The entire galaxy is going to see this, once the tapes reach them. Noah is forcing them to feel empathy for a predator.

The film transitioned to close-ups of the bruises, the emaciated bones, and the neck burns beneath the asphyxiating collar. The haunting finale was a photo of Marcel unconscious in a hospital bed, with a sobbing Slanek at his side.

“This is what your captain did to an herbivore human. Sovlin starved him and laughed at his pain, while Marcel begged him to stop.” The Terran ambassador’s voice climbed with indignation, and he shook his head in disgust. “It was cruelty for cruelty’s sake. How can you say you’re any different than the Arxur? If that’s not predatory behavior, I don’t know what is.”

“Wait, he’s not our captain; he answers to Piri. We didn’t tell Sovlin to do that. We had no idea he went that far,” Nikonus growled.

“I want justice. I want a trial, by your laws or ours. Can you imagine if a human treated one of your people like that? What would you be saying about us?”

“It doesn’t matter what you do. You need to die either way,” Jerulim muttered. “The whole idea is that you don’t have the chance to fuck us over. You’re not like us.”

“But who decides who lives or who dies? Who is ‘like us’? What precedent are you setting? Perhaps there’s an intelligent scavenger out there, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” The human paused for effect, and raised a confident hand. “A predator, who only eats insects and small game? A territorial herbivore, who might lash out at you? Maybe just a tree-dwelling creature who gets targeted for their eyes.”

Cupo flared his trunk. “T-this is ridiculous! Your whole argument is hypothetical.”

“Yes. It’s the hypothetical, that maybe, just maybe, we could be your friends. That’s what I want you to consider.”

“How do we know you won’t turn on us?” the Mazic returned, a hint of fear seeping into his voice.

“You don’t. But you’re going to lose this war without our help, and adding us into the mix basically guarantees it. Even if you believe that chance is slim, humanity is your only chance at victory. Work with us to fight the Arxur, as we have offered from the start, or we can all die together. It is your choice.”

Thoughtful expressions cropped up across the chamber, as the logic of the human’s words sank in. Noah saved a compelling argument for last; appealing to reason where empathy could not prevail. Even if this whole thing was an elaborate ruse, it wouldn’t affect the war’s outcome to fall for it.

Nikonus tapped his microphone. “Alright. That’s enough, human.”

“Of course. I’d just like to mention—“

“No. I let you speak over your allotted time, since these fools kept interrupting you. You can’t say I’m being unfair.”

“Right. Thank you.”

The human stepped back from the podium, and seemed to be awaiting further instruction. Chief Nikonus’ prior words, about not vouching for his safety after the speech, rang in my ears. Would the Kolshian soldiers really shoot a diplomat in cold blood, after everything they witnessed?

“Exit the chamber with slow steps, and follow the trail of lights on the floor.” Nikonus spoke. “We’ve prepared living arrangements. I expect you, at least the human, to stay there indefinitely. I will retrieve you two when all parties have reached a decision.”

I hovered at Noah’s side as we walked out, and visible relief tugged at my features. The Terran ambassador spotted the emergency lights along the baseboards, and trudged away with quiet reservation. My mind was reeling as we scaled a narrow stairwell, but I was just grateful the human was alive.

The selected living arrangements were a full diplomatic suite, complete with plumbing and a kitchenette. Two trays of fruit mash, with an algae and grain garnish, waited on the bedstand. Noah’s species needed more protein in their diet. However, I wasn’t going to explain that when the Kolshians were serving him a gourmet meal, the same as everyone else. They could’ve starved him and tossed him in a dingy cell.

The human flung off his visor. After wearing it for days, the rough metal had left an indentation around his eyes. A deep sadness danced in his chocolate irises, and months of weariness bubbled to the surface.

“I’m trying so hard, Tarva. This was my dream,” Noah muttered.

I placed a paw on his shoulder. “You were amazing!”

The predator sighed. “It didn’t feel like that. It felt like nothing I said mattered.”

“You’re wrong,” a new voice chimed in. “As with most things in life, the hate-infused rhetoric stems from a vocal minority. Idiots speak the loudest. Reasonable people tend to be the quiet ones.”

The human’s head snapped up, and his eyes locked on the Zurulian at the door. The Zurulians were a neighboring species to us and the Gojids. With their quadrupedal anatomy, shaggy brown fur and cub-like ears, they looked smaller than they were. I imagine the visitor triggered Noah’s “cute” response, which made him all the more aware of his predatory visage.

The Terran ambassador practically fell over himself to scoop his visor off the floor. He pressed a hand to his face in the interim, peeking between his fingers in comical fashion.

Noah fumbled with his headgear, panicking. “Er, I apologize. I wasn’t expecting company so soon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to apologize for your appearance. Leave the visor off, friend.” The male Zurulian averted his eyes briefly, before continuing. “I’m Chauson, behavioral scientist with the Galactic Institute of Medicine. May I come in?”

“Yes, go ahead! Please do,” Noah said.

“I’ve been speaking in our Prime Minister’s ear, before you ever went on stage. He’s my brother,” the scientist explained. “Those Venlil experiments are irrefutable. You sympathize with our plight, and you take no joy in suffering. With that new evidence in mind, we’re willing to change our position on humanity.”

“You are? I’m thrilled to hear that someone can grasp the truth.”

“At long last. The Zurulian government expresses our desire to begin anew, and I only hope that doesn’t come too late. Would you like to open diplomatic relations?”

Noah’s eyes crinkled around the edges, which indicated that a smile was hidden beneath his mask. The Terran ambassador felt his mission was worthwhile, if he swayed a single species. That wondrous enthusiasm returned to his predatory gaze, as bright as the day we first met.

“Yes, we would like that, very much. More than you know. Humanity’s door is always open.”