The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic

Date [standardized human time]: September 28, 2136

18 days. That is how long had passed since the minutes-long speech, and the human ambassador hadn’t been outside of this room since. I tried to occupy Noah by teaching him alien games, and watching the happenings on TV. But while he never voiced his complaints, I could sense his agitation.

Chauson visited once a day, logging every aspect of Terran culture he could. The Zurulian prime minster appointed him ambassador to Earth, and the scientist was eager to squeeze everything from the opportunity. He subjected Noah to a myriad of personality tests, as well as asking him philosophical and ethical queries.

The chocolate-skinned human was happy to play along, since it distracted him from the waiting. When Chauson gave him a standard academic test in math and sciences, he was surprised to find Noah scored in the 80th percentile. That was much higher than expected, for a species that was hundreds of years behind our knowledge.

The Zurulian testified before the Federation assemblage today, sharing his novel findings. With any luck, he would be the final speaker. These discussions had dragged on far too long for my liking. At least that signaled it wasn’t an easy, unanimous verdict to war with humanity.

Noah yawned, penning a final sentence in his journal. The predator had been logging his thoughts throughout this experience, but would not let me view a word. I would love to know his unfiltered opinions; his secretiveness rubbed me the wrong way.

“I’m tired, Tarva. Wake me up if the execution squad arrives,” the Terran said sarcastically. “Good night.”

I studied the dark circles under his eyes. “Good night, Noah. Sweet dreams.”

The human tucked his notebook into a table drawer, and shuffled out of the living area. I waited for the sound of his footsteps to recede. Running water reverberated for a few seconds, before the spring of the bulky predator hitting the mattress reached my ears. My heartrate quickened, as the temptation to sift through his journal called me again.

Noah never has to know I looked. You know the aliens’ fear has taken its toll on him. Ultimately, it’ll help with being supportive and empathetic, right?

I took a deep breath, and counted back from 200 in my mind. Satisfied that the human was drifting off, my paws meandered over to the table. The drawer slid out without a sound, and I lifted the diary. There was nothing wrong with just a peek, surely.

I flipped open to a random page, and began reading the first entry my eyes landed on.

~Sept 17

An accidental smile sent Chauson fleeing in terror, and my heart is heavy with guilt. I’m surprised it took this long to happen. Tarva had to chase him down and explain what the expression means. The Zurulian has tried to accept me, and he shrugged off my apology. But he’s afraid of us, deep down, like everyone is.

Why didn’t I wear the mask? Why can’t I fit in, anywhere?

When I look in the mirror, I’ve begun to see myself as a predator. If there is a future where humanity can be a healthy contributor to the galaxy, I don’t know if I picture it anymore. We want it, but that’s not enough. The simple fact of the matter is, nobody wants us.

Even the Venlil are still frightened by us. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around them. Trying so hard not to break them, because they’re fragile and innocent. Sometimes, I let my guard down, but that rarely ends well.

Tarva said straight to my face that she thought I was a nasty-looking creature. No matter how much I try to forget about it, through all the laughs and conversation, that is what she thinks of me. Any feelings of attachment are one-way, and I’d do well to remember that.

Yes, there is a shared history now, and the Venlil wish no harm upon us. But they cannot be normal around monsters. Perhaps a better man, a better species, would cut them free…and never show their face again. Instead, I’ll just return to this lie, and pretend that we can make friends in the stars.

Dream on.

I recoiled, guilt rushing through my veins. These writings sounded depressed and bitter, unlike the optimist persona he projected. Was Noah’s self-image that low, because of me? That comment that I made to Recel wasn’t at all what I thought of him now.

Perhaps cabin fever had placed wild ideas in his head, and his outlook was cheerier before the speech. My claws tugged back through several pages, until I reached an earlier entry.

~Sept 6

Recel is a wreck from being near me, but what am I to do? Throw myself into space? The visor, the mask, none of it makes a difference. My face feels constricted already, and the nerves are making me sick to my stomach.

My indecisiveness, on what bits of humanity to include, might be the death of me: literally. The Federation will have a field day upon our arrival. I wonder if seeing me on television will be traumatic for small children? Perhaps I will be posterized as the face of the new enemy.

The questions the Venlil asked when I first arrived left me taken aback, and this will be worse. Governor Tarva is kind to help. Because of me, her species has lost every friend, and are left with a lot of primitive predators for company. Humanity disappoints on every front; the regrets must cross her mind daily. Yet she’s too far committed now, so she sticks it out.

My speech feels pathetic and inadequate before I’ve ever given it. I don’t know why it hurts so much, when I understand they’re all just afraid. Predators aren’t supposed to have feelings, not…

A pointed cough came from behind me. The human was standing with crossed arms, watching me with a livid glare.

“That’s private, Tarva!” Noah snapped, and my ears lowered against my head. That was the first time I ever heard the ambassador raise his voice. “You can’t just go through my things!”

“You were supposed to be sleeping!” I took a few steps back instinctively, flinging the book on the table. “I thought you seemed agitated. And I knew you wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“So I tell you ‘no’ when you ask to read it, and you go snooping anyways?” he growled. “Well congrats, you’ve dug up some dirt on the predator.”

“Noah…you know I’m so proud of you, don’t you?” I whined, tucking my tail between my legs. “You have no idea how glad I am that we met. Your kind never disappointed me. Humanity are wonderful friends, that I am siding against the entire galaxy to protect.”

“You’re trying to do the right thing, Tarva. I appreciate your morality and compassion, infinitely. But let’s not pretend anymore. You have to repress your instincts all the time around me, and you find my appearance loathsome.”

“My initial reaction was negative, yes, but I find you quite endearing. I didn’t personally request you to represent your species because I’m disgusted by you. I’ve done nothing but worry about your safety since we came to Aafa.”

“You…you mean that? Really? You’re telling me you don’t still think of me as a predator.”

“You’re my kind and charming friend. That’s what I see when I look at you. You are the predator… who convinced me to give humanity a chance. I don’t think anyone else could have a personality bright enough to shine through that fear.”

Couldn’t Noah understand our skittishness was a part of us, just like some predatory traits were part of him? There were certain attributes that were difficult to accept, but surely humanity could see how hard we were trying.

The last thing I wanted was for Venlil instincts to have a detrimental effect on his mental health. Initiating contact should prove that there were few lingering fears in my mind.

I flung my paws around Noah’s waist, and his breathing tensed up. There was brief hesitation from the ambassador; his stance emanated tiredness and frustration. The human wrapped his arms around me, after I curled my claws into his skin insistently, and relaxed into my comforting embrace.

The Terran ambassador withdrew. “Tarva, I am serious. Don’t go through my personal items without permission, ever again.”

“I know. Sorry,” I muttered.

“Hm. It’s impossible to stay angry at you.” Noah shook his head with disdain. “You could get away with just about anything.”

The human stretched out on the couch, closing his predatory eyes. The lines on his face eased, and I watched as his breathing slowed. My own eyelids began to feel heavy, listening to the harsh rumbling of his snores. The big guy was so gentle and sweet, so intelligent and reliable…

As I was about to drift off, the door to the diplomatic suite crashed open. Kolshian soldiers stood in the entryway; their eyes stretched wide when the predator snapped upright. Noah tried to collect himself, and raised his hands in confusion. Seeing that the guards were waving at him to come, he reached for his visor.

I glared at him, and snatched it away from his hand. I threw the metal at the wall, as hard as I could; it broke into two pieces with a satisfying crunch. Noah looked stunned, and apprehensive at the prospect of approaching the guards without it. He swallowed, then grabbed for his mask. My tiny claws scrabbled at his arm, and I shook my head in the human “no” gesture.

The Terran ambassador looked uncertain, but stood up from the couch. The wary Kolshians weren’t attempting to blind him this time. A soldier barked the word “follow”, and began retracing the path to the assembly hall. Heated discussions were creating a clamor inside the chamber; we could hear it from a hundred paces away.

The guards pointed at the podium, and Noah took obedient steps to the stage. Surprised exclamations rose from the crowd, as they saw the human in his uncensored form. Jerulim, the agitated Krakotl from the earlier meeting, was emitting furious squawks at those provocative eyes. I shot a blistering glare toward him.

“We apologize for the delay,” Chief Nikonus began, in a cordial tone. “These are unprecedented circumstances, and we’ve struggled to reach any sort of decision. Has your treatment here been acceptable, Noah of the planet Earth?”

The human dipped his head. “Yes. Thank you for your hospitality, gracious Chief.”

“Good. I’d never let anything like the Gojids did occur within my borders.” The Kolshian palmed an indigo tentacle across his nostrils. “The Federation, as I’m sure you know from the television, has sought all sorts of counsel on this matter. We reviewed your data sharing, consulted our own records, and brought in numerous experts to testify.”

“It looked like many of them had conflicting perspectives,” I said.

“Indeed. Historians, xenobiologists, psychologists, zoologists, sociologists, lawyers, economists; we had them all. Several individuals who were trapped within Venlil borders testified too, and we had our own internal discussions. At last, we’ve tallied every vote.”

The Federation could prove to the ambassador that some species did desire friendship. Any impartial observer would find humanity worthy of a chance, or at least derive reasonable doubt from their intricacies. My breath hitched in my throat, and I squeezed Noah’s hand for support. The predator’s palm was damp with sweat.

Nikonus cleared his throat. “Alright. The count of members who voted that humanity cannot be allowed to exist, or should be treated as a hostile party are…38.”

I tilted my head. Should we be disappointed that the figure was so high, or relieved that the proportion was only a little over 10%? That was a lot of species ganging up on a single planet; plenty of threats for the predators to fend off.

“Take that, stupid human!” Jerulim chirped. “You’re all going to be dead soon.”

“There will be no commentary from the audience until I have finished reading the results!” the Chief spat. “65 members voted for no contact or relations with humanity, which entails total isolation of Earth.”

I glanced toward the predator. There was more hurt in his eyes after that figure was read, than after hearing the ones who wished him dead. Knowing how much humans craved acceptance, they didn’t want to be shunned. The rest of the options had to be more promising, didn’t they?

Nikonus squinted at his notes. “74 species are undecided, with 52 specifying that they are awaiting news from the Gojid warzone.”

Those are a coin flip. Some people might not take kindly to the fact that predators attacked a Federation homeworld. Then again, it will be apparent that human morality is leagues above the Arxur’s.

“107 species vote in favor of a temporary truce, or working together where necessary to defeat the Arxur. Any violation of express conditions will lead to an immediate return to hostilities.”

My ears perked up with hope. After cooperating against the Arxur, some Federation members might become ingratiated to humanity. It could bridge the gap to normal relations. Though I doubted we could call upon their assistance, in regards to the species maintaining contention with Earth.

“Who the fuck voted for that?!” Jerulim squawked.

“My species did, for one,” the Kolshian leader replied. “Er, if that will be acceptable to the humans, of course.”

Noah nodded, shuffling as if expecting to leave. “Yes, it will. We want the Arxur gone from this galaxy, and an enemy of an enemy is a friend to us. Thank you for your time, and giving us a chance.”

“Wait, human. 11 members voted in favor of opening full diplomatic relations. This would involve forming trade, military, and border agreements…if you know anything of the sort. I suggest you ask Tarva for guidance, if those concepts confuse you.”

The ambassador raised a hand to his mouth, no doubt hiding his bared teeth. Perhaps he was amused by Nikonus’ assumption that predators would have no concept of negotiation. Primarily, I believed that Noah was moved by the fact that humanity would return with new friends. It was a tiny number, less than five percent, but it wasn’t zero. That counted for something.

Overall, the results could have gone much worse. If the neutral, isolationist species were counted as in our favor, the majority of the Federation voted against humanity’s extinction. Judging by the furious expressions sprinkled across the chamber, I wasn’t sure every species was going to accept that.

“So many of you would side with them over us?!” Jerulim screeched. “Defend or appease humanity like they were a civilized species? Anyone who stands with predators is dead to the Krakotl.”

The avian ambassador dive-bombed over the Chieftain’s cubicle, and slashed his talons at the elderly Kolshian. Nikonus shielded his face with a tentacle, and nearby soldiers rushed to his aid. Jerulim flapped his wings in a frenzy, pledging that anyone who stood with humanity would share their fate. Had the Krakotl forgotten whose planet he was on?

Other ambassadors launched into shouting matches, and a few made violent gestures toward the human. I didn’t want to know what the unfriendly ones were suggesting. Several individuals were trading blows, grappling right in front of the media cameras. A pair of Kolshian guards hurried us out of the chamber, before the predator could get swept up in the chaos.

Noah shared a glance with me, and I knew that tumultuous unrest stirred his own concerns. This vote could be the start of a major rift within the Federation.