The Nature of Predators - Sovlin’s Transcript (3/13)

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Memory transcription subject: Srissi, Verin Exchange Participant

Date [standardized human time]: March 1, 2138

There were no aliens we were close to in the same way as our sister species, the Onkari—who orbited in the sky above us. The Twin Moons were vastly different biospheres to one another, so the foreigners with tree-barked colored fur weren’t the only otherworldly element in the sky. The rainforest itself was so different to the arid savanna of Combai, our planet; we didn’t see other cradles so fertile until the Federation arrived. It became as if the insectoid Verin and mammalian Onkari were two sides of a pendulum, since our cosmic situation left us interlocked forever. We would always look up to see them, a short starship ride away.

When the humans arrived, they were just another race far out of sight. It was ironic that I thought that way, when our species spearheaded the Federation’s initiative to seek out new life. The Twin Moons paid the predators little mind, vowing neutrality and trying to stay off their radar, until the fateful interview with Nikonus. I remembered every scientist at my observatory gathered around a single TV screen to watch the footage. I had imagined what it was like to peer up at the night sky and find meat-eating monstrosities, but I hadn’t envisioned that scenario for…us. The Verin were omnivores too.

The Verin and the Onkari have been quiet SC members, largely left alone with minimal commitments. The problem is that the humans have rendered our telescopic specialty obsolete. With their fancy Synthetic Aperture Radar on every ship, what good are people like me?

The question that rolled around my mind in the late nights was why the predators avoided us for the most part. There were stories of them moving to far-flung corners of the galaxy, but our world had the lowest Terran inhabitancy of any Sapient Coalition planet. Granted, our moon was smaller than many of those planets, but there were few humans outside the UN’s embassy. We were quite late in having our exchange program open for sign-ups. I remembered seeing the announcement on the television, with the government paying celebrities to join to assure the public. 

It was easy to press a few buttons and pull up images of the creatures. It was difficult to look at eyes centered within their skull, angled on a single point with dastardly fixation. How did any prey species not feel unsafe under that cue? How did a person learn to look at a human, and to believe that they had the same sentiments and reactions as us? The fact that we had discussions about offending a predator, and hurting their feelings, was miraculous. To feel guilt over a hunter being “sad” and to imagine they were insecure about what we thought. They had evolved far past just a reprehensible diet, yet every source suggested they craved our acceptance.

“Well, with the observatory’s budget cuts, I could use the exchange program income. It’s not like anyone has been hurt under observed reactions,” I mused aloud, filling out my information. “I must confess, I’m a tad curious what they’re really like. Beyond the propaganda that no one would ever believe.”

Memory transcription subject: Samantha Harris, Verin Exchange Participant

Date [standardized human time]: March 5, 2138

There wasn’t much left to live for, when I really thought about it. People would say that time heals wounds in a patronizing voice, all well-meaning and with melty eyes. Holding onto the bitterness during the war, for all the aliens had done, helped me to keep going. I had my squadmates, even as much as Sovlin got on my nerves, the old bastard proved that he cared. Maybe I knew how he felt after losing his family. I never even held a proper funeral for my husband, my brother, and my parents, since those services were overrun with a billion people dead.

Sometimes, when I rested in the ship quarters and no one was around to judge me, I’d sign I love you to the air. I liked to imagine that my brother was watching. The memories of running around the beach, signing “shark” at the surfers to see if any understood—heavens, we were little shits. I missed my partner in crime. My only sibling wasn’t the sole person that bled my heart from the inside out either; my chance at happiness had been snatched out from between my fingers.

Good grief, it was too much to even think about Michael Harris, the love of my life. Dating was such a fucking nightmare, with not one standup guy until I met him on a late-night jog: there was something that drew me to him at once, a magnetism. I knew now that I’d never be in love like that again.

I wanted to grow old with him and start a family. I remember Michael’s last message before Kalsim arrived, while I was stuck away guarding Sovlin on the Venlil homeworld; I couldn’t even fight or be there. He told me he wanted me to be happy, like he fucking knew. I can’t do that. 

Knowing that I’d never have children, regretting moving back to the outskirts of my destroyed city, and realizing that I had nobody in this universe that’d miss me, I’d decided to join an exchange program. I was the last person to coddle one of those dumb herbivores, but maybe enough time had passed that we were beyond that. This was my desperate attempt to find some warmth in the universe for a “savage ape.” It was also a way to prove to myself that I was nothing like the Federation, that I wouldn’t just write someone off for being creepy, crawly; I didn’t let my feelings dictate atrocities against an entire race!

I bit my lip hard as the voice call loaded; this was more of a middle ground compared to the Venlil exchange’s text chat days. Carlos should’ve been the one who was here; he understood what it all was like, and he was a good soul. At least I got to give him a funeral, though I tried not to remember him with his brains splattered inside a spacesuit. That had been the final straw, where I couldn’t even hang on to the good news of us both coming home. Carlos was my only company on a lot of long days. There were few people that I could say were just good friends, who wanted to lift up those around them. He was too pure for this world.

“Hello?” a tentative voice said over the phone.

I thought about the stories that I told Cilany years ago, wondering whether this exchange program was just reiterating humanity’s legends to another dubious audience. There had been no friendship from that Harchen reporter, just cross-examination. I couldn’t go through all the mistrust again, after everything they’d put me through. It didn’t matter that the war was over, when our own allies probably wished that Kalsim’s fleet had succeeded. Losing control of my emotions, I broke down sobbing. The Verin’s shock was palpable, as she listened to the weeping noises and the wet bubbling of mucus.

“Are you…crying?” came the uncertain question.

I struggled to speak and to breathe, forcing myself to choke out words. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry. I have nothing worthwhile to offer you, or…anyone.”

[Transcription Subject switched to Srissi]

I sat beside my computer in utter bewilderment, hearing what was an unmistakable breakdown on the other side of the line. It was difficult to believe that this was an apex predator: tears pouring from the heart-stopping, binocular eyes I’d seen in the photographs. It said a lot that humans would even allow themselves to show any vulnerability, even taking a darker assumption that it was for manipulative purposes. I didn’t think that was the case, however. There was a certain finality in Samantha Harris’ words that sounded like a suicide note. I’d been nervous when I saw in her file that she was a former soldier, but this didn’t seem like a vicious warrior.

“That’s not true. You’re giving me someone to talk to right now,” I ventured, trying to ignore my elevated tension. “What’s troubling you?”

Scratchy sounds came through the receiver, almost like the human was choking. “Grief.”

“You…lost someone you care about. I know what that’s like,” I offered, debating whether to be vulnerable with a predator in response; would she really want a prey species to relate to her feelings? This was one way to gauge the empathy that the scientists touted. “I always wanted to see the rainforest, up in the sky; I looked through telescopes all the time, and begged my parents to take me there. I caused them…”

Samantha’s words got a bit clearer. “Take your time. I definitely know how it feels to blame yourself for something.”

“My parents surprised me with a day trip up there, to see those dumb, leafy trees. They got a rental car, made it a big deal, and drove around for hours with me and my little brother…all that money and time they set aside, and I didn’t appreciate it. Selfish.” Tears welled in my own compound eyes, though I didn’t have nasal passages like she did to make it audible. “I started screaming when Daddy said we were going home, and thrashing around. I…distracted him enough that he missed a curve in the road, and we…” 

“Srissi, I’m…so sorry. Please tell me this story doesn’t have the ending I’m thinking.”

“My parents and my brother died. I remember my baby brother’s guts smeared on the window, like some fly that collides while driving. I did that. I never went back to the Onkari world, you know. Never. I work at an observatory and every time we see that moon overhead; it doesn’t feel like a sister world. The ancient Verin that called it paradise didn’t know what I know.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine.”

“You were a nine-year-old child who was crying because you didn’t want to go home. That’s very normal. It’s not your fault. It was an accident, a very tragic accident. I can’t imagine how you felt being orphaned, and carrying that guilt with you. It sounds like they loved you very much, and would want you to be happy.”

“Sometimes, happiness isn’t that simple. Enough about me. Do you want to tell me why you’re grieving?”

“I…lost my family in the Battle of Earth. My husband, my parents, my brother. Every day, I wish I could see them again, or wonder if I could’ve saved them. I could’ve talked them into leaving…could’ve been there with them. I guess I was lucky to have them into my twenties, hearing your story, but I don’t feel lucky. I feel cold, and like I wish it’d been me instead.”

There was a long pause, as I stewed in the heaviness of what she said. This wasn’t how I’d expected our conversation to go. “It wasn’t your fault either. I don’t know much about humans, but if you’re at all the decent species the Venlil think you are, then your family would want you to be happy too. They wouldn’t wish ill on you in their absence, Samantha.”

“Just Sam, to my friends. Why don’t we talk about something more suitable for water cooler conversations—that is, casual chats? We did just meet, and I already dumped all that baggage on you.”

I tried to conjure a mental image of the predator, but shook it off quickly. We wouldn’t see each other until the scheduled rendezvous, and it was best not to think about it. I had my own reasons for doing this, wondering about the unslanted truth of what sapient hunters were capable of. It was difficult to read any feelings when I thought about those eyes, but what I heard told a different story. I imagined that my family had died in an attack rather than an accident, and how the sickness I felt toward the Onkari homeworld might apply to aliens instead. That would’ve been difficult to process, if I took the food chain factors out of the equation.

I twisted an antennae with intrigue. “Why don’t I tell you about our seasonal festivals? It’s a fun bit of our culture, where we hold leaves up to form pictures to the other world—synchronized between the Onkari and the Verin.”

“I’d like that,” the predator replied, in a soft voice that had only a whisper of that beastly edge. 

[Transcript date changed to March 7, 2138]

“Behind the school bleachers? Really?” I shouted at Sam, forgetting not to raise my voice at a predator amid raucous laughter.

The human huffed with indignation. “It wasn’t great, but don’t you go acting all high and fucking mighty! What about you? What’s your story?”

I clacked my mandibles with embarrassment. “We’re not talking about me. You brought…this up.”

“Ooh. You’ve never—”

“Shut up!”

[Transcript date changed to March 9, 2138]

“Can I really ask you anything?” Sam purred, as we talked into the late hours of the night.

I leaned back sleepily against my pillow, fighting off grogginess. “I don’t know. Can you?”

“Aw, fuck off. Forget politeness. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“Well. I, um, set my teacher’s car on fire.”

Samantha screeched, startling me through the audio headband over my sound receptors. “You, Srissi? You, in a respectable profession looking through your pretty fucking telescopes? I’ll be damned. How’d that happen?”

“The Verin have courses called Glow Curriculum which are difficult but let you skip the university year we call bridge. There’s…a class called Exterminatorology, where you learn the role, methods, and history of the guild.”

“That figures. Indoctrinate the kids about burning animals, teach them how to fuck their ecosystems, then remind yourself that you’re peaceful prey. The predators deserved it. If you torched that teacher’s car, that’s not the worst thing you did; it’s the best thing. You should get a medal.”

I twisted my antennae together. “The teacher was the Glow Exterminators teacher, but I did it because she was strict—she tried to fail people, she’d give crazy amounts of work, then make you get an internship at the guild for any extra credit. It was like a damn ploy to get a free labor force. So I thought it’d be poetic to burn her car.”

“And I thought it’d be poetic to burn her.”

“You don’t mean that.” Do you?

“Eh. Only as much as she would’ve meant that I should burn. Would you prefer I bullshit you and tell you how humans love the exterminators, and how we embrace our immolation?”

“No. Uh, guess that’s my story. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Samantha was quiet. “I…let Carlos take the turret.”

“…when you were a soldier?” I breathed nervously, fearful to hear Terran tales of wartime. “Who was Carlos?”

“Let me tell you about him, Srissi. That story really starts when we were assigned to guard the war criminal Sovlin.”

[Transcript date changed to March 10, 2138]

“You’re telling me you were at the cradle, Khoa, Sillis, the Archives, and Aafa?!” I thought to myself how fearsome Samantha must be to have endured all of that, having been at the center of it. “Saying that you—that you and Carlos—went through a lot is an understatement.”

Samantha sniffled, sounding upset. “Yeah. It wasn’t easy after we met aliens. Humanity…we got fucked over big time. Just battle after battle; gut punch after gut punch…”

I need to redirect her focus. “You went through all of that stuff with Sovlin too. Did you ever…how did you feel about that Gojid? His torture of a human was quite public.”

“I didn’t like him for a long time, but I think he’s atoned for his sins. Sovlin turned it around. He was one of the greatest heroes for our side, and he put himself in a danger a bunch. I came to respect and trust him.”

“But you stopped speaking to him.”

“Sovlin moved on. I didn’t. It was best to let him…help people that could be fixed.”

“I know what you’re saying, and it’s not true. You still have friends out there, people who want you in their lives.”

“Like who?”

“Me. I’m…ready to meet you.”

In spite of myself, I’d grown comfortable talking to Samantha Harris; I felt like I knew as much about her as anyone on Combai. Maybe joining this exchange program was a lifeline for me too. It had taken a predator to bring an obsolete recluse out of her shell.

[Transcript date changed to March 13, 2138]

I struggled to think of small talk conversation topics, as the call timer read over two hours. “What’s it look like now, where you are?”

“It’s dark outside,” Sam remarked. “That would figure since I’m in space. Coming to you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“What are your colleagues saying? That you should get your will in order?”

“Something like that. We don’t have a lot of experience with humans on Combai.”

“Yeah. Are…are you nervous, Srissi?”

“A little. I’m sorry.”

The human sighed. “Don’t be. I’m a bit spooked myself.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s just try not to panic: I mean, it’s us. We’ve laid our souls bare with each other.”

“I know it’s still you. And on the bright side, I am excited to be able to do activities in person, not just sitting here until my social battery runs out.”

“Me too. It’ll be easier to do mindless shit. We’re going to get past the hurdles and have a good time. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Got it, Sam. Have a safe flight.”

My nerves were alight as the human disconnected from the call, and I wondered how our first meeting would go. I had no idea how I was going to react to seeing Samantha’s chilling face, but I hoped I was strong enough to move past it. She had been a good friend, even if we had known each other for a short time. I lounged in my temporary quarters within the exchange facility, and thought back to the old question: the one I’d never asked my counterpart, despite nothing being off-limits. Why did the Terrans avoid us…and why would the human be spooked too? 

Whatever the predators’ feelings were toward the Verin, I imagined I was going to find out in a few hours.

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A/N - Samantha’s story! We see her exchange partner, Srissi, with a mix of curiosity and monetary motivations, then learn that Sam joined as a Hail Mary after feeling like she had lost everyone and had nothing left. Srissi and Sam find ways to relate to each other’s grief, and our Verin provides comfort. What do you think will happen as we round off Sam and Srissi’s arc next chapter, and they meet up; how do you imagine the Verin will feel to learn the predators are afraid of her? What kind of reaction do you expect Sovlin to have at the end of Sam’s story?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! I appreciate your patience, it’s been a very difficult few weeks but I’m hopeful it’s behind us. Praise winter!