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The Nature of Predators - Krev Exchange Program (5/7)
🕑 Added 2024-08-14 11:00:10 +0000 UTCMemory Transcription Subject: Flevi, Krev Opinion Columnist
Date [standardized human time]: March 31, 2160
When Indrek and I entered the sealed off area, we were greeted by immediate pandemonium and maniacal screeching. I wasn’t the least bit afraid of obors, but these ones were the exception; they made me see why Krev who’d been attacked might not have been so partial to them. The human startled as some primates leapt at the cage doors, or rattled the bars with ferocity. I thought my exchange partner might come to his senses, realize this was a terrible idea, and back out to look at the civilized pet candidates. Instead, the stubborn Tellish miner trudged on, and browsed the handful of options relegated to the unadoptable section.
I kept as far back as possible, not trusting these feral obors not to catch me somehow if I strayed too close; the only reason I pressed on was the gnawing fear that they’d hurt Indrek, mangling his darling fingers or breaking his windpipe. It’d be madness to ever let these animals out of a cage! I regretted my role in pressuring the staffer to allow us in here, since she might’ve had the right idea. The human might be playing too much into his own bravado; despite the fact obors were smaller than him, they were faster, wilder, and much more willing to use their teeth. He stood still by one cage, of a Banniver, whose signature mottled gray pelt and silvery face was laced with scars. The obor’s jaw parted ferociously as it stared at Indrek, pressing its paws up against the cage.
Indrek said he wanted to see something that no one else saw in these creatures, and I definitely don’t see a shred of positivity in one that looks like it’s spent its life fighting.
“What’s his story?” the miner grunted.
A Krev handler watched apprehensively, keeping an eye on a nearby first aid kit. “Favre? His name means ‘fighter’; you don’t want that one, human.”
“Don’t tell him that. It’ll make him more likely to pick this thing,” I groaned.
Indrek scoffed. “So what if I don’t listen to the advice of xenos? What do the Krev know about what’s good for humans, huh?”
“The Krev know about obors, who’ve lived alongside us for thousands of years. It shouldn’t be in dispute that we’re the experts on that. You can make your own moronic decisions if you want to; it’s your fingers to lose.”
“Every simple question doesn’t demand your editorializing, Flevi, though I’m sure that’s hard for an opinion columnist to understand. All I asked was Favre’s story, and it should merit an easy answer.”
The obor handler sighed, flexing his claws. “Favre was raised in one of those illegal, underground fighting rings. He was taught to be aggressive, and to tear rival obors to bits, and thrown out when he was hurt too badly to keep fighting. Bannivers and Fivrals are the common victims of this barbaric practice, sadly, but you can’t fix an obor that’ll shred a Krev the second he’s upset or perceives them as aggressive. You drop something on the floor or look at him wrong, you won’t know what hit you. It might not even require a reason.”
“Why the fuck can’t you think that about me? All I hear is cute this, cute that. It sounds to me like you forced Favre into a life of fighting and didn’t bother to teach him anything else. It’s your fault!”
Indrek’s shouting seemed to quiet the Banniver obor, who was staring at him—almost as if Favre could understand what his primate brethren was saying. Despite being advised not to curve his lips upward, the human smiled at the caged fighter; there was enough nervousness in his expression that the creature might think it was a fear grimace, an expression of subservience. At least the Tellish miner wasn’t showing his teeth. The pet’s fingers were still curled tightly around the bars, but his weathered lips curled back down over his gums. A glint of sympathy shone in my exchange partner’s eyes, which suggested he hadn’t changed his mind a bit.
“My fault?! I’m not the jackass who forced him to fight, and don’t you dare imply I was! I just take care of the problem obors; I’m trying to help the animals!” the Krev staffer fired back.
Indrek folded his arms. “By putting them down, and not letting anyone look at them? I don’t see any rehabilitation going on.”
“These obors are beyond the point of rehabilitation! They are threats to society. Are all humans this judgmental and rude?”
The human stomped forward, getting in the Krev’s face and looming over him; his threatening stance was as alarming as Favre. “This is me being nice. Do you want to find out how low I’m willing to go with a xeno? What my cute fist tastes like?”
“Please stop, Indrek,” I interjected. “You’re going to fucking listen to me. You have every right to be furious, but can’t blame every alien for what happened to humanity. It’s pathetic. Blame people who wrote shitty ass articles that influenced others, or who actually made the decisions. If you need to punch someone to feel better, punch me. I won’t stop you.”
“That’s not what I want. I’d never lay a finger on a woman.”
“Then why would you throw a punch at a male stranger?”
“Because he’s talking mad shit! He had the nerve to call me judgmental and rude, when that’s all you fucking Krev are!” Indrek seethed, glowering at me, before backing down. “You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
The Krev kept his tail angled at the human, like he was considering spraying the miner. “He has a name. Essne. The fact you want me to think of you in the same light as Favre suggests you’re an unstable threat to society yourself. You might be perfect for each other; and for that, you deserve my judgment.”
“Let it go, Essne. Don’t provoke Indrek. Please, play nice…for my sake, or for the sake of the animals. It doesn’t help anyone to hurt each other, and it definitely won’t calm these animals down. Right?”
Essne huffed, a livid look in his eyes. “Right. They’ll be screeching for an hour if I drop this dimwit.”
Indrek flashed his teeth. “I’d like to see you try. I doubt you’ve ever worked a hard day in your life.”
“Not another word.” I stomped on the human’s injured foot, and shoved him away from the Krev. “This is not why we came here. You don’t drop it, I’ll tell your mining buddies all about drunk girl Indrek. Dig up some videos from the street, so you can explain why you were dancing with xenos, whom you clearly hate so much.”
My exchange partner clamped his jaw shut, and I wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Sure, he was resentful and argumentative from our first discussion, but that was a far cry from seeking out a physical altercation. While Essne hadn’t helped matters by baiting the primate with boasts, Indrek had definitely started it, flying off the handle after hearing the warnings about Favre. Would the human even be a good influence on an obor? Was I just imagining that there was any genuine connection and warmth between us, when he seemed insistent on hating every Krev he came across? I hated the thought that these adorable, furless bipeds would forever scorn us, still fighting some imagined war against us.
I want to tell his story and get to know him, but as pokable as his scrunched-up nose looks when he’s angry, this is self-destructive. Indrek pushes everyone away, and is seeking out slights in other people’s words. How the fuck am I supposed to help him?
“We came here for the obor. Let Favre out; we’re taking him,” Indrek hissed.
Essne flicked his claws dismissively. “Maybe you’ll learn a lesson when he rips your face off. I feel sorry for your friend. Of all the humans she could’ve gotten with, she got you.”
“I want him, even if he’s a dick,” I snapped back. “Do you not recognize that Indrek is a broken man with severe issues? Have a little compassion.”
“I’m not a broken man,” the human protested.
The Krev staffer grabbed a stun gun, then tossed the cage key onto the floor. “When the obor attacks you, don’t go acting all surprised. I warned you about Favre.”
“That’s not his name.” Indrek didn’t hesitate to scoop up the key, folding over at the waist in a bendy way that made me giddy. He fitted the metal instrument into the lock, popping open the door. “It’s Suvrel.”
“That must mean something else in the human tongue. You just named your obor after fucking insects that infest homes and disintegrate wood.”
I groaned. “Indrek knows.”
The human offered a poisonous, close-lipped smile at me. “I sure do. It’s what we both are, right? Come here, Suvrel.”
The gray obor stared for a long moment at Indrek’s outstretched hands, and I waited for one of his fingers to disappear with a sudden uncorking of red blood—the color that made his precious, exposed cheeks looked flushed, bright, and warm. Warm meant pettable. I had my back pressed against the door, ready to let Essne deal with the mess when it all went south. I noticed he’d taken the obor carrier and the treats with him, rather than shipping those to Tellus with the rest of the goods. He extended an outstretched palm with a cookie in it, which Suvrel wolfed out of his grasp—fangs visible for a second, an inch away from nicking the human’s skin. The miner seemed happy, and set the carrier on the counter; he picked up the hyperviolent obor, which for some reason, let the sapient fasten the straps around it.
The human shimmied into the other side of the carrier, before standing with his vicious pet snuggled against his chest. Cookie crumbs spilled onto the miner’s shirt, as he crooned the words, “Good obor!” in a falsetto voice. This was the most affectionate behavior I’d ever seen from my exchange partner, with reluctant sympathy being the most I’d received from him. How was he coddling a fighting ring Banniver, and it was working? This temporary docility from the obor wasn’t going to last. The critter’s silver paw reached up to poke Indrek’s chin, making me nervous; I worried what would happen when the curiosity wore off. I’d really wanted to see Indrek toting an obor around his chest, but I was worried for him; letting Suvrel have a clean shot, whenever he wanted, at his throat and face was a bad idea.
Indrek snickered, drawing even more alarm from me as he showed his teeth. “What do they know about us, Suvrel? Say it after me: absolutely nothing. Have a good life, Essne!”
The human was gloating about the success of his attempt, as Suvrel shrieked in an amused tone. The Krev staffer looked on in disbelief, still brandishing his stun gun. I pressed the internal button to unseal the door for Indrek. Despite my own uncertainties about unleashing this obor on the world, I didn’t want to end up in my exchange partner’s sights. That name had been an obvious jab at me; I wasn’t sure why he’d brought up that article, after all of the progress we’d made. It angered me a bit, that he hung that over my head. Why, because I’d told him what I really thought—that this was a moronic decision? I helped him anyway, despite my misgivings, and that counted for nothing.
“What is your problem?” I spat, getting in his path as soon as we exited the shelter. “At every turn, you antagonize me, or another Krev. I’m trying to help, you big, fucking idiot! We were having a good time with each other, but you just are on and off like a light switch: mad at me one second, soft the next.”
The human blinked in confusion. “Careful, Flevi; cool your jets. Don’t agitate Suvrel. We have an understanding…I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?!”
“I’m ninety percent sure. I’m not sure what you think I did to antagonize you, but me standing up to the obor executioner had nothing to do with you. If you can’t handle me not listening to you, when you fucking knew I wanted one of these…or if you can’t handle that I’m not damn well forgiving or cozying up to the Krev, then you’re the one with the problem.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what you did to antagonize me; it’s far beyond not ‘cozying up!’ You named him Suvrel. You did it to mock me, so I’ll have to call your obor that, and we’ll never forget it! That’s what you want: to never forget anyone else’s mistakes.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to forget a goddamn thing! I named him Suvrel because I won’t forget reading that line, and knowing that’s all aliens will ever see us as. Little fucking termites whose thoughts don’t matter, crawling around in some desolate hole that means nothing—that’s not our home, because we don’t have one. There’s no right to exist for us suvrels; we’re deemed a bother and threat to society and we just get put down. That’s how our story always ends!”
The human was screaming by the end of his tirade, long having forgotten about irritating Suvrel. He sank to his knees, and tears streamed down his face; watery streaks down those reddish cheeks, with an expression of misery that almost swept me off my feet too. It was like getting knifed in the heart. The pitiful sniffling sounds, as a lining of snot fell from his flimsy nostrils. The obor slapped Indrek’s cheek, though not in a violent way; it was almost like the Banniver comprehended that the Tellish miner saved his life. Maybe my exchange partner’s claim that they had an “understanding” wasn’t that ludicrous. Unable to fight the need to comfort the precious primate any long, I wrapped my arms around the big guy.
Out in the middle of the street, many people were staring, also sympathetic to the human’s gut-wrenching display of emotion; the eye whites that made his adorable pupils pop were turning red, irritated and piteous. Indrek didn’t pull away immediately, and seeing him soak in the warmth for a few seconds was satisfying. I’d wanted him to let me press my claws against his soft skin so badly. Of course the content of my article had stuck with him, and reminded him of the Federation. Being treated like a suvrel was all he’d known for twenty-four years, and that was unbearable; it was clear his emotions had reached a boiling point. It wasn’t possible for him to just let that go, and forget.
Even if Indrek empathized with my reasons for writing that content, he knows millions of Krev out there agreed with my calls to kill his people. He feels like an angry obor, queued to be put down, doesn’t he? That’s why he feels like he has something to prove, or he’s waiting for us to turn on him for being some violent primate.
“I’m sorry, Flevi. Essne had a point about you getting stuck with me…I’m a loose fucking canon. A broken man, like you said.” The human tried to rein in his outburst, annoyed by the growing crowd; he wriggled away from me, clutching Suvrel like the obor was his lifeline. “I want revenge, not friends. The more…friendly fuckers I find, the angrier it makes me. There’s only the fight, only survival and the enemy. Getting to know me will just hurt you, and the both of us. I’m…unadoptable too.”
I stared at the slouching Indrek, who looked more bitter and empty than ever. “Maybe I see something more in an…unadoptable human. I think the human can be saved, or be something more once he sees that he’s out of his cage.”
“Tellus will always be a cage. Always. Just a roomier one with a sky overhead, not a cavern. It’s still the place we’re doing the Krev’s bidding, where we have to behave exactly as they want or everything gets ripped away, and where I stopped believing I was anything more than a beast. A beast that curses himself for still caring at all. What good did being civilized do us? Empathy should’ve died with Earth, any last traces buried along with my buddies in that mining accident.”
“But it didn’t. You have to decide whether you like forcing yourself to be hateful, and you want to kill the part of yourself the Federation didn’t believe in. You admitted you still care, and always will; that shouldn’t be a bad thing. You have to decide what you care about.”
“What’s even worth caring about? What means anything to you, Flevi?”
“I…care about you, Indrek. Maybe that isn’t what you want to hear, but I do. I know you want revenge, that you said we wouldn’t be friends, but there could be something more than enemies for you here. I’m not worried about getting hurt, by you opening up to me. This is about whether you’ll find enough trust to let yourself get close to me.”
The human’s eyes were still moist, as he eyed me warily. “I wanted to distance myself. I didn’t know you’d be so…”
“So what?”
“Whimsical. I didn’t know I’d like spending time with you.”
I gasped, unable to believe that I’d heard what Indrek just said. The primate marched ahead, and directed his binocular eyes toward the Clocktower Arch to avoid looking at me. After how prickly and standoffish he’d been, any time we had a genuine moment, it was hard to believe that warm declaration. Hearing those words from the human’s lips made my heart skip a beat, filling me with a fuzzy elation that had no equal. All I’d wanted was for him to no longer despise me as a contemptuous person, and to embrace the exchange program’s opportunity. The near-disastrous outing to rescue an obor—who was resting his head against the human’s bulky chest, in a heart-melting scene—seemed like it might’ve been a turning point.
Indrek could no longer deny that he cared about me, in spite of the fact I was an alien. With that admission finally placed in the air, we might have a chance to grow closer without the human fighting it.
A/N - Part 5! Indrek, finding parallels between himself and the violent obors, nearly comes to blows with a Krev staffer after hearing about Favre/Suvrel’s past forced into fighting rings. The obor doesn’t prove as violent as the Krev expected, and Indrek’s chosen new name takes a dig at Flevi’s old article. He admits that Essne saying that he was the worst human she could be stuck with stung, that he feels unadoptable and like he will be put down, and confesses how he hates that he cares about our narrator instead of craving revenge.
How do you feel about Indrek’s temper, and his reasons for it? Are you surprised to hear he likes spending time with Flevi? What do you think of Suvrel’s initial behavior, and whether the Krev were right that he shouldn’t be adopted out?
As always, thank you for reading and supporting!
Comments
AnAbsoluteVillain
2 more chapters and the only pets we got was an obobobo! I demand pettings! 😭
EliasArt2Life
The line between an animal that can and can’t be rehabilitated is about as fine as it is for humans; if there is a line, it’s not where Essne said it was. It’s not an Obor being brought up only knowing fighting, any more than that’s true for a human. There was a whole lot of excuses as to WHY they can’t save them, and not enough “we already tried and couldn’t save them”. I liked Indrek’s admission. I think he REALLY needed that. I have mixed feelings on Flevi’s actions this chapter. Yes, she did make leaps and bounds in treating Indrek like a person, which I liked seeing. However, it felt a little… off. What I mean is that it felt like it had to be spoon fed to her. When she was angry at him, she had no problem treating him as a person, but as for the rest of it… “I wasn’t sure what had gotten into him.” And this struck me as SO odd. I thought that it was blatantly obvious that Indrek was defensive of Suvrel because he saw parallels between humanity’s treatment by the Federation (and to a lesser extent, the Krev), and the Obors. It didn’t strike me as a connection that needed to be essentially spelled out to Flevi, and yet she DID need it spelled out. After that, she comforts him more like a person than a child or pet, but it leaves me wondering; why DID she need it to be spelled out? Why DIDN’T she try to understand Indrek’s actions beforehand, rather than expressing confusion and never addressing that confusion? It strikes me as so strange that a character that was denied so much understanding by others, when she was a child, would choose not to actively try to understand someone else she’s trying to be friends with. As the saying goes, “we become what we need”. Flevi needed understanding, but she doesn’t show us that she’s become understanding. She’s a nice person, and maybe she’s just an exception, but it feels almost like this series is dancing around some fundamental difference between human and Krev psychology. Also, Flevi was dismissive of Indrek mentioning how he and Suvrel had an “understanding”. Is that just because of Suvrel, or do Krev not have that concept? Have they never looked into another animal’s eyes and just felt that deeper connection between them where they just “understand” one another? Is that just a human thing? If it is, it might explain why worts are so prevalent in our species, compared to other species.
