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The Nature of Predators 122
🕑 Added 2023-06-01 11:00:05 +0000 UTCMemory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, United Nations Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: January 15, 2137
I was claiming an unwanted milestone with this voyage; I was certain I was the furthest below water of any Gojid, who hadn’t already been dead and sinking, in history. Some predators were monitoring their scanners for the slightest sign of activity, though I was told an entire team was dedicated to sonar monitoring in a separate chamber too. Sitting in a dark room with headphones for hours, with no idea what was happening, sounded awful. The supervisory officials and secondary team here got a much better deal.
Additionally, fire control technicians oversaw guidance systems on the bridge. Most of their work was grounded in electronic and digital concerns. From what Onso had told me, this vessel had underwater missiles which were connected to the ship computer by wires. Once the payload got close enough to the target, an onboard homing mechanism took over.
By watching the various stations, I was beginning to decipher bits and pieces from their screens. Judging by the learning curve, anyone with training in starship sensors could adjust to sonar after a few days, in a pinch. Onso seemed aware of most duties, having studied up on the intricacies; I was grateful for his explanations. All the same, it was of some comfort that Tyler, Samantha, and Carlos were in unfamiliar territory too.
“We’re getting close to the presumed location of the Farsul base,” Carlos whispered. “There’s no telling what they’re hiding down here. Maybe it’s everything that’s been done to every species!”
Onso flicked his ears. “A proper database would help with bringing our culture back, exactly as it was. They’re the historian species, so it’s a good place to go digging. They have a weapon as great as any Kolshian tech: information. The baseline for every civilization that has ever lived.”
“I wonder what they have on humanity. Perhaps one or two things that are true?” Sam snickered.
Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose. “What made them so certain we died in nuclear Armageddon? How much did they hide about us?”
“I don’t know, but my ship’s doctor wrote a paper in an ethics class about why it was morally just to execute you for your aggression. They didn’t teach anything good about you,” I offered.
Samantha beamed with mock excitement. “Wow, what a splendid ethics class, and a rousing thesis by the good-hearted doctor! Meanwhile, our physicians swear an oath to do no harm. I’m glad that prey are so much more well-versed on right and wrong.”
Tyler struck a puzzled expression. “I took an ethics class in college, before I dropped out of that shit-hole to piss off my old man. Best decision of my life. Anyhow, there were some interesting dilemmas they brought up in that class. The trolley problem is about if it’s ethical to ever do harm, but for good, you know?”
“I don’t. What’s the trolley problem?” I asked.
“There’s a train going down a track toward five people. You can pull a lever so it only hits one dude on another path instead. Should you?”
“Why does anyone have to get run over by a train? Did Onso make this garbage up?”
The Yotul flashed his teeth with a growling sound, pinning his ears back against his head. I didn’t see why my question was objectionable; he was the one with an affinity for outdated trains, to the detriment of advancement. The marsupial made a point of lamenting railroad destruction when we first met.
“Oh, fuck off.” Tyler rolled his blue eyes, and raised his hands in exasperation. “Your ethics classes wanted to genocide our whole planet!”
Carlos nodded. “And us predators talk about killing the least amount of people. Even I see the irony.”
“The Federation has no redeeming attributes,” Sam hissed. “Guess we’re gonna get to see Baldy’s real culture soon. Then we’ll know if the rest of the galaxy used to have a brain.”
My spines bristled, at the thought of uncovering the original Gojid culture. While I knew that the Federation committed similar atrocities as omnivorous and predator races, it was still painful to think of our real history being flaunted in front of me. What if the Terrans could throw past atrocities in my face, and hammer home the fact that a species’ empathy wasn’t a prevailing factor against cruelty? I couldn’t imagine how it felt for the predators to continually defend their past.
If our past culture was depraved, I don’t want it rebuilt or brought back. We could’ve been like Onso’s kind, killing our own people over food.
The fact that I was worried about our discoveries meant I’d accepted the ludicrous idea that the Farsul had institutions beneath the waves. Perhaps I trusted the humans too much, but it was a rare occasion when they were off the mark. They’d been a reliable source of information, even if they weren’t often forthcoming. I studied Captain Fournier as he presided over the bridge; his words on submarine capabilities left me shaken.
Understanding why the predators behaved with such a laissez-faire attitude toward extinction was a moot point; worrying for them was the emotion I couldn’t squash. I knew the three humans from my shuttle were all from different tribes on Earth. If we won this war and peace prevailed in the galaxy, what was to stop the Terran settlements from pointing doomsday weapons at each other again? Would Samantha and Tyler be trying to kill each other?
There were certain crevasses in humanity’s history that were like a mirror, when the comparisons were spelled out in plain fashion. However, in this area, I wasn’t worried about similarities being unearthed. There was an inherent difference in our species’ aggressivity that was evident, given our contrasting sensibilities. It bothered me, knowing that Terrans were not suited to long-term cooperation with each other.
“Can your aggression ever truly sto—” I started to blurt.
A sonar supervisor barked words in a commanding voice, after receiving a broadband communique from her team. “Two matching acoustic signatures, 200 meters out. We’ve put a tracker on them and forwarded the data to weapons.”
Captain Fournier clasped his hands behind his back. “Two contacts, 200 meters out. We’ll log the sound patterns in our database. Maintain battle readiness and prepare to fire on my command.”
With enemy submersibles sighted, the crackpot underwater base theory looked more plausible. Onso’s eyes lit up, as the human shipmates coordinated various actions. I could see a security feed of the torpedo bay, where predators were prepared to physically load replacement weapons from racks. The munitions looked massive, even compared to a predator’s unyielding frame. Other Terrans were tending to pre-loaded tubes, hooking up communications cables.
The wires do seem a little primitive, but it’s stealthy and immune to interference. The predators have extravagant tech, yet it’s only used when it’s optimal.
Much of the necessary procedures and checks could be done by weapons specialists on the bridge. Captain Fournier growled the order to fire two torpedoes, and fire control ejected the munitions through the muzzle doors. Without a viewport, I could only judge the launch’s success from received data. From what I could tell, the twin projectiles were propelling themselves in the wrong direction.
Onso had noticed my confused gaze. “Yeah, they’re aimed off-kilter, just at first. Makes it difficult for the enemy to tell where the missile came from…to track it. It’s like interfering with targeting on a starship.”
The Yotul’s explanation proved correct again; fire control routed the torpedoes back on course, after their initial journey. The Farsul submarines were oblivious to the incoming weapons, and with our minimalist noise, they might not detect anything until their vessels were annihilated. The predatory nature of this sneak attack wasn’t lost on me. The humans operated unseen, not alerting foes to their presence until it was too late.
The cables were cut once the torpedoes were in seeking range; the warheads’ active sonar was inescapable in close proximity. The pings tipped off the exact enemy locations, and allowed last second course corrections. Human engineering was perfect in orchestrating a kill, as I never should’ve doubted. They’d risen to every challenge hurled at them, from bringing drones into spatial warfare, to shield-breaking missiles. The ocean was an old, familiar hunting ground to them, so this fight was both natural and intuitive.
Sonar screens lit up with bursts of noise, painting a story of metal cracking like a dropped fruit. The power of our munitions contributed to the explosion’s loudness too; that level of energy output was anything but quiet. Stealth was no longer necessary though, with our submarine’s proverbial fangs planted in the Farsul’s throats. I could imagine the two submerged vessels being spliced into shrapnel, as the detonations clashed against their plating.
Captain Fournier conversed with the sonar supervisor, before turning to the bridge. “Two confirmed kills. Continue on a descent course, in the direction of those ships.”
“We go toward them, we’ll find the base,” I muttered.
Onso wagged his tail. “We find the base, we save the Yotul. We rid ourselves of their influence once and for all!”
Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Assuming they don’t wipe digital data or blow up the base, when all is lost. They love scorched earth, lightly suggested by the whole exterminator hoopla. Better destroyed than used by predators.”
“You are irony-poisoned.” Carlos shook his head lightly. “We get to the Archives, and we find what we can. Even if they wipe servers, who says our techies can’t recover it?”
Our submarine descended ever deeper, pressing ahead toward the real Farsul Archives. Talsk’s moon was falling above us, and space fleets were clashing around the deorbiting body. All the same, the real battle was a handful of stealth ships here, dishing out silent strikes. We remained vigilant for other enemies, knowing we were close to the base’s suspected location. If they spotted us first, then they would have a chance to strike before we could.
Is there any way to defend against an oncoming torpedo, if the Farsul have such weapons? It seems like you never sense them coming, and you can’t…look out a window.
Captain Fournier pursed his lips. “Sweep the area with an active sonar ping. We need to get a read on the terrain and hopefully, the base’s exact location.”
The sonar supervisor relayed the orders, and Onso tensed up a little. The Yotul whispered to me that active pings gave away our position, by transmitting our own sound into the water. However, sailing blind into unknown territory could end us crashing, or missing the base altogether. We had to hold our breath, and pray the Farsul wouldn’t pick us up. Their capabilities were unknown, but they must possess listening devices for deep-water travel to be possible.
Knowing that we were more than a thousand meters below water, I didn’t want to find out what would happen to us if the ship imploded. It was impressive that it wasn’t crushed by the outside pressure already, come to think of it. At this depth, atmospheric pressure couldn’t be suitable for land lifeforms. That was a fear I didn’t need to dwell on.
The acoustic energy illuminated the terrain for our sightless submarine, allowing the predators to map their surroundings. I listened to the bridge chatter, as they scrambled to classify nearby points of interest. Echo sounding confirmed we were close to the ocean bottom; it was level apart from a few elevation shifts. Deep-sea invertebrates sprouted skeletons on the sea floor, wherever space was available. The most promising sign was a wide area of unusual signal absorption, which was believed to be the base.
As nervous as I was about getting attacked, well out of any sun’s eye, it seemed like we’d gotten away with the emitted ping. Perhaps it was foolish to assign human competence to the Farsul. Why would they expect to see other vessels on the seafloor, armed with a predator’s tech? How could a prey animal even think of using detection methods, which hunted other ships down for making the slightest noise?
The sonar supervisor stiffened. “Torpedo in the water!”
Oh stars. At least the humans had picked up a telltale propulsion system from the torpedo, but that meant the Farsul knew we were here. While there were other UN submarines en route, none were flanking us or backing us up. The predators better have some insane defensive tactics, or we would wind up in a million pieces. I didn’t like the prospect of my lungs being crushed.
“Brace yourselves for inbound munitions!” Captain Fournier growled into a microphone. “Return fire toward the source.”
The Farsul submarine was patrolling just shy of the Archives base, and wasn’t, to our knowledge, joined by any comrades. While taking immediate defensive steps, the Terrans dubiously focused on getting their own torpedo into the water. Skepticism marked itself on my face, but Onso leapt to the predators’ defense. The Yotul claimed this counterstrike was to prevent the enemy from firing again. I could feel my heart crawl into my throat, as our own projectile was spit back with haste.
Our submarine reoriented itself in the opposite direction, away from the base, and fled at maximum speed. The incoming torpedo had the edge in speed, so it seemed futile to run away. I guessed that the munition had limited fuel; even so, its tank wouldn’t run dry quick enough. We dove as close to the seafloor as we could risk, and the sharp descent almost made me tumble down the bridge.
The Farsul’s torpedo was gaining ground, threatening to sink us. Captain Fournier, just like his counterparts in the stars, was cool under pressure; he waited for the munitions to lock onto us. The bearded leader shouted for a sonar decoy to be deployed. As the deceitful device jetted away, I squinted for clues on nearby screens. Per Onso, it unleashed a cloak of bubbles and jamming frequencies, scrambling the missile’s sonar-seeking systems.
“Did it w-work?” I wrapped my claws around Carlos’ arm with the bear tattoo, remembering not to cling to Samantha again. “I hate water. I’ll take death by vacuum any day.”
Carlos squeezed my paw awkwardly. “I don’t know if it worked. We always hope for the best, but no combat situation is a guarantee. Just breathe, buddy.”
Our submersible attempted to skirt the torpedo’s search area, while it was hung up on the false targets our decoy provided. We veered well off to the side, and ensured absolute silence. The Deep Core looped back around, tiptoeing past the range we’d been chased from. There was no sign of an inbound contact following us. I realized we had successfully fooled the munition’s homing logic; I released Carlos’ arm at last.
Perhaps it had been wise of the Terrans to impart a shot back. Our foes were too preoccupied to send more trouble our way; one torpedo was enough.
Those thoughts reminded me that we had taken offensive actions to counter theirs. Sniffing out the vessel that attempted to sink us was a priority. The torpedo we’d fired at the Farsul submarine hadn’t found its mark, as the enemy managed to pull nifty evasive maneuvers. However, their engines stirred up ample noise, with that sudden haste. Though they had avoided our first missile, I thought we had a clear target for our next round.
However, it was not necessary to expend another weapon on this nefarious submarine. The Terran torpedo missed its target the first time, but it doubled back for another pass without warning. On the second attempt, it struck true into the hapless Farsul’s frame; another hostile was ravaged in the blink of an eye. The humans had a perfect sinking score, proving themselves to be the more devious prowlers.
I doubted the Farsul expected anyone to get this close to their lair; all we had to do was poke at their defenses from a few angles. If this mop-up was representative of our disparate power, the other UN submarines must be closing in on the base too. In space, losses and hardships could be inflicted upon the predators. However, land and sea appeared to be their chief dominion, where their exceptional talents put them miles ahead of the competition.
The oceanic path to the Farsul Archives had been cleared, and soon, humanity might begin to reclaim the actual history of the multitude of Federation species.
A/N - 122! Sovlin is aboard the bridge as submarine combat occurs, and the humans prove superior both at firing and dodging torpedoes. Farsul security seems minimalist, though, now that the base has been located, it remains to be seen if more surprises wait within the archives. Do you expect significant resistance, or scorched earth? Do wild discoveries await our crew?
As always, thank you for reading and supporting! Hope you guys enjoyed the unique combat scene and naval showcase.
