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The Nature of Predators 128
🕑 Added 2023-06-22 11:00:06 +0000 UTCMemory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, United Nations Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: January 16, 2137
With multiple crews having touched down at the Galactic Archives, we split up into teams. Tyler presented us with one hour to accrue the most essential data, and reconvene at the submarine to transport the intel elsewhere. In case anything went wrong, getting any information about “key species” off-world was critical. Venlil, Zurulians, Arxur, Yotul, and Krakotl were considered the top five; thankfully, my commander also honored my personal request to investigate the Gojids.
Officer Cardona decided to accompany Onso to the Yotul room, while also keeping watch over Farsul prisoners such as Veiq. Carlos wound up leading our small posse, roping a timid archivist into showing us the way. Hunter had acquired suitable attire from the submarine, and loped after us. If someone told me a day ago that I’d turn my back on a primitive predator, with a name that fit how I imagined their nomenclature, I would’ve laughed. However, my concerns about the ancient Terran had all but evaporated.
I have bigger issues on my plate, with what I’m about to seek out. This could destroy the little that’s left of my heritage.
To say I was terrified of the Gojids’ true history was an understatement. Depending on the degree of atrocities I uncovered, what was best for my species might be to bury it once and for all. Certain unsavory elements shouldn’t come back, no matter how egregious the Federation’s removal methods were. How would the rest of the galaxy perceive us, and our refugees, if we were at all similar to the Terrans’ past?
Shadows moved behind me, and I felt slight pressure on my spine. A yelp came from Hunter, who nursed his now-bleeding pointer finger; the primitive human had decided, without warning, to poke the end of a bristle. He brought it upon himself, touching a sharp object for no reason. Maybe Onso wasn’t so bad, compared to other creatures below a certain technological level.
“What compelled you to do that?” I spat.
Hunter shrugged. “Curiosity killed the cat. Only one way to find out how sharp it really is, you know? Say, why do you just have spikes on part of your back? It’s like there are blotches without it.”
“Well, let’s say they got lined up by a machine gun, and were ripped out of my spine by a stream of bullets. It hurt, it really hurt. They can’t regrow either because I’m fucking old, so Sam calls me Baldy to rub it in my face. Does that answer your question?”
“Ouch. Yeah, man.”
Carlos risked a curious glance back. “What year was it for you? You sound like you’re from the States.”
“1966. American, born and raised.”
“I used to wonder why aliens would target you crazy Yanks, in all the UFO tales,” Sam quipped. “Maybe they were drawn to you because of your media presence. Figured you represented us all; you act like you do.”
“Australian accent?”
“That it is. Now’s your chance for the kangaroo jokes. Never heard those before.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask about the glass rectangles you all have on your belts. Are those 22nd century TVs?”
I barely kept my disdain to myself, instead focusing on Carlos. The male guard was holding a Farsul prisoner at gunpoint; we’d entered a new hallway in search of the Gojid room. Again, I remarked internally how Onso was versed enough in technology to regurgitate a textbook, at least. He never questioned what basic things were, or showed such an obvious lack of knowledge. Hunter clearly knew very little about any technology.
“No, people still like their television sets large and mounted.” Samantha unclipped her holopad, unlocking it with facial ID. “This is a holopad…it actually can facilitate watching TV shows, though. Mostly, it’s used to access the internet and talk instantaneously with friends. You had phones in your time, right?”
Hunter huffed in indignation. “Phones existed since the 1800s! You’re telling me, that little thing…can call people?”
“With video streams, or send them written messages. The screens being 3D are a nice touch.”
“Okay. Streams like a river…is the video water-powered? And, uh, what’s the internet?”
Does he even know what a computer is? That’s going to be difficult to explain.
I attempted to withhold a derisive tone. “Streams are a live video feed. Does the word ‘computer’ mean anything to you? We should start there.”
“Yes, but that can’t be a proper computer. They take up entire rooms. Your ‘holopad’ could fit in a pocket. There’s no way that could have the necessary power, and you’re not even chilling the mechanisms!” Hunter exclaimed.
“We can pack enormous processing power into tiny chips, and perform functions more complex than you can imagine,” Carlos explained. “The internet is a way that computers communicate, all the way across the globe…and now, the galaxy. It’s basically a web for housing forums and information, and by now, it encompasses the collective knowledge of mankind.”
Samantha hummed in appreciation. “It is remarkable, really. You can ask a question, and a program scours that entire archive. Millions of results on any topic you can dream of—science, history, celebrities, entertainment—at your fingertips in seconds.”
“Wow! I can’t even understand how humans could build something like that. Research must be so easy for you. We had to scour books to find a single source, and you have millions of encyclopedias thrown into your lap. You have no idea how good you have it, do you?”
“Humans have come a long way from being primitive,” I acknowledged.
Carlos curled his fist, and started to round on me; that was before noticing that the Farsul had finished guiding us to the Gojid chamber. My spines bristled, sensing a grave threat in the information housed here. Grappling with the undisguised truth of our omnivory, and possibly seeing my own kind feast on flesh; I wasn’t ready for concrete evidence. The knowledge of my ancestry had almost sapped my will to live the first time, even with my unpaid debt to Earth. I felt disgusting, just dwelling on the loathsome facts.
My human companions weren’t as hesitant as me, skulking into the room. They barked orders, using their guns as motivators; Gojids were mixed in with the native staff, and part of me wondered if these were from the cradle’s primitive era. However, the fact that some called out “United Nations” suggested they were active conspirators, not captives. I tailed my comrades, sweeping my gun around the room for any threats. Hunter tiptoed after me, apprehensive about our locale. Samantha took the privilege of coercing the staff to lie on the ground.
Flexing a tattooed arm in menacing fashion, Carlos ordered the Farsul archivist who guided us here to unlock the mainframe. The conspiracy employee trudged forward, and leaned over a sensor for a retinal scan. Too soon for my liking, we had access to the grand collection; everything documented at Gojidkind was at my claws. Hunter fell in by my side, and arched a quizzical eyebrow. He didn’t understand why I was keeping away from the console, like it burned to the touch.
“Tyler said we have one hour to gather intel, but take your time,” Sam hissed.
I drew a deep breath, and hovered my claw over a series of folders. Carlos procured a drive, starting to download any files he could find. Should I have prevented the human from transcribing this info, at least until I reviewed the contents myself? Nerves hindered my breathing, as conscious thoughts diminished. My mind was in a trance, but I managed to pull up a piece labeled ‘Overview’, on screen.
“Welcome, archivists of the future, and congratulations on your promotions!” A Farsul voiceover thundered over the video feed, and I flinched at the volume. “This video will be a brief synopsis of species 92-A, who go by the name ‘Gojid.’ Millions of hours of pre-contact footage are available, to be sorted over the years by your diligent paws. I’ve compiled examples of the key aspects of their culture, and a conclusive analysis of their successful conversion.”
Hunter tilted his head, watching footage of prehistoric Gojids rigging a sailboat. The video scrolled through a series of clay houses, and sprawling orchards that didn’t look much different from the modern day. An overhead image of a village, with limited electric lights, completed the narrative. It slowly faded to black, void of narration, and switched to primitive cave artwork of workers tilling fields.
“The Gojids call their homeworld the cradle, a name that stems from a local deity: the Great Protector. As their creation myth goes, all of nature was crafted to be the perfect home for their species,” the Farsul declared on the recording. “The land provides, and She heeds their cries against threats by famine or beast. This has been their predominant religion since the advent of agriculture. Farming doctrine and the faith were spread alongside each other, with the locals claiming the Protector taught them how plants grew.”
Surveillance video showed Gojids sorting through a forest, and gathering up anything they could find. The camera lens zeroed in on half-eaten carcasses, which were thrown onto a cart by the primitives. These filthy members of my kind stopped short of a clearing, ducking into bushes. Splotchy, lean predators with massive fangs were stalking a grazing species, and downing as many of the prey as they could.
The Gojids are hiding because they saw the predators. That’s prey behavior, right?
A gunshot rang out, and the Gojids burst from the foliage with reckless abandon. One splotchy predator snarled in pain, as a bullet bore into its haunches. The primitive sapients were stretching their arms out to appear larger, and waving their claws around. To my bewilderment, the hunting animals dashed off without their prey; my people drove predators away from a catch, with aggression. The Gojids congratulated themselves, before collecting the kills.
The recording proceeded with an explanation. “Gojids are a scavenger species. They allow predators to do the dirty work, then swoop in to obtain the carcasses. Flesh is not a staple of their diet, but rather a pricey treat for occasional consumption. What you just witnessed is a family of market vendors, scrounging for cuts to sell to the upper class.
With this being an accepted cultural item, one of status even, it’s apparent to us that a cure is needed. The government, locally-elected settlement councils, even send out foraging parties during times of hardship; it’s endorsed as a method of survival by their very leaders.”
The footage transitioned to grainy images of starships landing, and stories plastered in prehistoric newspapers. CREATURES FROM ANOTHER WORLD — THEY COME BEARING GIFTS, the headline read. The front page image showed a priest of the Great Protector in conversation with a Kolshian. I managed to read a bit about a new future for Gojidkind, before the feed cut to pro-exterminator pamphlets.
My emotions were in turmoil, after seeing my kind scooping up predator food on film. Could I argue that the Farsul’s gift of the cure wasn’t a blessing? Was it that wrong to initiate a proper beliefs system?
“Their temperament toward aliens proved non-hostile. Formal reeducation seemed too extreme. With how invested Gojids were in ‘nature’, convincing them to adopt exterminators…they weren’t amenable to the concept. They laughed off our teachings, and spurned our ways. Conversion would go on to require decades of gradual effort.
Had the Gojids been introduced to the wider galaxy in a hurry, it would’ve been disastrous. But with the technology we gave them, how could they not come to love us? That was how we got our paws in the door, and it also let us slip our ideas into the public domain. We mixed the cure with life-saving medicines, and spread the rumor that it was a judgment from the Protector.”
Clips of Farsul transporting our priests to remote wilderness, and beginning excavations, played on the main screen. The time-lapse showed days of work, condensed into a span of minutes. Hunter and Samantha both were enamored with the landscape, between the jagged fronds on the trees and the sunset-orange sands. I was more focused on the tablets the archaeologists were digging up, and passing to Gojid observers for examination. Those were the Protector’s Stones; they were preserved in our planetary museum, and cited as its oldest texts.
“Of course, the Priesthood insisted that all of nature was created by their deity for a higher purpose. But after discovering the texts we planted, they did our work for us. Predators were cursed by bloodlust, tarnishing the Protector’s creation; they existed to threaten and kill. Her words! Gojids, the chosen, would be punished if they continued down the predator path…why else would they suddenly be dying from meat consumption? Within decades, we’d wiped all recollection of their scavenger past.”
I had already grown accustomed to the idea that our religion was falsified by the Federation. Fortunately, I’d never been an adherent of the faith, so it didn’t affect me. What was alarming was how easy it’d been for them to convince our entire planet those tablets were legitimate findings. History could be rewritten at their whims, and nobody would remember that it had once been different. Was this distortion of our primary faith necessary?
All things considered, the summative montage hadn’t been as horrific as I imagined, with a single incident captured of carcass collection; perhaps I could pass it off as a single tribe, and clear our name. The final pieces of the video were of Gojids at Federation summits, and patrolling on starships. I reminded myself that these clips were from before the Arxur’s discovery, to our knowledge. The military fixtures on the bridge seemed odd, and left me wondering if our aggression was that severe as to build war vessels.
Why would we need a military? For the exterminators to clear colonies, or for violent purposes?
“The Gojids had become model Federation members; they completed a slow, but smooth transition. Their malleability allowed us to fine-tune their temperament. We worked to elicit fleeing responses to predatory stimuli, of course. But their natural ability to tackle threats and protect their fields from harm made them the ideal military species, in a defensive capacity.”
I paused the video. “What?! They chose for us to become a powerful species, despite being omnivores? I knew they used the Krakotl, but we’re not that aggressive!”
“They co-opted your religion, poisoned you through doctors, and that’s what you focus on?” Hunter grumbled. “I don’t understand any of what I woke up to, but my head hurts.”
Samantha wagged a finger. “What’s with the chitchat? Finish the video, so we can pack it up. There’s only a few seconds left in this prick’s monologue, thank heavens.”
I played the Farsul’s endnote, at the human’s request. “Due to the Gojids’ location, it’s in the Federation’s interest to encourage their military growth. They could act as a safeguard, to keep Species 45-G in line, should those nightmares ever find their roots. Having a compliant asset mitigates risk of such aggression spilling over our borders unchecked. Thus, I’m grateful they’re stuck being 45-G’s neighbors. I expect Gojids to necessitate little correction, and to fulfill a stabilizing role…perhaps even pacifying the region.”
Carlos and Samantha looked mystified by the mention of “Species 45-G.” I was befuddled too, until I pondered the short list of Gojid neighbors. The Venlil were the weakest race in the galaxy, so it was obviously not them; the Zurulians specialized in healing, which wasn’t an aggressive practice. The Dossur couldn’t attack a cotton ball with their size. That led to the apparent answer: the Farsul must have discovered humanity before Hunter’s time—before they’d even discovered the Gojids.
Why wasn’t that documented in the Terran chamber? Why hadn’t cure research begun sooner?
“That’s certainly interesting.” Samantha, having not stumbled upon the only possible answer, waved her gun in the Farsul prisoners’ faces. “Who is Species 45-G? Are they dead?”
“Sorry, but I can’t tell you,” a staffer croaked.
I chewed at my claws. “Is it humans?”
“No. That video is from before the Arxur were discovered, let alone the Terrans. Use some modicum of logic.”
“Give us a straight answer, right now! We don’t have time for your games! Who is it?” Samantha roared. “We’ll find out eventually, with or without you in one piece.”
Carlos raised a placating hand. “It can’t be worse than what you’ve done to humans. A little late to start hiding things, don’t you think? Just give us a name to put with this 45-G designation.”
Without our history haunting me, I could focus on helping the United Nations pick apart other findings. I checked the progress of the humans’ data download, which showed as almost complete. Perhaps the last note could be used to make the Gojids respectable again. This mystery species must be one the Federation wiped out, which suggested Earth wasn’t the first planet they were willing to genocide. It seemed likely nobody had heard of 45-G, so we’d have to locate their extinct homeworld.
Pushing the focus onto the truly dangerous species might be good. It offers an unknown threat, and the Farsul complimented our civility by comparison.
The female predator bared her teeth. “Why aren’t you talking? Name. Spit it out!
“Why don’t you ask about something else?” The Farsul staffer gulped, as Samantha fired a bullet right next to his ear. “THE VENLIL! It’s the Venlil.”
Shock made my blood run cold, and the humans displayed equal surprise. Hunter showed no signs of disbelief, but he wasn’t familiar with the Venlil’s reputation. The Farsul must be fibbing with his answer, though it was bold to provide an obvious false response at gunpoint. Perhaps it was worth it to investigate what other Terran soldiers found in their greatest ally’s archive chamber.
A/N - 128 concludes the Sovlin Archives POVs! Hunter learns a bit about modern computing, but our human's culture shock is interrupted by the info dump in the Gojid chamber. Sovlin learns the truth about how his species scavenged, how the Great Protector religion was co-opted, and the Federation's intentions for them. However, the revelation of why they became a defensive military...who it was against, shocks everyone, even the humans...
What is the truth about the Venlil? Will Sovlin be able to find closure at long last, with the Gojid history uncovered? We also have to see the ramifications this has on the wider galaxy, and what Earth plans to do with the news...
As always, thank you for reading and supporting!
