The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Slanek, Venlil Space Corps

Date [standardized human time]: December 15, 2136

This was my human’s first visit to Venlil Prime, and for that matter, to any alien world in a non-military capacity. Tyler and Onso tagged along on our escapade, along with Virnt and a miserable Birla. The Tilfish child’s outburst unnerved me, until I remembered Marcel’s words about people who were harmless, but different. Predator disease was propaganda, and these specific symptoms needed scientific evaluation.

General Birla agreed to let the humans observe her child’s behavior, which proved she was desperate for help. I could tell she would’ve preferred to return to Sillis. Marcel’s reminder that the Federation would torment Virnt might’ve been the wake-up call Birla needed. The Tilfish general was still hesitant to leave her son alone with a predator therapist. However, Virnt wasn’t dropping his “humma” obsession, and was making life difficult for his mother.

An explanation was said to be coming, but the Terrans wished to stretch their legs before tackling serious matters. Marcel marveled at the circular designs of the roads, and even knelt to press a palm to the fall-absorbent sidewalks. Humans didn’t stampede-proof their major cities, from what I’d seen on Earth. Meanwhile, Virnt rode on Tyler’s shoulder; the blond-haired soldier had warmed up to the little Tilfish.

“Faster! Hummas never get tired,” the Tilfish child cheered. “Run across whole planet!”

Birla flicked an antenna suspiciously. “That’s…true enough. Care to explain, Marcel?”

The red-haired human smirked. “I do not.”

“You never do. Where are we even going?”

“A good question. When I asked, he told me, ‘Out,’” I chimed in. “Humans are irritatingly nonspecific. But trust me, don’t ask about them not getting tired.”

Virnt played with Tyler’s earlobe. “Humma chase prey…forever?”

The Tilfish general stopped walking down the streets of Venlil Prime, as the viability of that guess dawned on her. The blond-haired human stiffened; his canines gnawed at his lower lip, clearly discomforted. Marcel leapt up from admiring the sidewalk, and shot a desperate look at me for assistance. I slapped my tail across his nose dismissively, which earned a disbelieving scoff.

“Interesting,” Onso muttered. “That explains why our exchange program banned ‘cardiovascular exercise.’”

Tyler jumped in with a hurried subject change. “Ey Slanek, you asked where we’re heading? Wonder boy here wants to go to a Venlil rescue facility, after he’s done making out with the sidewalk.”

“I was just curious what it was made of!” Marcel wringed his hands through his hair, eyes narrowed with indignation. “It looked like obsidian. Come to think of it, I’ve never asked if Venlil Prime has volcanoes.”

“We do. Most are dormant,” I answered.

Birla still looked rattled by Virnt’s observation. “Wait, what is a Venlil rescue facility? A place for exchange pairings that have gone…wrong? Even your answers only raise more questions.”

“Humans have been freeing people from Arxur cattle farms, starting with the Venlil. Mawsle here—” Tyler began.

“Not my name. It’s four fucking syllables, man. Marcel Fraser.”

“As I was saying, Mawsle Phaser wants to tour the rescued Venlil’s place of residence. Word is, the poor souls just found out we have some unfortunate eyes; it’s pandemonium. All the places we could go, free on an alien planet, and he wants to be a Good Samaritan.”

“No one ordered you to come with me! Hell, I only asked Birla and the little man, because we’re meeting with a friend, of sorts. She was going to help me explain a few things about Virnt.”

“I am surprised he’d spend his leisure time on such…serious matters,” Birla responded.

“Oh, of course he would.” Tyler pressed a hand to one side of his mouth, and leaned toward the Tilfish general conspiratorially. “Marcel walks on water. His shit doesn’t stink.”

Onso gave a devious ear flick. “Don’t you mean Mawsle?”

“Humma Mawsle!” Virnt agreed.

“Nulia will be so happy that your nickname is catching on,” I said, in a sickly-sweet voice. “It’s so mature of you to accept it. You’re a great adoptive father, Mawsle.”

“Gah!” Marcel’s voice took on a bellowing quality, and he fixed a glare inches from my face. I was unimpressed by his charade, and his dazzling eyes had no effect on me. “I’m gonna have Monahan start the ship and leave without ALL of you!”

The Yotul snorted. “Good luck with that. You’re the new guy here. Also, if you think you can give the Cap’n orders, you’re in for a rude awakening. She doesn’t fuck around. I like her.”

Onso’s aggression was notable from the moment I met him; he was my first real contact with a Yotul. It had seemed like a lousy joke when I heard that Tyler was accepted into an exchange program, but I realized how little censoring was needed with this species. Once, I would’ve been leery of this fact, but something about their flippancy made sense. Perhaps this young spacefaring race were the only ones who understood the violent undercurrent I’d unearthed in myself.

I’m learning to trade predatory quips with the Terrans, just like Onso does. I certainly like him a lot more than Tyler’s inexplicable packmate, Sovlin.

Interest flashed in Onso’s eyes, as he noticed my neutral gaze on him. The Yotul wrapped his tail around mine, and dragged me ahead of the predators. Despite Marcel’s dawdling, we were almost at our destination; the current location of the rescue program was a gated institution, per the news broadcasts. Terran soldiers stood by the zig-zagged entrance, and pointed their large assault rifles at the ground.

“You’re the first herbivore that’s treated me as an equal. That hasn’t called me primitive, uplift, or shown open disgust when I speak aggressively,” Onso offered.

I straightened my ears in surprise. “Uh, I know what it’s like to be disparaged, I guess. Tell you what. You don’t call all Venlil weak and emotional, and I won’t use any names against the Yotul.”

“Deal. But I reserve the right to insult you on a personal level.”

“Likewise. I’ve been around humans longer than you…I’m learning.”

“Ha, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be, especially from what Tyler said about you. You’re not put off by ribbing.”

“Onso, I’m not the one to judge you for that. I probably have predator disease—”

“Shut the fuck up! Never repeat that again. You hear me? You have no idea what they’ll do to you; I’m not talking about humans. Your own people will bleed your soul.”

“Okay…sorry. I’m just saying without my instincts in the driver’s seat, I’ve been more aggressive and unstable. Charging into battle, killing.”

“Shit, you Venlil were probably all sorts of fired up before the Feds got to you. I bet they went to great lengths to tame you. And you probably were a highly empathetic race from the start, but they distorted that. Pick the parts you like and discard the rest.”

“They did that to the Yotul?”

“Yes. It’s surprising, but nice, to have a non-human believe me. Thanks, Slanek.”

Onso broke off our chat, and Tyler raised a questioning eyebrow. Passive concern had lingered in the blond human’s gaze for the entire trip; the Yotul must’ve shared something with him to elicit this response. The marsupial hissed in annoyance, when Tyler rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. Marcel picked up on the tense undercurrent, and narrowed his eyes at the duo.

“Is everything alright?” my human asked.

Onso bared his teeth. “It’s good that you left Dino on the ship.”

“Of course it is.” Birla shuddered, just thinking of the dog. I’d become partial to the domesticated predator, because of his docile behavior. “We wouldn’t want that thing terrorizing Venlil, at a cattle facility, no less.”

“Rescue facility,” Marcel corrected.

“Onso is right. Trust me, two humans are terrifying enough to look at, if you’re not used to it. You’ve both been very nice to me and Virnt, but it’s still a lot. Dogs would have Venlil catatonic on the floor…a public safety hazard.”

The Yotul lashed his tail. “What I meant is they’d burn Dino alive. Harder to do, with him on a ship.”

“Why burn doggy?” Virnt asked.

“Because the dog doesn’t fit with their narrative of predators being evil, and it should suffer for that. That’s why they tried to slaughter the humans—”

Tyler nudged his friend. “That’s enough! Kids don’t need to be told about death and suffering.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The UN guards at the entrance shared a glance, having heard enough of our conversation. They formed a human wall, moving closer together to block our entrance. We’d deposited ourselves at the facility gate, without any of us noticing the journey was complete. The red-haired officer showed them something on his holopad, and engaged in a series of hushed whispers with the guard.

“This is a sensitive situation, sir, with mass panic abounding,” a guard said. “The only names on this communique are you, the Venlil, and a ‘Birla.’ Even with Ms. Rosario’s invitation, such a large group is inadvisable.”

Marcel shook his head. “Tyler and I would be happy to wear masks. Virnt is an actual child, and Onso’s part of our crew…he can’t be the only man left out, right?”

“The problem is that these Venlil know what’s under the masks now, sir. They think we’re slavering predators who go mad for a lick of blood. When they see large groups of us, they think it’s a hunting pack. I know, it’s batshit crazy, but—”

“Marcel!” A female Terran with dark curls waved a hand at us, and flashed her teeth. Rosario…Sara Rosario, the human astronaut, had invited us? “Come on in, and bring your friends. I’m sure they won’t be any trouble.”

The UN guards stepped to the side, and cleared a path. They took a few extra steps back as Birla passed, which led me to question the wisdom of bringing her here. What if bringing a Tilfish around stressed-out “Gaians” caused them to panic too? This place was a powder keg already; we didn’t need to tempt fate. The last thing I wanted was to disrupt crucial work done toward human acceptance.

However, the Odyssey astronaut seemed unfazed by the Tilfish; the glint in her eyes was a mix of wonder and curiosity. I could only imagine how giddy Sara had been at first contact, partaking in mankind’s first opportunity to examine extraterrestrial life. Marcel and I had encountered this influential human twice: throughout my instincts training, and during his painstaking recovery at the outpost. In our first meeting, she had asked if I wanted to seek a new partner, to ensure I wouldn’t ditch him in his lowest moments.

I think Sara was pleased when she saw I cared about him as a person. She’s probably used to being treated like a faceless monster.

The renowned predator sped back to the facility, and our group followed without comment. I saw humans in opaque helmets wandering the hallways; their postures screamed exhaustion and frustration. On scattered security feeds, I could see Venlil rescues in lifeless stupors. Only a small percent were engaging with their caretakers, and those interactions were filled with tears and fears.

“S-sara?” A timid voice came from a spare room, where I saw a Venlil poring over an interactive textbook. Her coarse pelt looked a bit ragged, though it was showing signs of recovery. “This says your ancient theaters could house tens of thousands of people.”

Sara quickened her pace. “That’s right, Haysi. Curiously enough, that’s still the size of many modern stadiums.”

“You’re telling me tens of thousands of humans, from primitive hunting days, could amass in a central venue, and none of them would kill each other?”

“Correct. We can be entertained without any violence.”

“That’s…remarkable.”

“It’s not that remarkable,” Onso chimed in.

The Venlil’s head snapped up, as our posse filtered through the doorway. She yelped in alarm, and her mottled ears pinned back against her head. Haysi couldn’t seem to decide whether to be more afraid of scarred Marcel or towering Tyler. Her fear turned into a full-fledged scream, as both humans smiled. The rescue was gone in a flash, shimmying behind a bookcase.

Sara frowned. “Haysi’s shy around newcomers. Still doesn’t like humans she doesn’t know, and has to take breaks even from being around me. It’s progress though; I’m just happy she let me back into her life.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but is there a reason we’re here? I was told you could help with Virnt,” Birla clicked.

“Yes. Why don’t we discuss this out in the hall, and give Haysi some space?”

The Terran scientist steered us back out into the hallway, finding an isolated corner to hold our discussion. She whispered something to Tyler, who flashed her a thumbs up gesture. The blond human took Virnt over to a vending machine, and allowed him to play with the buttons. I eyed the receptacle with longing, wondering if the predators had imported potato chips. Birla sported a look of focused concern, worried about what the humans might say.

Marcel says that predator disease encompasses thousands of unique conditions. That means humans likely have a narrower diagnosis for Virnt.

“I read what Dr. Bahri sent me, and I agree with her advice,” Sara said in a low voice. “As for why my help has been enlisted…I’ve interacted with aliens at length, so I understand your views on mental health as well as our own. Based on what we’ve seen, Virnt would benefit from an autism screening with a specialist.”

“Autism?” Birla echoed. “That word didn’t translate. Is it…what’s the prognosis? What are you going to do with him?”

“Well, not to confuse it with the umbrella term ‘predator disease,’ but autism itself is a spectrum. It can present with any combination of traits and behavior patterns. In general, simplistic terms, social difficulties and repetitive interests are the common denominator. Humans appear to be one of Virnt’s special interests.”

“…okay. How do I fix it? Please, you have to cure this interest!”

“It doesn’t work like that, Birla. You’d be better off finding ways to help Virnt deal with his unique challenges, rather than trying to change him. We’re working with alien biology here, so there’s no telling if your brains present the same as humans. But I have a pamphlet here, with an overview of common symptoms in our species.”

“This…this can’t be happening. You said you could cure him, Marcel!”

Marcel scratched his scalp. “Virnt is most likely neurodivergent. He’s not broken, he’s just different. I know in your heart, you love him and accept him for who he is. You don’t want him to change; you want him to be happy.”

“And of course, again, we’re judging this based on our criteria for our species.” Sara wagged her pointer finger, as though drilling the message into Birla’s skull. “With the Federation’s take on mental health, it’s difficult to get any accurate data sets. There’s nothing to go off of, and no telling how your conditions mirror or diverge from ours.”

I listened in contemplative silence, and mulled over the qualities that Sara had outlined. It was a shame that Birla’s pamphlet was translated into the Tilfish lexicon; I couldn’t read the full explanation. The scientist hadn’t listed anything threatening to the herd as part of Virnt’s condition. This sounded like a disconnect with social norms, and a lack of diversity in interests.

Under Federation rule, would a harmless child like this little guy become an outcast…or worse?

Awkwardness caused me to shuffle my paws. “Uh, Sara? Would you mind going into a bit of detail about the symptoms on the pamphlet? I’m curious. I’d like to have something in my head other than predator disease to fall back on.”

“On Earth, most individuals on the spectrum have sensory issues,” she replied. “They often don’t like change, even minor ones, like when Virnt was told he couldn’t go to Earth. The good news is that Virnt doesn’t seem to have the learning or speech impediments we see in the most severe forms.”

Birla twisted her antennae. “Virnt is very bright. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge. I wish there was something I could do to help him though.”

“There is. Be supportive of his interests and be patient with him. He may need help expressing his feelings appropriately, as well as distinguishing the feelings of others. He might have difficulty relating to his peers, so an accepting mother could lessen his loneliness and his struggles.”

Tyler approached the group with slow steps, and the conversation hushed at once. Virnt was picking at a package of Terran fruit snacks. Rather than stuffing a red one into his mandibles, the Tilfish child tried to cram it inside the blond human’s ear. Onso had a laugh at his partner, as the big guy swatted at his head.

“You fucking terror. Help!” Tyler yelped.

Marcel snickered, before prying Virnt away from the tall predator. My friend returned the fruit snacks, but was careful to keep the Tilfish out of reach of his auditory canals. Sara had a good-natured smirk on her face, though Birla seemed mortified by her son’s mischief.

The Tilfish general scuttled forward. “I am so sorry, Tyler.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” my red-haired buddy jumped in. “Tyler’s just not used to having anything inside his head. It must be nice for him to see what it’s like.”

The blond human raised his fist. “Sara, can you ban him from the exchange program already? That’s predatory behavior there.”

“Why would I ban the cutest duo in the whole program, even if I had that authority?” The Terran scientist flashed her teeth at me, and I ducked my head. “Seriously, Birla, read the pamphlet. I’ll forward information to Marcel about a screening. The advice of a specialist is better than my general knowledge.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that you’ve been so kind to a random child. Anyone but predators would–”

“I don’t need a reminder. The last twenty years of my life were like someone else lived them. Fuck the Federation,” Onso hissed.

Sara furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fucking splendid, but I’m going to crack some Farsul’s skull before I call it even.”

“Well then. I’ll be happy to show you guys around the facility, and we could use the extra hands…paws. There will be no violent or anti-Federation talk around these Venlil, okay? Please, whatever you’re going through, leave it at the door.”

The Yotul flicked his ears in acknowledgment, as all three humans surveyed him with worry. There must be something about Onso’s backstory that only Tyler knew; from what I had gauged, the Federation diagnosed this marsupial with predator disease due to his aggression. He could’ve been me, after my reckless behavior on Sillis.

Onso was right, when he told me not to use the words “predator disease” to refer to myself. Even if it was a Venlil’s natural state, the humans were the only ones that understood that. I had thought about visiting my family while I was on Venlil Prime, and introducing them to Marcel. However, the fact was that I belonged with predators more than my own people now.

The dark truth had been right in front of my face, every time I felt shame over my own transformation. My parents wouldn’t recognize me anymore; they would reject me, if they realized what a violent man I had become. It took coming home to realize that the old Slanek was dead; there would be no return to normalcy.