The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Captain Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command

Date [standardized human time]: October 8, 2136

The Federation fleet entered warp in harmonious accord, and our voyage to Earth commenced on schedule. I was less-than-thrilled with the extraneous additions to my crew; Krakotl officers were preferred to the reserved exports of another species. Our diplomats stressed that this was an interplanetary effort, and forced my talons.

While I understood the necessity of building group cohesion, the Farsul they implanted as operational first officer was already asking questions. His name was Thyon; to my understanding, he was a personal favorite of their high elder. That didn’t buy him any favor on my vessel. The Krakotl Alliance was the entity that planned this mission, down to the gritty details.

My crew was chosen because of their special attributes, and I trust them. You never know who can keep their head in battle until you’ve been there.

Thyon scrunched his droopy ears. “Why are Terran colonies not on the bombing agenda? The data dump suggested humans had settlements on the red world and their moon. There’s research outposts in the gas giant moons, asteroid mining operations, orbital telescopes and—"

“I get it. But Earth is the priority,” I replied. “Other than military installations, the rest can be cleaned up afterwards.”

The Farsul wiped the mucus from his nose. “The plans for a follow-up operation should be drawn up now. We have to stay prepared!”

“What is there to prepare for? The predators can’t muster a semblance of our numbers.” I puffed my feathers out in a display of intimidation. “You know Thyon, I much prefer Jala as my XO. She doesn’t nitpick everything.”

“You keep strange company, Kalsim. There’s something wrong with Jala. She seems…off.”

There was a comment that had some basis to it, though I wasn’t ready to take an outsider into my confidence. Jala was diagnosed with a rare cognitive disorder that entailed not producing the neurotransmitters for fear or affection. This caused a deficiency in empathy; her responses to situations were often tasteless.

Most Alliance officers wouldn’t have allowed such individuals in their crew. However, the benefit of a person that didn’t panic or lose focus couldn’t be understated. As long as she didn’t have to deal with the interpersonal side of things, Jala was the finest officer in my crew. I credited her as the reason we were the most effective ship in the Alliance armada.

“That is Captain Kalsim to you,” I spat. “Jala follows orders and makes the right calls. She’s still my second even now, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Captain, I see we’ve gotten off on the wrong paw.” Thyon’s slender tail curled across the floor, twitching with restlessness. “I’d rather be on a Farsul vessel too, but this is where we are. Can we try to make the most of it?”

I tossed my beak. “Fine. But did you have to start tearing everything apart, the second you came aboard?”

“I like to know who and what I’m working with. Every captain has a different background, and a different way of running things. The more I know about you, the more useful I can be.”

“Then I’ll keep it short and sweet. I started off as an extermination officer. I’m still one really, just with a starship and a title.”

Thyon’s whiskers twitched, as my former profession registered in his mind. There wasn’t a better vocation to prepare a person for eliminating predators. It taught how to destroy a monster’s habitat and prevent any chances of survival. Sapient extermination wasn’t that different, except that there was more land to torch with the breadth of a planet.

There was a buzzing sound at the door, and I peeked at the security feed. The other Federation implant on my crew was the new medical officer, though the peculiar aspect was the species. The doctor was a Takkan veteran. The Takkan Coalition had been outed as one of the parties amenable to a full alliance with humanity.

For some reason, this Takkan individual had thrown himself onto a transport and begged to join our raid. The newly-demoted Jala escorted him to my quarters, per my request. It was a mystery why a medical practitioner would want to fly toward a predator’s homeworld. My own doctor deserted, when she learned the fleet’s destination.

It could be a simple case of this Takkan despising his government’s rhetoric. Still, I want to look him in the eye and demand his reasons.

“Come in,” I growled to the intercom. “Thyon, you can stay if you want.”

The Farsul thumped his tail. “Yes, sir.”

“I can’t believe he’s stolen my post,” Jala snapped. “We’ll settle this later, soft ears.”

I glowered at the female Krakotl. “Don’t mind her. Please, come in, Doctor.”

The Takkan male strode through the door, and plopped himself in a chair without waiting for permission. His tough hide was silver, about the same hue as my ship’s metallic walls. Those tri-toed paws wiggled enough to grasp objects, though I found his kind much clumsier than Krakotl surgeons. Few species compared to how well our talons could sink into or wrap around things.

I jabbed a talon at the doctor. “What is your name?”

“Zarn, sir.”

“Alright. Tell me, what is a Takkan doing, volunteering for a mission like this?” I squawked.

“When I landed on Aafa to share that the Gojid cradle was annihilated, I discovered that my species betrayed the Federation in my absence. It was horrifying…shameful. Captain, I want to put an end to this alliance, permanently.”

I nodded my beak, and contemplated his words. If we returned from deployment to find the Alliance cozying up to predators, it might push me to renounce my citizenship as well. Then again, a doctor shouldn’t have devoted his entire life to extermination. Why would Zarn feel compelled to take such drastic measures?

“Wait, if I may, you were stationed in Gojid space?” Thyon interjected.

Zarn swished his tail. “Yes. I was working under Captain Sovlin. We were the first vessel to encounter a human.”

My eyes snapped toward him. “I heard. Everyone heard! What you lot did was cruel and disgraceful. I don’t know that I want you on this ship.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain? It was a human, not an actual sapient. That abominable…freak deserved to rot for eternity. All predators do.”

The captive Terran pilot in their custody could no longer pose any threat, yet Sovlin and his lackeys granted it the slowest death possible. Extermination teams were swift and surgical, when our services were needed; suffering was never our goal. Listening to a helpless creature scream and knowing it was in unimaginable pain…that didn’t make anyone safer. The line that separated us from the Arxur was one that could not be crossed.

“Humans are true sapients, Doctor, make no mistake.” My feathers were ruffled as I offered the reproachful assessment. “I even believe they feel selective empathy. They’re pack predators, after all.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Thyon muttered.

“Why? Because I used to be an extermination officer?”

Zarn blinked in surprise. The doctor gave the appearance that he was about to contest my statements, but my field expertise was enough to make him reconsider. I understood predators better than most citizens of the Federation; humans weren’t as simple as they would like to believe.

“Captain Kalsim has a certain respect for humans. He thinks they’re interesting, as do I,” Jala chuckled.

The physician’s amber eyes bulged. “Interesting? Respect? They kill for sustenance!”

I puffed out my feathers for emphasis. “If you don’t respect a predator, you’re already dead. They’re not to be trifled with. Remarkably cunning.”

The Farsul officer tilted his head. “Your tone is almost reverent. Wouldn’t someone with your…skillset hate predators?”

“Thyon, you shouldn’t hate humans. They can’t help that they’re a disease, that they infect everything they touch. Bacteria don’t choose to be bacteria, and predators don’t choose to be predators. They just are.”

“So what are you saying? It sounds like you don’t believe in this mission,” Zarn snarled.

“Sure I do, but it shouldn’t be about hatred. I don’t derive any pleasure from killing billions; only a predator should. You should feel sorry for the humans, and be grateful that we were not born in such an accursed form.”

The doctor recoiled, and I could see indignation brewing in his eyes. The company this Captain Sovlin kept seemed like an extension of his own undisciplined behavior. It must have been difficult for Zarn to witness the cradle’s destruction, but his current behavior was unhinged. I wouldn’t want this Takkan cutting me open, if my life was in the balance.

“You pity a creature that is incapable of pity. It’s ironic,” Jala remarked, a sharp glint in her eyes.

Thyon’s nostrils flared. “Hey, I’m not following either, Captain. Why do you support wiping humanity out, if you feel sorry for predators?”

Few understood how terrible it was, to pour gasoline on a youngling as it cried for its mother’s milk. The first time I found a nest of predator pups, the guilt of killing them nearly caused me to quit. They were tiny, innocent and untainted by their parents’ atrocities. I broke down on the ride home, and asked my mentor how we could kill a baby for the way it was born.

There was cold logic in her explanation. Little predators become big predators, and reproduce exponentially. Within a few cycles, there would be a full-blown infestation; it wouldn’t be one set of pups we were killing.

“What happens if we don’t wipe them out? Humans will spread everywhere, and they’ll be in our systems in no time,” I answered. “This is our only chance to destroy them. We kill because we must.”

It was an unfortunate reality that Earth had to be eradicated. Unlike our incensed Ambassador Jerulim, I understood why most in the Federation couldn’t bring themselves to push the button. They were relieved not to have to wrestle with the moral conundrum, of killing a species that had yet to lash out. They didn’t want to spend the rest of their lives wondering if some predators could’ve been saved.

It was the same reason the Federation readily accepted that humanity destroyed itself with nuclear bombs, two hundred years ago. That was how this problem got so out of wing in the first place. The predators attained spacefaring capabilities without anyone realizing. Only a few months into their expeditions, humans had already caused the destruction of the Gojid cradle.

The longer we let Earth survive, the more Federation worlds will perish.

“We agree on this being our moral imperative, but that’s all we agree on.” Zarn leapt up from his seat, and swished his tail with impatience. “I’m here because I want to witness humanity’s death with my own eyes. I’m qualified—overqualified, even, and I know the enemy. Now, do you want my services or not?”

Jala snickered at the Takkan’s temperament. “I like this one, Captain.”

“Well, I do not, but it’s not like I have a suitable replacement,” I muttered. “You’ll follow my orders on this ship, Zarn. It’s not becoming of a doctor to have such little value for life.”

“I don’t need a lecture over how I feel toward predators. I value lives; our lives. Jala, show me to the medbay, now,” Zarn hissed.

The female Krakotl glanced at me for confirmation, and I curled my wing tip in a ‘Go on’ gesture. Something told me I needed to keep a close eye on the doctor. The kind of person that delighted in death and suffering would never have intentions that I could trust. Besides, it was a bad omen when the crewmate who took a shine to Zarn was a sociopath.

“That was an unpleasant discussion. What do you think, Thyon?” I asked.

The Farsul hesitated. “I think I have your back, sir.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. If you’re going to be my XO, then I expect you to speak freely behind closed doors.”

“Frankly, I’ve seen what happens after predators hit a world as well. There’s nothing to feel remorse over. I’ll sleep better when this mission is done.”

“Understood. Let’s head to the bridge, and keep watch for any Terran ambushes.”

My heart felt heavy as we set off together, and I wondered where my crew fell along the moral spectrum. Thyon missed the distinction between his feelings and Zarn’s, though perhaps he would realize in time. Unlike the doctor, the first officer was motivated by reasons that had nothing to do with the humans. His concern was the suffering he witnessed and any future threats, rather than pure vitriol.

That was the correct rationale for the destruction of Earth. This fleet would succeed in its duties, because there was no other option for our survival.