The Nature of Predators - Arxur Cattle World Battle (2/6)

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Memory transcription subject: Zarn, Federation Infantry

Date [standardized human time]: February 27, 2137

Dawson was already awake by the time I stirred. He was warming some sort of liquid over a fire, which he had scooped out of a can. My stomach growled as the scent of food hit my nostrils. I hadn’t eaten a real meal since my deployment, and it was all I could do not to pounce on the cauldron.

“Good morning.” The human seemed more chipper today, and waved me over. “You’re an herbivore, right?”

I fixed him with a weird look. “Obviously. All sentients are except…”

“The Arxur. I know.” His tone became terse again. He dumped some liquid into a bowl and passed it to me, before fixing a portion for himself. “Here. Vegetable stew.”

All semblance of propriety abandoned, I slurped the soup from the bowl before he could hand me a utensil. The food was acidic and nourishing, and a wave of pleasure flooded my brain. A huffing sound emanated from Dawson’s chest, which my translator identified as laughter. He rose to his feet, carrying his own serving.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To eat in privacy.”

“I don’t mean to insult your culture, but you don’t want to eat together? You haven’t taken that mask off in front of me, not even to sleep.”

“You wouldn’t speak to me if I did,” he muttered. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

I thought about arguing, but I didn’t want to drive off my only source of food and water. These humans were strange, moody creatures. What had Dawson meant by that comment? Maybe he had scars on his face, or some kind of physical deformity that he was ashamed of. I wondered how I could make him trust me.

The biped returned a short while later, clutching an empty bowl. This was my chance to smooth over whatever had gone awry. I gave the human a friendly tap with my tail, which seemed to startle him.

“Thanks for the food. I’m sorry if I offended you somehow. That wasn’t my intention,” I said.

Dawson tilted his head. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Okay…well, why don’t you tell me about Urt?”

The human laughed. “Earth, but sure. It really depends what part you visit. There’s cities with buildings that touch the skies. They’re loud, modern, densely populated: people are always running somewhere. Then, there’s the more rural areas. You have crop fields as far as the eye can see, and without the light pollution of the cities, you can see the stars at night. I prefer that quietness.”

“We used to build tall on Takka too. Most of our cities got rebuilt underground after the Arxur…deconstructed them. A lot of the land got repurposed by the military since the war, but grain farms are still around. Someone’s got to feed the army. What’s human culture like?”

“I wouldn’t say there’s one human culture, Zarn. We’re a tribal species, which means we sort of identify with smaller subgroups based on locality. They tend to have different tastes in cooking, philosophy, music, and so on.”

“We like music too! Not every species does, you know. There’s always amateur musicians playing in the central caverns. We’re not fractured into factions as you say you are, though. We have one of the longest-standing democracies in the Fed—”

Dawson raised a hand to stop me. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

I blinked in confusion. “Hear what?”

“I swear I heard gunfire. Stay here.” The human started for the exit, grabbing his rifle. “If anything comes back that isn’t me, shoot it.”

I wasn’t sure whether Dawson was imagining the noise, but I had no intention of letting my friend charge into danger alone. My hands found my own gun, and I slunk out of the tent with careful steps.  The heat pressed down on me like a thick blanket, and the dust swirling in the air made it impossible to see more than a meter in front of me. Squinting at the ground, I loped after the human’s bootprints.

Several pops echoed from my right, piercing the air. I scampered off in that direction, readying my weapon. Was Dawson in trouble? The two of us had no chance against an Arxur: their reflexes were quicker than ours, and they were much better at functioning under stress. For us normal sentients, the fear chemicals made it difficult to think straight or hold a gun steady.

A trail of red liquid was splattered on the ground, which had the consistency of blood. My heart sank in my chest, and tears welled in my eyes. Arxur blood was green, so that meant the human had been hit. For all of Dawson’s weirdness, it was nice to have a traveling companion. We had just been discovering what our species had in common, and now, I was never going to speak to him again. Hell, I was probably going to be picked off next.

As I reached the end of the blood trail, I saw the human’s silhouette. Dawson was staggering forward, finger glued to his rifle trigger. I noticed that his hands were completely steady, despite the high-stress situation and his wounded state. He even seemed to be tracking a target in real time, turning the gun with smooth precision. What kind of species was this?

The human stopped shooting and sank to his knees. “Got ‘em. Headshot.”

I don’t know if he was speaking to himself, or if he somehow sensed my presence. Peering through the dust, I could make out a downed Arxur on the ground. There was no way that Dawson had taken out one of them alone…it wasn’t possible!

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. The human could be questioned later. Right now, he was hurt and needed my help. I rushed to his side and, through gritted teeth, began dragging my friend the short distance back to the tent. My muscles burned from the dead weight, but worry spurred me onward. There was so much blood, and that meant there was no time to waste.

I pulled Dawson onto a cot, and stood for a moment, panting. Think, think, think! If the human had a first aid kit, it would be in the satchel.

“Get out of here. While you still can,” a strained whisper came from behind me.

I rummaged through the bag, looking for any items of interest. “I’m not leaving you. Where is your first aid kit?”

Dawson hesitated. “The toolbox with the red cross on it.”

I pulled out the requested item, trying to calm myself. All Federation soldiers received basic medical training, so stitching up a wound was within my capabilities. Pick out a needle and thread, disinfect the site, then patch it up. Easy.

Curiosity tingled in the back of my mind as opaque goggles stared back at me. I called Dawson a friend in my mind, yet I had never seen his face. If the human was going to die, I wanted to look into his eyes one time. Whatever his secret was, this could be my last chance to know the truth.

Dawson protested weakly as I wrapped my hands around his mask. Why would he worry about appearances with the last scraps of strength? What could be that terrible? Before any doubts could cross my mind, I slipped the goggles off his face. A wave of revulsion and terror nearly stopped my heart in my chest. Those feral eyes were all I needed to see to know my companion was a predator.

An undignified yelp escaped my lips. I crawled backward with haste, eager to put as much distance between us as possible. I had spoken to this thing, slept across from this thing, taken food from it. It suddenly made sense why Dawson had been upset by my comments on predators; it hadn’t been about the Arxur at all.

The human had tricked me for days, playing like it was one of us. It mimicked emotions to perfection, and was way too cerebral for a predator. It had even been likeable, at certain points. Basically an Arxur, but more intelligent. The thought made my skin crawl.

Crimson blood pooled on Dawson’s stomach, soaking through the padded clothing. This creature was dangerous. The color was draining from its pallid skin, and it seemed to be on the verge of passing out. I could let it die, without having to raise a finger.

The human had saved my life though. Why had it even bothered? Did I not owe it reciprocity?

My hands shook and my heart pounded in my throat, but something compelled me to inch closer. Cursing myself, I began to mend the human’s wound.

Hopefully, helping a predator wouldn’t be my final mistake.

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A/N - More original-version NOP! Dawson protects Zarn from the Arxur, but not without catching a bullet and ending up in a bad way. Our narrator pulls off the human’s mask out of curiosity, and learns exactly what his traveling companion is…

What do you expect Zarn to do with Dawson, and will he be willing to listen? Will taking down an Arxur make a difference? Did you enjoy the vintage lore about the Triceratakkans?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!