The Nature of Predators - Sovlin’s Transcript (9/13)

First | Prev | Next

Memory transcription subject: Sovlin, Gojid Retiree

Date [standardized human time]: May 10, 2151

It couldn’t have been so easy as to have everyone I tried to track down be on Earth; it was miraculous that my streak had held up this far. Talpin lived on Khoa, the Mazic homeworld, making himself part of a sizable Gojid ethnic majority. Many of my people never returned to the cradle and Gojid territory, which was why we hadn’t bounced back in the roaring way humanity had. There was no fixing or restoring what my actions had caused my species to lose. It was a miracle that Rumi hadn’t held it against me, and even spoke up in my defense. I’d made “good points” that turned my comrades away from the gentle predators.

“You don’t have to be here for this,” I informed Sam immediately, once she picked up my call.

The Terran gave me a derisive snort. “Talpin didn’t fucking want to talk to you until I asked him to. I sort of do; I liked him, for the two seconds of basic interaction that made such a huge difference to you lot. Also…I haven’t used sign language since my brother died. It…”

Her distant expression snapped me out of my self-pity spiral. “Sam. Let me repeat myself. You don’t have to do this. I, of all people, know how hard it is when everything reminds you of the ones you lost.”

“Okay, no, we’re not fucking going there. I’m not going to ostracize all deaf people forever for fear of keeping a tissue box nearby; that sounds batshit insane. Besides, they’ve got enough people who don’t include or accept them, and I don’t need to be part of that.”

[Transcript date changed to October 13, 2129]

Four years under my command, and I knew Recel’s story like the back of my paw; I’d absorbed every detail I could about his family and his life on Aafa, in case he forgot anything. Every child deserved to know where they came from—to remember their home. He had a sister back in the Haf system who intended to be a biologist, and sent messages through the relay points expressing how proud she was of him. Aucel was her name. However, I got the impression that there was something more complicated about his history of siblings.

“There’s more to your family, isn’t there?” I prompted, having discerned enough context clues to take a guess. “Parents often don’t talk about it when they lose a child. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

The violet-skinned Kolshian hesitated, bulbous eyes glowing with uncertainty. He was getting so big. “Everything I’ve done is to protect my family. What I don’t say, I’m doing it to protect them too. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sovlin, it’s that you’d…judge them. Judge us.”

“I’m obstinate and stuck in my opinions, but I wouldn’t judge you for someone else’s mistake. I want to help you. The beginnings of a fine young man walked onto my bridge four years ago, and I’d be honored if I could play a part in shaping your heart and soul. I want to see you bloom like the flowers in the City of the Flora; my concern is always for you, first and foremost. You may as well be my own nephew.”

“I look to you like a father, sir; your paternal instincts are one of a kind. You’re wise, you listen, you rally and inspire people. No better captain or role model—I want to be just like you. But what my parents did to Jolvanis will anger the part of you that loves children.”

My heart sank, and I locked my lower jaw. “What did they do to Jolvanis?”

“He was the third child in our family. I was super young, so I don’t really remember…but I overheard enough of the grown-ups talking, and I was always sharp. They said that he was born deaf-blind. The doctors advised them that he’d have no quality of life, no way of observing the world, and…it was implied that we should get rid of him, for the sake of the herd. Mom and Dad talked about it, and I think Aucy and I were there…”

“Hold the fuck up. A medical professional advised them to kill their own child?! We aren’t predators! We don’t abandon the weak in such…empathyless behavior!”

“My parents did, sir. They didn’t want a child like that, which would only ever be a burden to them. When I heard them talking amongst each other, they said they’d never have any real relationship with Jolvanis, and he would’ve taken care away from their whole kids. The…doctors smothered the baby with a pillow after they voiced agreement, wrote it down that he died in childbirth, and said…never to talk about it, or they’d go to a predator disease facility. One flick of the pen…”

“That is not the Federation code of ethics I’m sworn to uphold! Jolvanis had hardly taken his first breath before he was slaughtered!” White-hot anger coursed through my veins, and it was all I could do to keep my claws to myself. Recel hadn’t done this, so I couldn’t blow up at him, but by the Protector. What kind of father would ever think that was okay? “Hania was the most precious thing in my life from the moment I held her, fur still wet and mewling with strong, healthy lungs. Nothing would’ve changed that. Nothing else mattered beyond love.”

“I’m sorry, Sovlin. It makes me sad, but I don’t know how to feel. Maybe it was an unfair situation, to not have a full life and—”

“And the doctors. Doctors save lives; they heal and nurture people, as meek prey should! Zarn! Get your ass in here.”

“Yes, sir.” The Takkan doctor loved to hang close by in the hopes of eavesdropping, when he didn’t have patients to tend to, but he was a damn good physician. “What can I do for you?”

“Answer this question. What is a doctor’s job?”

“To maintain the health of our patients and to preserve their lives.”

“Right. And are there any lives you shouldn’t save?”

“Predators. But mostly, no.”

I gestured with both paws toward the Takkan. “Well there you go. Was Jolvanis a predator, Recel, that he deserved to have his life taken away in a puff of smoke?”

“No,” the Kolshian said meekly. “Mister…Doctor Zarn, what would you do with a deaf-blind child?”

“Oh, that’s not my problem what happens after. My advice, if I was asked?” Zarn mused. “Transfer custody to the state, since lack of communication will prevent the integration to the herd. There would be very little rewards or prospects for the child; without learning, knowledge would be at an animalistic level. I can see why some think it’s the application of mercy, though I feel the individual should have a chance to live. Better to have a fraction of a life than never to live.”

I wringed my claws, and tried to wind down my anger. “It’s not mercy to take a life that would continue without your intervention. I concede that the child would be…limited and too much for many parents to care for, but…”

“You’re blessed to have a healthy child and not have to wrestle with an impossible decision, Sovlin. Perhaps what we feel with empathy about keeping the infirm around us illogical, but I don’t want to lose it. Our distinctions from predators keep us civilized.”

Reeling from what Recel had just told me, I retreated to my quarters to contemplate. There was no question that predators would laugh to hear me advocate for keeping a deaf-blind child, but that was why I wanted to spite them. The greatest tragedy in society was when a kid didn’t have the opportunity to reach adulthood. How could parents have no qualms or hesitation? It was a good thing that Recel had gotten away from them; I didn’t know how I’d look them in the eye at the next family celebration they invited me to, even if I tried to be understanding. 

Was that who we were—was that what decent prey had come to? Had the Arxur influenced us to be that callous?

No: I was fighting for the vast majority of the Federation that lived by those values, like the family I loved so much.

[Transcript date changed to October 23, 2136]

Samantha and Carlos had spent hours telling stories to Cilany—with none of their proudest moments being the vicious, savage beasts I’d seen on the briefings. Those videos had affirmed everything that Zarn said, yet there was a contrast to the beasts. That kindness had been dimmed after the attack on Earth, but I saw it all once they let themselves get carried away. What caught my attention was near the end, when they discussed humans who overcame great odds and challenges. It was the story of Hellen Keller that blew me away. 

A deafblind predator that wrote a plethora of books, campaigned in intellectual activism, was a founding member of a civil liberties organization, and gave speeches; she learned physical speech from touch alone. Humans could compensate for deafness or blindness, but how…just learning braille or sign language would’ve been remarkable enough. It brought me back to hearing how Jolvanis could’ve never lived a full life, and how that was mercy. On Aafa, that was true, but Earth was a different story. What the predators—the fucking predators—did was actual compassion, which required truly inconveniencing and giving of themselves; going out of their way to help without consideration of the “burden” on the pack. 

Helen Keller received a full education all the way up to university, proving how very wrong it was that someone with her conditions couldn’t learn. These were the savage Terrans from over 200 years ago too, not the modern, civilized ones who’d reined themselves in! I remembered what Zarn had said about our distinctions from predators, and thought now about which society had its doctors called for the baby’s termination, to avoid an undue burden on the herd. This was just one more thing I wished I could tell Recel; if I could only have one more conversation with my deceased first officer, I knew how shameful our empathy looked now.

The Federation just wants what’s best for the herd overall, and the Arxur have pushed us to this. I never would’ve expected the binocular-eyed, instinctual hunters would teach us new forms of compassion, but I don’t see how these things didn’t end up in the briefing. If I knew this back then, maybe…no, that’s giving my shitty self too much credit. I would’ve hated them and distrusted their kindness either way, surely.

“We aren’t defined by our challenges,” Samantha told Cilany, a deep-rooted certainty in her eyes. “We’re defined by our strength of character, our refusal to be beaten by life and circumstance.”

“It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll.” Carlos leaned back, and I got the impression that he was reciting a written passage. I never would’ve imagined a predator would be well-read, especially in works that were truly profound. “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”

The Harchen reporter tilted her head. “What’s that from?”

“A poem called Invictus. The favorite poem of Nelson Mandela, who faced thirty years of imprisonment fighting against wicked discrimination in his home nation. He stood up for what was right and refused to quit, enacting changes that led to a more moral and just way of life; becoming a hero and a symbol to many. Even after everything the Feddies did, we have to stay true to ourselves. We’re responsible for our actions.”

That we are. I know that I’m to blame for all that I’ve done, and that I made my choices. I picked a sinister path with no qualms, and I’m as much of a horrible person as Recel’s family killing Jolvanis…if not worse, with how many lives I cost us.

[Transcript date changed to May 10, 2151]

A tangled web of old memories spilled into my brain. After years of reflecting on how we thought predators would cull Talpin for being deaf, it was the prey who’d committed such practices. Samantha was worried about being inclusive and accepting, but she had no idea how bad things could really get back in the Federation. It was obvious to me in hindsight that Talpin was a million times better off in Terran hands than in a herd. I felt sick every time I thought about Recel’s kind parents, who had been like my own extended family, permitting their child’s murder. 

“Humans have no idea what ostracizing the deaf means,” I blurted. “The story of Helen Keller chipped away at the idea that the Federation was good. Remember Aucel?”

Samantha arched her eyebrows. “She wasn’t deaf or blind, except when any evidence that predators weren’t so repulsive surfaced. I know Aucel was important—or rather, Recel was important to you. I wasn’t feeling awfully partial to Kolshians after Carlos’ death, so my memory is shoddy. I noticed she seems to have disappeared from your life altogether.”

“It all goes back to when Recel told me that his parents had a third child, born congenitally deafblind. The doctors advised them to, how do you humans say it about your fucking dogs? Put him down. And they did.”

Samantha’s expression curled into an outraged snarl, which still made me shiver. “What?!”

“Yeah. The reason we thought you’d cull Talpin might’ve been that predators couldn’t be better than us. But you…you were shocked and offended at the idea. It was so eye-opening and astounding to see the level of—”

“No, no: shut the fuck up, Baldy, we’re not glossing over that. You learned that they killed their newborn child, and what was your reaction?! ‘Oh, okay, makes sense. Just another Thursday.’”

“You have my transcript! You can look up that I was appalled by everyone in that situation, and emotional at the idea that anything would change the love I felt for Hania; I had no part in that,” I spat. “Most Gojids were good. Look how Berna tried to protect Talpin, how I felt about getting him killed by your claws! I value life, and fuck, I try to help people.”

The human’s eyes were withering, though at least the anger had distracted her from grief. “How, by adopting every third adult in line at the coffee shop?”

“Don’t say that! Two of those three were cryopod people who had nowhere to go, and had lost their entire society.”

“And Aucel?”

“That was for her brother, the closest thing I had to a son. Aucel and I had a falling out. I asked her about Jolvanis and how she felt about it, because I thought it’d bother her. She said I was destroying the memory of her parents, denied the accusation—and I knew that she knew. I wanted to help Recel’s sister, but she wasn’t him. He stood up for what was right.”

“So you confronted the wrong person a few decades late. Nice. Why exactly did Aucel vanish into thin air?”

“I told her to find her own way on Earth, if she couldn’t see the Federation were evil fucking liars; if she wouldn’t condemn murder. Aucel had such vitriol in her eyes, and she said she was tired of living on this planet with the nasty predators. She hated living in an infested home. That Jolvanis was lucky not to have lived to see a human face. We never spoke again—and after those words, I won’t forgive her.”

Samantha sucked in a sharp breath, clearly angered but my recounting of my confrontation with Aucel. “Good riddance. We don’t need her on Earth, disgusted by us as I am with her and your whole peaceful herd, and you don’t need to waste your kindness on her. You would’ve looked out for her. If she had it so good in the Federation, let the bitch go back.”

“I agree. My point is that humans brought disability rights to the Federation in the first place. I know about the Talpin Act, and I’ve seen how you never treated people like him as less than. You’ve already given him more inclusion and acceptance than the Federation ever dreamed of providing.”

“I see your point, but that story sure got me riled off. Now that I’m pissed off at the merry band of heartless xenos that had you jumping like a marionette for most of your life, why don’t we patch Talpin into this call? I’m sure I can find a way to convince him you’re not the worst person ever to call the Federation home.” 

I drew a deep breath, ready to face his deserved judgment for the first time since our audience with Nikonus. “I’m calling him now.”

Looking back at the people I’d encountered in the past, it was apparent that Captain Sovlin was a wicked man serving a wicked organization. The evidence that predators were far more compassionate than the unthinkable crimes against the disabled that prey committed was evocative. It was the proof that meat wasn’t what led to evil; those choices could be made on a diet of greens just as easily. It was time I started working myself up to put my actions where my thoughts were, and prove that in some capacity, I wasn’t that despicable officer any longer.

First | Prev | Next

A/N - Part 9! Sam joins Sovlin to help call Talpin, since she has an in-roads with him as the first human to use sign language to him; it’s Sam’s first time using sign language since her brother’s death, with all the grief that is tied with it, but she wants to be accepting of Tal. Sovlin reminisces on a story about Recel’s family and their dark secret, as doctors gave a wink and a nod to help kill his deafblind brother—to our narrator’s horror. The Gojid captain was even more upset when he learned how much Helen Keller was able to achieve in human society, and shares Jolvanis’ story with Sam. We finally know why Aucel is no longer around.

What do you think about seeing the absolute worst end of Federation ableism, contrasted with what even 1900s humans tried? How do you feel hearing the bad terms on which Aucel parted? Will Talpin hold a grudge against Sovlin for torturing Marcel forever?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!