The Nature of Predators - Gojid Refugee (6/9)

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Memory Transcription Subject: Talpin, Gojid Refugee

Date [standardized human time]: October 4, 2136

It had been only a day since my disability was outed, when the humans came for me. In the span before that moment, the predator guards seemed to have been tipped off about me; they did their best to gesture with their paws if they wanted something, and didn’t look frustrated with my pathetic weakness. How were these creatures making more of an effort at a passing glance than my entire village had? It caused me an inordinate amount of pain, with every slight kindness they directed toward me. Part of me almost hoped they would drop the act, so I wouldn’t have to face the implications. Creatures built toward cruelty were kinder toward deaf packmates than Gojids.

A duo of unarmed humans approached me at my bunk, speaking to Berna. Alarm flashed in my sister’s eyes, as she shakily mouthed that they’d crafted something to aid me; we both couldn’t fathom how they would’ve cooked up a tool so fast. Was it deceit to get me away from the herd? The dread that gripped my heart, every time I laid eyes on them or they engaged with me, meant I didn’t want to go anywhere alone…with them. Knowing that resisting it was pointless, I tried to swallow my fear, though it must’ve been showing in my raised spines and chattering teeth. The hunters herded me in the direction of a vehicle, and waited until I sat down inside.

It’s easy to consider the idea of talking with them, or being their friend, from afar. Seeing humans one-on-one is sensory overload in the worst way; it’s like all conscious thought breaks down, and the urge to run is about to make me burst. I don’t want their help. I don’t!

The back of the van was dark, as the predators had shut me in alone; I could feel the walls closing in on me—trapping me. The Terrans had marched up to the front seats, where I could see the back of their skulls against the headrests. The vehicle was moving, taking me somewhere far away from any Gojids. It would be an outpost that only had predators, like the one Sovlin must’ve been taken from. I couldn’t do this, even if it would disrespect them! Every instinct in my brain told me that I’d fallen for their ruse; surely they couldn’t resist tormenting me, when I’d be isolated and at their mercy. My breathing was spiraling out of control, causing my claws to dig into the upholstery.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say I felt like I was dying, and it seemed my heart would explode then and there. I didn’t even notice as the van came to a halt, only a short distance outside the camp; the doors popped open, and the humans observed my freakout in silence. One of the predators held a hand out in front of himself, bringing it closer to his chest as he deeply inhaled. He then brought it down slowly, as his stomach expanded back out with a hefty exhale. The motion was slow and deliberate, meant to convey a suggestion. He was demonstrating breathing…telling me to breathe. I wrestled to get control of my erratic respiration, while the beasts patiently waited.

Once the rhythm was less of a hyperventilating frenzy, the Terrans beckoned to me again; their eyebrows were knitted together, above their visor-covered pupils. Were those forward-facing pits glowing with rage beneath the visor concealment? They were likely cross with my devolving mental state. I ducked my head, and followed them sheepishly into an unassuming building. The predators patted a couch, which sat beside a low table, and quickly brought me a jug of water. The realization that I was in their lair—their living quarters—made my throat even more dry, so I downed the liquid with gratitude. The duo retreated back out the front door, and I felt the vibration of the van departing.

“They left me alone,” I scribbled to myself mentally. “Why? Who did they bring me to?”

A new figure walked into the room, with a gait that was ever so slightly different from the average human. She was wearing a visor, and toting a thin keyboard with Gojid script. The predator took steps forward, one at a time—pausing each time my breathing hitched, or I shied away on instinct. She leaned forward in slow motion, setting down the keyboard by me and turning on a holographic display. The primate took a few steps backward, keeping her arms raised for a reason I didn’t understand. She sat down in a chair further back, before making some of strange hand motions like the soldier with the deaf brother. Gojid words scrolled across the screen, somehow reading her gestures.

“Hi. I’m Lily,” she signed, as the name took a bit longer to come across—she seemed to fly through each letter. “I’m a certified sign language interpreter, and I’m here to help you adjust to your new circumstances. If you’d like to respond, just type the words and our text-to-speech software will say it to me.”

Shocked that they’d really found a way to talk to me, I struggled to hammer out a properly-spelled response with my shaking claws. “How did you do this? It can understand your human gestures in Gojid?!”

“It was a mix of existing technologies. We already have camera software that can turn sign language into text, though it’s usually to help hearing individuals quickly understand what deaf people are saying. Mix that with your translation software, and it does the trick.”

“How many humans know sign language, for this to work? It’s…not possible that you’d all learn it, for deaf people. You said this is your job.”

“It is. You’re right that not everyone has this knowledge. I’m choosing to use sign language so that you can pick up some of it, in case you decide to engage with the deaf community on Earth. The good news is, we were also able to use our speech-to-text software to hear human words, turn them to text, and use visual translators to convert them to Gojid script. You can talk to us, and we can talk to you.”

“This only works…for human languages? Not to sound ungrateful, it’s just…”

“I understand, Talpin. We’re trying to cobble something together, but our voice recognition software is only trained on human words. We’ll try to add the Gojid tongue, and other alien languages, as best as we can. I’m sorry that we’re still getting up to speed, but I’m surprised the Federation doesn’t have this tech already.”

Something inside of me broke, as those words came across the screen; the world came crashing down on me with that truth slapping me across the face. These predators had aids for the deaf at the ready, and like Lily told me, they couldn’t have copied it from the Federation. None of our people had bothered to craft any way to communicate with me, or make it possible for me to understand their speech, like part of the herd. If these barely-spacefaring humans had created flexible software that could convert between speech and text, and vice versa, there was no reason Gojids couldn’t have tried something, anything, with at least our own tongue. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to pretend to care, or to see me as a person—a fucking monster could do it, apparently!

The herd thinks that I’m not a real Gojid…that I’m a burden, because I was born like this. I could never talk to anyone. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing how much better my family would be without me…

Tears swelled down from my eyes, despite knowing what the human would think of such a sniveling display. Nobody had ever treated me like a complete person before, outside of my family, and a bitter chunk of my soul hated this predator for being the one that finally did. That wasn’t what I wanted! After years of isolation and gossip, knowing that I’d disappointed my family; I didn’t want the Terrans’ kindness. The other Gojids had insisted that I’d be the juiciest morsel, and that it wasn’t that big of a loss—because I contributed the least to the herd. Hunters despised weakness, yet here they were, helping the feeblest prey. My people protected me out of duty, or cruel empathy, since I wasn’t part of the category of “valuable individuals.”

Lily rose to her feet, hesitating. “Did I say something wrong?”

“They hate me,” I typed in a blubbering fury, emotions pouring out of me in a blinding haze. It hurt so much in that moment that I’d forgotten to be afraid. “Nobody ever says anything nice about me. I’m just a burden, and it’s not fair to my family. It would be doing them a favor if you just eat me. Stop being nice, please stop. Give in to your instincts.”

Lines creased her forehead, and her lips curved in a downward arc. “I don’t want to eat you. None of us do. I don’t know who these people are that hate you, but they’re horrible. You are not a burden. It wasn’t a problem at all to find a way to help you.”

“I’m not a full Gojid, and no tool can make me worth it. I can’t hear music. I’m not really talking to you. I’m a curse to my family; my father is dead, and I stain his legacy by what I am. He wasn’t proud of me, and now, I know for certain he never will be. I’m the weakest herd member, and Berna deserves better…”

Why was I telling all of this to a predator, riddled with bloodlust and raised by a violent society? Lily seemed to be warring with some instinct, as her expression grew more disharmonious by the second. I withdrew my paws from the keyboard, realizing how worthless this entire conversation was; my head wound up buried in my paws, as sobs continued to rack my body. She finally gave in to the inner voice, walking over to me with her arms extended. I didn’t make any efforts to resist ensnarement, with misery bringing me to the lowest low. I wished that I had been more—that my life had been more. A shudder rippled down my spines as I felt the human’s skin against my neck.

Lily didn’t crush my windpipe, or dig her fangs into my throat. The human was kneeling right beside me, moving my head out of my paws and to her shoulder. Warmth radiated through the fabric, somehow soothing as could be; my tears soaked the soft fleece, though she didn’t seem to mind. Her chin rested atop my skull, before I felt a small drop of wetness strike my fur. It wasn’t sticky enough to be drool. Had that emotion on her face been pity—not for my condition, but for how they treated me? She was hurting for me? The predator held me with such unimaginable gentleness, refusing to let go. A pang of uncertainty stabbed at my heart, before I moved my arms onto her spine. The bawling gave way into sniffling, as we sat there for several minutes.

The Terran finally broke away from the embrace, and turned her head away from me. She removed her visor for a brief moment, and I realized it was to avoid pointing her binocular eyes at me. I could see that the sockets were puffy and red, her exposed skin covered in her tears. This was the empathy my father’s faith and every credible scientist said predators couldn’t have; affective empathy that surpassed what I’d seen from my own herd. It was difficult for me to believe how close and vulnerable I’d been with the beast, and how she reacted. I used the back of my paw to dry my cheeks, before punching in a new string of words.

“Lily? Look at me,” I forced myself to type. “Without the visor.”

The predator stiffened, fiddling with the lengthy strands of her flaxen mane to distill her nerves. Her head angled itself back in my direction, and her eyes locked onto me, though avoiding a direct stare. It was an unspeakable feeling to have an inky void directed at a single target; her gaze was like the opposite of a flashlight, a beam of pure darkness. The white sclera made the effect all the more striking, to render it as clear as possible to the prey where the beast was looking. In between the jarring lack of coloration and the abyss, there was a ring of mottled green—a sudden flash of soft naturalness that didn’t go with the rest. As my brain screamed that this was a monster, a ravenous animal that bore hostile intent, I stared deeper into the pinhole.

Those binocular eyes were still moist, and the dark void seemed smaller than the average human pupils. There was sadness in that infinite darkness, even as it paralyzed me and almost stopped my heart. I didn’t know if I could adjust to Lily’s gaze, but she’d given me no reason to fear her. Maybe her entire species was being pushed out of the herd like me, because they were that ugly. Just like I’d begun to reconsider that information desk’s purpose, I once again posited that the Terrans could be genuine friends. I hadn’t realized how much I needed someone to talk to; Ava, the tour guide, hadn’t been wrong about humans being good listeners. I kept staring into the pupils that made me feel sick to my guts, and typed out a question.

“Why? Why do you care about me?” I asked, still holding her gaze.

Lily’s pupils jerked up, constricting further; not enlarging like an Arxur’s hunger. “Because I can imagine what it must feel like…and because I know I can help. When you see someone struggling, it’s heartless not to lift a finger.”

“Then Gojids are heartless.”

“Honestly, it seems that way to me sometimes. For all the talk of so-called prey having empathy, and us having none, it’s the opposite in practice. But listen, you are not the weakest herd member. I think that overcoming challenges makes you strong. There’s strength in struggling, but not melting in the face of adversity. Can I show you something, Talpin?”

“Okay.”

“Please don’t freak out. I’ll warn you in advance that you’re going to see some scar tissue.”

The human sat back in her chair, lifting her right leg from the seat. I watched as she leaned over, zipping the pelt away from her furless shin, all the way up to her kneecap. The skin tone looked just a tad bit off, but it was likely the odd lighting—or the fact that I wasn’t used to these aliens. As I inspected the limb closer, Lily removed the lower portion, leaving only a stub below her knee. A horrified gasp escaped my lips, while I tried to make sense of what I’d just seen. She turned it toward me just enough to show the insides—no blood or bone—a fake sleeve meant to look like the real thing. The genuine tissue was withered and folded together, leaving me to conclude this was no congenital defect.

Is she trying to hide this fake limb she created from the rest of her kind?

Lily reattached the prosthetic, this time using verbal words to communicate while her hands were busy. “I was an adventurous twenty-something. I liked to challenge myself, against the unforgiving whims of nature. I had a hobby of rock-climbing, an absolute test of endurance. Scaling a cliff face or the side of a mountain, it isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“So not for me,” I typed.

“No, I wouldn’t think so. One day, I had an accident out in this state park…my leg was crushed by a shifting rock. Long story short, the doctors couldn’t save it, and the only thing they could do was chop it off. I thought my life was over, or at the least, diminished. I couldn’t even do basic things, with or without the prosthetic. Worse are the looks you get from people, all pitying and well-meaning.”

“I know the feeling.” Lily understands about the gawking. I’m surprised predator doctors would save someone missing a limb, empathy or not. A deaf human could stalk prey with their eyes. How could a one-legged biped hunt? “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It doesn’t do any good to feel sorry for yourself. I found ways to do things in spite of my newfound disability, and I didn’t let it hold me back. Just like you found ways to understand people, despite them actively sabotaging you. Isn’t that strength? Whatever life throws at you, you adapt, and you never let it beat you.”

“I guess so. I never got credit for what I managed to do, in spite of…this.”

The human sighed. “No parent should ever call their child a disappointment. Your father was wrong.”

“Oh no,” I responded hastily. “He never said it to me, or anyone else. He took good care of me. I’m just certain he felt that way.”

“How do you know that, Talpin?”

“Because…he was the town’s plant musician. Not that you’d know what it’s like to grow plants—”

“We grow plenty of crops, and eat them too, but continue,” she interrupted.

“You do?! Okay then. Well, he played music to help the plants bloom. The families in my village would pass down their skills and profession; it was their life’s legacy. I robbed him of that chance. I always felt left out by music; it was such a big part of my family’s life, but I couldn’t hear it…or appreciate that beauty. I wish I could’ve.”

Her eyes gleamed, pupils enlarging. “Maybe I can help you find a way to enjoy music. I have an idea. Just hold onto that thought, and let me try to set something up with the UN.”

Lily leapt up onto her limbs with haste, but rather than interpreting it as an aggressive gesture, I decided it was excitement. The primate scurried over to the next room, likely to retrieve a device to call her counterparts. Humans were nothing like I’d expected them to be, with their docility and emotional sensitivity. If my new friend was to be believed, they ate plants, not Gojids. Had I not seen how easily they took over the cradle, I wouldn’t have thought there was some mixup between them and the vicious predators the Federation observed. Berna needed to hear everything that’d happened, and to tell me whether I was crazy to feel some kinship with this sign interpreter.

With tons of confusing thoughts afoot, I inspected the translation gadget they’d gifted to me, and meditated on how I finally had a way to communicate with the world.

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A/N - Part 6! Talpin not only gets a speech to text aid, but meets a sign interpreter named Lily, who comforts him as the full weight of Gojid mistreatment crashes down on him. Our narrator begins to grasp human empathy, especially after learning his helper is wearing a prosthetic…and he also learns a new definition of strength through her story. What is Lily’s idea to help Talpin relate to music? How will his life change moving forward, and what will he tell Berna?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!