The Nature of Predators - Yotul Rebuilders (1/2)

Memory transcription subject: Lansa, Yotul Rebuilder

Date [standardized human time]: November 11, 2136

Even after weeks on Earth, I could still remember that first rescue mission we undertook after landing.

Aid had poured to the biggest cities, which had been struck by bombs from the extermination fleet; Yotul volunteers were sent to walk the ruins, and dig brutalized humans from the rubble. The scale of devastation a single antimatter yield could deal from orbit was terrifying. I was grateful that I was sent on a more peaceful mission to a city called Frankfurt, which was outside the blast radius of the explosive that struck Berlin. It was better to remember the heart-wrenching scene I had witnessed than gruesome remains that plagued the targeted sites.

I breathed in the fresh German air in the present, and recalled how blue the sky had been that day. My mind had been mentally charting the terrain, as a former cartographer—a job the Federation deemed entirely useless, since entire worlds could be mapped in a single scan, and GPS existed. Tales of explorers and navigators had always called to me; my favorite children’s tale had been Tananella, about a girl with a magic compass that could lead her to true love. While I’d outgrown such fantasies decades ago, new places normally made me want to sketch out every road and stick my snout under every rock.

“Not on Earth. It would’ve been different if it was in one piece, but to see it so quiet and so beaten…it was sad,” I reminisced aloud.

My mind fully slipped into my memories, as I indulged myself.

The bunker was sealed shut, with communications down; they had no way of receiving word that the attack was over. The humans had locked themselves well underground, in a facility they said was constructed over fears of “Nuclear Armageddon” during the Satellite Wars. The United Nations and German military resources in the area were all diverted to Berlin, leaving these poor predators cooped up with no information for days. It was difficult to imagine.

The Terran who sent us out here gave us the code to unlock and utilize the elevator shafts. I remembered how long it took to descend the depths belowground, further than even the bunkers on the cradle or on Nishtal. There were about twenty Yotul packed into each car, making it cramped and stuffy; I couldn’t wait to get out of there. When we finally reached the landing, the panicked chatter and gasps reached a crescendo. There was hope too, until they realized it was no human giving the all-clear. It was an alien they didn’t recognize, and they thought we were here to finish them off. Why else would a non-Venlil be here, except to kill them?

“Please!” A man crawled frantically on all fours, away from his crying children, and knelt weeping at my feet. I could see terror in his eyes, as his pupils trained on the sidearm I had pointed at the tile. “They’re children. You don’t have to kill us. We’ll do anything…”

He leapt to his feet, spreading his arms out; I realized that he was placing his body between me and any shots fired at his children. It occurred to me in that moment that every Terran came down to this bunker expecting to lose to the Federation. They believed that these were the last gasps of their society; this was the worst way to know your life was coming to an end, alongside everyone you cared about. The supposedly-terrifying predators were desperate and terrified, just like anyone else would be.

That projected sorrow landed with powerful force, etching their expressions into my permanent memory.

The strongest Terrans crept forward, to defend their pack against any incursions; they were toting anything that could be used as a weapon, mainly clubs, boards, or knives. They didn’t intend to let us massacre the hundreds of innocents trapped down here. We had to clear up this misconception, but no Yotul in the party dared to take the lead. I was slightly nervous to speak up, just by the weight of the atrocious things the Federation had told us about humans and their culture. However, our oppressors were wrong about many things, and I had come here in support of every sapient’s right to exist. The Earthlings hadn’t done anything to us.

I hastily holstered my gun. “Easy, we’re friends. You can see we’re not scared of you like them, right? We’re here to help you rebuild your planet. Sorry about having our weapons drawn—we didn’t know what we’d find out here. Some Krakotl ships crash-landed here…the UN tells us they’re going around shooting up bunkers.”

“Then how do we know you’re not with them, and planning to do the same thing once we let our guard down?” a knife-wielding human asked.

“Because they’d say the same fucking thing about you, supposedly going to eat us after we let our guard down. We’re just here to bring you out of the bunkers. The extermination fleet is no longer a threat; they’ve been defeated.”

Thunderous cheers and hand-mashes swept across the room, with teary relief being a common reaction on the humans’ faces. Couples embraced each other, and the celebrations were becoming too rowdy to tell them the unfortunate reality. Terrans bared their teeth with unbridled joy, raising defiant fists to the heavens. The man who’d been kneeling at my feet minutes before flung his arms around me, squeezing me. My throat became very tight as I pushed him off, knowing what I had to tell them. My ears angled toward the other Yotul for support, but nobody dared to interject the tragedy of it all.

“STOP CELEBRATING!” My shout quieted the uproar in an instant, as the distress in my voice signaled that the outlook was not all rosy. “Look, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the tides of the battle only turned because the Zurulians and the Arxur showed up late. Over a hundred bombs hit Earth before the extermination fleet was destroyed. That’s why we came to rebuild; the Yotul lack a fleet, but we had to help you. Um, the positive is that your species is alive, and you are safe—”

“How many are dead?” the knife-wielder from before shouted.

“Sir, I don’t think it’ll do any good to focus on the numbers. It could cause extreme psychological distress to—”

“HOW MANY?”

“One billion. Give or take.”

The horrified faces across the room struggled to process the exact scale of the systemic slaughter of their species. While we had arrived to lead them out of the bunker, and inform them that the coast was clear, our arrival also brought news that no species should have to hear.

I snapped my eyes open back in the present time, and stared at the miles of rubble that represented Berlin. Several of the Frankfurt refugees had volunteered to come with us, as we set about restoring buildings, clearing rubble, and constructing temporary housing on the outskirts for any city natives displaced by evacuations. The man who’d begged for his children’s lives was named Moritz Bauer; he was a single father, after losing his wife to cancer. I’d learned that he regretted being unable to enlist, but he wouldn’t leave his kids without any parents. It was difficult enough for him to leave the younglings by themselves for days; however, after hearing the staggering death toll, he felt compelled to help our mission.

Moritz’ sweat-soaked face contorted, as he moved another heap of dirt with his shovel. “Lansa, you going to…ugh…just stand there enjoying the breeze?”

“I’m thinking about the day we first met,” I sighed, putting my shovel back in use. “All of those emotions you must’ve felt, in short succession. I could see them all over your faces…I hated what I had to tell you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Nobody likes the news you passed along, but we know you were the messenger. What I do wonder is, why do you care so much, my Yotul friend? Don’t take it the wrong way, but most species seem to see us as chopped liver.”

“Chopped liver?”

“Something without value or redemption. Bottom of the barrel. Guess I shouldn’t have used that idiom around a Fed.”

“I’m not with the Federation. Even when we were, it wasn’t by choice. They took over and told us how our lives were going to be.”

“Maybe so. Anyways, why does our plight personally affect you so much?”

My tail dropped between my legs, as old memories threatened to gush from my mouth. “I was a mother once, Moritz. I…lost my only child to the chillwind fever. Bad outbreak in Pyora, right after a big fire swept across the city. It hurt so much to lose her, that I vowed to never have another child.”

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea. My little ones are my life. I have no doubt you were a wonderful mother. Would you prefer if I changed the subject? Don’t get me wrong: you’re welcome to vent, if you want.”

“I…don’t want to depress you, when you’re already going through so much.”

“Nonsense. I’ve told you everything about my life and what I’ve been through; I’m glad you trust me enough to open up. If you do want to talk about it, what happened with your daughter’s father?”

“Oh, he was never in the picture. Wasn’t ready for the responsibility—just like my own father. Seeing how much you care for your children, Moritz, I have the utmost respect for you. You’re what parents should be. I could see how much you loved them, and what you would do to save them. I understood that.”

The human planted his shovel in the ground, and chugged a few gulps from his water bottle. “I get that. It is partially you coming here to help us and explore new places, but you’re here to save our children from dying like your daughter did. That is—”

“Selfish. Fucking unthinkable. Using your pain to ease my guilt.”

“…I was going to say ‘compelling.’ For God’s sake, it’s not selfish to try to help others from your grief, Lansa. Sheesh.”

“If you say so.”

“Damn straight, I say so. And if that’s why you’re here, you don’t need to be digging ground for a future shelter. You need to be doing something to bring light to children in this dark time; I think it could be a healing experience for you. For all of us. Is that something you’re interested in?”

“I…think I would be.”

“Great. I’ll run it up the flagpole for you. I’m sure the UN has some use for you in that area. And Lansa?”

“Yeah?”

“You look like you need a hug. I sure know I do, after these past few weeks, so you’re not alone in that. Come here.”

I wrapped my paws around Moritz’s form, and felt his furless arms offer a few gentle pats on the back. The human’s lips curved up at a delicate speed, in a manner that was nothing so animalistic as a snarl; I wasn’t sure how the Federation could mistake that for uncontrolled viciousness. After everything these Terrans had lost—as we stood at the edge of city ruins that reflected millions dead in this one spot—they still could show compassion for others’ wounds. What this primate was proposing was what I had wanted deep down, all along. Perhaps soon, I could look back on the memory of finding them in the bunker, and know with certainty that I’d made their lives better, not worse.

---

The Yotul volunteers weren’t afforded gracious accommodations after a day of hard labor; it wasn’t that Earthlings lacked hospitality, but rather that after the attack, they couldn’t house their own people or maintain order with a skeleton crew in government positions. Our tents were pitched in a field a short drive away from the construction site, with the United Nations furnishing those canopies and the sleeping bags inside of them. It was the best they could offer, under the circumstances. Plagued by insomnia, I decided to sit under the stars. As I stared up at the twinkling lights, I wondered if the humans ever used any of those distant points to navigate.

Our sailors had an affinity for a particularly bright star called Ralchi’s Beacon. Unlike the Federation, the Terrans had naval traditions; they might be familiar with the idea of navigating by heavenly signs.

Moritz and the other humans I’d spoken with had never derided me as a “primitive”, regardless of how backwards the customs I mentioned were. The Federation had arrived about two years after my daughter’s death; I had still been in my late teens, which was a normal age for motherhood at the time. As much as they took from my people, I wished they’d arrived sooner to grant us the use of antibiotics for my child. The doctors I’d brought in at the time had used vapor therapy, brewing a mixture of herbs and having the patient breathe the smoke. Some people claimed it made them feel “better” at once, but from our current knowledge, I knew it was hensashit.

I spotted a slender, primate shadow darkening the night grass. Moritz’ bald head was distinctive, looking not dissimilar to the top of an egg. My ears swiveled toward the human with curiosity, wondering why he wasn’t snoozing during customary sleep hours. His binocular eyes did look tired; he was fighting through yawns as he walked. I could imagine that, given how little Terrans seemed to rest, his muscles ached worse than mine. Regardless of what we had been told about this species, they didn’t seem very intimidating. All I sensed was sadness and appropriate rage over their scarred homeworld.

“Well, finding you proved very easy. You’re virtually the only Yotul not in your tent,” he whispered. “I got permission to take you to a new assignment, first thing tomorrow morning. We’re going back home…my home. To Frankfurt.”

I wagged my tail. “Whatever we’re planning to do there, I’ll give it my all.”

“I know you will. For what it’s worth, you deserve some leisure—and to see what Earth was like before it got blown to smithereens. The world keeps spinning after everything that happened, but there’s a little less life in it. I mean that in both senses of the word.”

“It still has you, and your kids. You must be happy to get to see them tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’ll have to put on a happy face and regale them with tales of Daddy’s adventures. If you tag along for our reunion, I trust you’ll keep it quiet if I exaggerate a teensy bit; our work has been important, but it won’t exactly be riveting to four kids under the age of nine.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me ahead of time where we’re going?”

“Oh, I want it to be a surprise. Humor a human who’s been through a rough patch these past few weeks.”

“Fine. You’re teasing me by coming here to tell me the plan and pulling that.”

“Don’t I know it. This was more to make sure you’re prepared to head out, but it should stir some anticipation as a bonus.”

I narrowed my eyes at the human. “Answer me a secondary question, at least. When you say Earth lost the life in it, with a second implication in there, what do you mean by that?”

“What I mean by that could be told in volumes worth of books. All parties, dancing, or anything remotely construed as that, have been replaced by people drowning their sorrows with the utmost misery. Get-togethers—enjoying leisure time with friends, that is—it’s put on hold. Schools in most countries that got hit by any bombs are shut down indefinitely. Governments have to worry about things that aren’t the mundane, backroom-dealing shit they usually meddle in. Some countries are just gone. Shall I continue?”

“I’m listening, as long as you trust me with it. Get it off your chest.”

“Almost everyone has lost loved ones, and if you’re somehow an anomaly, you know someone who has. I lost my cousin and nephew in Berlin. There’s so many questions we can’t answer about why we deserve this, and that fuels so much hatred toward the ones responsible. There’s a lot less wonderment about the universe, little desire to chart the stars, after what that drive took from us. Everything is quieter and sadder. Our hurt breeds vengefulness, and that vengefulness means we’ll never be as naive or optimistic as we once were. We’ll be picking up the pieces for a long time. And as long as the enemy’s still out there, we have to fight just to survive.”

“I see what you mean.” I tilted my head up to the stars thoughtfully; for the humans, it sounded like the beckoning lights had been their manifestation of my own desire to map new places. “Moritz, from what you said, Earth has lost the life in its bones—I agree. But it doesn’t have to lose its spirit forever. If they take that from you, from us, they win. That’s unconscionable.”

The human offered a sad smile. “You’re right. Now, we both should get some sleep. We have a job tomorrow, to make sure life doesn’t keep us down. We’re going to bring some good back into this world from our pain.”

I watched the Terran swivel around, and plod off in the direction he’d come from. It would be interesting to see what work the UN had chosen that involved children in Frankfurt, but I hoped that it could be a fulfilling assignment for both of us. Earth needed anything that could kickstart a revival of the vibrant culture they’d had before the bombing. Working toward happy moments for the youth in these troubled times would be the best gift I could give these people.

Next

A/N - Yotul rebuilders to end the month! Lansa, a Yotul who's been grieving her daughter's death for decades, comes to Earth to help with millions of others, and has to impart the news of the devastating human loss of life to bunker survivors she clears out. She does makes a friend of loving father Moritz, who has an idea for how she can find her own path to healing through helping Terran children; the duo will depart the rebuilding efforts outside Berlin for a surprise assignment. What do you think of what was said about the downed spirits on Earth post-BOE? Do you believe that healing is possible, even in the face of such loss?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!