The Nature of Predators - Haysi's Artifacts (One-Shot #12)

Memory transcription subject: Haysi, Venlil Historian

Date [standardized human time]: March 5, 2137

Sara departed to join onto a Leirn reclamation project weeks ago; to my chagrin, it’d been lonely without her. I hated to admit that I’d grown attached to a predator, from a species that was Pure Evil. The deeds in my old exhibit on humanity still haunted me, though not nearly as much as the traumatic memories of my time in Arxur captivity. How Glim had adjusted to our new reality so quickly baffled me. Perhaps I was a particularly weak specimen of prey, with a shattered mind.

Falling back on old habits, I’d been soaking up all of the information Sara afforded me on Terran history. Some tidbits she provided were mundane, though I didn’t feel that I was gleaning enough insight merely from looking at textbooks and reading scholarly papers. When I reached out to Governor Tarva, following up on my request to see the Venlil Museum of History in person, Skalga’s leader pulled some strings to get me on a light work schedule. Accordingly, I couldn’t get used to our planet’s true name being “World of Death.” I’d already messaged my supervisor to make an expansive exhibit of the Archives findings.

However, my primary project of choice was making a new exhibit in the human section of the museum. I’d taken a glance at the currently-standing pieces while the facility was closed; I could never concentrate during the open hours while predator refugees were traipsing about. In the empty halls, I browsed the exhibit Sara had annotated for me a long time ago. The timeline of early civilizations on Earth was practically etched into my memory, alongside the history of space travel on their world. I used the nearby pedestal to sift through the replicated Golden Record contents from Voyager, before retiring to a quiet office.

The exhibit, those lines about peace and broken femurs, they’re good. You can almost forget the parts where they talk about hunting, but I can’t let my exhibit gloss over that. The United Nations sent a box of artifacts to sift through and put on display; I have to give full assessments on any hidden implications, especially predatory ones.

Hoping for assistance, I opened my holopad and called Sara. The human answered swiftly from within a noisy room, where I could occasionally see riled-up Yotul running about. Just as she was about to greet me, a small, round object flashed across the screen; the predator capitalized on her quick reflexes, and ducked just in time. Was Leirn under attack? Someone was firing rocks at her head? An angry marsupial stomped over to her, leaning over the Terran without a care in the world for personal space. The primitive was holding a colorful paddle, and for a moment, I was worried he would swing it at the Earthling scientist.

“Hi Haysi!” Sara said cheerily, as if nothing was usual about the nearby activity. Noting my confusion, she flipped the camera around to show me a flat table with a mesh strip in the center. “We’ve been teaching the Yotul ping pong. Thought it’d be fun to have in the break room, but uh, I don’t think they’re having fun anymore. They’ve taken to it a bit too much.”

“Those Yotul don’t look calm at all. I can see how it’s causing p-problems.” I twisted my ears in confusion, and tried not to shudder as her binocular eyes fully focused on me. “So why haven’t you removed this…table surface?”

“Are you kidding? That would make it worse. I think they’d riot if we took it away now.”

“What is a ‘riot’, Sara?”

“Um, you call it ‘predator stampede.’ In both a stampede and a riot, it can start because people lose their sense of self in crowds, and get swept up in whatever the group is doing. That’s a simplification but…what I’m trying to say is the Yotul would not accept the ping pong table’s removal. Mistakes have been made.”

“Speaking of mistakes you’ve made, the UN sent the Venlil some ancient artifacts from human civilization. I’m going to decipher more about the true nature of your ancestors, where others couldn’t. This is what I did for a living before…”

My throat swelled up, as the memories of how the Arxur captured me flooded my mind. In my capacity as the head of the Venlil Museum of History, I’d been en route to Talsk for the Founder’s Day festival. That had always been an annual event on my calendar, which I’d spend rushing from city-to-city, poring over the massive collection of artifacts. The Farsul lecturers somehow always had new information at paw, though it was more clear how exactly that happened with the reveal of their secret Galactic Archives. The aboveground Archives had staggering scope on its own, just with the bits of our history that were cleaned enough for public exposure.

Before I acquired my current knowledge on the Farsul’s role in altering history, and before the fateful trip that took my passion and personality, that festival had been a dream for someone with my interests. It fueled new exhibits for the Venlil Museum of History, and if then-Ambassador Tarva had been generous with the year’s grants, I could purchase rare pieces at various showcases to bring home for display. However, on the final voyage, my lone passenger ship had been disabled by the Arxur en-route to Talsk, and I’d been defenseless when they boarded the ship.

Had I understood the horror of being packed into pens with thousands of sapients–eating off the same floor we pissed on, allowed to live only if we were useful for the forced creation of new cattle generations, and watching other Venlil be tortured and eaten alive—I would’ve spaced myself when they entered our ship. There were no words to account for the reality. While I referred to the Terrans as “pure evil” for being capable of understanding the concepts of compassion, yet still choosing unspeakable atrocities, it was tough to liken them to the grays in hindsight. Even if this was the long con I sometimes suspected it was, how could I point to Skalga’s current conditions and their mannerisms toward us, and call it worse than the Arxur’s bedside manner?

Sara cleared her throat. “I’d love to watch you go through the artifacts. Always happy for scholars to take an interest in human culture, and whatever you say, you’re still a scholar, Haysi. I’m gonna walk somewhere quieter; you have my full, undivided attention.”

I propped the holopad up on the wall, and with shaking paws, I moved the box of artifacts onto the table. Composure needed to be regained; these ancient pieces could be both valuable and fragile. After the United Nations had given me the means to pick out exactly how predatory their society’s foundations were, I couldn’t afford to damage any of the items. It was important that I was at my sharpest mentally too, since the dark undertones could be subtle. I pulled out an odd object, which was labeled “Ankh, Egyptian Amulet.” My claws caressed the edges gently, feeling for any hidden weaponry.

“Do you know what this is?” I prompted the human.

Sara’s eyes were glowing. “It’s the Egyptian hieroglyph symbol for life. It was connected to many depictions of their deities, used for healing rituals, and worn by believers to sustain their life force. They’d also leave it in sarcophagi to ensure the dead had passage to the afterlife.”

“So it’s partly a burial ritual?” I suppose that it is a sign of human compassion, since it shows they mourn their dead and wish to bring them back. “The loop atop the intersection is almost petal shaped. Does the sign of life come from plants…no, that’s too herbivorous. Is it something more sinister?”

The scientist chuckled. “Take a wild guess.”

“Hm. It’s supposed to be a noose, to symbolize how easily death can take away life. Or maybe it’s supposed to be a restraint you use on livestock to sustain you, and control them into breeding when you want them to.”

“No. God, Haysi, that’s not even close. Our best theory is that it comes from the sandal strap of a god. Humans of many faiths believed, and still believe, that divine powers are responsible for our fortunes in this life or the next.”

“Define sandal.”

“You know how we wear coverings on our feet: shoes? A sandal is a shoe with simple straps, like an ankh, that attach footwear for us in hotter climates. It’s a nice symbol because…it can be construed as the intersection of life and death.”

“There has to be more meaning to an entire culture’s representation of life through a simple character!”

“You were hoping for something more predatory, weren’t you? You should write the truth, not what you want the truth to be, Haysi. I hope you’d actually try to understand the complexity of both our cultures and our species as a whole. What else have you got in that box?”

I shifted the camera toward a statue behind the box, and triumphantly pointed to what was obviously a soldier. While the United Nations were smart enough not to have sent figurines with visible weapons, the square plates denoting a vest were some kind of armor; the rigid posture also matched with marching lines. Furthermore, the placard outright read “Terracotta Army sculpture, Chinese art.” Did they think I wouldn’t notice what this was? This was proof of humans exalting murderous warriors—the most vicious brutes—of their kind, and considering the slaughter of their own people a glamorous art form. I shoved the statuette toward the camera, daring Sara to defend this.

Sara flashed her teeth. “Ah, I recognize that! I believe that the one you’re holding there was shipped to Skalga for cultural preservation, when Earth was under attack; the entire collection has thousands of figurines. It’s been in limbo since the battle, but I guess they’d decided to keep this one here rather than send it back. The collection was created as funerary art for a dead Chinese emperor, if memory serves me right.”

“To think you call this art. It’s an insult to artists! Primitive humans were awful, and you can’t deny it. This piece is so obviously to show that these trained killers were the ruler’s greatest achievement in its–er, his life. His tribe’s most valuable asset!” I hissed.

“There’s records from the Emperor’s Grand Historian. The purpose of the army was to guard his mausoleum, protecting him in the afterlife. What’s particularly artistic and special is that each clay figure has unique features, showing the amount of effort and craftsmanship that went into it. If you’re not understanding, there’s nine thousand of the foot soldiers, plus a few hundred chariots and horses.”

“So you’re saying that these humans’ idea of death is violent, to the point where you’re still waging wars in this imagined afterlife? Like a continuation of the world they created with their innate viciousness?”

“Whoa, you’re drawing false conclusions. Your people’s vision of death is glamorous and rosy? For the record, some cultures believe in paradise or reincarnation, but death is a scary topic. Not everyone sees it as a kind entity, and I’m sure you can understand that. Cheating death, conquering death, outsmarting death: call it whatever censored name you like, but that’s been the endeavor of our religious and scientific leaders alike. Mortality, knowing our time is finite, it’s not an easy pill to swallow for any sapient.”

I supposed in a strange, predatory way, I could see why even the most powerful people on Earth sought comfort over their mortality; whatever faith a person adhered to, death was the great unknown until they saw it with their own eyes. It was sensible that a human who ascribed to the bleak philosophy of a perilous afterlife would wish for protection, and feel stronger by summoning a pack to traverse the great beyond with them. Numerous philosophies existed across the Federation regarding sapient spirits and what happened after death. Not all of them were rosy, as Sara said. The Iftali, for instance, thought that causing too much harm during one’s lifespan would leave the spirit paralyzed within a dead body for all eternity.

Humans aren’t unique in believing the worst of our spiritual fate. Calling war figurines “art” is still insulting to the refined palate, though.

Huffing with frustration, as the predator rebuffed my attempts to prove her kind’s malicious history, I reached into the box for a new object. My ears straightened from validation, once my paws latched onto a triangular stone object with a sharpened tip. The Terran scientist’s confident air took a nosedive, and the complexion of her skin paled slightly. If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw exasperation swirling in her brown irises. My gaze landed on the tag, which read “Native American arrowhead, Stone Age tool.”

“I get that the United Nations is going for candor and transparency, but good heavens. They’re making it impossible to make my case,” Sara grumbled.

I waved the artifact in front of the camera. “I knew it! This is obviously a sharpened, primitive weapon. These were used to slash human and animal throats.”

The Terran sighed. “Stone projectile points have been found even further back than the one you’re holding, all across the world. I believe one made from bone was found in a cave in South Africa, dating back to 60,000 years ago. I’m sure this is scandalous to you, especially if I recall them finding blood residue correctly, but it’s interesting that these prehistoric humans had the cognitive capacity to craft glue and adhere the arrowhead to a wooden shaft.”

“That just proves the broken femur story is a lie. Your first signs of sapience, if you can call building weapons that, is for crafting more complex hunting tools!”

“Hunting with arrows requires planning and social skills. Haysi, I don’t expect you to understand, but the symbolic importance in Native American culture was deeper than killing. It was an icon of strength, heroism, courage, and protection. They were used not just as weapons, but as talismans to protect them from harm and misfortune. Perhaps…take the reminder that, even within a symbol of strength, we still know we’re utterly powerless against Mother Nature.”

“You’re desperately trying to save this.”

“I’m trying to tell you we’re not evil because we specialize in hunting! Even in the things you find reprehensible, even in the eldest days of our history, humans show compassion and self-awareness. If you’re just trying to cherry-pick pieces to make us look bad in your exhibit again, you haven’t learned anything.”

“I’ll provide the full context of all of these items. You can’t claim that some interpretations of the last two, especially the literal weapon, aren’t dark—and it’s dark what you identify as worthy of study. I’m not just going to make humans look harmless and perfect like you want.”

“If we wanted you to believe that, Haysi, we wouldn’t have sent you the full range of key artifacts in the first place. Humanity deserves to be accepted for what we are. Weigh the positives and negatives all you like, but don’t try to reduce us to basic monsters. We’re not that, and we never were.”

I stewed in silent agreement, knowing all too well who the straightforward monsters were. The Arxur had never given me any reason to think they had further motivations than cruelty; meanwhile, the humans were a walking contradiction of vice and virtue. Sara had scrounged up generous interpretations for Terrans’ predatory past today, but she hadn’t refuted every worrying implication either. Casting moral judgment on Earth’s past became a more confusing task each day, and this artifact collection was no exception to that rule.

My new exhibit in the Venlil Museum of History would be more inconclusive than my “Pure Evil” project of old, but I hoped that one day, I could gather enough evidence to reach a decision on the nature of humanity once and for all.

A/N - The second one-shot from the vote! Haysi has returned to working at her museum, and is combing artifacts sent by the UN for a new exhibit to tack on to the existing human displays. The rescue attempts to take violent and dark interpretations of every piece, as Sara tries to explain that predatory items aren't necessarily evil. What do you think of the artifacts that Haysi saw, and the historical contexts given? Will Haysi ever be able to understand what we truly are?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!