The Nature of Predators - The Yotul Uplift (One-Shot #4)

Memory approximation subject: Onso, Yotul Citizen

Date [standardized human time]: January 12, 2116

The Farsul doctor tested the straps on my chair, and ensured they were tight around my wrists. I felt the electrodes against my skull; that was the word the alien used, at any rate. These creatures descended upon our world, with powers that transcended the imaginings of our poets. Our leaders welcomed their beneficent gifts.

What contraptions could communicate instantly between cities? What metal tubes could soar through the air like birds? These were wondrous inventions, touted at fairs across the globe. The Federation swooped in, and imposed their will on our society.  Thanks to them, the technology became accessible to the public within a year.

I had been captivated with the aliens’ presence, seeking to understand them. The “Kolshians” that spoke over the freely-distributed “television” boxes told us much, yet little. They showed us images of the galaxy, which was an impossibly vast stretch of stars. As an adolescent, I was full of vigor; there was nothing I’d like more than to contribute to building ships.

“Onso. Age 14, enlisted Federation engineer,” the Farsul tapped his clipboard. “Do you know why you’re here?”

By the time anyone saw their dark side, it was too late to expunge them from our society. It started with the animals; the Federation called them an infestation. Aliens of all shapes and sizes poured onto our world, burning wild beasts across the continent. We had domesticated some pest-killers to protect our crops, but those were also scorched inside our properties. That was the first blow.

---

I recalled tilling the rich soil, and the hot sunlight beating down on my back. My mother and father sat in their rocking chairs, sipping fruit juice. The Federation had promised that their farming techniques would require minimal manpower. Automatic devices would bear the brunt of the work, rendering people like us obsolete.

My younger brother, Monar, was sitting in Mama’s pouch. The family hensa was sitting on the stairs, with lazy tail swishes. The carnivorous critters came up to our knees, and had long been friendly to Yotul settlements. They would imprint on particular individuals, sticking around when fed. No farm was complete without their watchful presence.

The unnatural rumbles of machines bumped down the cobblestone road. The Federation promised to tear such streets apart, but they hadn’t gotten to our little village yet. The idea of them modernizing our town captured my imagination; perhaps it could have those magical candles they called “lightbulbs.” The stores in the city had them, when we went to sell our goods.

The aliens have finally come! They’re going to give us gifts beyond comprehension. Papa’s gonna be able to grow twice as much food…maybe more.

I dusted my paws off. “You should get a ‘truck’, Papa! It’s much faster than riding the steam trains.”

“All of this stuff is unnatural, Onso.” My father bore a look of apprehension, as the aliens’ vehicles neared our farm. “I’m not comfortable riding a combustion-powered device. Perhaps it’s too much change for an old man.”

“When we were little, there weren’t even trains! It was boat or foot-travel. That’s why we rented the land near the harbor," my mother chimed in.

At the time, my parents’ inability to keep up with the times was a point of contempt. I was ready for the future…for innovation! The Federation thought the Yotul were ready to fight the Arxur, and I was itching to bash their face in. It was thrilling that they were driving up to my residence now. Perhaps if I proved that I was strong, they would accept me like my friends from school.

Imagine gallivanting off to space, and helping the war efforts! There was true evil out there, which was a call to arms for all of us. Papa didn’t want me enlisting, but staying home forever wasn’t an option. How would I feel about little Monar, being in some sick bastard’s cattle pen? The Arxur weren’t going to find easy prey in us.

“Papa! Can I be the one to greet them?” I pleaded.

My father flicked his ears. “Fine. Just be careful, son.”

I rushed up to meet the aliens, excitement on my face. My heart sang to understand the inner workings of their contraptions. Before anyone could ship out, we needed the armada. Surely Papa understood there was no danger as an engineer. The Federation could use a person like me; I was willing to work my ass off.

Extraterrestrials in metallic suits leapt out, and ignored me with clear disinterest. They were wielding flamethrowers, tail- signaling to each other. The signs they’d adopted were foreign to me; it would take time to compare their meanings to Yotul nonverbal communications. The occasional point was directed at our hensa.

“Hello!” I jogged to keep up with the aliens, and flicked my ears with excitement. “Do you need engineers? I want to be just like you.”

A Nevok acknowledged me with a half-hearted sigh. “You can come back with us. Though I have little hope for a primitive like you responding to instruction.”

I stopped in my tracks, the wind taken from my sails. The Nevok broke away from the group, and guided me hastily to their truck. My father squinted at me, asking where the aliens were taking me. In my eyes, it didn’t matter how they belittled us; of course, such advanced species thought we were lowly creatures.

What was important was that I was going with the aliens. I could prove them wrong, and earn my place in their ranks.

“Kill that predator!” another Federation officer roared.

A few of them waved for my parents to come to them. The pair obliged reluctantly, though they protested what the aliens were doing. The hensa’s binocular eyes gazed at me, a trusting look in her pupils. I gasped in horror as pain danced through its irises, and she pleaded with me. The herbivores I wanted to be just like were bathing her in flames, slowly melting her alive.

The exterminators snapped around, as a gunshot sounded beside them. Father was crying, and had dispatched a bullet through the hensa’s head. The aliens screamed at him for interfering, before continuing to torch our pet’s corpse. I felt tears rolling down my own cheeks, the unexpected grief hitting me in waves. I was still crying when the foreigners came to the truck to whisk me away.

---

That wasn’t what pushed me over the edge. Papa told me not to piss the aliens off, when he visited my training camp. I comforted myself with a simple explanation; the exterminators mistook our sweet hensa for a dangerous beast. They didn’t know our ecology, so it was an innocent slip-up. Whenever I tried to mention hensas to my Federation trainers, they would scream me down.

The Farsul doctor scratched his floppy ears. “Onso? Tell me why you’re here.”

Yotul would disappear from the program, for any aggression or behavior that didn’t meet their guidelines. At first, I assumed they were sent home; the Federation must have dismissed them from service. But sinister stories began to circulate, that re-education camps had opened beneath our noses. A few of them returned, and they weren’t quite the same.

“I couldn’t take it,” I growled. “Your people berate us, and call us stupid. I was top of my class in rocket engineering. I’m not stupid.”

The alien tilted his head. “I concur. That’s why the Federation wants to salvage you. With the predators on your world, it’s had terrible effects on your temperament.”

“You know, it’s funny. I wanted to be just like you.”

“And now? Are you having delusions of violence?”

I stared at the 3D photos on the doctor’s desk, depicting a world far away from my own. Hatred was festering in my chest; it was an untapped pit of rage. For all of the great gifts they gave us, the Federation had taken away something more important. They wanted us to be afraid, to cower in the face of danger.

How terrifying was it, how quickly a culture could be erased? In a few generations, I doubted there would be anything left of us. We would be another faceless species in the Federation herd.

---

The Gojid that trained me was condescending to us all. She treated us like children who couldn’t understand basic concepts. I had to steal rocket engineering books from the library, and request an official test from her supervisor. She resented that I went over her head, and cranked up the workload to an unreasonable pace.

I wouldn’t let mean old Bemic break me. Because of my efforts, she was forced to admit Yotul to higher education courses. When she ordered a mandatory field trip, I should’ve known it was something to push our buttons. Supposedly, it was to boost student morale; however, the truth was that the Gojid just wanted me to have an outburst.

The Federation was holding a ceremony, destroying our railroads in a festive celebration. Once, I would’ve been exhilarated by the prospect of magnetic trains. The spaceports cropping up across the continent were a fascinating development, but the speaker’s mockery of our creations rubbed me the wrong way.

“Boats and trains of steam. Railroads that crawl ahead on engines born of primitive technique. Say good riddance, and embrace the superiority of the Federation!” the speaker declared. “We will bring you up to proper society.”

I pressed my paws over my ears, and gazed upon the metal tracks with renewed interest. Though they were simple creations, they were the pinnacle of Yotul innovations. Couldn’t we have figured this out on our own, had the Federation not swooped in? Why did these offworlders have to be so haughty all the time?

“Everything you build is worthless, Onso,” Bemic hissed. “That’s what the Yotul are. Little, insignificant, and useless.”

I held my tongue, observing the explosions across the railroad. Gunpowder churned up the earth, and sent debris flying in gratuitous fashion. I felt a profound sense of loss, like my culture was being siphoned away before my eyes. It was true that superior aliens could’ve wiped us out if hostile, but were we supposed to be grateful for survival? The galactic community was exclusionary and unsupportive.

The Gojid leaned into my ear, hot breath on my cheek. “Genetics means a lot, and phew, yours are special. Your father will walk to town now, like some animal. And your mother keeps some sailboat around, because she’s too stupid to work a motor. Why—”

My vision went foggy with rage, and I whipped around to face Bemic. Explosions continued to sound behind me, some ravaging boats like my mother’s in the harbor. Channeling my fury, I rammed my head into hers. The right hook followed close behind, and I flung myself on top of the interloping prick. This was what she wanted: for me to act like some primitive animal.

That suited me just fine. The aliens’ façade of nicety was a sham, and there would be no welcome to the stars. A tranquilizer dart pricked my neck, amid Kolshian shouts. The Gojid cried out like she was a victim, as Federation observers dragged me off her. Well, I guessed I was going to a re-education camp to be whisked off.

---

The Farsul psychologist finished his observations, and retrieved the results of my brain scan. There was something there he didn’t like, perhaps that the spark hadn’t left my mind. He conferred with some colleagues, before returning with a bottle of pills. The alien forced a friendly expression, and pressed the container into my paws.

“Good news, Onso! You can get back to work,” the doctor said. “I’ve gotten the Federation to sign off on your transfer. You’re heading to the shipyards, as a full-fledged engineer.”

Tears rolled down my face, and I bit back my words. Fuck you. I want nothing to do with your military. Papa was right.

The Farsul continued with his speech. “You’re smart, and your case of predator disease is mild. So we’re going to try these pills to mellow you out. I’m hopeful we won’t have to resort to anything drastic. You need to take one of these every day.”

Or what? How are they going to force that on me?

“Every day at work, we’re going to take pinprick blood samples.” The psychologist predicted my internal query, and fixed me with a challenging stare. “You miss one day of medication, you’re coming back to me. Are we clear?”

I glowered at the medicine. “As a bell.”

So this was why some people returned from the re-education camps, too mellowed out to have opinions. Nausea swelled in my throat, as I knew this was the death of Onso. These tablets were meant to quash my personality, and my ability to fight back against this cruel world. The hatred in my heart sang its song for the final time.

The alien doctor cleared his throat, and I swallowed a pill with reluctance. If there was any way to go back to the “primitive” life we’d had before, I’d take it. Anything was better than a sedated life under their claws.

A/N - As promised, the Yotul one-shot from Ono's POV. We see firsthand what the Federation did to the Yotul homeworld, and how they began mellowing the populace. We also see that Onso was forced to take "predator disease" meds for years...what are your thoughts?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! Human exterminators coming very soon!