The Nature of Predators - Cilany's Adventures (6/7)

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Memory transcription subject: Cilany, Harchen Reporter

Date [standardized human time]: December 3, 2136

The horse riding would receive a glowing review from me; my opinions on humanity were beginning to shift into something cohesive. I told Lars that whatever shenanigans he had planned, to showcase simultaneous beauty and chaos, and possibly get himself arrested, this would be our last outing together on this trip. In no uncertain terms, I expressed how appreciative I was for his help, but I thought I had enough material to work with for my article on Earth. After two days of not posting anything, I couldn’t maintain the content drought much longer; of course, once this story was written up, I’d have to pivot to a new topic.

I’m not opposed to circling back to specific entertainment reviews and travel guides, but I’m an investigative journalist first and foremost. Maybe, if I land a few exclusives and stories, a Terran media outlet will try to hire me. Sure, I’m successful alone…a guaranteed salary and a team would be nice, though.

It wasn’t the same, without the dozens of colleagues that had been lost when my old place of employment was blown up. The few Harchen that escaped with Sovlin and me went their separate ways after Aafa, so I couldn’t team up with them. Who else would be insane enough to take up a permanent residence on Earth? That left the option of working for predators, and being at their beck and call. There were some reservations about the idea, though I missed the collaborative aspect of my job. Lars’ company had filled that social void.

Lars passed me a slip of paper, from the adjacent car seat. “Okay, this is my show recommendations! I vetted them for super predator stuff, best as I can remember. You’re gonna adopt the true human pastime pretty soon…binge-watching television and doing fuck-all.”

“Thanks, Lars.” The idea of following a human character’s life, and being made to feel attachment to them, felt strange. Every species had actors, but I still hoped they weren’t too adept at conveying made-up emotions. “I have been amazed how avidly your journalists generate gossip and follow the mundane happenings in celebrities’ lives—especially actors and musicians.”

“You could become part of the paparazzi, Cilany! You’re like the perfect size to pop out of the bushes, and chase after them with cameras.”

“That’s insane. Why would you harass people, just because they’re public figures? Nobody deserves to have their personal life picked apart and made a spectacle of. I wouldn’t call gossipers journalists, and I don’t get the fascination.”

“Everybody across the globe wants to be famous. It is kinda sad that they can’t go get a bite with their family without being hounded. I’ll tell you a story. This actor, Manny Griffin…he was in 22nd Century Prophet, Remorse and Regret, and a buncha other stuff…he went to Venlil Prime as a refugee. Even with everything going on, people would come up to him at the camps and ask for pictures, autographs, the whole nine yards.”

“Let me guess: he snapped at them, for bothering him at such a time?”

“Nah, Manny’s salt of the earth, very humble. But the exterminators got wind of this predator getting a ‘suspicious’ amount of attention, and brought him in for questioning. Held for days, because you know, he played a corporate sociopath in 22nd Century Prophet. Because he’s human, obviously that means those tendencies lurk within him; it was just his true side manifesting, not playing out lines on a script. To make it worse, our fucking tabloids got pictures, and ran with the headline that he got arrested by the Venlil.”

“That’s not right. The exterminators arrested him…for having other people ask to take pictures with him? They treated him like a role was indicative of who he was, because he pretended a little too well?”

“Yep. Manny landed on his feet, and was released, unharmed. Scored a role on Escape from the Cradle…the first human-Venlil movie, you know, with Mava. The paparazzi saw him practicing lines with her, preparing to pitch a Venlil studio on allowing a co-species set, with our actors and yours…and those gossip hacks spread the rumor that they were having some weird affair. Both Manny and Mava had to debunk it! That’s why that film got leaked and promoted so early.”

“They shouldn’t be allowed to circulate wild speculation. That’s libel! I thought that movie just dropped promos early to gain funding.”

“Nope. People are just people, and everyone deserves the truth told about them. I was kidding about becoming part of the paparazzi; please, don’t. I have a lot of respect for fact-based professionals like you, who aren’t just trying to get clicks. Earth needs more of that.”

The human seemed to feel that the conversation had run its course, and I knew I would never stoop to sensationalism. All I wanted was for the people to have full access to what powerful figures and institutions were up to, and to judge the ethics for themselves. My eyes turned out the car window, trying to discern what event Lars was taking me to. He’d been unusually mum on the nature of the beautiful chaos; I wondered if Zhao’s lackeys would pull us over, and stop us before we arrived. There was no sign of pursuit, as the vehicle parked itself in a massive parking lot.

I hustled after the predator, following his binocular gaze to a rectangular building; the size was staggering. Crowds of Terrans pooled outside, with many in matching attire. Rowdier supporters were working their way through alcoholic beverages, and other full-throated enthusiasts had donned face paint or carried homemade signs. Was this some sort of cult activity? I could hear thunderous chants and cheers from the concourse.

Lars scanned some pass on his phone, and led me to a seating area that was higher up. We passed food vendors hawking cooked meals, with lengthy queues; other stalls offered the wares I saw human attendees wearing. After an inordinate amount of walking, we arrived at our designated spot. It was difficult to believe the scale of this venue, which overlooked a massive field. I squinted at the open-air roof, trying not to focus on the exact amount of seats. There had to be thousands of predators gathered here, surrounding me. Our location was in tight proximity to dozens of spectators.

“We’re here to cheer on Göteborg! They’re the team in the blue-and-white stripes,” Lars announced.

I followed where he was pointing, and studied the small handful of humans standing by a white line. They wore matching uniforms, also seeming like fit members of their species. My gaze surveyed the pitch, taking in a mesh net that was taller than the humans. A white object, which looked to have hexagonal patterns on it, was placed at the center. None of these cues fit with each other, so I turned to Lars for an explanation.

He said this might get him arrested. Therefore, it must be something violent, right?

Inquisitive fans gawked at me, with a few snapping photos from their phones. Before I could inquire as to what was about to transpire, the predator sitting next to me asked, with a drawl, what team I was rooting for. I regurgitated the word “Göteborg”, hoping it was the answer this guy wanted. The Terran flashed yellowed teeth, and raised a meaty paw in the air. He held it up with an expectant look, but I offered a blank stare. Lars whispered that it was a congratulatory gesture, and that the man wanted me to slap his palm.

I was skeptical about hitting a human I didn’t know, but I swatted his hand with reluctance. The pleased stranger returned to his alcohol, while I turned a helpless look at Lars. The blue-and-white humans on the field were taking positions on one half of the field, as a team with different-colored pelts spread out on the opposite side. If this was some kind of battle duel, the time to determine that was before they started maiming each other.

“What is this?!” I hissed.

Lars donned a smirk. “Football. The object is to kick the ball into the other team’s net…you can’t use your hands, or get too aggressive stealing the ball on defense. It’s a popular game on this planet.”

“All these people turned out to watch a game about kicking a ball? I fail to see how this has anything to do with beauty.”

“I’ll explain, but just watch!”

The crescendo from the stands amounted to a war cry, as the venue buzzed with energy. A lone human in a yellow shirt blew into a shrill instrument, and I asked Lars what he was doing. The goofy Swede chuckled, before explaining that he moderated the game, penalizing rulebreakers. Göteborg kicked the ball back from the center; the predators coordinated movement across the pitch, skirting the other pack’s attempts to intercept them. The goal was within striking distance.

I noticed an opposing player in unique garb, and wondered if it was another type of moderator. However, it wouldn’t make sense for an official to stand in the way of the scoring objective, unless it was meant to ramp up the difficulty. A Göteborg player drove his cleat laces into the ball, and blasted it toward the goal. With remarkable athleticism, the weirdly-colored player dove toward the ball. The net-minding human stretched his hand out, enough to tip it off target with his fingers. I was impressed by his reflexes, but wondered why there was no penalty for the hand contact.

“He touched it with his hand!” I exclaimed to Lars. “I thought that’s not allowed.”

The pale Terran laughed. “Yeah, that’s my bad. The goalkeepers are allowed to use their hands, in the box at least. Their job is to stop the ball from going in the net by getting in the way.”

“You have to be deranged to block a projectile the size of a large fruit, going at that speed! Do humans just have no self-preservation, or instinct to avoid pain?!”

“Eh, we do, but those dudes train not to shy away from the object hurtling toward their face. They’re used to it.”

The action hadn’t paused, and the running Terrans didn’t take a break from the exertion. Both sides were continuously running up and down the field, growing drenched in perspiration. It was chilling to see such stamina on display, and imagine how it could be used to chase hapless prey. Lars leaned over to explain various rules and out-of-bounds procedures, but I was more focused on assessing humans’ physical capabilities. Yet again, I questioned the purpose of this game; from the hollering of the predator spectators, they were rather into the match.

I suppose as far as contests of strength went, this was less violent than I expected. It was strenuous, showcasing the players’ athleticism, but less dangerous than other modes of entertainment Lars introduced from Earth’s catalog. That thought was wrenched out of my mind when one of Göteborg’s players decided to attack an opponent for carrying the ball. He slid feet-first toward the human with possession, knocking his legs out from under him. The rival sportsman tumbled to the ground, and languished there for a while. His face was contorted with pain, as he rolled around and clutched at his leg.

Our player, who performed the tackle, ran up toward the moderator, pleading his case with dramatic gestures. The official pulled a yellow rectangle from his pocket; waving this object around earned bone-chilling boos and jeers from the Terran crowd. I didn’t understand the gripes, when that was a predatory infraction. The fans should be grateful the referee was there to keep the adrenaline-fueled humans in line. Concern played at my chest, seeing that the downed opponent was unable to get up.

“Where are the doctors? Why is no one offering medical aid?” I shrieked.

Lars waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, he’s faking. Those football wimps all do that. Meanwhile, in my sport, hockey, we pretend we’re not hurt.”

“Why are you bragging about that? Is masking injuries some badge of honor in your mind?”

“It shows I’m tough! Not pathetic, like that guy.”

“You don’t know that he’s not truly hurt! Humans have no sympathy…this groupthink is terrifying.”

“Oh, so dramatic. Watch, he’ll get back up now that the ref awarded a foul.”

A teammate walked over to the felled human, and pulled him back to his feet. The predator, who’d seemed gravely wounded moments before, jogged off like nothing happened. The moderator didn’t seem phased by the clear deceit; embellishment of pain to garner sympathy concerned me. How could I tell if Terrans expressed negative emotions to manipulate me too? The way this spectator-pack of thousands acted as a collective was terrifying, expressing themselves in discordant harmony.

Lars blinked with self-satisfaction. “Told ya! The UN didn’t want any herbivores seeing sports, just because they’re competitive and some of ‘em get physical. But the blue helmets just weren’t thinking about the good sides of sports. They ban everything that doesn’t make us look perfect, and call it a day.”

“You said this was beautiful, Lars. I mean, it’s not the worst way you can get thrills, seeing humans…pitted against each other.” My eyes watched the movement on the field, and found that my attention was waning already. Aside from intense moments, this was becoming repetitive to me. “We’re watching other people play a game. This must be about a chance to see injuries…risk. I don’t see much good, beyond it holding back more grisly competitions.”

“Nobody…er, no good fan wants to see anyone get hurt! You really don’t get it, do you, Cilany? The beauty is that it’s an unscripted contest; anything can happen. There’s moments of heroism, and moments of utter disappointments. The highs, the lows.”

“I don’t understand why you have any stake in people running around.”

“Those guys represent our community, the best athletes we could get to wear our colors. Sports are about achievement and ambition. Winning. Being the best. Humans just wanna feel alive, and see how far we can push ourselves. You know what the real beauty is? ‘Cause it doesn’t happen out there.”

“Go on, Lars. I’ll hear you out.”

“We’re the beauty! The game brings all the folks around here together, uniting us behind a group and a goal. The fun and the magic is that collective consciousness. When we rally behind a single banner, we feel like we’re a part of something bigger. The United Nations was stupid, not to point to how we can tie our hopes to someone else’s…how loyal we can be to a community and a common belief.”

“You brought me here to show me pack behavior? To paint this violent, chaotic energy as a positive attribute?”

“Hell yeah! Sports prove that humans feel empathy, just because we take pleasure from watching someone else succeed. That is called mirror neurons. If we care that much about kicking a ball, how much truer are we to our deepest beliefs? We’re capable of so much more hope, love, and feeling than you think.”

The unwavering explanations struck a chord with me, and understanding began to take root. Even if sports were a silly source of entertainment in my eyes, it was a venue for the predators to connect with their local community. It wasn’t meant to fulfill a desire for public bloodshed; it was about their representatives’ struggle, and the crowd’s belief that they would rise to meet any challenges. Passion for group achievements, rather than self-serving goals, did point to an empathetic disposition.

I couldn’t have had humanity’s pack tendencies more wrong. I get what Lars has been saying: it’s about them banding together, and trying to survive together…not wanton cruelty or vicious impulses.

The football match was long forgotten; my brain harkened back to Lars’ suggestion for the article’s title. He’d proposed calling it “The Duality of Man”, and broken it down in terms of beauty and chaos. This entire time, he was trying to offer perspectives on how humanity fit into both boxes. What he’d really been addressing was the perceived schism between predator and prey. The two classifications weren’t polar opposites in the ways that mattered, contrary to what I thought.

I could take every predatory behavior I’d uncovered, and showcase positive qualities it indicated. None of these recreational activities had to be used against us. To Terrans, there was a direct correlation between pushing the limits and fun. There was also a social element to everything I’d seen, from mosh pits to roller coasters; it was about the shared experience of surviving with their pack. It had nothing to do with hunting! The horses proved that the humans were willing to extend their group to prey creatures, and that they could teach packmates to overcome skittishness.

Perhaps Lars phrased it best, stating he liked to have a good time with good people. All it took was witnessing thousands of predators orient their focus around a trivial game, for me to understand their motivations. Now, my primary task was revealing to the galaxy that what Earth was hiding was how humans were wired to endure, together.

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A/N - The second to last part! Lars, ever the sports fan, finds a less violent game than hockey to take Cilany to, and somehow succeeds in convincing her that it's a reflection of empathy and group-mindedness. Will Cilany's article be a correct representation of humanity? Has she drawn the correct conclusions? We'll have to see also if our Harchen friend will stay in touch with Lars...

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! July's content will be from one of the abducted humans; you'll read about the abduction, how it felt waking up, and the Farsul's explanations and attempts to befriend them. There's also a one-shot coming before that for my lore nerds, with extra info on species that can't be covered in the main text.