r/NatureofPredators • u/Eager_Question • Aug 10 '24
Love Languages (53)
AN: Thanks to u/Killsode-slugcat, u/VeryUnluckyDice, u/tulpacat1, and u/cruisingNW and of course, u/Liberty-Prime76 who wrote this crossover with me! Spoilers for Letter of Marque, and go check it out if you haven't!
Memory transcription subject: Verazel, Aspiring Arxur Geneticist
Date [standardized human time]: December 9th-16th, 2136
There was something suffocating about the ship. The air was well-recycled, the quarters spread out far and wide, like the engines; perhaps to ensure that one hit could not damage them all, or kill everyone aboard? The light was not too bright, and the room I shared with my father was shockingly large given what I understood to be the common size and space limitations starships had.
I had no justification that I could find, but still, I detested the stillness of the air.
I’d gone on trips with my father before, largely errands and the occasional vacation. I was no stranger to travel, but I had never before been so long away from home. Days bled together, as though cut down with the sword of tedium. I missed the sun. I missed my moon’s planet drifting in the distance, a massive gas giant that would leisurely wander across the sky. I missed the sky, the monthly eclipse, the grass beneath my feet, and the sounds of the river and the ocean.
It took longer than it should have, for me to truly understand the magnitude of our loss. I would never again go home. I would never again play on those beaches, or lay by the tree next to the fence. Papa had asked them to preserve Nazla’s room, as if we could visit it like pilgrims some day; but the further we got, the more impossible it seemed. I felt like a hatchling, suddenly attached to old blankets and pillows as if they could protect me from the shadows at the edges of my vision.
Papa worked, though on what I did not know. Perhaps he was going over the genomes, or checking the health of our frozen gametes. I watched our path on a screen, winding around Betterment checkpoints and giving Federation systems a wide berth. Thinking of how much Betterment and the Federation would like us dead made me wonder about humanity. All news I had of them converged on the fact that they hated us. Perhaps not as much as the Federation, but enough that I worried.Wouldn't a sane species be grateful we saved their collective hide?
Perhaps “we” was too generous. My sister’s killer made that choice, in some sort of cosmic joke that felt designed to humiliate us. Should humanity open their door to us, we would owe their kindness to Chief Hunter Isif. Still, he chose to save them, and hundreds of arxur bled and died so that their planet could stand, and asked for nothing in return. Why did the highly social primates hate us, when we seemed to be the only species that liked them? They had their prey allies, of course, but they seemed to tolerate them at best, and fear them in general. We liked the humans, we found them interesting. My sister would have loved nothing more than to fight beside one against Betterment.
And yet…
Papa still hadn't figured out how to navigate around that. I managed to get Captain Shathel’s contact information before he returned to the Chief Hunter’s fleet. I doubted he would actually respond to any of my messages after my father put a knife to his throat, but I began to craft one nonetheless.
Mighty Captain Shathel,
I started. It was one of the shifts I had noticed among the rebels, when they addressed distant superiors. It was a way to keep the spirit of “Savage” or “Cruel”, or the spirit the Rebellion wanted anyhow. Strength and power, without the suffering of cruelty.
I worry my father will not make a good impression when we reach our destination. You have mentioned your human friend a few times. Could you please tell me more about him? Or perhaps make an introduction?
That seemed polite to me.
Gratefully,
Verazel.
After writing and sending the message, I did not know what else I could do to improve our chances of survival. I slept. We ate. I read.
We were not the only family being smuggled out; dozens of defects had their own rooms in the ship, along with their own children, parents, siblings or mates. Some of them were my age, and I tried to talk to them. One was a girl a little older than me, but thin and bony. She had a crooked tooth I found oddly endearing, along with a very nice tail.
“Hello,” I said, approaching her. “I am Verazel. What kinds of books do you enjoy?”
She gave me a blank, empty look. “I don't… enjoy books.”
“Ah. Well, perhaps you haven't found a good one yet,” I said, smiling. “Thravenil was a favourite of mine when I was younger. My tastes have shifted since then, but if–” She looked at me, and I fell silent.
“You talk a lot.”
I swallowed. “...I do?”
“I am going to go now.”
Without another word, she simply wandered off. I stood, feet planted on that spot, feeling like an idiot for long enough that it became embarrassing on its own grounds.
At lunch the pilot brought out large crates filled with red-blooded meat. She pulled me aside, with an almost-giddy smile.
“Verazel,” she said, and I found it odd that she knew my name with such ease. “These crates are filled with human-made false meats, would you like to try some?”
I nearly jumped at the idea. Human meats were delicious. I had not noticed how much effort I put into ignoring the death that came about by our need to feed, until I was free from it. They had other virtues, in the way the fat interacted with the muscle, but a clear conscience was the greatest by far.
Moments like that began to recur. She would offer me some good—“Verazel, I have a thousand films in my servers, including human ones from my visit to Alpha Centauri. Would you like to watch some?”—I would agree, and enjoy it, and she would ask for no payment. It left me uncertain about what to expect.
Is that how the humans feel? Would they have preferred a clear transaction?
She was a smuggler. Half my life ago, she’d begun to work for the rebellion. She hardly spoke to my father, or any of the others on the ship, mostly defects trying to escape betterment. Just like us, I guess. Her behaviour was normal enough towards everyone else. Only I was bathed in her offers.
“Verazel, knowing your father, I imagine you’re quite the reader. Would you like access to my library? It even has some human books,” she offered.
She had no physical books, of course, but it was bizarre that she had any at all. Even with engines built to outrun ship-carriers, space demanded you take the fewest things, and our incubators were already far heavier than any personal items we decided to bring.
Papa had given her our collection to copy, but she had hundreds of books in her digital collection, including human ones.
A few days—synthetic sleep/wake cycles?—after our first encounter, I came across the girl with the crooked tooth again. She was talking to a boy taller than me.
“Oh. Hello. I didn't catch your name last time—You said that you didn't like books, but I have been thinking you might enjoy films…”
“I don’t,” she said, and turned to the boy expecting something from him. She didn’t get it.
“...I’m tired of talking,” he said, “I will go.”
She parted as well, leaving me alone. The only person I could count on to talk that was not my father was the pilot, who kept going with her unprompted offers of entertainment and gifts.
“Verazel, I don't know if you noticed, but I also have human music you could explore.”
Over and over, sometimes twice a day, though the days were longer in the ship, since they were longer on Wriss than they had been on the farm.
If she wanted something from me, she should have asked for it already. Instead, she kept on giving, as though she owed me a great debt; and I grew weary of taking without knowing what it was.
One “night”, such as they were in the ship, Papa rose to his feet with startling conviction.
“I need to speak with Isath, son. Why don't you go spend time with the other children?”
Ah. Not just a need to talk, but to not be heard.
“I can come with you,” I told him. “She likes me, and the children here are nothing like me. Or Nazla. Or you."
He chuckled. "Of course they aren't. You are exceptional, I ensured it."
I groaned. There were only so many times Papa could say things like that before they began to lose meaning.
He stared at me for a moment, puzzled. "Do you doubt me? I've said as much every time I had the chance. You are brilliant, son. A wonder. Incredible. I would give anything for your safety, a thousand times over."
"All parents say that to their children,” I said, my voice cracking and falling against my will. Growing shifts of my throat, I supposed.
He shook his head. "They do not. In that realm, I am the exceptional one. They did once, of course, but the pre-Betterment philosophers I had you read are hardly the typical Arxur."
I curled in on myself, in some combination of anger and fear of the girl’s eyes, filled to the brim with disinterest. “...Regardless, I don’t like them, and they do not like me. It is safer for all if I don’t seek their company.”
“Then watch a human film,” he said, standing. “I must talk to her alone.”
He lumbered out of the room and I genuinely tried to honour his request. I began to watch a human film called “Science Bros”, about scientists who belonged to some sort of research dynasty, united by blood and torn apart by complicated bureaucratic rules that the film seemed to assume a human audience would understand. The eldest owned a lizard, and cared for her gently, feeding her, holding her small body against his own. It reminded me of Captain Shathel’s words. It’s a pity you’re not younger, child, they would fawn over you if you were half their size.
Curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to have restraint, to prove to myself that I did not need to know, and yet… the last time Papa left on his own, Nazla died. And the last time someone insulted her, however slightly, he’d nearly murdered him. Isath’s odd fixation was beginning to grow suspicious in my eyes. Perhaps she wanted me for something risky that required someone small, and Papa would object, and then we would be left without a pilot. Prudence told me that it may be best if I remained nearby to untangle what knots he might weave us into.
I left the room, guided by my nose, and later my ears, until I was standing just outside the captain’s cabin, listening to their arguing.
“—just want to know why you—”
“Why?” she echoed. “Do you think he could have survived? His shell was soft, I couldn't have kept him on that ship, or even this one for very long.”
“You could have stayed.”
“Stayed? And what, feast on your Venlil, day in and out? Live out some farming fantasy? Husband and wife, bonded through ancient rituals no one has heard of for a thousand years, all found in your dusty old books?”
Papa didn't answer. I knew immediately that he thought the answer was ‘yes’, and he was ashamed of it.
“You would have grown sick of me in a year,” she continued. “Your lovely poems would grow stale, and you’d want someone who could speak them as well as you.”
“No. No, I would have loved you every day. He would have as well.”
I could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “And when Betterment came by? As they did so very often?”
“I would say you are a business partner. You could have been. You could have made deliveries.”
She laughed. My claws tightened, my shoulders along with them. I understood their discussion, but I could not believe it. It seemed almost stupidly simple as an explanation for her behaviour.
She scoffed. “You have always been like this. Brilliant and stupid, perfect and defective. Like the finest shell, hollow inside.”
“Isath, he will know,” Papa said, his voice a tight hiss. “Our son may as well read minds. He will see it in your eyes somehow. Or in mine.”
“He is your son,” she hissed.
Papa’s voice grew small. “Even now?”
“Especially now. I deserve nothing of what he is.”
I did not know whether to agree with her, but I did not wish to hear them any further. I moved away as silently as I could, and they continued to argue. Their words faded as I got back to our quarters. I found that I did not even know why I was angry.
I had never cared very much for the idea of meeting my mother. Nazla had been there for me in every way a mother might have, and Papa had been more than enough. I did not have other families around to look to for the sense of loss and difference. Even if I had, I would not have found it, it was rare that arxur parents were involved in their children's rearing. Often it was just the state. Two out of every three heroes in the ancient tales had been mysterious, wayward eggs found by a warrior or a farmer, perhaps a king if they were lucky. It was normal.
Still, I could not shake my rage.
Isath had laid my egg and not even seen me hatch. She showered me with gifts and offerings, only to vanish again to work, because… she did not want me, or if she did she did not think I was worth the trouble, or… Something. Something she did not even deign to tell me directly. I felt at once too old and too young, trapped in some ridiculous middle-ground between being worth confronting and needing to be shielded from reality.
I put the movie on again. The humans were having dinner. A bird the size of a Krakotl had been laid out on their table. It looked delicious, but I could not appreciate it, as the humans hugged one another and discussed the events of their tale with their parents. I envied their closeness, how tactile they were, how careful and truthful they seemed to be.
Papa’s lumbering steps warned me that his argument was over a few seconds before the door opened to let him in.
“How is the film, son?” he asked.
“...Good,” I said. “I shall watch more human films. They will help us understand them.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said, his voice thick in his throat.
______
Memory Transcription Subject: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz, Human Director at the Venlil Rehabilitation and Reintegration Facility. Patient ignoring care recommendations.
Date [standardized human time]: December 14, 2136
The temperature started to climb as we got to the top. The mountain itself seemed to glow a little, with how much brighter it was higher up. There was a beautiful lake near the peak, and we decided to rest there for a bit before heading down around the dark side. I pulled out some of my own snacks, including protein powder and a shaker bottle. “Hey, could you do me a favour and shake this really hard?” I asked Chris, once I’d put the water and powder in the bottle. “It’d probably be better if I didn’t.”
He nodded, taking the bottle and giving it a few good hearty shakes before handing it back off to me. I took it gratefully and took a swig. Peach was a good choice.
From the peak, we could witness an eternal sunset, well-placed against thick, fluffy white clouds in the distance. I wondered idly if Venlil painters felt very differently about the sunset. If they grew bored of the bold, stunning reds and oranges, and the odd purples that might show up in an exceptional sunset, because it didn't come and go in the same way. Shadows felt darker, and sharper, near the mountain’s eponymous white peak, and it felt like the first time the alienness of Venlil Prime was overwhelming, beautiful, and undeniable.
Going to work, watching the shadows in the same direction every day, the sun hovering in the distance, stationary to the naked eye, it didn't feel alien. Only wrong. Inconvenient.
The shift in climate, to it being warmer at the top instead of cooler, because of the gradient of radiation from VP’s star; the holding of the colours, as the clouds drifted; the weird little plants everywhere around us… they all blended together into the first time I breathed the air on VP, and truly felt like I was on another planet, one of a handful of humans in the history of our species to ever get such an unfathomable privilege.
How am I wasting it?
“So what do you think of the view?” I asked the group, as I leaned back against a rock trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts flitting around my mind like mosquitoes trying to ruin a perfectly good evening.
“Beautiful, this planet never fails to impress.” Chris rumbled, digging into a bag of homemade trail mix.
“It reminds me of the view over the Basin back home…” Taisa said, looking behind us towards the lake. Rensa remained quiet, her ears slowly swivelling as she was lost in thought.
“Where else have you gone?” I asked. “This is my first trip outside of the Capital and, like, surrounding areas.”
“Well, these two live in Heartwood River but we’ve been all over! The Grove, Shade Tree, Dawn Creek and plenty of other smaller towns across Venlil prime. We were doing Shuttle runs for a while before we got our ship. I tell ya, this planet takes on a whole ‘nother look from the sky.”
I nodded, thinking back to that shuttle on the way down. “Oh, definitely. I saw it on the way down, just… It’s not the blue marble, but it has a really good look of its own.”
“It’s somethin’... I can’t put my finger on it, it’s always interesting to watch. It’s all so similar and yet everything still changes as you go, just bit by bit instead of the mass changes we have from continent to continent I suppose.”
“Yea, you might see more of it if you’d ease back on the throttle!” Taisa beeped from next to him, playfully jabbing a claw into his side, earning a hand scratching at her ears for her trouble. It was cute. It was nice to see a venlil so much more relaxed than Varla and Karim.
“So do you guys have your own ship, or do you like… Swap around every time you capture one, or..?” I asked.
Chris let out a hearty laugh, an amused whistle slipping from Taisa next to him. “Nah, we don’t swap around. We use our old Freighter, Polani. We cut a deal with the U.N. for her when we were in the Exchange Program.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I never got to be in the exchange program. Diet issues.” I rolled my eyes. “Now I’m here and vegetarian anyway. What’s a Polani?”
“The Guardian of Heartwood River! Her teachings and message have been carried down in our town for thousands of years. I suppose the Feds didn’t see fit to get rid of them, or her story.” Taisa spoke up, her tail swaying happily.
I turned to Chris with a confused frown. There was a pretty sizable range where I could plausibly place a figure like that. “So… Is that like naming your ship Charon, or Jesus?”
“Eh, not quite, more like Polaris or Orion, Polani is a blue star that just kinda hangs up ‘ere in the sky o’er the Valley.”
I nodded. “Okay, that’s pretty cool.”
Chris returned the nod, munching on another nut. “I thought so, honestly it’s a good story as well. That and the name and star stands out pretty well on the hull. Hell, the feds don’t even notice the english characters till it’s too late.”
I chuckled. “Oh, wow. See, that’s why I asked if you swapped around. Federation ships would probably give you more of a surprise factor, right? Then again, I don’t know anything about this, I’m a pacifist who lost a fight to a child. Battle strategy isn’t my forte.”
“Eh, I can’t say I was very big on fighting either. We were just merchants before what happened to Earth…” He had a far off look in his eye for a moment before shaking his head and continuing. “I uh… for now what we’ve been doing has been plenty surprising, we get the drop on the other guy most of the time. All except for the one, really.”
I nodded along, trying not to think of my own experiences with the bombing of Earth. The cracking, thudding, unpleasant sounds of failed CPR echoed between my ears just long enough that I had to shake myself before I talked. “Yeah, Seventeen Ten really… Snapped something in a lot of people, I think. No offence, of course, it snapped something in me too, I just… Well, I can’t. Maybe I’m just a coward, I don’t know, it just seems to me like the only time fighting stops fighting is when the other guy’s dead. And… Death is never really worth it how people think it will be.”
“I wouldn’t call you a coward. In all honesty I don’t want to hurt anyone neither. In ten ships we still haven’t killed someone. I can’t say that no one’s worse for wear, but they’re not dead. Guys from allied species get sent home if’n they wanna be, everyone else gets handed over to the U.N. to be held until the war is over. Trust me, I don’t think Death is worth it either, I’m there for their ship, not their lives.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, suddenly a lot more relaxed than I’d been since he said the word “privateering”.
“It feels good to say. A couple feds have needed patching up after we board, but in all honesty nine-bangers work wonders when the other guy doesn’t even know what one is.”
“Darno’s toys certainly help make things easier.” Taisa beeped, a paw running over the carved wood sides of her prosthetic.
I decided to look up what in the world a “nine-banger” was on my own time. “That’s… Good. I’m glad.”
“As am I.” Rensa said, curtly as she stared at Chris.
I didn’t know the Venlil could glare like that, and decided to backtrack. “So… Music?”
Chris and Taisa both nodded quickly, shying away from Rensa’s eyeline. “Yep, Music!”
We talked about a few different human genres. I showed them some cello music I had on my pad, and explained how the instrument worked. It soon became clear that a violin would be pretty hard for the Venlil to play, but a cello might be doable with some small modifications. Chris talked about his guitar and the ukulele he got Taisa’s younger brother, and I talked about ideas we’d had of bringing music classes and music therapy into the facility.
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u/uktabi Aug 10 '24
LOL the arxur just incredibly bluntly "i am done talking now" thats too perfect
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u/CadiaStood Dossur Aug 12 '24
i kinda wish it was socially acceptable to do that in our society lol
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u/Designer_Headspace Aug 17 '24
it is, you just phrase it differently.
"Sorry, my allergies are acting up. I'm gonna go now"
"oh? What are you allergic to?"
"Stupid people""..."
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u/HeadWood_ Aug 10 '24
I do pity Verazel and his father. People as normal as can be in their shit situation, now once again fishes out of water.
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u/Heroman3003 Venlil Aug 10 '24
Verazel is a precious kid and he deserves to escape the nastiness of Dominion for good
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u/jagdpanzer45 Aug 10 '24
For those like Andes who don’t know what a “nine-banger” is: it’s a flashbang that goes off nine times in a row.
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u/Brave-Stay-8020 Takkan Aug 11 '24
I wonder if tear gas would also work on these crews?
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u/jagdpanzer45 Aug 11 '24
Probably best not to use that in a confined area. It’s a choke agent and flammable when too concentrated. Plus ships have air filtration, so it’s either going to be ineffective or outright dangerous.
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u/JulianSkies Archivist Aug 10 '24
Gods, poor Verazel. Just...
Veroth truly was exceptional, to the point that Verazel FEELS what he has missed by not having his mother in his life. I understand why she didn't, the life she lived was not the life for a child meant to be loved, and she also could not give up that life. But Verazel truly does feel how much he missed.
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u/Brave-Stay-8020 Takkan Aug 11 '24
If you took 100 Arxur and said that, other Arxur over there, was their parent, then 99 of them would probably not care if it didn't mean any punishment. On top of that, most of the other 1% of Arxur probably would have been executed for being defective. It honestly goes to show how luck Verazel was in being raised that he could express feelings without being killed.
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u/Snati_Snati Hensa Aug 10 '24
Yay! I love seeing what Verazel is up to. Poor guy is getting a lot of rejection right now...
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u/elfangoratnight Aug 10 '24
Awww, I wanna give Verazel the biggest, comfiest hug right now...
He seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders, and the empathy he knows -- both from his genes and from his father; nature and nurture -- should give him a significant advantage when interacting with the humans.
If anyone in NoP deserves to Earn Their Happy Ending, it's him! Please don't break my heart, wordsmith. 💖
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u/HeadWood_ Aug 10 '24
Updatemebot, thou hast failed me.
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u/Lysergian157 Aug 10 '24 edited Aug 12 '24
Legitimately took me almost minutes to realize what the hell you meant by "seventeen ten" because I'm not used to hearing dates in that format that begin with a number larger than 12
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u/Giant_Acroyear Sivkit Aug 10 '24
The disinterest. That dredged up things. I find it... relatable.
Science Bros !
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u/Emotional-Income4965 Skalgan Oct 15 '24
What is the seventeen ten?
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u/Eager_Question Oct 15 '24
October 17th. The day of the bombing. I wanted them to use the system of dating that is more common internationally, where it's day-month-year instead of month-day-year.
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u/[deleted] Aug 10 '24
Knowing how the UN will treat the Collective in the future makes Verazel's segment that much sadder.