The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Captain Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command

Date [standardized human time]: October 9, 2136

As soon as we departed Krakotl space, it became evident that the humans had been tracking our movements. The predators were lurking in the shadows along our starry route; two ambushes were sprung on the fleet during the first day of travel. The primates knew that we were coming, and that was enough to unsettle the crew.

But the humans were afraid, from what I could tell. Their attacks seem devoted to stalling, and chipping away at our resources. Larger Terran ships had FTL-disruptors on their hulls, which could be deployed as soon as we came within range. They would dart in for a missile run while we were dazed, then vanish just as quickly.

Why do they flee after a single strike? These techniques seem too cowardly to be borne of predators.

Nonetheless, I adjusted personnel rotations, so that our vessel was combat-ready at all times. I allowed myself only a short nap after the second ambush, just to refresh my wits. There was no time for a full night’s rest until the enemy resurfaced.

Thyon was working overtime as well, compiling data to predict the Terrans’ next appearance. Our vessel was going to nail the humans, next time they tried anything. If their attempts at disrupting our operations were this lousy, they must lack confidence in their combat abilities.

“This locale seems like the likeliest spot for an ambush. The EM radiation from the system’s pulsar makes our sensors and targeting wonky,” the first officer said. “Though, perhaps I’m mistaken. It would affect their targeting too.”

My feathers ruffled with disquiet. “I suspect humans’ reliance on targeting is less than ours. They have a backup system in their brains.”

“Should we advise the fleet to reroute? If I’m correct on Terran whereabouts, there’s less than a minute before they activate the disruptors.”

“Let’s not do anything hasty, Thyon. Their ships can outpace us, so we’ll just be pushing this off to a later date. We face these predator pests here, on our terms.”

The Farsul officer swallowed nervously, and studied his readout. I couldn’t blame the big-eared guy for feeling discomfort about engaging the humans blind. Our instinctual fear wasn’t conducive to off-the-cuff maneuvers, and precise calculations under stress. Krakotl could muster aggression, sure, but that desperation wasn’t controlled.

But Jala wasn’t bogged down by chemicals. If I placed her behind the weapons station, she could recalibrate our artillery on a dime. We didn’t have to worry about fear addling her senses. There was a reason I twisted the brass’ wing, not to lock her up in an asylum like they wanted to. It was in our best interest to use people like her against the predators.

I cleared my throat. “Jala, assume control of weapons. Switch to manual override, and hit the first ship you see with whatever you like.”

The female Krakotl shoved a younger officer out of her way, and pecked the buttons with giddiness. She didn’t need to be told twice. It was rare to see anyone else so thrilled to carry out orders, especially when those involved being flung into combat. My second-in-command wouldn't miss the clues, if they were shoved in his face.

“Captain, answer me honestly,” Thyon whispered. “Does Jala have Predator Disease?”

I lowered my voice. “That terminology is ignorant; predators do feel fear. Jala is an asset that I have under control. She knows I’m the only thing stopping her from being thrown in a deep, dark hole.”

“I don’t believe for a second that predators feel anything…but she has more in common with them, either way. How can you trust her not to side with them?”

“Even people with her condition don’t side with people who want to eat them. I’ve heard that has a way of shortening your lifespan.”

“You don’t say.”

The Farsul transferred the projected enemy coordinates onto the sensor grid. By his estimates, the humans were camped within a gas giant’s ring. It seemed a suitable position to lie in wait. The planet’s gravitational field added further disturbance to sensor readings, and the icy ring particles were indistinguishable from a quiet vessel.

That’s actually some solid analytics from Thyon. I suppose I’m fortunate the guy the Federation saddled me with is halfway intelligent.

The first officer also noted the maximum range of an FTL disruptor. It stood to reason that the humans would wait until the bulk of the fleet was within the pulse’s umbrella. I highlighted the blast zone circumference on my screen, using their approximate location. Now, it was a matter of forging ahead and waiting.

“Navigations, as soon as we hit the edge of that red circle, disengage warp,” I squawked. “If we time this right, the humans will think we’re stunned. Just as they show themselves, we’ll be ready to fire.”

Thyon blinked in surprise. “Bold plan. If we’re off by a few seconds, we’ll get dazed alongside everyone else.”

“And if we drop in too early, the humans will know we’re onto them. Of course, we don’t know they’re here for sure. We could be chasing ghosts…but I’m trusting your work.”

“Thank you, sir. Shouldn’t we tip off the fleet though?”

“Negative. The predators may have breached our comms.”

Other friendly vessels may have come to similar conclusions, but our role as the Krakotl flagship was to seize the initiative. Defeating a predator necessitated brashness. I don’t think even the meticulous humans accounted for us turning the tables. They were under the impression that everyone in the Federation was weak, and that might serve us well.

The fear plastered across the bridge crew’s faces was apparent; the inexperienced enlistees weren’t keen on hurling a multi-billion credit ship into a predator’s trap. To be fair, this was the kind of action that earned reprimands from Alliance Command if it backfired. We had one chance to validate our decisions.

My file does say I take ‘unnecessary risks’, and attributes my success to luck. I imagine Thyon read that dossier before boarding.

For better or for worse, I always asked myself what a predator would do. Trying to predict their moves or understand their thinking was easy, once it was a habit. This raid was one final job, before passing the baton to someone younger. What better way to cap off my career than by vanquishing the greatest threat of our time?

I fluttered over to the navigations station, ready to intervene if the technician froze. Our dot was almost overlapping the perilous area. Thyon was itching to issue the disengage order, but I didn’t want to jump the gun. We couldn’t allow the riskiness to inhibit our patience.

My breathing hitched as we entered the pulse threshold. “A little further…real space, now!”

A head-on view of a gas giant materialized on the viewport. The dull orange mass, surrounded by a glistening ring, was a sight to behold. My talons stiffened, as the feeling of being watched sank in. I couldn’t see any enemy ships, but I could sense their unholy presence.

“No sign of human activity—" Thyon began.

Thousands of friendly vessels appeared around us without warning. The Federation fleet was evidently reeling from the effects of the disruptor signal. Lithe Terran ships swarmed out of the ring, and descended on the nearest Krakotl vessels with fury.

Jala’s wings extended to their full span, as she began firing missiles at will. Several projectiles slammed into an enemy bomber, and it was terminated mid-swoop. More explosives followed close behind, synced with whirring kinetics that pelted their shields.

The humans were pushed back by my crazed Krakotl, long enough for some friendlies to catch their bearings. Our allies’ aim was clearly rattled without sensors, and most plasma beams missed their mark by a long shot. Nonetheless, the predators determined the mission was a wash. They weren’t going to take the chance of a stray hit connecting.

There’s only a few dozen ships in this ambush, anyways. The Terran military didn’t lend sufficient support.

“They’re retreating. Don’t let them get away!” the Farsul first officer exclaimed.

“All Federation ships, fire at will.” I barked over the comms channel. “I don’t care if you miss! Hurl everything you’ve got ready at their position.”

Jala was happy to oblige those orders, and dispensed another round of missiles toward the gas giant’s cover. That was where the Terrans were trying to vanish for emergency warp. None of our explosives connected with an opponent, but they did pack a punch to the ring itself. Ice fragments were flung out from the epicenter, and some shrapnel found its way into human armor.

The navigations officer maneuvered us to the edge of the ring; the proximity was close enough to get a visual. A few predator craft were rendered inoperable, or ripped apart by debris. Cheers erupted across the bridge, as they saw the devastation we unleashed. I tried to mimic pleasure, but gunning humans down just made me feel numb.

My eyes lingered on the wreckage in the viewport. “Nice work, Jala. We must’ve taken out a number in the double digits…in no small part, due to your fortitude.”

“Don’t mention it. That was fun!” she trilled. “Just a shame our skirmish was so short. I was expecting more of a scrap.”

Thyon narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a shame that our victory was decisive. It makes it more likely that our flight to Earth will continue unimpeded.”

I tuned out their bickering. My focus was on scanning a motionless Terran vessel via manual input. Ship sensors had been fully automated since before I was born. At close-range though, it should be possible to work through the interference with operator assistance.

The human craft I scrutinized had its hull caved in, which suggested debris impact at high velocity. It was mostly intact, but life support and propulsions were knocked offline. Some part of me itched to know if its pilot was still alive. Future generations would ask about these Earthlings, and nobody could provide an adequate explanation. This was a pristine opportunity to document a sapient predator’s mannerisms.

“Silence on the bridge! Comms, make sure all transmissions are being recorded,” I screeched. “I want everyone here to know the enemy, so I’m hailing that venting wreck. Consider it a crash course on predators.”

Thyon gasped. “What? What makes you think that demon will answer?”

I tilted my head. There was no guarantee a human would accept our communication attempt, but it was worth a try. While seeing its face would make the crew shudder, there was no feasible risk. Its weapons and escape options were severed, and it was smart enough to know that.

The outbound hail was sent with a swipe of my talons, against the protests of the crew. A tense silence filled the air, as our signal was extended to the crippled foe. There was no response for several seconds, which only added to the crew’s nerves. Did these people think a predator could teleport on deck through a call?

I could almost sense the Terran’s bewilderment; it was weighing whether to hear our message. Curiosity must have won out, because a pair of frosty blue eyes appeared on screen. The ferocity of its gaze sent several crewmates ducking for cover; their color looked cold and unnatural. The beast had a laceration across its forehead, and was dabbing it with a towel to keep the blood out of its vision.

It’s wounded. Maybe it’s not thinking straight, so we can pry some intel from it.

I couldn’t say that looking at it didn’t give me the creeps, even after decades of dealing with predators. This creature was more intelligent than anything I eliminated in the wild. There were only a few clumps of hair across its face, which made it look alien and bare.

“What do you want? I don’t need your mockery, birds,” it gurgled.

I resisted the urge to avert my gaze, and instead tried to make neutral observations. Beneath that petrifying visage, there were signs that the creature was rattled. The slightest furrow of its brow suggested fear, and the way its jaw tightened indicated pain. It realized its death was imminent; that knowledge overshadowed its last moments.

I raised a wing in a noncommittal gesture. “Nobody is mocking you. I just want to talk.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” It leaned closer to the camera, close enough to make out the veins in its eyes. “What makes you think I want to talk to you?! Enlighten me.”

“A hunch. I figured a pack predator wouldn’t want to die alone. If I’m wrong on that, you can end this transmission now.”

Thyon was staring at me like I’d grown a third wing, while Jala was observing the exchange with amusement. I had my reasons for fielding this call in the public eye. The crew needed to see affirmation of my theories, after the skeptical reception I observed. It would be a critical lapse in understanding, to presume they shared the Arxur’s solitary behavioral patterns.

The human bared its teeth, and shook its head in disbelief. It placed its chin on its hands, then refocused those horrific eyes on the camera. Frost spiraled from its plump lips, which suggested the cabin temperature was frigid. With only a stringy flaxen mane, I didn’t imagine it would last without environmental regulation for long.

“You never answered my question,” the beast sighed. “What is it you want?”

“I want to rescue you from that icebox. Surrender yourself to our custody, peacefully, and I’ll see that you survive. You can ensure that your culture is remembered.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. How fucking stupid do you think I am? Death is better than what you lot do to human prisoners.”

“You have my word that I’ll hold you in fair conditions. You don’t want to die. I can see your fear.”

The predator blinked slowly, and hugged its arms together to conserve warmth. It wasn’t ready to give up key information now, but if I managed its needs, it might start spilling intelligence. Self-preservation was a driving force in every sapient being.

The human detached a small cutout from its dashboard, and turned it toward the camera. The image was of three snarling, young predators, with the pilot crouched beside them. Another adult primate had an arm around the offspring, and was flashing pearly white fangs. They looked vicious, but…happy.

“That’s my family. I am afraid, but not of my death,” it growled. “I’m afraid that you’re going to kill everyone I love. The only thing that will please you is my whole species purged from existence…and I don’t know if even that will quench your hatred. Please, stop this.”

The transmission cut out abruptly, and I pushed down the lump of pity in my throat. There was the confirmation that humans cared for each other. I hoped that inspired a bit more sympathy from my comrades; the Krakotl government shouldn’t hide humanity’s redeeming attributes. It was enough to establish them as a major, valid threat.

The truth matters, I thought to myself. We’re not going to strip that away on my ship, to make ourselves feel better.

“The predator only has a few hours before its atmosphere is used up. Orders, sir?” Jala asked in an emotionless voice.

I lowered my gaze. “Terminate it. A quick death, Jala. The human refused my offer, and we can’t leave it to be rescued by its brethren.”

The female Krakotl rolled her eyes, but deployed a missile into the drive column. I watched as the wreckage went up in flame. It was merciful to grant the beast a swift end, rather than condemning it to suffocate in that freezing tomb. Still, its death didn’t bring out any positive emotions. Some of the crew seemed moved by its elimination as well, which meant my strategy was a success.

Thyon’s nostrils flared with exasperation. “What were you thinking, Captain?! What would you have done if it accepted your offer?”

“I would’ve stuck it in the brig, like I said,” I answered. “And no, Zarn wouldn’t have gotten within a hundred paces of it. We could contain a single, wounded predator…and it was useful.”

“Useful? What did you gain from that little chat?!”

“Watch your tone, XO; this is my ship. Now, you all know the enemy as I do. You can come to terms with the real reasons for this mission.”

The Farsul first officer gritted his teeth. Thyon was disturbed by my generous view of predators, but he knew protesting on the bridge was out of line. Perhaps he needed to believe falsehoods to maintain his conviction.

All doubts needed to be sorted out before we reached Earth. Assuming the Terran ambushes were resolved, the fleet’s next engagement would pummel everything humanity had into oblivion. When we reached our destination, I hoped my crew would be ready to do what was necessary.