Memory Transcription Subject: Captain Kalsim, United Nations Prisoner
Date [standardized human time]: January 1, 2150
Humanity was a species that I had equated to a virus: something infectious that would take over everything they touched.
As I watched the galaxy transform through news reports and a closed internet link in my cell, I saw that I was right on that front. Their culture became a dominant powerhouse, with entertainment franchises that ballooned in ways unimaginable for predator ideas. Terran bands toured across entire planets, playing at festivals to diverse audiences—sometimes, those gatherings were devoted to restoring the pasts shown in the Archives. Films and games with gratuitous input, from binocular-eyed characters to predator-diseased violence, sold like wildfire. Terran traditions and mannerisms became known across the galaxy.
Earth became the heart of the Sapient Coalition, as they began to move past the bombing. I’d regretted that I had no choice but to cut their cities down, even before my mission was a failure. One by one, the Terrans rebuilt every last one of the major epicenters from the ashes; their technological advances came at a staggering rate. Vienna, which currently hosted over one hundred alien embassies, had also become a hub of scientific research—ever since it had been deemed the host city of Project Chronicle. That was a project to restore the teachings of every species’ depraved past, so they could go back to their barbaric, primitive ways.
Tens of thousands of aliens arrived on Earth’s soil to participate in the restoration efforts. Genetic advancements piled up from the sister project, as the United Nations gradually convinced more former omnivores to remove their meat allergies. That included the Krakotl, restoring their bloodlust, after Terrans replaced our honorable government with some wishy-washy plant, Nuela. I was appalled to see how far my species had fallen. It wasn’t long before former-Federation oddities appeared on news programs about dabbling in these culinary sins. Part of why these races were so curious to try the full-fledged human meals was that their vegetable dishes had spread along with their culture, and wowed with their complexity. To think, those fools patronized a predator’s banquet!
The cure that I begged the Terrans to take; they truly did pity us for having our bloodlust removed. In a little over a decade, they’ve undone millennia of progress!
It had been hopeless the moment the Kolshians fell to their onslaught. The humans launched attack after attack on the very foundation of the Federation’s beliefs. Exterminators, the very profession I’d once been a part of, either shuttered their doors, or became something unrecognizable that went by other names. Terrans convinced the public that predator attacks were sapient assaults, and once that idea was planted, it became true. They’d also activated pity for the burning beasts, like I’d felt the first time I doused younglings in gasoline. It was a horrific process, sure, but necessary to remove their traces.
“How contaminated must all these worlds be now?” I mused aloud, staring at the dingy walls of my tiny cell. “Humans have spread to almost every planet. They start more colonies before even filling up the old ones, just for some domineering drive.”
My voice was fraught with both age and disuse; sometimes, I talked aloud to keep myself sane. When the humans gave me the internet link, it came with a caveat. They kept sending me profiles on Terrans who died during my raid, forcing me to look at the details of their lives. I couldn’t access the rest of the web until I watched the morning’s videos. Hadn’t I been burdened with enough guilt, knowing they were feeling and compassionate creatures? I didn’t know why I craved connection to this awful reality enough to go through such torment. For some reason, I always watched their October 17 ceremony—a planetary holiday not just across Earth, but many SC powers as well. Remembrance Day, they called it.
I remembered all of the impossible choices I’d had to make, protecting other lifeforms over Terrans. I remembered standing on that bridge, desperately trying to fire off our bombs as the Arxur arrived…and I remembered it too well, even in my old age. Part of me had hoped either natural conditions would free me from this world through death’s release, or that they’d wipe my memory clean of the awful things I’d seen. In the end, I knew I’d damned Nishtal and killed millions on Earth in a sacrifice that amounted to nothing. The kernels of doubt were the worst part of it.
Still, I remembered what was wrong with these Earthlings as I watched every aspect of the Federation crumble; predator disease facilities were a target of their assault. Despite their prior assertions that predator attacks were done by wicked minds, the humans thought that was something that could be talked away—and that the herd shouldn’t be protected at all! I recalled how dangerous Jala had been, even with someone like me to control her. Those violent desires, coupled with a lack of empathy, could result in attacks if extraneous behaviors weren’t stopped. Terran psychology babble was one of their most outrageous takeovers.
Nothing was sacrosanct. The humans fought to preserve wild predators that’d eat anything that crossed their jaws, due to their warped view of ecology. It was a far cry from the doctrine of little predators becoming big predators, and reproducing exponentially. Species like the Yotul didn’t have the refinement to resist uncivilized nonsense; those marsupials were among the first to welcome Terran attacks on all of these fronts. Governor Veln, who I’d had such high hopes for, became a non-committal flip-flopper who seemed to be altering Venlil society…in crawling increments. He lost re-election by a landslide, and someone from Tarva’s corner was right back in power.
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I’ve seen all of our sacred beliefs attacked by humans, and how much damage they’ve done to the chance the Kolshians gave us to be civilized. I’ve watched them spread throughout the stars, just like I feared—and I’ve seen they’re never satisfied. They still plan to push further.
Years of my life were spent in a waiting game, for the eventuality that I’d promised to Arjun, back when we held him hostage. Humanity’s growth would lead to them building an empire off of the backs of prey species, as predicted by their history. Without being gentled and saved from their innate sin, their bloodlust would lead them to temptations…and the atrocities would begin. I assumed it would happen with the Federation powers that didn’t surrender. When the United Nations’ mighty military sent out manpower to overthrow governments, starting with the Yulpa homeworld of Grenelka, I assumed it was the beginning. My prophecies would be vindicated.
These races, including their so-called friends, were weaker than them, playthings at best. With their foot soldiers back out on the prowl, they’d get a taste for killing and enslaving other cultures once more. They didn’t have to play at docility for their survival, so what was to stop them from giving in to their true nature? What was to prevent them from taking what belonged to others for themselves, with their military now stronger than the fledgling force that still defeated the thousand-year-old Kolshian empire?
There was no reason for them to restrain themselves, or to be able to restrain themselves…and yet they did. Grenelka, and dozens of worlds that followed it, had their leaders cut down with precision…and then, they were rebuilt from the ground up. The humans took the time to create something new from their strike, setting up new agencies that were staffed by locals and wouldn’t answer to the UN. With hostile powers under their crosshairs, the Terrans showed mercy. They wanted others to stand on their own as equals, a concept that violated the core of what being a predator meant.
“Humanity has spread everywhere, and taken our systems, just as I knew they would. Exponential growth,” I chirped aloud. “Yet more herbivore worlds haven’t fallen. What happened to their inner violence? Their phenomenal cruelty?”
If my mission hadn’t been for the Federation’s survival, then I hadn’t needed to spearhead the extermination fleet at all. All I saw in humanity’s ventures, whether through implied or outward motivations, was endless compassion. For the weak and vulnerable. For the herd anomalies. For those who’d sought forgiveness after grave insults. For those that didn’t deserve their compassion: just as that Terran judge had spared me, despite what I’d inflicted on his kind. I couldn’t understand how it was possible, and yet their astounding empathy was all that I found.
Predator volunteers rushed off to every world, working impossible hours daily for little compensation, as cattle rescues overwhelmed local systems. Human scientists used their new genetic capabilities to scrutinize diseases, even ones that didn’t affect their species at all. The United Nations were the cooler heads among the SC, staving off vengeful deeds—Earth was the sole party that actually processed asylum requests from caged Talsk, and spent inordinate amounts on ships capable of shrugging off the “Kessler Syndrome.” War tribunals held in Vienna issued blanket pardons for all “child soldiers,” much to the outrage of their allies. Human civilians’ ventures were delighted to strike up partnerships, parallel to the government’s close work with Leirn, Skalga, Colia, Khoa, and countless others.
Had humanity truly deserved to be purged from existence like a disease? Was this all just hatred over their appearance and their diet, like the pilot begging for his family’s life had told me? After all this time, their hunger and bloodlust should have surfaced—with unequivocal proof of what they were! They had every opportunity to at least sate their hunger for power; they founded the largest faction in the galaxy. Hundreds of millions of aliens lived on Earth, and the cultural blending meant they would have to hide their instincts at all times. Someone was always watching.
Yet they never falter. What if they aren’t masking their instincts…at all?
It had been a simple truth that predators killed by nature, but now, I wasn’t so sure. When Cilany interviewed me, before my trial, I’d stood by my comparison of humanity to a virus. Their rejection of the cure was what led me to believe that their good side wasn’t strong enough to salvage. I’d waited for them to conquer the rest of the galaxy, yet with the passing of time, I’d begun to understand that they already had. Not with guns, bombs, or starship armadas. Not with occupations or pillaging. The Terrans conquered the galaxy through compassion—a desire for friendship and healing that existed without any modifications to their predator coding.
Perhaps they’d done horrific things to each other many years ago, but I could see that humans had become something else altogether. Their true selves, at the pinnacle of their advancement and the height of their power, were galactic caretakers: capable of emotion on par with the Venlil. For every Federation tenet they perverted, I couldn’t help but notice they’d ushered in a level of peace incompatible with any goals of violence. Life was better under their rule than the Kolshians or the Farsul. It was an unacceptable truth, to realize Earth would never be a spacefaring planet of domineering brutes.
The enormity of the guilt crushed my very soul and conviction; the tragedy was how truly unnecessary my genocide had been. Everything that we’d believed about humanity’s intentions was patently false, despite all wisdom and prior experience. Their emotional depth drove them, with a legitimacy that shouldn’t have been possible. There could be no greater punishment than to watch the galaxy move on without me, and to be forced into slowly realizing how erroneous my understanding was of the fundamental nature of predators.