[The Nature of Terrans (The Nature of Predators)] - Chapter 1: Welcome to Earth

Greetings, everybody! For those of you who have seen this story before and are worried this is a repost, redistribution, or plagiarism, fear not! I am the original author, and have been forced to rerelease my story due to Reddit chicanery and my own overenthusiasm/stupidity. So, you all get to read my story from the very start! Expect 1 or 2 chapters a day as I get this story back out on the Internet, and I'll get the previous/next buttons added as the story grows. As always, thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe I get to play in.

Chapter 1

 

Memory Transcript Subject: Kosif, Arxur-Terran Exchange Participant

Date: (Standardized Human Time) April 23*^(rd)**, 2241*

 

**Author’s Note: I am assuming that this is long enough after from the last events of NoP 2 that the Arxur have been tentatively reaccepted into star-faring society.**

 

The requirements for this exchange program were rigorous to say the least. The Sapient Coalition lifted the twenty-lightyear isolation sphere not too long ago, with a surprising amount of support from the post-raid generations of the omnivorous and herbivorous species. The very first step that the government of Wriss took was to establish better relations with our tentative neighbors. Hence the exchange.

The very first constraint was age, of all things. You could not be from a time when the Arxur were still raiding or warring with ourselves or other species. This meant that only Arxur under [thirty years] old could participate.

The second, and most broad, was a clean criminal record. Nearly three-quarters of all volunteers were rejected simply because of this. Any offense, no matter how small, got you dropped. I thankfully made the cut, which is why I’m currently sitting in a shuttle with twenty other Arxur.

My tail lashes slightly as I remember the mantra that was drilled into us before we even boarded the vessel.

Do not look predatory.

Do not sound predatory.

Do not act predatory.

To break any of these three tenets was to have your hide hauled back to Wriss and banned from participation in any government xenorelations programs before you could lash your tail.

The shuttle bumps against the ground and some of us, including me, flinch ever so slightly as we’re pulled from our thoughts.

We’re here, I think, and the tip of my tail twitches with my nerves. Another set of flinches passes through the shuttle as the door unseals with a loud hiss. Nobody moves, none of us able to muster the courage to exit. A voice crackles over the PA, a male Arxur’s hiss.

“What are you waiting for? Get off this ship and remember what I told you. Go!”

A rush of motion as all twenty-odd Arxur begin grabbing their bags and belongings. I remain seated, even if to delay my face-to-face meeting with my Terran exchange partner. His name is Charlie, and he’s an adult male Terran that I was matched with for the program. Even though he knows I’m an Arxur, and has told me multiple times that he’s not afraid of me, I still hesitate. Knowing that your friend is a large reptilian predator isn’t the same as sitting down at a meal with them. Was this how the human exchanges felt when they first stepped onto Venlil Prime, knowing that a single wrong step could send their herbivore partners into a panic attack?

Of course, humans aren’t exactly as temperamentally fragile as the Venlil once were. But what standards must I hold myself to? Must I hide my carnivory and pretend not to like the taste of meat? Why are all these questions only coming to me now instead of when I was last talking to Charlie?

I bemoan my brain’s inability to time pertinent questions conveniently as I shoulder my bag and exit the shuttle as one of the last to depart. Even before the final Arxur steps off the stairs to the ground, the ship’s door closes and seals. The Terran air is warm and wet compared to the temperate climate of where I lived on Wriss.

No turning back now, I think as I enter the spaceport. Humans funnel us inside, accompanied by the odd brave Gojid or Krakotl. A blast of cool air races across my scales, sending a shiver through me from the rapid changes in warmth and humidity. Every bag is searched, and a male Arxur is pulled aside for having a bladed weapon. I hear him claim that his partner wanted to see it, but it’s difficult to believe anything. I can hardly believe he risked it, considering what was drilled into us before we even entered the Sol system.

Do not look, do not sound, do not act predatory.

My bag is handed back to me without any undue trouble, and I sit down in a metal chair against a wall of the large room, providing the typical personal space of [8 feet] to everyone around me. The male who was pulled aside returns, looking thoroughly warned. There’s no activity except the milling about various Arxur waiting for something to happen. I’m lost in my thoughts about how I should act around Charlie when a door opens on the far side of the waiting room. A Venlil’s head pokes out, and after a few false starts, they manage to stutter something out.

“Y-your exch-change p-p-partners are ready f-for you.”

The Venlil hurriedly pulls their head back through the door as every Wrissian in the room begins walking towards them, and I join the rear of the group heading through the door. No sooner than the first of us steps through the door, I hear my name being called out.

“Kosif!”

The only thing is, it wasn’t through the translator that I heard my name. Someone was speaking my language. Every Arxur head turns in obvious interest towards the source of the noise. It sounded like a Wrissian child, albeit one with a serious speech impediment. The few at the front of the pack stopped, and I heard whispers passed between them. Something about a human… Whoever it was called my name again.

“Kosif!”

Too curious for my own inhibitions, I wove through the sparse group of the other Arxur to the front. Various humans of wildly different sizes and colors stood in front of their vehicles, but only one was holding up a sign, also bearing my name. It was written semi-sloppily, but it was unmistakably my name, unless someone had an allergy attack while they were writing the word [duck]. Underneath the sign, wearing the largest snarl on his face, was Charlie.

What on Wriss?!