The Nature of Predators - Yotul Rebuilders (2/2) (Patreon)

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Memory transcription subject: Lansa, Yotul Rebuilder

Date [standardized human time]: November 12, 2136

We had been cruising over the autobahn for a few hours, which Moritz told me had once been packed with cars; less commuters were traveling now, especially with millions fewer people clogging the roads. Our self-driving car was flying down the near-vacant road, and I took the opportunity to get some extra winks of shut-eye due to my poor sleeping habits. With the window rolled down, I fell asleep to the sound and sensation of rushing wind striking my ears. It was refreshing, though unfortunately, my nap wasn’t as restful. I dreamed about our first assignment after bringing the bunker shut-ins of Frankfurt back into open air.

“Listen up!” The middle-aged Yotul was our volunteer unit supervisor, clearly having just escaped a stressful briefing. Things were bad on Earth, with certain areas rendered lawless and without any goods or utilities. “There is a lot of work to be done. It’s not just pulling people from the rubble—our job is equally important. The humans we save need somewhere to go. So I’m going to list the tasks we need, and we’re gonna get a fuck ton of volunteers for everything on that list. Am I clear?”

I perked my ears up, joining in a chorus of shouts. “Yes, sir!”

“Good. We need to ship supplies into anywhere that’s been cut off—water, medicine, and food, first and foremost. People with illnesses cannot go without doses of their treatments for any length of time, so unless we want deaths on our paws, this is a fucking priority. But also, we have matters like sanitation products, fuel, and cultural or religious items that need to be imported for quality of life. Paw in paw with that, we need help restoring the grid, because it’s about to get damn fucking cold on Earth. Who’s going to pitch in?”

Several tails shot up into the air, and the supervisor picked about two dozen volunteers to split between these tasks. I maintained a low profile; despite the undeniable importance of this task, it didn’t call to me. I suppose my unenthused response didn’t make sense when my profession left me suited for navigating unfamiliar areas, and creating aids for others to find their way on the shipping assignments. Every aspect mentioned was life-saving work too, so it wasn’t as if it wouldn’t help save thousands of Terrans, like I aspired to do.

Why did I feel so cold now that I was here, when I thought about chipping in?

The supervisor finished routing the volunteers to designated briefing locations. “The bulk of the labor—construction! The absolute top priority is to set up temporary field hospitals, and later, full facilities with surgical suites and high capacity. On that note, if you have any medical experience at all, you should volunteer your talents. There are lots of humans who are hurt, some clinging to life by the tip of their baby claws, and normal emergencies don’t just stop happening because bombs added some new craters to the landscaping. Diseases still spread, bones still break, organs still fail, and babies keep needing to be delivered. Speak up, if you want on this assignment.”

Those suited to manual labor, distinguishable by the straps bound to their wrists in a clear signal of their skill set, offered themselves. A sheepish Yotul near the back mentioned that he was a tail doctor, but that was not applicable to Terrans. The supervisor didn’t care, happily conscripting the only medical professional to pipe up in the herd. I might’ve volunteered on account of this being the area meant for saving lives, had the last item on the plea for doctors not rocked me to my core. My chance to volunteer was gone after the quota was met, and I questioned whether I could bring any positives to the humans’ life. The only time I’d found my voice or my agency had been throwing awful news of death at these poor people back in the bunker.

“The UN needs a small station to distribute information and help connect loved ones. Without communications, the in-area survivors and evacuees have no way of knowing what happened to their families, but bringing phone service online is not happening until we get basic needs and search-and-rescue wrapped up. This should be a job which requires a few people.”

I had mentally checked out as the supervisor read off that task, and the herd dwindled even further. My throat felt dry, as I noticed the overseer’s eyes lingering on me. Whatever the next task was, I had to volunteer, or else it could lend to the assumption that I was unwilling to help the Terrans. There weren’t many Yotul left from our original group. Of those in our unit, I stood out as the one who’d screamed for the humans’ attention, to tell them their loved ones were dead. Their display of grief haunted me, a poignant feeling I understood. I wondered if those primates from Frankfurt hated me.

“There have been at least hundreds of thousands of people displaced; there’s an equal number ‘missing’, and I know that probably means dead, but we’d rather not say that until we’re certain. Miracles happen, though time is ticking for anyone buried alive—they’re banged up and need food and water. The missing take precedence, so we need search-and-rescue teams to go through Berlin’s rubble with thermal sensors, looking for human biomarkers. After that, those volunteers will be turned to constructing shelters so whoever we save or whoever comes home—and I’m sure the refugees with the petrified Venlil want to be here—so that they have a place to stay. Who’s up for it?”

My tail felt like it was tied to a sundial, but I managed to pull it up in a half-hearted gesture. That scene at the bunker left me feeling as numb as I had, decades earlier; I thought I’d moved on. It’d been an appropriate amount of time to have gotten past it, and it shouldn’t still hurt as bad as the day I lost her. There were millions of people suffering here and now who I’d committed to help, aside from any personal problems ailing me. Any reservation to pitch in was selfish. I should’ve been bouncing on my hindlegs with a wagging tail, eager to do anything that could make the slightest difference.

“Excellent, given that there’s no holdouts, that should be the perfect use for the rest of you. Oh, and before you follow me to meet the group you’ll be joining, there’s something you should know. A significant number of the able-bodied refugees from that Frankfurt bunker volunteered to help us. You’ll be working alongside them, and I don’t expect to hear any problems about it. We’re not the Federation.”

My heart dropped into my chest, at the thought of facing those survivors from the bunker again. What if they had a problem with working with me, because my face reminded them of the news I’d given them? What if they blamed me for rushing them into the truth? I’d be working alongside them for weeks, if not months. Part of me wanted to just cry with my snout in the dirt, or to beg the supervisor to find me a ride back to Leirn. Yet with how much these humans were suffering, I couldn’t give into that cowardly urge. I was stuck in this mixed-species group.

I dragged my feet following the supervisor, keeping to the back of the herd. Several trucks waited for us, with humans seated on benches. They were seated enough apart that the only seats were in-between them, which I figured the Yotul personnel in charge had ordered them to do, so that we’d be forced to interact and get to know each other. My eyes watered, as I scanned each vehicle with desperation. There was no way to stay out of a human’s space. I sucked in panicked breaths, not knowing how I could face them.

“Hey! Over here!” A predator waved at me with a pale arm, and a scalp that was as devoid of hair as the rest of its head. He was definitely the one that’d begged me for the life of his children back at the bunker. “I remember you. Come sit by me; I’ll save you a seat right by the end.”

I implored my legs to climb into the vehicle. “Thanks. Um, I’m Lansa. What’s your name?”

“Moritz. It’s good to see you again. After everything that’s happened, it’s great to be doing something to help. How you guys rushed here to help in any way you can, you’re heroes. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy to be on a strange world in such a chaotic time.”

“I feel awful for you. I’m sorry for what I had to tell you.”

“Someone had to. At least you didn’t let us get our hopes up for long; would’ve been a long fall. It was merciful.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about doing the right thing. We’ll be working together for awhile, so I figure we should get to know each other. I’d like to have you as a friend.”

I jolted awake before I could replay my response in my dream. The self-driving vehicle had stopped outside school, which had been taken over by personnel in UN garments. Moritz slid out his driver’s door, and I rolled the window up on the passenger side. Humans referred to this position as “shotgun”, since firearm-wielding security would fend off threats in wagons on the old roads. I preferred the Yotul’s nickname for it, “scout.” Eager-eyed navigators with skillsets like mine would write everything they saw, and keep an eye out for anything noteworthy or unusual. I searched for those traits in our new venue, trying to determine what this school had been repurposed for.

“Moritz, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here now?” I asked.

The human waved a dismissive hand. “No, I’m going to show you. Come on.”

With a hint of reluctance, uncertain of whether it would prove a wise decision to have abandoned the posting I signed up for weeks ago, I strolled into the front doors of the school. We weaved through twisting hallways, and eventually stepped into a large gymnasium. By a quick assessment, I gauged that there were some childcare professionals assigned here. Hundreds of kids were in the care of a team that was hardly large enough to manage this crowd. Moritz’ binocular eyes darted around, before his face lit up in a grin. A gaggle of Terran younglings, four of them, to be exact, bounded toward him screeching; their little legs carried them far enough to tackle their father in a hug.

Look how happy they are to see their parent. You can tell that they love him, just as much as he adores them.

The largest kid was beaming from ear-to-ear. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!”

“Oh, come here! I missed you all so much,” Moritz purred. “This is my friend, Lansa. We’re going to be staying home for a while, taking care of you and lots of other kids.”

My ears pinned back in confusion. “Moritz, a word?”

“Nothing to say. We have clearance to help out with childcare, which will allow more workers to leave and help the cities’ recovery. Anything you want to do to entertain the kids, or keep their education moving; they’re trying to reopen basic classes in the next few weeks. I know you’ll excel at loving and supporting them, Lansa, so you’re perfect!”

“Um…how exactly does this help the rebuilding effort? I get that it fits ‘bringing light to children during dark times’, but I wouldn’t think prolonged teaching and telling stories is the priority now. Does this make enough of a difference to matter at all? Are we making anything better in any meaningful way?”

The human was quiet for a long moment, sensing my conflicted emotions over transferring away from the shelter construction, where we had a direct impact on displaced families. He gestured for his kids to go play, and verbally asked them to let the grown-ups have a moment to discuss their plans. I felt my features soften, watching them chase each other around the gymnasium. Moritz’ eyes were glowing with affection, though he eventually turned a serious expression on me.

“Lansa, we aren’t just here to rebuild Earth’s buildings. We’re here to rebuild its spirit, like you said. Nothing is more important to the success and continuance of humanity than the future generation. But there’s more that you didn’t realize about our mission, when you signed up for what seemed like a simple job weeks ago,” the Terran whispered.

I breathed in a deep sigh. “What is that?”

“You’re here to rebuild yourself too. You’ve lost the life in your bones, whether your home was bombed or not. We cannot let the darkness win; not when it tries to consume us all and bury everything good we had. You don’t have to lose your spirit forever. It’s time for each of us to look deep into the face of our pain, and tell it that it won’t control us.”

“How do we do that?” My voice quivered, as I tried to recall the maternal instincts that had spawned such terrifying, fierce love. “And shit, I wasn’t supposed to be here for me.”

“We’re all here for ourselves and each other. One’s not more important than the other, Lansa. We do that by moving forward today, and being the lights these helpless little ones need us to be. I want to see what you can do when you let yourself be happy again. Take the first step. Go on, say hello! They’ll love seeing an alien; they still have that wonderment the adults have lost.”

I steeled myself against the raging tempest of emotions inside, and ambled over to the kids on weary legs. The mournful burden of decades sank atop me with full force, once I allowed myself to stare into the darkness. There was no undoing what I had lost, now or ever, and the feeling was never going to go away. I didn’t want one terrible moment to have power over me forever. Moritz was right about reviving the spirit and enthusiasm for life I had before; surely I could pour everything I had into injecting brightness, if only for a moment, into these kids’ lives. The human children were smiling, with one particularly brave soul tugging at my tail. I curled it around my hindlegs, fixing him with a stern look.

“That’s not a polite thing to do.” I stifled a chuckle when the kid looked upset, as though I’d wronged him by removing my tail from his grubby hands. “No need to look sad. If you all behave, and sit right there in front of me, I could tell you a Yotul story. It was a tale that inspired me when I was a kid. It drove me to make maps that depicted our entire planet!”

“Whoa!” the tail-tugger declared, clapping his hands together. He crawled over to the other children on all fours, and turned shining pupils on me. “I wanna hear a story from the fluffy alien. Tell it, tell it!”

Moritz smiled, seeing the glint of genuine happiness in my eyes. “You’re doing great! Miss Lansa knows lots of stories, kids, doesn’t she?”

I allowed a giggle to tumble from my chest. “That I do. This particular tale is special to me. It’s called Tananella.”

As I enraptured the human children with tales of a magic compass and love, I was reminded of what true innocence was; this was my calling on this mission, more than anything else I could’ve volunteered with. It would prove a fleeting feeling, but in that moment, I believed that both Earth and myself could find healing, if we allowed ourselves to seek it out. Recognizing that the primary roadblock came from within was the start down a lengthy journey to recovery. The darkness that proliferated all around us wasn’t going to defeat us, no matter how thoroughly it tried. Deep in our hearts, we were much stronger than it could ever be.

A/N - Part 2 of the series! Lansa recounts the division of tasks when she first arrived on Earth, and her own paralysis to jump in with the assistance, as she snoozes on the ride back to Frankfurt. Moritz plans for her to help with the childcare, encouraging her to confront her demons and to seize the opporutnity to move forward. Do you believe that Lansa will find a path to recovery through this new assignment? Is there hope on Earth even among the darkest of times?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! I hope you enjoyed this emotional two-shot, the highest voted option from the poll, and I do hope you've had a good time with the format experiments this month with the content.