The Nature of Predators - Gojid Refugee (7/9) (Patreon)

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Memory Transcription Subject: Talpin, Gojid Refugee

Date [standardized human time]: October 4, 2136

The keyboard that I’d use to type was not just thin, but also could be strapped to my wrist to make it portable. Lily’s face was brimming with excitement, as she brought me to a van that’d been deposited outside the building. I wasn’t sure where she was taking me, or what it had to do with music, but I decided to go along with it. If there was a small chance I could form some connection with my family’s legacy, there was nowhere I wouldn’t go. My heart rate did accelerate, seeing that we were going toward the sea of skyscrapers. How many predators roamed these areas, without any supervision? What if I saw something brutal or hunting-focused…what if Lily saw it too, and her instincts were set off?

The human tapped the seat, knowing I’d feel the vibration. “It’s just a short ride to the club. The UN called in a few favors, and the place will be pulsating, but cleared out.”

“I don’t understand,” I typed back. “And I don’t see how I could ever appreciate music, the way they’re so enthralled by it, when I can’t hear it. It’d be like taking a blind person to an art gallery.”

“Well, blind people can appreciate some types of art, with the help of other senses. Touch is very important to them.” Humans allow predators whose forward-facing eyes—the foremost tool to lock onto prey—don’t work to live too? They try to help their weakest pack members experience their fullest lives. “So they can appreciate the intricacies of sculpture, or you can recreate the details of famous paintings with raised textures—they can map it up-close-and-personal. A tactile approach.”

“I guess that would be how they see. It’s a shame you can’t feel to read.”

“Wait, what?!” Lily’s mouth parted, giving me a glimpse of pointed fangs; sharp tips that startled the breath out of me. “Do you not have braille, or something like it? Raised dot clusters that represent letters, and you can glide your hand over to read?”

“No. We don’t have any sign language either.”

“My God. We were going to ask for your tactile writing system, but you just…don’t have one? You hang people out to dry? I don’t think I even want to ask how deafblind individuals get on.” Both? How could you even…how could the humans… “My heart hurts. I’m at a loss for words.”

“As am I. You must be a very kind people to try to solve all of these problems.”

“That’s not even kindness. That’s basic decency. Holy shit.”

The predator seemed agitated, much like the soldier back at the camp when Berna called me deficient. My lower lip quivered, as I replayed what she had just stated. The humans didn’t seem to question this level of reworking their entire society, down to inventing new languages and writing systems—modifying art, a visual medium, to be discerned by those that couldn’t see at all! While I was touched by the beneficence of the Terrans’ efforts, I still didn’t grasp how that translated to my scenario. Music wasn’t something I could run my claws over and get the gist of; my ears didn’t work, and that was the only way to discern different notes and melodies. The world’s greatest whistlereed player and someone puffing random air into it were the same to me.

Maybe Lily is going to try to visually represent the music pieces, or explain their meaning? Berna tried to do that, showing the ebbs and flows—accentuating the most impassioned parts. Shit, I haven’t even stopped to process the fact that humans have art and music: sentimental endeavors of no material value.

“Consider me extremely intrigued now,” I clattered away at the keyboard, trying to pull the information from the human. “How can someone who can’t hear experience music?”

Lily’s lips curved upward in an unnerving half-snarl. “A lot like the paintings, you can feel it. At least for humans, a deaf person’s auditory cortex still processes vibrations. You can feel the beat and the energy. It just needs to be low and loud.”

“I can feel vibrations, especially of extremely loud noises. Like thunder, it shakes the ground. I don’t think that’s the right way to enjoy music though. It’s not what they like about it.”

“The only ‘right way’ is the one that makes you feel connected to it. By the way, it’s okay if it’s not for you, even with vibrations. You can try it and see. I mean, for heaven’s sake, songs aren’t the end all be all.”

“They are everything when you’re expected to be a musician. A deaf musician: that would be an oxymoron. I’m sorry to be so self-pitying, but it’s just…”

“Talpin, Talpin. I have a story to share with you. A little quote I dug up? ‘If I belonged to any other profession, it would be easier, but in my profession, it is a frightful state.’ It was said by a renowned composer named Ludwig von Beethoven, who was slowly losing his hearing. One of the most respected musicians in Earth’s history—I say this hundreds of years later—eventually lost all of his hearing.”

I furrowed my brow with sympathy, guessing where Lily was going with the anecdote. “That must’ve been terrible. To be so gifted, and to know exactly what he’d lost; his career as a musician, gone. Fearing that day as it slowly slipped out of his grasp. I suppose you’re saying there was some solace in his old pieces enduring and continuing to move people.”

Lily wagged a finger briefly. “That isn’t what I’m saying at all! What I was about to tell you is that he wrote his most famous piece—the ninth symphony—after his hearing had gone. He’d do all sorts of things to keep composing, like holding a pencil in his teeth to feel the notes’ vibrations. When the ninth was played for the first time, one of his fellow musicians had to turn him around to see the audience’s standing ovation.”

It was my turn to go slack-jawed, the way Lily did when she learned there was no braille equivalent. I couldn’t begin to reckon with the mental image of an entire crowd of predators, hanging on every note penned out by a human who couldn’t hear: lauding his work in rapturous fashion, not out of pity, but from a true belief that he created something remarkable. It seemed that Terran compositions were more than just replications of grunts and growls, like I’d begun to suspect when Lily mentioned “loud and low” tunes. The story of Beethoven with using the pencil to feel the notes implied some pitch variances and intricacies. It would diminish the incredibility of his feat slightly if it wasn’t a piece of beauty and harmony.

I need to have Berna listen to the composition, without telling her it’s from a deaf man to avoid her sparing my feelings, and see what she thinks. That’s how I can know for sure. Either way…it wouldn’t be impossible to make some form of music, from vibrations.

“Ludwig didn’t give up. He was strong,” I responded, after a lengthy pause; I could feel tears rolling down my face. “Thank you.”

Lily dipped her head, as the car came to a halt. “Don’t mention it. Anything is possible, even a deaf musician. Even a great deaf musician. You’re not alone.”

Distracted by the fantastical things the sign interpreter had discussed with me, I’d forgotten that I was heading deep into a city of hunters. The human extended a hand, after shimmying out of the vehicle, and I placed a paw against her fleshy palm with a semblance of trust. There were no immediate threats in my periphery that I could discern, only a flashy building which seemed to have been emptied. This must be our destination, which left me antsy to see whether the Terran was right about it being possible to feel music. For all that had been described, I wasn’t sure it would be the same, or that I’d enjoy aggressive and riotous predator music. I stuck close to Lily, eager to get indoors—where I couldn’t be sized up by unfamiliar beasts in the area.

The lighting in the venue was dim, to be expected from creatures that enjoyed stalking through the shadows. My mind wandered to my sister, and I knew she must be in shambles imagining what had happened to me. Maybe the Terrans wouldn’t be offended if I asked for her to come with me, at least in the future. There was so much that I needed to share with her about our hosts: aspects of their behavior and customs that boggled my comprehension. What would Berna think of humans treating me with a thousand times more kindness and respect than Gojids ever had? I felt compelled to talk with her about all of this. Better, I could really speak now, thanks to this text-to-speech gizmo.

“Lily? After this, can I please see my sister?” I mustered up the courage to type.

The human squeezed my paw, but not in a way that hurt. “Of course. I want us to have future lessons to help you, but if you want her to tag along, feel free. We want you to be comfortable.”

I don’t even have to ask. “Great. Thank you.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and in case music isn’t your thing, we’re working on rounding out the entertainment department. We’ve only been able to add closed captioning in Gojid to a few movies that are cleared for Federation tastes, but that’s something we were already working on. I know it’s not enough, though I hope it gives you something.”

“‘Closed captioning?’”

Lily’s eyes widened, and she looked like she might eat her own lips. “Written subtitles that show what characters are saying? Fuck, have you never watched a movie?”

“I can lipread bits and pieces, and see how they react to each other. It sounds a lot easier to have it written out. I’ve always liked books more, because I could get the full story.”

“My heart. I’m going to cry, again. I’m glad I didn’t go crazy with the makeup, ‘cause it’d be ruined.” She released my paw, and seemed unaware that I didn’t understand her last statement. I hovered close behind, as she approached a human at a desk in the far corner; my translator deciphered what she told him in text. “Pick something with lots of bass and percussion that would raise the roof. Crank it up.”

I had no clue what to expect from this taste of what music was, but I hadn’t anticipated such a sudden, powerful thrumming through the floor; I could sense the vibrations in my bones, and throughout my entire body. The time of the pulses was consistent and evocative. It was a shockwave that sent out ripples of energy, a buzzing that drew me in like a lure. Something about it inspired motion with its rhythm, the pattern worming its way into my brain like it was meant to be there. My claws twitched with each pulse, absorbing it. I found my midsection swaying nonsensically, and my paws hopping around.

Lily’s eye whites all but glowed in the dim lighting, as she prowled over to me. Her leg movements seemed limited to simple steps in geometric patterns; the human improvised a goofy-looking routine, flailing her arms in the air and closing her eyes. Following her example, I sealed off what was my sole way of observing the world, and wriggled my limbs around like a crazy person. My chest rattled, which led me to realize I was laughing. Despite my deafness, I was enjoying music with another person—letting it tickle my brain and trying to move in time with it. Even if I couldn’t process it in the same way as the Terran, I wasn’t left out. She’d been right that I could feel it on my own terms.

The deaf musician’s son dancing to a predator’s gravelly tune, right alongside a flesh-eating beast; there was no order or structure to our extravaganza. I felt free and happy in a way I never had before. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a burden. I was just another person who could do all of the other things my counterparts could. Like Lily had told me when she displayed her prosthetic, I wasn’t weak. Maybe if my father was watching me from the Protector’s Cloud, finally seeing me partaking in music, there would be that pride in his eyes that I’d always hoped for.

---

After we’d both exhausted ourselves dancing, Lily returned me to the refugee camp; I couldn’t stop thanking her for the aid, and the profound experience she’d granted me. She also received clearance to download an audio file for Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony onto my communication device’s data storage. I couldn’t wait to recount everything that I’d seen and learned about humans, and to see Berna’s reaction to the deaf man’s music. How could Gojids have wanted this species eradicated? These clearly weren’t heartless predators, incapable of empathy or creativity. Lily’s company was preferable to going back with my own kind, apart from the fact that Berna was there. My sister had always been there for me, as best as she could.

Lily had reapplied her mask while the van passed the camp’s checkpoint, before escorting me back to my tent. “This is where we part ways. I feel a little bad, sending you back to these heartless monsters; if they do cruel shit to you, any human will help. I’ll be back tomorrow, and we can start on anything that’s been out of your reach that you want to learn. Okay, Talpin?”

“Okay.” I threw my arms around the predator’s back, not caring who witnessed it and questioned my mental capacity. Everyone who believed the humans would eat me needed to see this. I pulled back to type a response, my fear response only lingering in the background. “Goodbye, Lily. I’ll be counting down the seconds until we meet again.”

Her lips curved up. “I will too. You deserve the world…don’t let the bastards get you down.”

The predator retreated back toward the van, though I couldn’t watch her go. As soon as the human had turned tail, Berna came sprinting at me, ensnaring me in a hug that did seem intent on strangling me. I returned the embrace, after taking care that she wouldn’t crush my brand-new, wrist-worn tool. Tears streamed down my sister’s face; my chest tightened, realizing how worried she’d been about me. To be fair, when I was first taken into their custody and isolated, I’d thought the predators were about to cull me—that it’d been a ruse to believe they would help. Seeing a Terran remove their leg, and the lengths she’d gone through to improve my life, had a way of quelling those doubts.

I want to stay here on Earth. I don’t want to go back to Gojid territory, or anywhere in the Federation!

Berna withdrew at last, still keeping a paw on my shoulder. “Talpin, you’re alive. I thought they were going to kill you. The hours ticked on, and you didn’t come back—”

“I know nobody will believe me, but they are the nicest species that I have ever met,” I typed, causing her to jump as the device read out my words. “They made a texture language for blind people. They put this thing called closed captioning on their movies so that deaf people can follow. They helped me feel music through vibrations, so that I can be like you and Dad!”

“Slow down. That…humans shouldn’t be doing any of this. They really made you something to talk with, in one day?” My sister leaned closer, studying the device with intrigue. “You hugged the predator. Then I hugged you…shit.”

“Lily is the sweetest thing. She lost her leg in an accident, so they made her an artificial one. She helps interpret in sign language for deaf people. As for the tech, it already existed, so it wasn’t that hard for them to craft. Their main challenge is making it work with alien languages, since they’re just learning all of that.”

“I see. I’m glad you’re alright, and I definitely want to go with you if they grab you again; I can’t bear to see you carted off by predators, all alone. You must’ve been so scared. You were alone with them for so long, and nobody would’ve seen if anything happened.”

“But it didn’t. I’m fine. By the way, Lily gave me a piece of music to share with you that’s one of Earth’s most famous. Can you tell me if it’s any good, compared to Gojid tunes?”

Berna leaned her ear toward the device’s speaker, as I played the audio file for her: something predators considered a masterpiece, written by a man who’s hearing slipped away. Shock flashed through her pupils, and others from the herd were drawn to the sound. There was no cowering or spines bristling with fear from the noise. The tune seemed to draw Gojids in, with some displaying expressions of wonder. There were a few tentative looks, as if they knew they should be repulsed by predator-created entertainment, yet they weren’t. After overcoming her initial surprise, my sister used her claws to show the movement’s ebbs and flows, rising high to demonstrate flashes of intensity. I could feel it through the vibrations humming into my wrist, linking me in a small way.

Berna looked a bit disappointed when I paused the piece, overwhelmed by the growing crowd. “Talpin. That was one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. It’s masterful…passionate. You’re telling me a predator wrote that?”

Pride swelled in my chest for an ancient beast I’d never even known. “Not just any predator. A deaf one.”

Several spectators burst out laughing, as though I’d told an insane joke. Those guffaws turned to stunned silence, when the braver ones beseeched the watchful Terran guards and were told that I spoke the truth. The Gojids’ dumbfounded expressions amused me to no end; it was as if their brains were unable to reconcile the full picture with everything they believed about the world. I took up the hysterics where they’d left off, glad to have the last laugh at last.

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A/N - Part 7! Lily learns a bit more about the total lack of Gojid accommodations for almost any condition, while sharing the story of Beethoven’s battle with hearing loss to Talpin. Our narrator is able to dance and appreciate music in his bones, thanks to a strong bassline; he also views humans as the kindest species he’s encountered, and doesn’t want to return to Federation life. Berna is relieved that her brother wasn’t killed, as well as amazed by our classical music.

What will Talpin decide when a certain bird’s fleet forces him to not be able to stay on Earth? How will humanity handle their growing awareness of all the accessibility, and basic kindness, that the Federation lacks?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! Our next bonus content will be about a Kolshian seeking asylum in 2150s quarantined Aafa, and a UN caseworker who grows much too attached to him: dual POVs, a fresh narrative that will show what life is like on Aafa!