Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri, Gojid Refugee

  Date [standardized human time]: October 31, 2136

  Life on Earth seemed better so far than living in an Arxur cattle farm, but nobody knew how long that would last. Anyone who wanted to could leave, allegedly, but those who did were never heard from again. The calmer part of me realized that this was likely because none of us knew how to get a message all the way to Venlil Prime and back, but there was always the chance that that was how humans chose which of us to eat. Weird carnivores with weird customs. They reminded me of the old stories about wood waifs and other fey spirits that lived in the deepest woods: terrifying, but bound by inscrutable rules that made sense only to them. They needed to trick you before they could eat you, which always left the possibility open for a brave and clever Gojid to trick them right back and escape.

  Pity, then, that you're a coward and a fool, the darker voices in my mind whispered.

  I sighed. I didn't want to go to Venlil Prime anyway. It wasn't home. Home was a crater, blasted by antimatter, that had once been a verdant orchard. Home didn't exist anymore. The humans had caught wind of our military’s plot against them, so they'd attacked us first. Then the Arxur found our defenses down, and so they’d attacked us as well. Then the humans and the Arxur had fought each other, which was ideal--“let the predators tear each other apart” was an idea that had been rising in popularity among the Federation; even Nikonus, the Kolshian Chieftain, first among equals, seemed to publicly favor it--but their fight had brought utter ruin to the Cradle, the Gojid homeworld. My homeworld.

  My home.

  So no, when the news of a Federation extermination fleet on its way to Earth reached us here in the Gojid refugee camp, I had no interest in leaving. What would have been the point, when every place in existence was equally “Not Home”? Besides, when the humans asked if we wanted to leave, I got to shout something like “No, fuck you, I'm not going anywhere!” while the humans wrung their hands helplessly, bound by their inscrutable rules against moving their captive prey around without our express permission. It was the biggest dose of catharsis I'd had in weeks.

  I sighed, and settled into a seat at the mess hall for dinner. It felt so empty. We were down to single digits. Just me and a meagre pawful of other Gojids remained in the camp, each of us hunched over a tray of surprisingly good Terran food. They kept it simple for us, not out of cruelty, but because none of us trusted any food a predator served us that wasn't identifiable. Grain and beans and greens and fruit, served unseasoned at our request. None of us trusted the sauces. Too easy to slip blood or the ground-up flesh of our fellows into it otherwise. Couldn't trust the fey.

  I drank from a cup of clear water as my brown eyes scanned the room. Two human guards watching us, another serving food, and about eight fellow Gojids. My people looked tired and hollow, their prickly backs bent, going on broken, from the oppressive weight of despair. The evening news was on, though not much of note had come to pass since the Federation’s extermination fleet had been thwarted, some two weeks prior, by the Arxur, of all people, having come to bail out their fellow hunters. A few more Federation homeworlds had fallen to retaliatory strikes by the Arxur; the Tillfish and the Harchen had both surrendered to the U.N., banking on humanity's comparatively better treatment, and alarmingly the Arxur seemed to respect the U.N.’s claims on those species. If the two carnivores of the galaxy were working together, the rest of us were doomed.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  I shook my head as I watched the news. What fresh horrors awaited the dwindling civilized peoples of the galaxy today?

  “Our top story tonight,” began the human announcer, “Scandal in the Federation. In a recent interview with the Kolshian Chieftain Nikonus, the head of the Federation founder species admitted that humans and Arxur were not the first meat-eaters on the galactic stage. On the contrary, as many as one in ten Federation ‘herbivore’ species had omnivorous tendencies prior to their uplift.”

  I shuddered a little. Secret predators living amongst us in the Federation? Every brown-furred Gojid head in the mess hall turned to hear the news. I wondered which species had been so untrustworthy that the Kolshians had felt the need to hide them from us for the sake of some clearly false sense of unity. The Krakotl, maybe? They were astonishingly aggressive for an herbivore species. Fully broke ranks with the Kolshians to go on the warpath against humanity.

  “A full list of affected species is available now from the U.N.’s website,” said the newscaster, “but a few species are immediately relevant to humanity's political interests and bear special mention. The Krakotl, the blue birds who spearheaded the anti-Earth extermination fleet. The insectoid Tillfish and reptilian Harchens, who aided them, and who are currently under U.N. occupation and martial law. The camel-like Iftali, one of humanity's nominal allies. And the porcupine-looking Gojids that U.N. forces fought earlier this year.”

  My eyelids fully recoiled back into my head as I stared in uncomprehending silence at the TV. Another Gojid screamed, the same wordless wail of anguish I’d last heard from a mother watching her child get devoured in front of her. A third swore up a storm, cursing the humans for broadcasting obvious lies. Someone threw up, someone else had to be restrained as they tried to claw their own neck open. Bright blue Gojid blood stained a bandage as the humans dragged him away…

  The cursing guy has to have the right of it, though, right? my worries murmured. This can't be true. We Gojids are defenders of the herd. We are the shield of the Great Protector, and we shelter all in her light. We have always stood as a bulwark against predators. Calling us bloodthirsty demons like the Arxur… What a sick joke.

  “We understand this news may be shocking to our viewers,” said the newscaster, “but rest assured, this comes straight from Nikonus’s mouth. A Harchen named Cilany, a celebrated investigative reporter within the Federation, recorded these statements at great personal risk to herself, with the assistance of the Gojid war criminal Captain Sovlin.” I bristled. Hero. War hero, despite his earlier actions against human POWs, and despite his shameful defection to humanity afterwards. He’d even stopped by the Gojid refugee camp here in New York to make sure we were safe… “We will now play the captured footage in its entirety.”

  The video confirmed my worst nightmares. It was just three people in a diplomat’s office, talking, and yet it may as well have been footage of the Arxur tearing children apart with their teeth. Nearly as bad as hunters and twice as disgusting, my people had been scavengers, feasting on carrion, and the Kolshians had had to infect us with a genetic allergy to meat--a retroviral "Cure" for carnivory--to get us to stop. They'd even tampered with our religion to drive their lessons home! Did the Great Protector even stand against predators at all, or was it all just lies piled on lies?!

  I could barely hear it towards the end. The weeping and wailing was too loud, and I couldn't even tell who it was coming from anymore. The crying lady, the swearing guy, or my own painfully raw throat.

  I felt numb otherwise. I stumbled back to my bedroom in a haze and laid there, catatonic, staring at nothing, just futilely trying to read some kind of sign from the gods written on a featureless blank ceiling. My fur prickled, practically standing on end, as my skin crawled around every follicle.

  How is it that I could be the utter antithesis of everything I'd ever thought I was?