r/NatureofPredators

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Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, Federation Fleet Command

Date [Standardized Human Time]: November 23 through 27, 2136

With the recent Human attacks, Governor Piri thought it wise to park most of our fleet around Cradle’s orbit. I stood by her side in agreement when she announced it. But it seemed that wouldn’t help the scolding I was about to receive… She had waited until the rest of the Goljidi top brass had left the conference room to approach me. She didn’t have to say it was coming, I could feel it in the air, in the way she’d glance at me, only for a slight sorrow to hit her face.

“Sovlin…” Her face was obscured behind her claws as she spoke with what I assume was the most disappointed voice she could muster. “What, pray tell, gave you the brilliant idea to torture a prisoner, not tell me about it? And worst of all, you tossed a Venlil who could barely walk into a hungry predator’s pen??” Her arms rested on the stone table. Her holopad quest buzzing intermittently and incessantly.

“Ma’am, although I agree my actions were at the very least uncalled for and outside standard protocol—”

“Protocol? Protocol?? You’re worried about fucking protocol??”

“As I was saying…you know as much as I do just how much we lost to the Arxur. And until yesterday, all of the Federation was in agreeance that the Humans were just like them. What, pray tell, would your excellency have done in my place? Would you have let the thing that took so much from you walk free?”

“...Is this supposed to be a ‘gotcha’ moment, Sovlin? It doesn’t matter what I would've or wouldn’t’ve done. What matters is what YOU have done and how it makes my job a million times harder…” I stood in silence as she drove her point home over and over ad nauseum.

“I’m afraid I can’t undo it ma’am.” As my words trailed off, all that followed was the unquenchable silence of her judgement. It felt worse, by orders of magnitude than being left in that rotten cell by Recel.

“…You’re being demoted, Sovlin. Give me your badge.” She held a paw outstretched. She spoke again once I hesitated. “I can overlook what you did to that predator, I couldn't care less if it lived or died…” She paused as she shifted her weight from her tail to her backpaws. She calmly made her way to me, holding her paw open still. “...but you failed to fully report the situation, willfully put a Federation citizen in harm’s way and let your entire ship be evacuated, giving cover for Recel. I’m sure you understand why I have to do this.”

I removed my badge from my chest and placed it on her paw, her claws curved upwards almost grazing me as she curled her fingers into a fist around the silver insignia. The shadow she cast over me could surely fully engulf me. I felt so… small, like I had gone back to being scolded by my elders as a child.

The day would turn to night and to day again, but that feeling never really left my chest. 

As I boarded the Bastion I had the honor to inform the new captains of their promotion. They were still fresh but I had made them next in line. I waltzed into the mess hall, all spirit that I once had, completely drained. 

“First Officers Jemic and Rumi?” Two heads perked up from the crowd. “Meet me in my- the Captain’s quarters as soon as possible.” I went up ahead of them, they finally caught up to me as I cleaned my things off the desk. 

“Captain, may we come in?” The two officers meekly made themselves known.

“Come in.”

“What’d you need us for, sir?”

“No need for formalities, not your Captain anymore.”

“Sir? What do you mean by...?” Jemic stood stiff as I turned around, ceremonial rug underneath me and dagger in paw. 

My eyes surely had a somber look, judging by their silent stares. But as I looked at them I didn't feel remorse or envy. They hadn’t spent that much time under my guidance but all I could feel was hope for their future and a little bit of pride. For having, in a roundabout way, brought them here.

A heavy sigh left my chest. “...Under the Protector’s guiding light I have gotten where I am today.”

“By Her will we are born.” Jemic and Remi continued, it was clear they knew it by heart.

“We are Her paws who toil the land. We are Her paws who care for one another. We are Her paws who deny the lust for blood.”

“By Her will we live.”

“We are Her and She is us. We are Her children and she cares for us.” They continued. And held their paws outstretched.

“And by Her will we fall back into the earth.”

“Today we part with our blood as a vow to Her wishes.” I sliced open both my paws, the glassy chiseled blade rendered my flesh open like a plow sowing a field.

“Today we part with our blood so She knows we love Her. And heed Her call.” The younger duo followed my lead as I passed them the knife, each cutting their dominant paw. As our blood dripped down, it seeped into the rug, it melding to that of those before us. Adding them to this ichoric tapestry to our achievements.

My left paw met with Jemic’s and my right with Rumi’s. “You are Her light, Her will and Her paws on this world.” I recited the verse over and over as they held their voices. It was the way of our people. 

So much crossed my mind in that meantime. Was this part of Her plan? Were they supposed to take my place in Recel’s stead? Would I be here to watch them grow into the Captains I believed they could be? Yet all my worries faded away as I caught a glimpse of their eyes, so young and filled with determination. 

I think they’d be alright…with or without me.

I tried to feign some pride as I carried on. “Jemic and Rumi, you are hereby crowned…” I placed on each of their chests a silver insignia identical to the one I once wore. “...Captains of the Bastion, under the Galactic Federation.” The two glanced at each other uncertain of how to proceed. I recognized that fear, that apprehension in the face of duty. 

“What about you, Sir?” Rumi asked, concern flashing on his face.

“I’m afraid I'm just your Commander now.” I gestured to my new, smaller badge, which seemingly went unnoticed until now by the pair.

“We’ll make you proud, Sir.” Jemic lowered her stance and interlocked her claws in front of me, it was a gesture of respect. Rumi followed suit and so did I. 

“I’m sure you will…now to the bridge, i gotta show you the ropes. You’ll have time to put your stuff here soon.” The next two days would be stressful, for them at least. I got them used to how the crew worked best. I bombarded them with hypothetical scenarios to test their wit; swarm attacks, fanning blockades, surprise bombers. There was a bit of everything. They went well but there was still stone to polish.

The dawn of the third day arrived slowly, I was still struggling to sleep. Those eyes kept creeping back into my mind every night. I waited in my quarters until I cleared my mind or was required somewhere else. The latter came first.

Alarms blared all throughout the ship. I got up in a jolt, and hurried to put on my uniform. Was this an exercise? Surely those two wouldn’t pull that on the crew so soon. Was it the Humans? We have the whole planet surrounded, were they brute forcing it?

As I reached the bridge, a cloud of red dots spanned our holomap coming at us from the Southern edge of the system. “W- what’s happening here?”

“Three Gestin class transports and three Tugsa shuttles left hyperspace around Cradle’s orbit. The Gestins deployed a swarm of small ships. Similar to the ones near the Colony outpost.” Jemic replied without taking her eyes off the monitors.

“What about the shuttles?”

“They're tailing the rear of the swarm.” Rumi announced in between barked orders at the bridge. It was clear, at least to me, he was hiding a lot of anxiety.

The swarm closed in, finally entering our weapons’ range. Captain Jemic issued new orders in response. “Cut power to the main thrusters and idle the laser gatlings at 90%! Everyone look alive, we’re NOT letting them touch our home!” Her words mirrored my own. With a drive for duty that reassured me further of having chosen her.

The hive soon broke off into smaller fronts. They seemed to want to surround the planet rather than invading it proper. What were they up to? 

In any case, soon our starry backdrop turned to a smattering of our laser fire and plasma projectiles, and the Humans’ kinetic ammunition. Thousands of rounds streaked across the battlefield, it was a mess. The Human crafts were hard to pick off, moving as fast and nimbly as they did. But in turn, their salvos did little in the way of damage to our warships. 

I leaned back on my tail to watch the battle unfold. My protegeés were doing well, there was minimal damage to any of our forces, and that didn't sit right with me. I knew for a fact the Humans' crafts were capable of taking out ours, so why weren't they? 

Their ships were being taken out left and right. Even if they were quick, with the amount of ordinance we were spewing we were bound to hit something.

They weren't gaining ground in orbit, not were they going for the planet itself. Why were they throwing their own into a stalemate? They didn't seem to have a clear target like before, flying in confusing and ever-changing vectors…were they even the main force? 

Or was this a ploy to distract us?

I stared down towards my monitor. Behind this ever-shifting sea of red dots I caught a glimpse of three crafts veering away from the group in unison, diving into Cradle’s atmosphere. The transports...these fighters are just a ruse.

But would they be willing to sacrifice so many of their own? There were at least 50 thousand pilots by our count.

I decided it didn't matter how many siblings they sent into certain death. “SEND A FIGHTER SQUADRON AFTER THOSE TRANSPORTS.” I blurted out on instinct. I could feel the confused stares all across the bridge. Had I lost this much respect? 

Oh, right. 

“The transports. They’re making a run for Cradle. I recommend a small squadron split into three groups, Humans dodge very wildly.” The silence was dreadful.

“You heard him, people. He’s still your commanding officer. Do what he said.” Jemic came to my aid.

I shed a sigh of relief. Rumi, in turn huddled closer to me. His gaze met upwards with mine. “Are you feeling alright, Cap- sorry, Sovlin? You look uneasy, you often look so stoic.” 

“I…well, it's nothing. I'll be fine, Captain. Thank you.” 

Three groups with two fighters each tailed after those predators. Diving into our home's skies. We weren't able to maintain a stable video feed as they descended into the cloud cover. IFF relays would have to cut it.

Our crafts were much faster than the dinky Tugsas the Humans' had borrowed from the Venlil. Three yellow dots blinked to life on our radar, we were closing in.

Our ships fired, taking out the rearmost shuttle. The rest of the enemy unit remained, gunning for our capital city. Another salvo was shot. 

“Command, we clipped Target-1’s left wing.” The relay came through the radio. We fired again, and again, and again. They were as good as dead already…

Memory transcription subject: Seln, venlil microbiologist, scientific exchange program participant.

Date [standardised human time]: August 18, 2333

As I was unpacking my things and getting settled into our new room heard a ping from my datapad. Looking at the notification, I saw Kar'ny, my exchange partner, had sent me a message.

Kar'ny: I'm here. May I come in, or do you need a minute?

Seln: It's fine, come on before I can change my mind.

Seconds later, the door and my exchange partner walked in. It was actually the first time I'd seen an Ur'nu without a spacesuit. Not that the suits hid that much. Just like the rest of her species, she had a rotund body with eight short legs and a shell covering most of her back, though most of that shell was obstructed by a large, ornately woven cloth that was draped over her body.

At the front of her body was a four-part beak structure and two breathing holes on either side of it. And above that, there were, of course, the most interesting parts of her species' anatomy. Four distinct heads, each controlled by its own separate brain, stared back at me with their combined 24 eyes.

Calling them heads might not have been entirely accurate, though, as Kar'ny had informed me they were closer to highly evolved tentacles, even if the Ur'nu themselves still called them heads.

Taking her first few steps into our shared room, my exchange partner's head began to swivel in every possible direction, scanning the entire room in about two seconds before locking back onto me.

I wonder if they ever get nauseous from having four different points of view all the time.

About five seconds after she entered the room, Kar'ny emitted a hissing noise that my translator interpreted as exited sqeeling, before charging at me, stopping right before she hit me.

Honestly, I was surprised that I'd been able to keep my cool up until now, though I suspected her lack of predatory features was doing a lot of heavy lifting there. The next thing she did, however, did cause me to panic slightly as three of her four heads lunged at me, with two latching onto my claws while the third began shifting around erratically, seemingly trying to scan me in the same way it had scanned the room earlier.

Meanwhile, the fourth began making chirping noises that, after a moment, were translated into speech, "Oh my god, the humans were so right, you people are really soft, butanywayhiitssogreattomeetyouand-"

I couldn't really pay attention to the rest of what she was saying as my body seized up with fear. The datadump we'd been sent did warn us about Ur'nu being... touchy when meeting new people, mostly because their heads evolved to be semi-independent from the main brain and extremely curious by nature.

I tried to get my breathing under control and ignore the sensory overload while stuttering, "I...It's g...good to s...se....see you too. Uhm, C... could you please let me go?"

That stopped her in her tracks as she turned bright red and quickly let me go, her heads curling in on themselves as she did, "Oh...oh no I...'m so so so sorry I really didn't mean-"

"It's okay," I said while taking a little step back. "You were excited, I get it. I'm excited too."

Slowly, she returned to a normal shade, "Right, I'm still sorry though. That wasn't really a proper way to conduct myself."

"It's fine, really. Does stuff like that happen often?"

"Only if we're really excited and or panicking,...or bored,.... or daydreaming." She chukled, still clearly a little embarrassed.

"I see, no offence, but that makes them sound more like a liability than anything," I said, studying the structures of the four heads while they, in turn, studied me.

"It really isn't that much of an issue; they lock in when I get a good work rhythm going." She said as she started to unpack her things. Sure enough, the four limbs went from a disorganised mess to the picture of coordination in the blink of an eye. perfectly positioning all her personal items around her sleeping spot.

While she was busy, I took a moment to inspect the garment she was wearing. The basic structure of it was pretty simple. It was essentially just a fancy rug that had been thrown over her shell, with a few straps and pins to stop it from falling off. The design that was woven into it, however, was a little more interesting, depicting a set of geometrical shapes and symbols showing a remarkably detailed design of a mostly red planet with small blue and green spots. Mars, I assumed, as that had been the planet she was born on.

Part of me wondered just how much the garment would have cost. Sure, the art on it isn't exactly something you'd see in a museum, but still, something like that would have cost hundreds.

Experimentally, I reached out and ran my claws across it.

Wow, that's soft. Kinda reminds me of my own- wait a minute.

Before I could finish the thought, one of Kar'ny's heads snapped in my direction, causing me to let out a little yelp of surprise before quickly pulling back my claws, "S...sorry, I was just a little curious," I muttered, a little ashamed.

"Oh, that's fine," My exchange partner chirped. "Do you like it? I had it custom-made."

"I do. I must have cost a fortune, though."

"Not really. I mean, sure it was a little picey, but it wasn't that bad. anyway-"

Ping!

My exchange partner was interrupted by a distinct pinging noise coming from underneath her cloak.

Reaching underneath it, she pulled out a circular datapad and tapped on it a few times. "Dang, looks like it's time for those tests your people were talking about. You sit tight, okay? I'll be back in a bit."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll come with you. They probably have my test scheduled after yours anyway, so-"

"Wait, I thought that was only for the humans and Ur'nu?" Kar'ny said while making her way to the door.

"That's the case for the military exchange, but given were basically just civilians, they want to see how well we can control their fear response."

"Oh, well, alrighty then. Lead the way."

[fast forwarding transcription: 5 min]

When we reached the lab, we were greeted by a human woman whom I recognised as Sara from the first contact team. Seeing a human in the flesh for the first time was nerve-racking, but at least I was able to keep my composure. "Hello there, here for the examination?" She asked in a cheerful but professional tone. Standing next to her was a robot, which I assumed was controlled by that Magellan AI.

"Yep," Kar'ny said, matching the human's cheerful attitude.

"Y...yes," I added a second later.

"Great, you're Kar'ny and Seln, right? Magellen, can you pull up their files, please?"

In response, the machine said, "

Kar'ny, Ur'nu, female, 31years old, born on Mars, she's a wetware programmer who mostly did maintenance work on Cortex. She's never had a proper psych eval, but neither cortex nor any of her previous coworkers reports any abnormal behaviour.

Seln, venlil, female, 38cycles old, born on venlil prime. She's a microbiologist who has mostly been studying the microbiome of soil samples from farmland. No history of abnormal behaviour, heart conditions or other health issues that might cause problems during the test."

Oh, so that's why I had to fill in that questionnaire before joining.

"Oh, you talked to Cortex? How's it doing?" Kar'ny asked nonchalantly as the pair guided us towards two chairs"

"Very well, it remembers you fondly and hopes you're enjoying your time here." The machine replied as my exchange partner, and we both sat down.

"Daaww, big softy, tell it I'm doing well and that I'll be back soon."

"Will do."

"Who's Cortex?" I asked as the human and robot strapped us down on the chairs and started attaching electrodes to our heads, a procedure that left Kar'ny covered in a web of wires as they needed to monitor all five of her brains.

"I'll tell you later when we aren't being treated like lab rats," She said, sounding a little nervous.

"Sorry about this", Sara said, sounding just as uncomfortable as I felt. "Frankly, I think this whole thing is overkill, but the venlil government insisted on it."

"If it ever becomes too much, please tell us, and we'll turn it off," Magellen added.

"Wow, really helping to calm my nerves here, Tincan," Kar'ny said sarcastically.

"My apologies."

"It's fine. What does this test entail again?"

"Put simply, we will be showing you some images of the Arxur and their war crimes, and then record your responses. Are you ready to begin?"

"Sssssuuuuurrre?"

"I...I guess so."

[fast forwarding transcription: 30 min]

After the test finally ended, my exchange partner and I stumbled out of the lab in a stupor. Apparently me results showed I had a remarkably high level of emotional control, which probably meant most venlil fainted during the tests. Even several minutes later, I was still shaking slightly from fear. My exchange partner was similarly rattled, having actually thrown up after the test ended.

"A...are y...y...you okay?"

"No," She said miserably, "I feel sick. "Can we just... go back to our room now, please? I wanna lie down for a bit."

"M...Me to", I said. As we started making our way back, I saw a venlil and a human approaching the lab. I couldn't be bothered to warn them, but I silently wished them luck."

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Memory Transcription: Juliana Restrepo, UN Inspector General
Date [standardized human time]: December 5, 2136
Location: UN Liaison Office, Government District, Dayside City, Venlil Prime

Talvi entered my office first, perhaps to show the dignity of her office as SafeHerd’s director. She carried a slim portfolio and wore an expression of professional composure. I could recognize the look even in Venlil: this was a woman who had spent ample time preparing for this moment.

Al-Furusi followed. He was dressed with the same calibrated or natural understatement as our first meeting: conventional but expensive fabrics, conservative cut. nothing that drew attention to itself. He carried a holopad and a physical document folder, which I noted with mild interest. Paper, on a planet that had moved past paper centuries ago. A formality choice that communicated seriousness, or perhaps simply a preference he hadn’t bothered to adapt. I couldn’t tell which, though it also didn’t matter enough for me to devote attention and processing to it. Just an amusing observation.

He was also, I registered with the clinical annoyance that this particular observation had produced last time, somewhat more striking than I remembered, and the restless energy that preceded him through the door had the same quality of barely contained motion that I had catalogued and filed during our first meeting. I re-filed it now, in the same place, with the same professional force. I let the fact that his eyes lingered on me just slightly longer than necessary pass through my mind, accepting that there was no use in trying to suppress the slight pleasure it gave me.

They sat. I let the moment settle. I knew why they were here. They had come to offer me something they believed I needed. They were correct, they had something I needed. I hadn’t needed their deliberately vague meeting request to know the purpose of this visit.

What they did not know was that I had been expecting them for approximately two weeks, and that the room they had walked into was not the room they thought it was.

“Director Talvi. Mr. al-Furusi. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Inspector General,” Talvi said. Her ears were positioned in carefully calibrated professional neutrality.

“We appreciate your time,” al-Furusi added. His voice was calm and measured, similar to what I had observed in our first meeting and far removed from press clippings I had seen. This one seemed to be geared towards being respectful without being ingratiating, instead of generating market momentum and excitement. 

He placed the document folder on the desk between us but did not open it. His hands, those oddly graceful hands that didn’t match his frame nor the hands’ own constant movements, were still for the moment. I gave them approximately thirty seconds before they started moving again.

“I understand you have a proposal regarding trade standards,” I said. I did not ask them to present it. I wanted to see how they chose to frame what they were offering.

Talvi took the lead. “Yes, and I’m glad that we are starting on the same page. In short, over the past several weeks, as FastHerd’s delivery network has expanded beyond Dayside City and SafeHerd has offered credit to merchants producing more expensive, less consumer oriented goods, we have encountered a structural gap in the commercial certification landscape. “

“Our partner here, FastHerd, represented by Mr. al-Furusi, has partnered with the Exterminators and has created certified purity documentation that is well accepted for contamination assurance. However, our market research has shown that it does not address product quality. Merchants, particularly provincial producers selling to urban markets and producers who build higher-priced goods, cannot abandon guild certification without a credible quality alternative. Mr. al-Furusi and FastHerd identified this as a systemic issue that requires a thorough solution. In particular, he brought it to our attention that the issue represents a capture of the Venlil economy by guild actors. Our own research, which is fully provided in the material I will leave with you, shows both the historical damage to Venlil Prime prosperity and the growth hindrance this represents.”

She paused. Then added: “However, my understanding of your career leads me to believe that you likely see the issue even better than we do. This is a structural issue, and it needs a quick solution if Venlil Prime is to actually grow in the years to come.”

She was good. The framing was precise: a systemic issue, not a SafeHerd problem. An institutional solution, not a corporate proposal. She was positioning the standards as a public need that FastHerd had happened to identify and brought to SafeHerd, rather than a strategic objective that SafeHerd had been pursuing since the moment the non-guild-certified label failed to convert provincial craftsmen.

I knew it was a strategic objective because I had watched the trajectory unfold in real time. Twelve days ago, complaints from the Artisan Guild and the Transport Guild had begun arriving through the Governor’s office. Not to me, exactly, but my diagnostic mandate gave me full visibility into the government’s incoming correspondence. I didn’t have much power to act. But I had extraordinary power to see. And what I saw was a pattern I recognized: consumer goods manufactured by Yotul, a major licensing deal with the Seeds of Progress franchise, an “Independent, Innovative, Pure” label, an Exterminator certification partnership, credit flowing to provincial merchants, a logistics startup expanding routes beyond the capital. Each piece visible. Each piece legal. Each piece, arranged in sequence, drawing a trajectory as legible to me as a road map.

And of course, she also knew that I knew this was an opportunity for me. A reform I needed to pass, with legitimate Venlil backing, instead of having to impose it from above as a UN functionary’s will. This was why they had come. They believed I would take their offer.

That belief was the reason my trap had been possible to set.

“As such, we have come to you with a solution,” al-Furusi said, opening the folder. “We have drafted technical standards for three initial product categories. Furniture and woodwork, metal tools and implements, and food handling and storage. The standards are based on Earth engineering benchmarks, adapted for Venlil Prime’s specific material conditions, climate considerations, and consumer expectations. They have been drafted by two independent engineering consultancies, cross-audited by a third firm, and reviewed for compliance with existing VP commercial law.”

He slid the document across the desk. It was substantial. Perhaps two hundred pages, professionally bound, with technical appendices and legal annotations. I picked it up and turned to a random section. Structural load requirements for children’s furniture. Specific, measurable, testable. Joint strength tolerances. Humidity resistance ratings. Material sourcing documentation requirements.

It looked like excellent work, to my non-technical eyes. I had to admit that my expectations and mental model was biasing me though. Al-Furusi was, above all, an engineer, and engineers of his caliber did not produce half-measures when they decided something needed to be done properly. I would, of course, have my own technical staff back on Earth validate every specification, but I was confident enough in both what I was seeing and my mental model to proceed.

I had known the standards would be good because I understood the type of man who had produced them. He cared about the engineering. More importantly, he cared about the standards being adopted, and any flaw in the technical content would be the one thing I could use to demand further concessions or reject the proposal entirely. They had every incentive to make this excellent.

And thus, I was almost certain these were real standards. Professional, rigorous, and almost certainly implementable.

“And the institutional structure?” I asked. this was where the actual conversation would begin. “How do you envision the certification body operating?”

“We propose that SafeHerd administers the certification body,” al-Furusi said. He said it directly, without hedging. “We built the technical content. We have the operational infrastructure to run certification facilities, and through FastHerd, we have the Exterminator partnership for contamination protocols. We have the capital to fund the operation without government expenditure, the staff and name recognition to actually implement and audit. So, SafeHerd runs it. Your office provides technical validation, and your name goes on it as the UN endorsement. The Governor signs the executive order. Clean, fast, operational within a paw of approval.”

They were telling me, without any real subtlety, that SafeHerd would control the entire institution. 

“So entirely under SafeHerd control? Or rather, entirely ran by SafeHerd and its subsidiary, FastHerd?” I said. Not a true question. A restatement in its least flattering form, with the flavoring of a rhetorical question. Technically incorrect, but it didn’t matter much for what I was planning.

“Not a subsidiary, and not exactly control” he said, his face brightening up for a second as if he had been wanting to do this particular correction for weeks. His hands had started moving, which meant he was in argument mode. “Administration. We can of course discuss how this looks, and what monitoring should look like from the public perspective. We have, however, both the will and the capability to do this, and every motivation to see it succeed. The guilds won’t do it, they’d use it to block competition.  From my knowledge of you and the UN’s goals, I surmise that you wouldn’t want the guilds doing this either. The Venlil government doesn’t have the staff or the expertise. Your office doesn’t have local infrastructure. We do. Someone has to run it, after all.”

He was correct about the constraints. I had mapped them myself, extensively, over the past weeks. I had spent a full day studying the Commercial Standards Act with computational tools that made three centuries of Venlil commercial law navigable in hours rather than weeks. What I found was exactly what I expected: the guilds had embedded themselves into the certification process with statutory permanence. Any competing certification authority required guild consultation, which meant, in practice, guild veto. The two or three entities that had attempted to establish non-guild certification in the past century had been buried in procedural objections until they surrendered.

Al-Furusi’s team had of course found the same wall. And they had identified the same escape route I had: the reform mandate’s institutional modernization clause. An executive order from Tarva, establishing the standards body under the mandate, would bypass the guild consultation requirement entirely. That was the pathway they were offering me. That was their leverage.

What they did not know was that I had been expecting this meeting, because I found about the wall earlier than they did. And despite the mounting pressure within the UN, whose ringleaders were the same countries whose oh-so-independent sovereign funds were funding SafeHerd and thus FastHerd, I wasn’t quite ready to capitulate. That executive hotline I had to Tarva was my weapon. And I was not going to wield it for their benefit. Not without a fight.

I had gone to the guild leadership 6 days ago with a simple … projection. One that had been carefully calibrated to fully utilize the complaints they had sent to the Governor’s office. 

Complaints which SafeHerd had not known about because the guild had realized that SafeHerd’s two parliamentary seats and Shahab’s lawyer, Yipilion’s magistratum connections made those pathways untenable. Complaints, which, when cross referenced with SafeHerd’s actions, which were technically public but into which I had much easier visibility due to their reporting, had painted a picture of a future that would force the guilds into the kind of action I needed.

“SafeHerd will bring a trade standards proposal to my office within the next two weeks.” I told them, with every piece of evidence from the exterminator partnership to the Independent branding and the pictures of Yipilion and an EarthGrove commerce hall member having a meal caught by some no-name local media outlet charting the path as they watched. “They will propose a certification body that they fund and administer, with UN technical validation and government endorsement through an executive order under the reform mandate, which I can bring to Tarva and we all know she will accept since it will have full UN backing. Their proposal addresses problems with the current system that are not only real, but problems I myself have identified. If I have no other options, I will have to accept it, both because I care about improving Venlil prime and because I am under pressure from my government.” 

That had been enough for some of the brighter members. But others had needed me to spell out what that would herald. And so, I had, because a prophecy needs a grim portent to do its job.

“And if I accept their proposal in that form, they will suddenly have a way to circumvent the guilds. SafeHerd will control a government endorsed quality certification on Venlil Prime. Your monopoly ends. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow, SafeHerd just gets a fair chance to compete. But they have far more money than you do. Earth and Nevok connections. They give better deals than you can. If they have the standard, they can spend billions of credits marketing this new certification to every consumer until the consumer can’t even remember guilds existed. And before you know it, the dues stop coming in. The magistrates can afford to ignore your concerns. The parliamentary seats slip away. One day, you’ll look around and realize that you fine gentlemen have been rendered obsolete.” 

I had let that settle. They were not stupid people. Entrenched, self-serving, and institutionally conservative, but not stupid. They understood the trajectory I was describing at some level, based on their stream of complaints to the government. They also knew of my mandate, that is why they had taken the meeting. 

And due to their willful ignorance of Earth institutional history, they could not be sure whether I was bluffing about what I would accept SafeHerd’s proposal. 

Of course, I had intentionally not processed what I would do fully, to keep my face from betraying any hesitation. They had to believe the threat was credible. 

“I appreciate the technical work,” I said, bringing my attention back to the here, Talvi and Shahab. “The standards themselves are exactly what this economy needs. I will have my staff validate the specifications, but from what I’m seeing, this is rigorous, professional, and implementable.”

I let the praise land.

“However, I believe this proposal is not yet quite the answer we need for this problem, Ms. Talvi and Mr. Furusi.”

I know what answer I was looking, because I had solved a different version of this problem before.

In Colombia, before the UN, before Berlin and my observation post in Basrah as the Middle Eastern states rebuilt the ports, I had spent two years as a junior institutional reform specialist working on the reintegration of armed groups into legitimate political and economic structures. I was a recently-promoted profesional especializada in the high commission of the peace. a twenty-four year old who, together with people who had a maturity I did not have, sat across a table from men who had controlled territory, extracted rents from entire regions, and built parallel institutions that served the mountain villages they ruled as fiefs better than the hollow state Bolivar and his successors had built ever had.

The negotiations had not been about justice. I had learned that very quickly, to me disillusionment. They had been about architecture. How do you take an institution that works, that people depend on, that has genuine functional value, and bring it inside a legitimate framework without destroying the function or legitimizing the capture?

Al-Furusi’s hands stopped moving. He seemed genuinely intrigued. 

“Al-Furusi, please. Mr Furusi would mean Mr. Chivalry, and while I am certainly flattered…” He cut himself off, either due to realizing the unnecessariness of this lecture or due to my and talvi’s puzzled looks.

As I was realizing, he was still his own distinct individual that complicated every mental mode. I had to concede that it was slightly charming, even if it was strangely annoying.

“What I meant to eventually get to, Inspector Restrepo, was that I am most interested in hearing about your proposed structure. We are of course open to rational safeguards and corrections you may propose, and we are fully aware of your extensive experience in solving this exact problem.”

He was expecting me to ask for safeguards. Monitoring. Concessions that accepted the proposal in principle but made it more in line with my goals.

But what I wanted was not concessions. 

It was metabolization. What we had done in Colombia. The concept was simple: You invite the parasite inside a structure it cannot dominate. You give it a seat at a table where its behavior is documented, where its obstruction becomes the evidence for its own reform. I had felt like we were betraying Colombia and her people, back then. That we were compromising the future for a short-term benefit that may never materialize.

 I had been wrong.

It had worked. Not perfectly. You carried the scar of having offered legitimacy to people who did not deserve it. But every year, the outcomes improved. And the alternative, leaving the parasites outside, where they operated without constraint, was always worse.

And if the structure was built well, if it was truly built with the intention of constraining them, not just giving them legitimacy… then one day, the scars that the parasites had made on their way in would either fade or be excisable. Either they would miscalculate and try to bring back the old order, risking their own former criminal rivals and underlings turning on them, or else … the scars would simply close. Their sons and grandsons would be raised in a new system where their power was real and yet legitimate and constrained, where returning to the old order was simply not worth it. 

And so I had to clarify this to Talvi and Shahab, who were not yet parasites but whose trajectory certainly included draining this host.

“You misunderstand. I already have a proposal of my own.”

This was what my prophecy to the Guilds had led to. A demonstration of what was behind the door I needed them to open.

“Or,” I had continued, after laying out the grim vision. “you work with me. I build a standards authority that includes guild representation AND SafeHerd. You maintain a role in quality certification. You gain oversight over non-guild producers, which you currently do not have, and you participate in the governance of an institution that will replace your monopoly with something more modern. You also get to compete with SafeHerd, and you can perhaps even grow. Either way, the transition is managed rather than imposed. You retain influence. You have a stake in the future. You will lose monopoly, yes. But that is happening anyway. This way, you get to cash it in for something.”

The Artisan Guild agreed within two days. The Transport Guild took four, owing to internal politics and the fact that FastHerd’s autonomous vehicle investments, which I had noted in their filings, represented a longer-term threat that was harder to metabolize through institutional participation.

Both guilds understood they were choosing the less bad option. Neither liked it. That was fine. Institutional reform rarely required anyone to be happy. Both wanted to limit further memberships, be it other guilds or SafeHerd. Both get the same response: I would not play favorites. I would not trade one captured system for another. That response had come across as fully credible, because I fully believed in it.

I had also, and this was a point of some professional satisfaction, suggested to the guild leadership that they might benefit from reinforcing their value proposition publicly. Not attacking SafeHerd. Not targeting humans. Simply reminding the market what guild certification was supposed to mean. 

The ads appeared within a paw, targeted where I had subtly suggested would be SafeHerd’s next target. The ads were simple and yet optimal for accelerating our timeline: 

“Guild Certified: Because Your Family Deserves Certainty.” 

Professional, dignified, focused entirely on quality. I had not directed them nor written the copy. But I had made sure that the guilds understood the competitive landscape clearly enough to respond rationally. That their response happened to push SafeHerd into the wall they were going to run into anyways and prepare the public discourse for the institutional intervention I was planning was a convenient alignment of interests.

Either way, everything seemed to have gone according to my plan. And thus, the framework had been drafted. The guilds were committed, and the parliamentary pathway was clear. And the man sitting across from me, whose hands were still moving prior to the articulation of another argument for a structure I was about to replace, had no idea.

I brought up the framework I had drafted on my display. The Venlil Trade Standardization Authority. Non-profit. Multi-stakeholder governance. Board composition. Funding structure. Threshold requirements. Guild participation.

Al-Furusi’s hands stopped moving.

I walked them through it at a deliberate pace. The Artisan Guild would have a seat. The Transport Guild would have a seat. SafeHerd would have a seat. Government representation. My office in a temporary oversight role. Funding contributions from all participating entities, capped so that no single contributor exceeded thirty percent of the operating budget. Adversarial auditing: SafeHerd and the guilds would each have the authority to audit the other’s compliance with the standards. Their mutual suspicion would become the quality control mechanism.

The institutional design was simple because the best institutional designs were. Simple enough that every stakeholder could understand their role. Complex enough that no single stakeholder could dominate.

“Normal parliamentary process,” I said. “No executive order needed. The guild consultation requirement is met because the guilds are participants in the governing body and have already signalled acceptance. The authority can be established through standard legislative channels, with broad institutional support, as a permanent body rather than an emergency measure.”

Of course, I didn’t tell them that the executive hotline I had was used to convince the guilds to play along by threatening to do exactly what SafeHerd wanted. 

I then explained the threshold for direct board representation. Organizations with fewer than 50,000 registered members or less than 500 million UNC in annual revenue would not qualify for direct board seats. They would be represented through collective action, perhaps an advisory council for smaller enterprises. 

I knew where FastHerd fell relative to this threshold. That knowledge was a factor in setting it, though not the only factor. The threshold was genuinely appropriate for institutional governance. That it also excluded al-Furusi’s personal company from direct board representation was a consequence I was comfortable with. That it included SafeHerd was appropriate as well, even if I felt uneasy with it. SafeHerd was one of the largest new entities on Venlil Prime, had thousands of members and a lot of social good will. More importantly though, no fair criteria would have excluded them. Excluding them would’ve simply been legitimized capture with optics that suggested bureaucratic pettiness. 

I finished, and I was met with silence.

Talvi seemed to have finished processing. I could see her ears flatten through the sequence of implications: the emergency mandate was unnecessary, I had found a different pathway, I did not need their administrative structure, the technical standards they had spent millions producing would be slotted into a framework they did not control. She was good. Fast, disciplined, professional enough that the only visible signs were the ear position and a slight stiffness in her tail.

Al-Furusi was harder to read. His hands had gone completely still. His expression was controlled but not blank. 

I was proud. I had surprised him. I even allowed myself to enjoy the sight on a less professional level.

Then something shifted in the quality of his attention, as though he had finished looking at the framework I had presented and had started looking at something else entirely. Something beyond the screen. His eyes seemed to no longer focus or even linger on me. Was this him recalculating his own impression of me?

The processing took perhaps five seconds.

“The threshold for direct board representation,” he said, his voice carrying no discernible emotional charge. “50,000 members or 500 million in annual revenue.”

“Correct. Smaller entities would be represented through collective advocacy structures. The threshold ensures that board members have the institutional capacity for meaningful governance participation.”

“FastHerd does not meet this threshold” he said.

“We believe your standards can be represented via SafeHerd which is a backer with vested interests in your financial success, or you may choose to reach out to other startups to organize an interest group. Furthermore, I should not need to remind you that FastHerd is a startup logistics company incorporated less than a month ago. No standards body on Earth would grant direct board representation to an entity of that scale.”

I had prepared for negotiation. I had modeled several possible responses: he would argue for a lower threshold, or for a founding member exception, or for FastHerd to be grandfathered in based on its role in identifying the quality gap. All reasonable arguments. I had prepared reasonable counterarguments for each.

“That’s fair,” he said.

Two words. No argument. No negotiation. No counteroffer. No request for concessions.

Talvi’s ears twitched. Brief, controlled almost instantly, but I caught it. That twitch was not surprise at the framework. It was surprise at his response.

“I do have one concern about the board composition,” he continued, his voice maintaining the same measured tone. “The Exterminator Guild.”

“What about them?”

“They are not represented in your framework. As the primary institution responsible for contamination certification, which is an increasingly significant component of the trade standards ecosystem, their absence creates obstruction risk. If the authority establishes quality standards that interact with contamination protocols, and the Exterminators are outside the institution, they have no mechanism for raising concerns except opposition. Including them gives them a voice and a stake in the institution’s success. Furthermore, they are a large guild and can satisfy at least the membership criteria.”

He paused, and then added with what seemed like genuine reflection: “Captain Sorvik’s chapter has been operating a contamination certification facility at our warehouse for several weeks. The partnership has been professional and productive. They’ve been pragmatic in ways I didn’t initially expect. Perhaps, once both the quality standards and the purity certification protocols are mature and fully scaled, the entire contamination certification function could be brought under this authority’s umbrella. One institution, comprehensive standards, unified governance.”

I considered it. The suggestion was sound on its institutional merits. The Exterminators were a significant player in the emerging certification landscape. Their absence from the authority would create exactly the obstruction risk he described. Including them was better design. In truth, I had to admit that not having reached out to them already was an oversight. I didn’t do it in initially because it would make it to SafeHerd, but now, I should have already made it a part of the proposal. 

But I found myself pausing because of who it was coming from. The fluidity with which he had moved from accepting FastHerd’s exclusion to proposing an expansion of the board was not something my model of him could explain. There was no visible resentment, no pivot from loss to compensation. He had simply moved on to a structural suggestion that improved the institution, which, despite the high level of autonomy and control the Exterminators seemed to have in their partnership, nonetheless represented a loss of control for him. That surrendering of control, even the mention of it, made no sense from his perspective, based on my understanding of his perspective.

My mind could not see any red flags, and so, I made a split second decision.

“I will include the Exterminator Guild in the revised framework,” I said. “That is a good suggestion, and I will also meet with them to at least bring up the idea of combining the certificates.”

Talvi spoke for the first time since I had presented the framework.

 “I also believe including the guilds is a good idea. Beyond membership counts and the pragmatics, they are an important cultural institution in this planet. However, I have one question about the structure. The adversarial auditing structure you mentioned. You said that SafeHerd and the guilds audit each other’s compliance. Can you elaborate on how that would function in practice?”

Her voice was professional, composed and carrying the careful neutrality of someone who had been knocked off balance but had now mostly regained her posture. 

I explained the auditing structure. SafeHerd would have the authority to audit guild-certified products against the new standards. The guilds would have the authority to audit non-guild products certified through the authority. Both parties would report findings to the oversight committee. Disputes would be adjudicated by the technical review panel, which my office would staff in the interim.

“So each side has incentive to find the other’s weaknesses,” al-Furusi said. “And the documentation of those weaknesses becomes the basis for improving the standards over time. That is, I would say, aggressively normal. However, I trust that you have built in mechanisms to prevent these audits from becoming an obstacle to businesses?”

“Precisely on the theory, and you are correct on the mechanisms. No organization can be targeted on audits without cause more than once a month. However, audits can be done on the mandatory paperwork provided by the certifier at will, and any issues or flags can be brought up to the board to authorize an audit. I trust that none of this will be an issue, given that it is, to quote yourself, also aggressively normal?”

He nodded. And then he did something I was still processing minutes later. He smiled. Not the performative warmth of our first meeting. Not the restrained charm of professional settings. A small, private expression that reached his eyes in a way that suggested genuine satisfaction. The kind of smile a man wore when something had exceeded his expectations.

A man whose startup had just been excluded from the board, whose proposed administrative structure had been entirely replaced, should not be smiling like that. Talvi herself, despite having gotten her organization on the board, seemed less happy. I decided to file this away for later processing.

“I believe we have a productive path forward,” I said, closing the discussion. “I will have my technical staff validate the standards. I will circulate the revised institutional framework, including the Exterminator Guild seat, to the relevant stakeholders. If the standards pass validation, and I expect they will, we can move toward formal establishment through the parliamentary process, as aforementioned. The Guilds have already committed their support, and I expect that SafeHerd’s representatives will vote for it, as well?”

“We will discuss internally, but I believe that we can work with this. Thank you, Inspector General,” Talvi said, rising. Her composure was immaculate. “This is thoughtful institutional design.”

Al-Furusi rose as well. He extended his hand. I shook it. His grip was firm, measured, the same as the first time. His fingers lingered for perhaps half a second, and I allowed myself the private irritation of noting that this time, I had noticed the duration precisely rather than approximately.

“Inspector General,” he said. “Thank you for the thoughtful framework. I think the authority will serve Venlil Prime well.”

“I think so too,” I said.

They left. The door closed.

I sat at my desk and opened al-Furusi’s standards document to the first page.

Two hundred pages of engineering specifications. Millions of credits in consulting fees. Weeks of work by teams of experts. All delivered to my office, to be validated and slotted into a framework I had designed. They had funded the standards. I had built the institution.

On the surface, this was a good outcome. Perhaps the best possible outcome. A multi-stakeholder body with genuine representation, adversarial accountability, and technical standards that appeared to be world-class. The kind of institution that my mandate existed to create.

And yet I could not shake the discomfort.

I replayed al-Furusi’s reaction to FastHerd’s exclusion. “That’s fair.” Two words. No negotiation. Immediate pivot to the Exterminator suggestion. Then the smile. The genuine, satisfied smile of a man who had received good news, not bad news.

A man in al-Furusi’s visible position, a consultant to SafeHerd who had founded a small logistics startup, should care about his startup’s representation on a standards body he had funded. The exclusion of FastHerd was, from the perspective of a founder, a significant loss. The appropriate response was negotiation, pushback, at minimum visible displeasure.

Al-Furusi had displayed none of these. He had accepted the exclusion without resistance and immediately improved the institution by suggesting the Exterminator Guild. He had behaved as though FastHerd’s exclusion cost him nothing.

Which meant, if my instinct was correct, that it did cost him nothing. Because his actual influence was not located in FastHerd.

SafeHerd had a seat. If al-Furusi’s relationship to SafeHerd was deeper than the “consultant” title or the earlier obvious collusion suggested, then FastHerd’s exclusion was irrelevant. Perhaps the money he brought in through his gulf connections had materially improved his position beyond what I had expected. 

That was possible. My findings on Venlil Prime made me doubt that even well-funded Nevok Corporations had as much capital at their disposal as humans did, which would have been a laughable proposition to me some months before. 

And the Exterminator suggestion did not make things any easier to understand. I considered and quickly dismissed an attempt at obstruction or sabotage. That would damage the standards he himself had wanted and ensure that I had ample reason to be more adversarial next time. 

But then, why was he giving up even more control than he had to? 

And the smile. I kept returning to it. Not the calm acceptance, which could be explained by temperament. Not the Exterminator suggestion, which could be, at least in a different man or a man I had modelled wrong, be explained by genuine institutional thinking. The smile. The private, satisfied smile of a man who had seen something that pleased him. And I was certain that it was not me.

What had he seen? I had replaced his proposed structure. I had excluded his company. I had seated his competitors at the same table. I had established oversight mechanisms that would constrain SafeHerd’s operations. By any normal accounting, he had lost this meeting.

The pattern pointed somewhere uncomfortable: al-Furusi’s visible position did not explain his behaviour. His influence over SafeHerd, or over the Exterminators, or over both, was greater than the formal structures indicated. The relationship between him and the Nevok entity was closer than I had modeled, or was growing in a direction I needed to understand.

And so, I made a note in his file. It was, after all, a problem for tomorrow. Today, there were two hundred pages to validate and an institution to build. No amount of unsettling smiles from unfortunately attractive yet scummy engineers was going to distract me from doing it.

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P.S: let me know of any mistakes!
Thank you to u/AcceptableEgg for allowing me to use Yipilion. Read his wonderful fic from which Yip originates here!

Credits to u/YellowSkar for the cover art!

I hereby declare PoP-verse Howard Skies noncanon and ONLY the product of a nightmare.

Sorry i gavent posted much, ive been working on other things. My next chapter will most likely be Welcome To Circusland, so sorry to the peeps I promised more Daycareverse stuff to...you get to see the OTHER set of kiddos...one of them