Work Text:
Recovery from everything I’ve been through was a long, long process. I wouldn’t exactly rank it up there with ‘hardest things I’ve ever done’, considering the sheer stakes of the hard things I’ve done in my life. But it was hard for sure. The slow and gradual process, the plateaus, the setbacks, the constant bland nutrient shakes that are only marginally better than nutritional goop, the difficulty of mentally adjusting to my new reality… it was all just a lot.
Even now that I’m physically recovered, the mental adjustment is taking time. I haven’t always been the most magnanimous or gracious to those who help provide for me. Being studied like a lab rat grates at my nerves, even if I know it isn’t intentional or malicious. Having Rocky and Adrian at my side, advocating for me, at least makes me feel safe.
Science helps, too, even if my participation in it is unconventional and multi-faceted. I get to teach and study just as much as I am studied. I want to get back to teaching full-time soon, but it’s only been a year. I have to be patient while the educational thrums discuss the proposal.
In the meantime: science!
There’s a lot of it to do. A lot of it to correct. I think I may accidentally have created a bit of a bias amongst the team who studies and cares for me. Dr. Bones especially treats me like the most delicate of spun glass, fussing over every minor hiccup in my health. I understand how this bias formed — after all, I didn’t make a most robust first impression when I was half-dead from malnutrition. The ‘delicate’ nature of my preferred atmosphere compared to theirs, plus my relatively short lifespan, makes it easy for them to conceptualize of humans as weak compared to Eridians.
I have tried over and over to explain to them that humans are actually tough bastards in the Earth animal kingdom. Rocky backs me up. He watched me pull crazy stunts on multiple ill-advised EVA’s in the Tau-Ceti system, and work for twelve-hour-straight days, and survive a long ordeal what would’ve killed any Eridian in a matter of months. Hell, part of the reason I’m scarred all up my left side is because I hauled his 400-lb butt vertically up the entire length of my ship, threw him into his atmosphere barehanded, and then survived severe chemical burns with most of my functions intact despite a massive percentage of surface area damage to my body. Injuries like that would kill an Eridian. They almost did kill Rocky.
It’s not that the scientists don’t believe these stories. But I think they don’t really conceptualize it either. You can look at the numbers all you like, but wrapping your head around something is different.
The current argument has morphed from weightlifting and power-based strength, to endurance and speed. Eridians are unimpressed by the capabilities of even Earth’s strongest body-builders, no matter how proportionally impressive their feats are. The math just isn’t much to look at, for a creature that naturally weighs 800 lbs and is born with the ability to lift their own weight above their heads with ease.
Running, on the other hand, is something Eridians don’t do. And they don’t believe me when I say humans are built to run.
Well, Rocky and Adrian do. They’ve watched me pull 400-meter sprints just for the fun of it. But even they don’t get it when I try to describe a human being’s capability for endurance running. I go on a run every single morning without fail — Rocky and Adrian watch me go out the door in my trainers and disappear into the hills, then come back half an hour later sweating — but they don’t follow along with me. They can’t. Eridians can scuttle-sprint for about 100 meters at a time, and pull a sort of lolloping canter for 2-300 meters, but that’s it. They don’t do endurance runs. Their steam-powered muscular systems literally stutter and glitch out if they try to push it without breaking to rest. They have to periodically let the pressure and heat equalize, which can take minutes or hours depending on the individual’s fitness level. So I don’t think even my family realizes what my exercise routine looks like.
By human standards, it’s not all that much to look at. First, I run along the beach for about ten minutes straight, which usually gets me a little more than a mile. That distance grows more and more as I get fitter. It’s not like there’s much point to me being able to run a 7-minute mile — I’m not training for anything — but I’ve been utterly weak and helpless for too long. I hated the feeling. I never want to feel it again. Besides, exercise endorphins are good for humans. I used to bike a lot, I used to play soccer, and I casually enjoyed those things. I’m far from an athlete, not like I was in college, but movement is good for my mental health.
When my first ten-minute stopwatch goes off, I stop wherever I am and set another ten-minute timer. I take a quick breather, then run through some basic calisthenic exercises: push-ups with good solid form and 90-degree elbows; sit-ups with my feet tucked under a boulder; un-weighted lunges and squats and various resistance stretches to keep limber; box-jumps up and down from the nearest flat rock; maybe some cartwheels and handstands just to keep my balance oriented. I spent a lot of time in weird gravity; it’s good to remind my inner ear of how this stuff is supposed to work.
Then I’ll run back the way I came in about the same amount of time, my muscles burning pleasantly. By the time I get home I’m usually hungry enough not to mind the chalky taste of my breakfast nutrients. The routine is good for me. I take a couple rest days here and there, and sometimes I’ll swim instead of running if Rocky’s not feeling too anxious. (He doesn’t like when I go out far in the waves, since Eridians have a justifiable fear of deep water. They can play in shallows, but if they get stranded too deep they invariably sink and drown. Rocky refused to even let me wade until he had constructed a life-vest apparatus for me to wear, no matter how good the hydrotherapy would’ve been for my recovering joints.)
Rocky has watched me get my strength back over the last year or so, so it ticks me off that he doesn’t seem to believe some of my more ‘wild’ claims.
“Grace sure it is one full mile. Earth units, question?” he clarifies for the umpteenth time. I tap my foot impatiently, swiveling back and forth in one of the lab chairs.
“Yes, I’m sure! Earth units, always Earth units, I’m bad at math! Remember?!” I snark back at him. Dr. Bones and his assistant, Sulu, shift uncomfortably. Rocky and I bicker like this all the time, but most Eridians are generally conflict-averse. They don’t understand how an argument can sound so mean while not being serious. Rocky and I are a pair of weirdos, that’s for sure. “1.6 kilometers! And it’s more than that, for your information. It’s ten minutes, and however much distance I can cover in that time. These days it’s more like 2.4 kilometers. That’s 1.5 miles. Okay? I know what I’m talking about.”
My pride stings a little at being so underestimated by a species that couldn’t even outrun a particularly determined turtle if their life depended on it. Look, I’m no Sha’Carri Richardson, but I’m pretty proud of my seven-minute mile. I worked hard for it. I haven’t been able to handle myself like this since I was... well, since I left Earth.
I’m pretty sure I was 33 at the time. I’m still not sure how old I actually am now, in terms of the years I’ve experienced. The math is a bit imprecise, relativity and my bogus memory being what they are.
...Well, the number is no less than 43, anyway. Probably more like 44. A 7-minute mile is pretty damn good for a guy with a pacemaker who’s pushing middle age.
“Okay, Rocky believe, no head-biting,” my best friend grumbles. He doesn’t move an inch when I half-heartedly kick at his carapace, and he snickers.
“Oh, I’ll show you head-biting,” I mutter. “Y’know what? Let’s settle this once and for all. I could use an endurance test anyway. Good for my cardio.”
Dr. Bones perks up. “You’ll do a demonstration?”
“Absolutely. Give me two rest days and a warmup, then I’ll show you what the average human athlete can do.”
“How shall we measure it?” wonders Sulu, already taking posterity notes. “We can’t exactly follow you. The observation room does not have much space.”
“Two options, up to you guys. You either build a track field or a treadmill. Track field might be easier, but the treadmill will be more precise.”
Now it’s Rocky’s turn to perk up. “Word after ‘track field’ is what, question? Sounds like machine.”
I wink at him. “Sure is, bud. You wanna look at a schematic?”
“Yes yes yes, show design, I make!”
Dr. Bones laughs as I show him over to the nearest laptop and start googling. A track field would be easy, just a flat ovular scrape in the dirt outside the inner door of the biodome lab with some measured lines in it. But Rocky, ever the engineer, loves a challenge. And he loves to make me things.
Two days later as promised, we’re all ready to go. There’s a treadmill set up facing the observation window, a dozen scientists behind it with their recording equipment, and a set of portable monitors and electrodes stuck onto me with stickers. I’m in my usual joggers and a loose tank top, doing some stretches to limber up. Adrian and Rocky hang out in the observation room with me as usual, resting in a little nest in the corner. It’s become custom for one or both of them to stay physically near me during human research, ever since the early days when I was medically fragile and suffering from PTSD. Their presence made me feel safe while I was being (benevolently) poked and prodded and interrogated. It’s less necessary these days, but the three of us have kind of Pavlov’d ourselves into needing it. The anxiety reduction (and the quality time together) is worth it for our little family of three.
One of the younger Eridians — an up-and-coming student xenobiologist Dr. Bones recently took under his wing, who I named McCoy to match his mentor — makes a whistle of surprise as they watch me do a seated toe-touch.
“Do all humans have this much flexibility, question?” they wonder. I sit up and tilt my hand from side to side.
“Depends. Healthy ones are generally able to complete all of these motions to varying degrees of success. Some people are more flexible than others. Others have illnesses that limit their range of motion. I think I’m slightly above average — I’m decently fit — but I could be more flexible if I specifically trained for it.”
“Interesting. Does this help with running?”
“To a degree. It reduces injuries. I’ll show you in a minute.”
I finish the last of my stretches with a loose swing of my arms, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Then I hop up into the treadmill, rocking my weight back and forth to test that it’s secure and sturdy. But as always with Rocky, the balance is perfect. I flash him a thumbs up. He returns the gesture upside-down as always with a snicker. Then I take my glasses off, tuck them into one of the cupholders, tuck my water bottle into the other, and look to the observation window with one brow cocked.
“All set? Monitors are go?”
“Monitors are go,” Sulu confirms. He’s on recording duty as always.
“Then let’s fire this puppy up,” I grin with a flourish of my hand. Then I hit the switch to get the treadmill started at a walk. I turn the dial right up to a brisk jog without preamble, keeping pace easily without even needing the grab bars. The show of innate balance prompts a thoughtfully approving murmur from the audience, which I find kind of funny. I’m barely even getting started.
“Cue the music!” I grin at Adrian. She hits ‘play’ on the little boom box Rocky made me. With my usual exercise playlist to keep my brain busy in the background, I turn up the treadmill speed to a long, comfortable, loping stride, and fall into rhythm.
I measure the time in songs. By the end of Supermassive Black Hole, the observation team is starting to murmur amongst themselves. As I predicted, I’m a half a mile in. I may be pushing myself a bit to show off, but this is supposed to be a stress test. I’m not just having a little morning run to keep fit. I’m trying to show off. Representing my species. I can afford to push. I flash them a wolfish smile and make a show of inching my finger close and closer to the speed dial. The murmuring pitches upward when I turn the pace up a notch. Still within the speed range that I would call a ‘canter’, of course — a pace I can maintain for awhile — but nothing crazy.
The BPM is perfect for Pump It, which cues up next. The shuffle gods are favoring me today! I suck in a big breath for my second wind and start to mumble-sing along with the lyrics. By the end of that song, I can hear all kinds of shocked voices wondering how the hell I have breath to be doing all that.
Next is Humble, which will bring me up to about my usual ten minutes of running. “Oh yeah, turn that up!” I grin, gesturing to Adrian. She does so, whistling an encouragement. Gotta represent for Kendrick, so I turn up the speed to a full run and push. Nothing ‘humble’ about this: I wanna make them all eat their words!
I’m glistening with sweat and taking controlled breaths by the end of that song, so it’s definitely time to ease up. This is usually when I would take a breather anyway. The watching Eridians start to relax as I slowly dial the speed down to match the more moderate rhythm of Panic Station. Lots of Muse in the queue today, but I’m not mad at it. I take the next three-ish minutes at a leisurely jog.
My breathing comes a little easier by the end of that song, so I reach for the dial just as the song switches to My Own Summer (Shove It). Oh heck yeah! The Eridians are already shuffling to put their things away when my hand touches the dial — clearly they think I’m winding down.
My face splits into a wry smile. I turn the knob back up to that solid, sustainable, loping pace that keeps my heart thumping solid and strong, my pulse in my fingertips, a pleasant buzz of adrenaline in my ears. If there’s one way I’ve changed since I left Earth, it’s my attitude on challenges, and rising to them.
The observation room erupts into pandemonium when I start going faster instead of slower. Time to double down.
Hysteria is next — yes yes yes, more Muse! — and what else is a man supposed to do with a bass line like that, except run a little more? The chaos in the observation room continues, this time joined by Rocky skittering in excited circles around the treadmill. I don’t have the breath to laugh at this point and my heartbeat is getting noticeably fast, but I’m still smiling. Just plugging along.
The pace has me flagging a bit by the time Head Like a Hole comes on, so I dial it back down to the brisk jog I started at. Finally the gathered scientists settle in again, waiting for me to be done.
Unfortunately for them, the brisk jog is Easy Mode for me. They start to get antsy again as I run and run through the entire song, sweating but still going strong with no further signs of exhaustion. I’ve been taking a solid swig of water between each song. I take another about halfway through the song, and another at the end, taking stock of myself. Sure, my legs and lungs are starting to burn, but that’s usually how I feel by the last leg of my workout. This is familiar. I haven’t stopped to take any breathers, but I also didn’t stop to do my calisthenics, so my upper body isn’t even sore like usual. I can keep this up.
I nod to myself in the lull between songs, suck in a deep breath, and say,
“I’m gonna train ‘til failure. Let’s see if those workouts have paid off!”
Adrian makes a concerned fluting noise and pauses the music before another song cues, waving frantically. My brow furrows and I lower the speed to a fastwalk, my chest heaving lightly.
“Ryland don’t hurt yourself for this! You shouldn’t make your body fail!”
“Don’t worry,” I pant, waving her off. “It won’t injure me. ‘Train til failure’ is when a human athlete pushes until they reach their absolute limit, then stops and takes a long rest. We do it on purpose to build strength. Our muscle fibers come back in stronger whenever we do this. It’s good for me, I promise.”
“But your heart—”
“—Has the best pacemaker ever made,” I wink. Rocky whistles proudly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stop if I don’t feel good, okay? Just trust me. I know my body.”
Adrian shuffles her limbs for a little bit, but my now my breathing has slowed down quite a bit just from fast-walking. Mollified, she turns the music back up as a signal to continue.
I dial the speed back up just as Never Let Me Down Again queues up. Good old Depeche mode! I once heard a student pronounce it ‘da-peachy-mode’. Made my whole friggin week, I dined on that for months. Told all the other teachers in the break room too for a good giggle.
I resolve to keep jogging on Easy Mode for the rest of the demonstration. While it felt good to show off in the beginning while I was fresh, it’s better to conserve energy now so I can last as long as possible. I let my brain fall into that slightly hazy, mechanical place where my only goal is keeping up the form, the pace, the carefully-measured endurance breathing. I don’t even break out sprinting when Abracadabra comes on, no matter how much I want to. Sweat tries to drip into my eyes every once in awhile and I give my head a periodic shake, letting the research team see the practical evolutionary purpose of eyebrows and eyelashes in realtime.
I slip into a perfect groove through tv off and Dragula. The great thing about living on Erid with a bunch of aliens? Nobody to make fun of me for my scattershot music taste.
I’m definitely pushing it towards the end of Dragula. I’m slick with sweat at this point, my tank top sticking to flushed skin, and the stitch in my side promises the next song will be my last for this session. I could probably push past that as well if I really really wanted to train til’ failure, but it’d be sloppy and exhausting. I’d rather finish off with a hint of dignity, and also not scare Adrian too badly.
“Last song!” I shout, right before the opening chords of Enter Sandman start up. Dang, that’s a perfect way to finish. I shake out my arms and whoop aloud a little bit to psych myself up. Then I turn the dial up and put the pedal to the metal right as the bass drops. Rocky goes absolutely nuts, running circles around the treadmill and cheering for me to keep going, I’ve got this! Even Adrian is excited. And in the observation room? Forget it. Pandemonium again.
My left thigh starts twitching during the last 45 seconds of the song just as the melody winds down, so I decelerate the treadmill and jump off. But rather than quit right then and there, I shout “Finish strong, let’s go!” and drop to my hands for push-ups. Rocky pretends to be the drill sergeant — he’s seen too many movies, the sassy little bugger — and counts them out as the Metallica fades off into the background. I manage twenty reps before my shaking arms and shoulders give up. I’m panting and flush with victory as I let myself collapse onto the cool tile floor, laughing breathlessly while the whole research team explodes into amazement. I can barely hear myself think over all their racket!
“Not half bad for a teacher, huh?” I say once I’ve got my breath back. Rocky just says ‘fist my bump’, which is usually something I would chase him around the room for. Then he skitters away laughing, knowing I’m too tired to follow. I laugh right back and tell him to go suck an egg.
…
My first fitness demo capped out at a total of 5.7 miles in 47 minutes, for an average of an 8:13 mile. Some of them were 7-minute miles while others were 10, but meh, same difference. The effect is the same for the research team: they’re flabbergasted. Speed over distance like that is basically unheard of for a land animal in Eridian ecology. The only things on their planet that clock similar speeds and distances are massive, leviathan-sized creatures in their oceans.
Of course, like any good scientist, Dr. Bones wants to see the result replicated. And I, like any good human, have a competitive streak that makes me want to beat my own record just to show them. The xenobiologists all have access to plenty of scientific papers and data about human athletic capabilities, of course — I told them all about Michael Phelps and Katie Ledecky back when I was trying to convince them to let me swim — but I think part of their brains never really conceptualized of those feats outside of the numbers. Seeing it in the flesh is different. It’s tangible proof of what humans are capable of.
Even worse, I have yet to convince my Eridian researchers that I’m actually not all that special in terms of my physical capabilities. Compared to an Olympian, I’m a novice at best. But they all think I’m just being modest, and that I must be exceptional, because surely all humans aren’t capable of this! Even Rocky barely believes me when I try to insist I’m being ‘most serious’! Obviously there’s only one thing left for me to do:
Run a marathon.
Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. I’ll start with training myself up to a half-marathon. I’ll be happy if I can get it under two hours. Maybe that’s ambitious for a 40-something with a pacemaker, but come on! I’ve got the pride of my entire species on the line here! We might not have much in the way of raw strength compared to an Eridian, but a well-calibrated human body in its naturally adapted environment is a machine. And it’ll be good for my health. If I can manage a half-marathon at my tender age, I’m doing pretty good.
So, I start putting in time on the treadmill regularly. I alternate between that, and running 5-mile laps around my biodome, since the varied terrain builds strength and endurance more flexibly than a flat treadmill does. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do with my time these days. Not until the educational thrums make up their minds on the idea of me teaching. Adrian assures me that they will eventually agree to let me teach. In their defense, I don’t exactly have Eridian teaching credentials, and I’m definitely not going back to school for them. I just have to wait and let her butter them up. In the meantime, it’s good to have a goal to work towards.
Sometimes a smaller team of researchers comes to watch me train when I’m on the treadmill. And since I might as well let them accumulate data as I go, I wear the monitors. The first few times I trained, the observation room was always full. But things become routine quickly. Now it’s usually just Sulu and Dr. Bones and any bored researchers who happen to drop by.
For now, I’m still working my way up to running the full half-marathon at all. My mile time is getting shorter and shorter, but my endurance still needs to build up after my semi-recent brush with death. So I try not to beat myself up for taking my time working up to it. Mostly, I’m just happy to be able to showcase my species’ physical abilities as well as our intelligence. All my contributions to Eridian science have been intellectual so far. Before now, Rocky was the only Eridian who had ever seen me in the prime of my life, in peak physical condition. I spent the next five years in delicate health, being treated like I was fragile. Which, I was.
Eridians might outstrip me in strength by a massive margin, but they’re in absolute awe of my endurance and speed. Every time I reach a new PR, they start hooting and hollering like I’ve done some insane trick. Eridians aren’t fast like that. They can move around quickly in short bursts in their own gravity, of course. They can sprint for a ways, and lunge and jump and wrestle. An Eridian would easily beat me at a 100-meter sprint, and since they’re built like brick shithouses, being hit by one at a full tilt run would be like being hit by a car.
But moving that much mass is a large energy tax. Healthy Eridians can pay that tax without issue, but they have to eat frequently to replenish, and eating isn’t quick and easy for them the way it is for humans. They can’t just digest on the move like we can. Only their best-trained athletes could beat me at a 200-meter sprint. And a 400-meter? Forget it. I’m outstripping them every time.
“It’s because we evolved as persistence hunters,” I explain with a lopsided grin. I’m chit-chatting while we warm up, the treadmill running at a light jog, the instrumentation calibrating. The electrodes are always a little itchy. I tend to babble for the first ten minutes or so, while I still have the breath. Sometimes I get awkward about being their guinea pig, but in their defense, I’m their only human specimen. And I’m kind of used to the researchers ‘staring’ at me by now. Talking will distract me from my nerves until I really get into the groove, at which point I’ll be too focused on the test to care about performance anxiety.
“What is a persistence hunter?” asks McCoy. Thinking they probably have their own word for the concept, I explain:
“It’s a predator that hunts by slowly wearing its prey down. There aren’t a lot of them in the animal kingdom on Earth. That’s part of why humans became an apex predator. Most predators on Earth do one of three things: lay in wait and then ambush their prey, work together as a pack to bring down prey, or they’re very fast sprinters who chase down their prey in short races,” I explain, counting out on my fingers. The Eridians all make affirmative humming noises; they have all three of those types in their animal kingdom.
“Humans evolved from apes, right? We covered that. Apes fill a fourth role: opportunistic omnivore. They eat everything they can get their hands on, and occasionally hunt in packs. But when humans started evolving from apes, we found a new way. We were still opportunistic omnivores, of course, but our bodies get the most good energy from proteins and fats, which you get from predating on other animals. So evolution started selecting for apes that were better at hunting. First we learned to make tools, obviously. Some of those tools were sharp, and very good for throwing at a distance. Earth’s gravity and atmosphere are light and thin, so if you have a bow and arrow or an atlatl – you can look that one up, it’s a primitive throwing weapon – you can easily get a dart going fast and hard for up to 50 meters. We have good visual acuity for aiming thrown objects. Most of the animals our prehistoric ancestors hunted were squishy on the outside like us, so hitting an animal with one of those sharp tools would pierce their hide and injure it. Another advantage we had later on were domesticated hunting dogs. You guys have all seen pictures of dogs, right?”
“Why would ancient humans need to be good at running a long time if you could throw things and use dogs to kill prey?” McCoy wonders with a tilt of their carapace.
“I’m getting there! Impatient much?” I chuckle, and dial up the treadmill speed a bit. After huffing a few good deep breaths to adjust to the pace, I continue.
“Okay, picture this. You’re a wooly mammoth. You can search up a picture later, but for now, just picture a huge animal the size of this room with giant long teeth that stick out from its face. Very big and scary, right? And they lived in herds, so there’d be like, a dozen of them at a time.”
“How would puny humans with primitive darts hunt that?” McCoy scoffs. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“I’m not!! I swear! Just go with it for a second. You’re a mammoth just minding your own business in a herd, eating plants or whatever. Then you hear dogs barking, and these humans appear in the distance. You think ‘oh, they’re so far away, I’m safe’. But then something zips through the air and pierces your hide. Ow, that hurt! It’s not a big wound, but it’s still bleeding. The dart might even be stuck inside the wound still, which hampers your movement. Your herd panics and runs, but because of your injury you can’t run as fast. They leave you behind because they have to protect their young first. Survival of the fittest and all that. You try to follow your herd, but then the pack of dogs comes. They’re barking and biting, getting all under your feet to unbalance you, driving you away. The humans start coming towards you, at about -” I adjusted the treadmill to lengthen my stride to an easy lope, “-this speed. So, you think ‘Oh I’m faster than that, I’ll just run!
So you run for, oh, say a kilometer or two. The humans fall behind you fast, you outrun their darts, and eventually the dogs seem to give up too. You’re exhausted from running now, and still wounded, but it’s not serious. You’ll survive it. You pause to catch your breath. What you don’t know is that the hunters aren’t just good at making tools and using dogs: they’re smart, too. They follow the signs you left behind- tracks in the dirt, blood from your wounds, broken vegetation, other things. Just when you’re starting to recover, you hear the dogs again in the distance. You look up and there are the hunters again, and oh no, here come more darts!
So you turn and run again. But you already spent a lot of energy and you haven’t had a chance to rest. You’re slower this time, and you don’t get as far, but you still manage to lose them. For a little while, anyway. But they catch up even faster this time. They’re not tiring out like you are.
This happens again, and again, and again. You take new small wounds whenever the hunters manage to hit you with their darts. You bleed more and more. You’re faster than the humans when you sprint, but you’re not built to run and run and run like this. Your energy stores are depleting fast. Finally, you collapse from exhaustion. You literally couldn’t move if you tried. So you just... lay there and watch while the humans finally catch up to you. They’ve maintained this same slow but steady pace all day, and they didn’t even break a sweat.
Then they walk right up and kill their prey, easy as that. The most taxing part of this whole process for the humans was probably butchering the carcass into manageable pieces and hauling the animal back to their camp for the clan. Endurance gave us a major edge over most other species. We were even out-competing other predators! It was part of why dogs were domesticated. Evolution selected for the ones that worked together with humans, because they were the best hunters, and they shared their kills with the dogs. This method was so effective, our species eventually rose to the top of every ecology we lived in. And voila! Here we are, intelligent enough to travel through space!”
I sweep my slightly sweat-damp hair out of my face and do jazz hands, watching the observation window for a reaction. My placid smile fades when I see the way they all stand stock-still, staring at me. Worried, I decelerate the treadmill to a stop and step down.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“ALL HUMANS DO THIS?!” McCoy blurts out, horrified. All the other Eridians flinch. Even Rocky shifts his weight from side to side as if uncomfortable. I blink in confusion, then wave my hands dismissively,
“No no no, oh gosh no! I’m talking about ancient history. Humans started farming and herding domestic animals like, ten thousand years ago. I know that probably doesn’t sound like much time to you guys, but in terms of human generations, that’s a lot. So long we don’t even remember it. We’ve lived in sedentary societies for a long time. Well, most of us, anyway. There are a few indigenous populations in Africa and Australia who still live in traditional hunter-gatherer societies, but those are very few. I’m just explaining why the human body is so good at running over long distances. It’s what we evolved for. It’s what gave us the competitive edge. That’s all.”
Everyone relaxes, but only a little bit. I'm not sure whether to be offended or amused by their wariness. I spread my hands out in an appeasing gesture.
“C’mon guys, there’s no reason for you to be afraid! Any Eridian could crush me with one arm! The weakest of you is at least three times as strong as me.”
“Of course, it’s just... that’s a scary way to hunt,” McCoy shudders. Sulu jumps in to explain,
“Erid doesn’t have any endurance predators. We fall asleep when we run out of energy, and we can’t wake up from being asleep like humans do. So if we did have endurance predators, it would be... bad. Bad bad bad.”
I can’t resist the impish desire to rub it in a little bit. After years of being treated like I’m made of glass, it’s nice to get a little respect around here. I flash Sulu a predatory grin that shows my canines.
“Don’t worry. No point in running you down. Your shell would take forever to open with a tool, and your insides wouldn't even taste good. Not to me, anyway.”
A little shudder runs through the assembly. I step back up to the treadmill, bouncing on the balls of my feet and shaking out my arms.
“Let’s... let’s just do the test, shall we?” Sulu suggests. I wink.
“Yes, let’s!”