The Hunt

A week. Seven days exactly. That is how long we had been tracking the species when we finally caught the first real sign of it. We had heard rumors, of course, and studied the data, but potentially finally seeing the real thing was another matter entirely.

We had prepared the weapons for the hunt. We were not sure if they would be necessary, but when the species one is chasing has such theoretically dangerous defensive mechanisms, it would be unwise not to. The species had long been labeled as highly territorial, frequently encroaching and taking the lands of others—both from its own kind and other species within it. It could be a very inefficient predator, often taking more than was required. As such, the data labeled it as hazardous: to its environment and itself.

Thought to be extinct, when we had received word that one or two had been spotted, we were immediately intrigued. How could such a species have survived without our knowledge? How could it have produced and prospered without the data banks telling us? The last recorded vocalization of the species was years before. Long enough to be declared extinct in the wild, then extinct altogether.

The first sign of the animal was not a visual confirmation, but a physical imprint on the ground. It was a scattered indent that was not consistent in its movement. Some steps seemed like they were rushing, while others were more meandering—these two main movements helped guide our systems.

Our skin had begun to shine almost waxy from the blistering heat of the sun as we continued. We pulled large green hanging vines with leaves the sizes of large banners out of the way, stomping through the clear river and disturbing the sediment underneath. Startled fish quickly swam downstream away from us in a kaleidoscope of pinks, silvers, and blues.

We paused, having required more liquid and substance to continue forwards. As efficient as we are, we had long discovered and recognized that even we could not go on forever with our sustained operations without pauses. Our waste is minimal, as we passed the liquids back and forth until each of us had had our fill. We also made sure each of us had the necessary supplies to continue onwards with optimal efficiency, and exchanged what was needed to those who were lacking. Staying in place for longer than necessary and hoarding supplies for ourselves would only cause further delay and not help us find our missing species.

During the temporary break, we discussed the other sets of evidence. Beyond the dirt imprints, the stones and grass had been moved, along with broken branches and torn leaves—all signs of the environment having recently been disturbed. Eventually, we continued after having filled up with the necessary liquids.

We passed by eagles in a death spiral, tumbling down in the sky, talons interlocked as they fell like angels from the heavens. Gorgeous rare birds, but we had already catalogued them and had plenty of those in our exhibitions and zoos. What we sought was much rarer, and much more exquisite.

Next, tigers of bright orange and rich black stripes stalked through the bush, their claws shining with every step. They were a fine example of an apex predator, but we were not there for them either. We looked at each other for five seconds before it turned away. We were not their prey, and they were not ours.

Finally, the path cleared into an open field.

At last, they came into full view. One of them stood tall on two legs, but occasionally reached up and down with the other two appendages. Bipedal, as the tracks had suggested. Pale and dark and everything in between, the species seemed to exist in a multitude of forms and looks. The one closest turned and looked right at us.

“Are you real?” It asked. “I want to know.” The vocalization was a match for the records. We had reached our prey.

It used the word I. We had no equivalent in our language and world. What did that mean? Was that why they had once been so dangerous? It stepped forward to us slowly and reached out with one of its upper appendages. We did not respond, nor did we step backwards or towards it. Not only did it not retreat, but it then raised its outstretched appendage even closer. Its ocular systems continued to look at us, unblinking. It appeared to be waiting for something, or for us to do something in return.

Humans. Homo sapiens. According to the historical records, it was once the dominant species on this luscious planet, sprawling across it in uncountable numbers. Then the planet fought back with rising temperatures, increasing water levels, and an uncontrollable amount of plant growth. We knew the planet was ripe for a takeover and assumed stewardship soon after.

Although it is unclear how much of the environmental change occurred after they vanished or before, the outcome was the same: the species could no longer survive in the new world. While data suggests that the species caused the environmental changes, it is unclear why they would do so, especially if it was what led to its downfall.

We watched them for a few more minutes. Historical records had also referenced an additional component, and we wanted to see it. The term used was soul. We did not understand it. It was mentioned with such high frequency that it clearly was very important—perhaps even vital—to the species and their survival. We observed their ocular systems, the appendages, the way the species moved back and forth. All the structures were accounted for, except this soul. We noted that the function still remained unknown, for how can something so important be invisible?

It took another step closer to us.

“Are you—?”

We completed the hunt as instructed. We secured the subject and corrected the databanks. We used the last vocalization to confirm the match. It will be preserved for further watching and at last we moved on. It was no longer labeled as extinct.