The Predator of the Meadow

The instructions continued decryption.

Left alone in the silent agony of dimensional quadratic encryption, he could only gaze at the intricate patterns created from the million-symbol code streaking across the primary display screen. He knew that the computer was not some machine buried in the optic circuitry of the ship, but his own brain. The seconds stirred by, and Vincent found himself alone in unknown space peering at the Panthera Defense Corporation emblem. He couldn't remember whether the information had been stored in his head, and when a voice spoke, he wasn't sure if he was speaking. But he knew that it was changing the way he thought and remembered. Words scrolled across the primary display in time with the voice.

Vincent Wagner, you have agreed to participate in this military engagement, funded by the Panthera Corporation. Since the Panthera Corporation does not believe that citizens of Earth and our employees should have to live with the anguish and guilt of war, you are undergoing behavioral adjustments that will block many, if not all, memories of these events. With any luck, your tour of duty from the time of your first encounter will be over within one Earth year. Your patriotism to your planet and company are appreciated and will be rewarded upon your return.

When the voice fell silent, the sun shield retracted and Vincent found himself in a luxurious nebula without a single star piercing the rich concentration of gases. Time suddenly became a distorted web of events that were forgotten before he realized they could have been remembered. It was not agony. It was glorious. He savored every moment without knowing how many moments had been enjoyed or when it would be over.

An entire armada of deep space fighters, bombers and carriers swarmed like locusts in the nebula. He imagined that he was within a great hive of metal insects, preparing to feast upon the fresh blooms of spring. The positions of the ships appeared chaotic, but his remaining faculties for logic and a closer inspection dictated that each fleet was prepared to erupt from the nebula and proceed directly to their targets. And though he so desperately wanted to be afraid, those frail remnants of his humanity were being buried and he was left only with hunger, rage, and the endless boundaries of a conditioned human mind to carry out his orders.

His sense of time waned and each second began to blur into the next.

The rich luster of the nebula and the vastness of space began to thicken and transform into a richly detailed landscape. Vincent envisioned himself as a lion whose pride charged the fathomless depths of a lush meadow. A plethora of fauna - gazelle and antelope - flourished in the foreign land. Together with the other lions, they descended upon the meadow. His pride struck mercilessly and fed upon the healthy, without appeasing their ravenous appetites. And then the young fell to the mighty grip of their powerful jaws.

He watched the remaining young and old realize the speed and accuracy with which the predators struck would soon send every species in their precious meadow into extinction. They fought back with unexpected ferocity, driving the predators back. The meadow was enormous and every foot was covered with blood, dead, and the wounded. For a short while, it looked as though the enemy would win. But too much damage had been inflicted.

The thrill of the hunt had overtaken him, and he was without memory. But something was amiss. Vincent was familiar with the scents that rolled in the soft breeze and clung to the blades of waist-high grass. The odors were a melange of blood, sex, and hunger. When he was hungry, he ate. When he was thirsty, he drank. He didn't remember the War. But the primal levels of his mind never forgot the meadow.