The Alien That Does Not See You

What does it take for Maja to understand the notion of humanity? A confrontation with something that is utterly inhuman. A species that is not just alien in form or culture, but in a far deeper way—fundamentally incompatible with human morality.

Most fictional alien species are described in relation to us. They hate us, love us, envy us, or seek to destroy us. Even when their values seem strange, they are usually distorted mirrors of our own. This is not true alienness—it is anthropocentric storytelling. Writers do this because we are taught that to solicit an emotional reaction, we must personalize the alien. But I would argue this is a mistake.

Take the octopus. It is not immoral. It is amoral. It does not struggle with good or evil. It does not recognize moral dilemmas, nor does it lack them in a way that we could call a deficiency. The octopus simply is. It acts according to its nature.

For humans, morality is often framed as learned behavior—shaped by society, law, or religious teaching. But at its core, our moral instincts are survival mechanisms, honed by the needs of social cooperation. Don’t steal, or you will be punished. Don’t kill, or you will be shunned. These codes evolved because we evolved as social beings, thriving in cooperative structures.

But what if a species evolved differently?

What if morality had never been a survival trait?

This is where the Vriid come in. They do not ignore Maja. They notice her, immediately. But not as a person, not as an equal, not even as an adversary. They want to see what she tastes like.

She is not one of them, therefore she is something to be tested.

A creature like the Vriid does not hate or love—it consumes. Their morality, if one could call it that, is defined by their biology. They exist in a society where the weak are devoured, where intelligence is determined by how many individuals form a collective, where the greatest punishment is expulsion—to be left as a lone worm, a mindless scrap of flesh.

To them, the idea that an individual might have value beyond its use is absurd.

This is what Maja must confront. Not an enemy. Not an ally. Not even an obstacle. But a form of life that does not recognize her as anything but meat.

And in facing them, she comes to understand something profound: humanity is not simply a matter of intelligence, emotion, or biology. It is a matter of recognition—the ability to see another being as something other than a resource.

The Vriid cannot do this.

That is why they are not simply alien.

They are inhuman.