1987- West Bolivia
She was pleased with herself. It wasn't the best hunt she had ever performed but it was fairly close. She reveled in her success as she hoisted the last of the three males into the tree where they would await her skinning knife. That done, she looked again at the last body, a female who had unfortunately stepped between her spear and one of the males. Through both the infrared and x-ray settings of her mask, she detected no fetal presence or other disability that would cause her to carry the dishonorable weight of this ooman's death. So she simply allowed herself a moment of quiet regret before dragging the female's body over to the tree and hoisting it up beside her other trophies. Taking a step back she admired her work again then set to work with her paring knife.
Halfway through the skinning of the third male, a noise distracted her from her task. It was faint, barely louder than a bird's wing beats but it was still present and persistent. Taking no chances with her life, she immediately activated her camouflage, fading into the jungle night like the shadows that played around the edge of the fire. She followed the noise from the edge of the human's grouped dwellings to the innermost building, which had been partially destroyed at her hand. The noise grew louder as she moved through the dwelling. It was high-pitched and demanding and grated on her nerves but also reminded her of the sound her own newblood son made when he was hungry.
In the final room she searched, she found an overturned feeding trough filled with chicken down and covered with blankets to create some semblance of a cradle. On the other side the noise reached it's highest, and appeared to be emanating from a writhing scrap of cloth on the floor. Being as careful as she could, she lifted the cloth to reveal an ooman newblood. The tiny thing felt the sudden cool rush of air as the cloth was lifted and stopped crying in confusion, then looked directly at her, as if it could see right through her camouflage. Deciding that something so small could not pose any real danger to her, she deactivated the cloak and continued examining the newblood, who appeared to be doing the same to her. At once it dawned on her; there had been no other females residing here, she had killed the only one who was most likely this newblood's mother. Her good mood from earlier was gone. She had just orphaned this child, and by the rules of her clan; she was now responsible for dispensing of it. She was suddenly very aware of the small, dark-skinned ooman who had not let her out of her sight, regarding her with big, curious eyes. That struck her as odd. The child wasn't scared, but curious. Intrigued, she reached out her hand to the infant, who also reached out a chubby hand and wrapped her clawed finger in a tight fist. She noted that the child was admirably strong.
"Gkuan-yte, little fearless one." She greeted in her own clicking language, to which the child laughed and clapped its tiny hands together. She knew she wouldn't be able to end this infant's life even if she wanted to. She felt her maternal instincts flare up and knew exactly what she was to do with the infant who had now taken her finger in two hands and was attempting to eat the tip of her claw with only its gums. Making up her mind, she took the newblood in both hands and wrapped it in the cloth she found it in. Thinking for a moment, she checked and found the infant to be female. It wouldn't help her case but there was nothing anyone could do now.
Holding the tiny infant girl close to her chest, she returned to her trophies and fashioned a sling out of the female's clothing. She placed the girl in the sling and tied it around her torso so she was resting comfortably against her back while she resumed her skinning and collection of her trophies. When she was satisfied with her work, she activated the homing beacon on her wrist and settled into the trees with the girl to wait for the arrival of her mate and son. She entertained the young ooman with strung-together vertebrae and skulls she had collected from countless worlds and countless hunts. The child was curious and excited by these toys and consistently took to gnawing on them. She was amusedly reminded of a female from her clan that used to tell stories of eating the bones of her kills. She had been a great hunter and highly respected among the elders of the clan. Her name had been Ky'kne. Peering at the tiny newblood she decided upon the name she was to receive.
"Ky'kne." She said, the ooman newblood looked up at her, a smaller skull gripped between her hands. She saw a glimmer of recognition in the newblood's eyes before she went back to gumming her skull. Filled with pride, she said again. "Ky'kne will be your name, little fearless one. N'jauka."
19 years later- Jena, Louisiana …
The girl named Ky'kne ran through the forest, dodging trees with practiced ease. She felt more than heard her brother somewhere beside her, fleeing through the trees somewhat faster than herself on his thick, powerful legs. She mentally cursed herself for being so stupid as to not bring two wrist bombs. If only her brother had brought one since one of the ooman's well-aimed metal pellets had shot hers off. She continued to curse herself as more metal pellets ripped the bark off the nearby trees. Cold realization seeped into her muscles. They were very close to the ship and without a bomb to get rid of it and themselves. They would have to fly it out but they would be overrun before they took off. She growled to herself as she recalled that her brother was the only one tall enough to even fly the craft. She growled again to herself and stopped running but kept a relatively fast pace. She heard her brother's heavy, fast strides slow as well until they both stopped completely.
"Run, mei-hswei!" She roared at him, just a mere yellow blip on her infrared sight. "I will keep these pyode amedha from following you." He seemed to not want to leave her but he knew as well as she did that they had no chance of both of them surviving. He approached her and placed a thick hand on her equally thick, armored shoulder.
"I will return, mei-jadhi. I will bring our brothers to avenge your sacrifice." She nodded and beat her chest with her fist and acknowledged as he did the same. Then they turned away from each other, he towards a tree that he promptly climbed and she back towards the ooman hunters they had been evading. She quickly offered up a prayer to the gods that he made it. At least he could tell her mate that she died honorably.
This was her last thought before more ooman-made metal pellets tore through the air and one found the flesh of her calf, another bit into her arm. She immediately changed direction and began running parallel to the line of ooman's armed with the strange pellet guns. She did everything she knew how to push the pain to the back of her mind the way she had been trained and for a while it worked until she felt the onslaught of blurring vision and light-headedness. She spared a glance over her shoulder and saw the trail of her strange, glowing orange-yellow blood. Now her pursuers had a clear trail to follow in the dark. Somehow it made her feel better that they would be following her and leaving her brother to get away. She stumbled in the leaves, spilling more blood. Pausing only a moment, she reached into the pouch at her hip and pulled out a syringe device loaded with clear liquid. Without hesitation, she stabbed the needle into her calf, above the wound and immediately felt the burning liquid eating through dead flesh and the metal of the pellet that had injured her. This time though the pain was too great and she cried out. Hesitating only a moment she repeated the process to her arm, which was only somewhat easier to bear.
In her dizzied, painful stupor, she had not heard her pursuers get so close to her. They heard her pained cry and began shooting again. However they had ceased to use the metal pellet guns, these were sharp and slightly resembled her syringe. One sunk into the bark of the tree she was using to right herself. She noticed they had very bad aim but she knew better than to think that she could fight off so many opponents in her weakened state. The only other way was for her to kill as many as she could before she was forced to succumb to Dhi'ki-de, the Long Sleep. She closed her eyes, whispered a last goodbye to her brothers and mate and a final prayer to the gods to make her death swift and honorable. Then she took her spear from its sling on her hip and activated it with a small flick of her wrist, reveling in the feeling of its familiar weight against her palm. If these were to be her last moments, then at least she would be doing what she was born to do: fighting.
She turned and met her pursuers. The nearest fired two syringe-like pellets at her and missed, she answered with and upward stab to the male's abdomen. Removing her spear with a sucking noise, she spun into the next and sliced him deeply from clavicle to hip. The next managed to hit her with a needle-pellet. She turned on him, causing him to start. He lost his balance and fell backward, and with no thought, she sank her spear into his chest. She felt another needle-pellet sink into the skin of her back. With a roar, she extended her wrist blades and caught the shooter in the face, slicing through his skull, vertebrae, and severing one of his eyeballs from its nerves. More needle-pellets caught her in the stomach, neck, and legs. She felt her mind fading into a strange dark mist but that simply made her more desperate to fight. She lashed out at anyone who would come close enough her spear and sometimes charged into the ring of oomans that could only just clear her shoulder, slashing and skewering everything in her path before the dark mist forced her to stumble back again.
She knew she didn't have much time before she surrendered to the dark fog that was invading her mind. Even as she pulled her spear from the head of another of her attackers she knew she could not kill all of them before she faded. She managed to rip an ooman's throat from his body with her bare hands before she stumbled and sank to her knees. She heard the shooters shouting in their strange language and couldn't latch onto the translation her mask gave her. She looked up at the sky, for what she didn't know, maybe a last far away glimpse of the home world or her brother fleeing in the ship, but all she saw was small white dots. Quivering, tiny and cold.
She felt a last emotion rise within her; hatred, boiling and fiery. She hated the stars for being so small and making her feel small and helpless. She was an honored warrior of the Yautja! She was not yet a blooded warrior but she was certainly not helpless and she was not small! As if to prove herself, she lashed out one last time at an ooman whom had mistaken her weariness for surrender. Her hand shot out and buried itself up to her wrist in his chest cavity. With little effort she found his hyper-active heartbeat. She closed a tight fist around the muscle and yanked. With a loud squelching rip and a strangled cry from its owner, the heart came free. Holding it above her head, she opened her mouth and roared her last defiance at the stars. With that she faded and fell forward the heart rolling forward to rest on the dried leaves.
Behind her, one of the surviving shooters put his lips to the radio and spoke. "Corporal Hughes to Secretary Moretz."
"Go ahead, Corporal."
"Target acquired. I repeat the target has been acquired."
"Very good, Corporal. How many survived?" The corporal turned counted his men as they shouted their presence.
"Only twenty-five, Madam Secretary, including the target."
"Regrettable but I am glad we finally have a surviving specimen." The corporal stepped over the bodies of his fallen and dismembered comrades on his way to the body of their target. He knelt over it, finger on the trigger, and lifted its head by its dreadlocked hair. With no small effort and the help of two of his comrades, he managed to flip its body over onto its back and cautiously removed its mask. What he saw surprised him so much that he nearly dropped the mask.
"Uh…Madam Secretary? We might have a problem."
"What is that Corporal?
"The target is a human…I think. I repeat target strongly resembles a human female."
"Interesting, Corporal. Bring her back to the facility please." Although he was quite confused, he was under orders and one did not simply argue with the Secretary of Defense. Not if they wanted to keep their job, and Sam Hughes liked his job.
"Yes, Madam Secretary."
"Corporal, the scientists want to know how much tranquilizer was used to sedate the target." She sounded exasperated which Hughes could understand. He didn't care for scientists either. He scanned the vast expanse of Day-Glo tufts of fuzz that protruded from the female's body and realized for the first time how much they had in fact used against her.
"Enough for a few bull elephants would be my guess, Madam Secretary."
"Impressive, Corporal. See you in Colorado shortly."
"Ten-four, Madam Secretary. Over and out."