Disclaimer: I do not own Alien v Predator or any of the materials in any media relating to aliens or predators; I make no money form this story.

Fandom : Alien v Predator 2004 movie

Characters : Alexa Woods, Scar, and other oc humans and predators (Yautja)

Synopsis : AU scenario, Scar survives the events of the 2004 movie. Having survived, Scar is back on Yautja Prime in disgrace; meanwhile Alexa Woods is 'kept' by Weyland industries in a careful cover up operation. Activity from the non-dead queen and some deaths aboard a fishing vessel bring the Yautja back to Earth - where Scar and Lex have a chance to catch up again.

Notes: Written as a Yuletide 2012 giftfic. The terminology mostly comes from here: avp_darkgods/predlanguagealphabet. htm and I also confess to gaining inspiration from some novels that were written before this movie came into being. "Hard meat" or Kainde Amedha is the Yautja word for xenomorph and humans, 'oomans,' are sometimes referred to as 'soft meat.'

*Warnings" and M rating is mainly a precaution for sexual hints, and mention of xenomorph impregnated humans dying – but there's nothing explicit. There's some medium level violence - but really nothing more than the kind of stuff in the movie.

Reunion

By Ayngel

The catch had been good that day.

The appalling weather conditions and ice cold seas had been worth it. The icy Antarctic waters swirled around the Silvertail as the men pulled in the nets, hauling the last of the tuna. Large containers yawned open, ready to receive the cargo.

"Hey, what the fuck is that?"

"Fucked if I know. get it out here, let's take a look."

The three giant eggs tumbled out of the net, landing on the unstable deck in a series of slimy plops.

The men peered closer. "Reckon those came outta the biggest sperm whale in the fuckin' universe," one of them laughed. But mostly they looked mystified, a few uneasy. For all its modern day navigation, the seas in these parts were still fraught with unknowns, large areas still harboring secrets.

"All right all right!" It was the voice of Bob Manders, the skipper. In case you lot hadn't noticed, we're losing light and there's another storm showing on radar. Get those things in with the rest. We can take a better look at 'em tomorrow."

A couple of the deckhands took a step forward. Then jumped back. "Hey Bob. She's opening up!"

Now Bob could not help but be curious. 'Lips' seemed to be unfolding at one end of one of the 'eggs.' He bent closer. A murmur went through the men. "Careful, skipper!"

It certainly was quite unlike anything Bob had ever seen. But – now what was this? The end was open. From the portal peeped grayish, skeletal like tendrils. They waggled.

And now, Bob wasn't unhappy. Hell, this was really something! His mercenary instincts stirred, years of eking out a living on the high seas had made retirement, lately, an ever more appealing prospect.

"Say! This could be our lucky day guys, " he said, leaning closer. "Could be worth a fortune …"

They were the Silvertail skipper's last words before the facehugger sprang from the egg, flinging on to its target and fastening, hard.

The last thing he heard was the horrified cries of his long suffering and faithful crew.

….

Scar moved on the bench in the low hut, instantly wincing at the pain in his still unhealed chest, raw from the zygote removal.

It was an excruciating procedure, and one which only Yautja had ever survived – and they not in large numbers. The pain paled, however, in comparison to that from his terrible disgrace, his shame, the confinement here with the females at the village.

Bitterness and humiliation ran through Scar again at the causes of his predicament. He had been reckless. He had led others to a restricted world, attracted hosts, created dozens of adult kiande amedha as well as a queen being kept dormant for ceremonial purposes.

She had escaped, her whereabouts now unknown. The rest had been destroyed in a non authorized situation.

Scar squirmed as he thought of the dressing down by the Council, the remonstrations from the dams of his dead younger half brothers, Grid and D'arr. He had sacrificed them. He had risked exposure of their plans to the oomans. And now, although there was hot debate about what they should do, he was – most definitely - not included in their plans.

In the doorway, a shadow appeared. Scar looked up to see the tall, dark faced form of his dam, D'yiunda. "Scar," she said. "I have brought you meat. You should try and eat. You should also come outside."

Scar's throat still burned form where they had removed the facehugger's delivery tube. His stomach lurched at the thought of food. The healer Tch'awi had only just told him he could commence on raw foods.

Besides, he did not feel like doing as D'yiunda said; even if it was only her status that had saved him, persuaded Tch'awi and Yawindi that he was worthy of preservation.

"Why would I go out?" He snapped. "So Lawaya and Mayka can chastise me again?" His eyes smarted at the thought of his siblings' dams' huts draped with black; no trophies and relics as there should have been. The high hopes he had shared with his brothers were no more. They, too, had died in disgrace.

D'yiunda's tusks flared. "You gain no advantage from hiding in here, Scar! The sooner you show that you care not for their taunts, that you are repentant but ready to move forward and resume the path of a hunter-warrior, the sooner they will respect you."

It did nothing to improve his mood. "They will never respect me!" he growled.

"Listen Scar!" D'yiunda hissed at him. Her patience, wearing thin since Scar's incarceration here, was finally running out. "There are those among the young females who find your actions extraordinarily brave!" she snapped. "You will not have to prove much once you are allowed to hunt again to attract a breeder."

But that only made Scar more wretched. For that was the worst punishment of all. Mature for his age, Scar's need to breed had been a major reason for the excursion; the need to prove himself, his bursting loins unable to wait for the usual customary sequences, he had taken a risk.

A risk that had not paid off; except that he had found - ironically - one that he desired. Greatly.

But she was not Yautja. Beside, he had failed before her. Although not an acceptable mate, she had been honoured. He had been returned to Yautja Prime and shunned.

An ooman. He had even failed before an ooman!

Scar thought of the ooman. No ordinary ooman. He could hardly bear to think of her. So like a Yautja in shape, and very obviously possessed of body parts he'd thought belonged solely to Yautja females. But so much smaller, more compact. Slighter, but amazingly strong. Attractive hardly described her; she was - entrancing.

And courageous. As fierce as any Yautja female, even D'yiunda. Mei-Yindi he had named her. Brave sister.

But she may not even live. Probably, she does not. They left her in the wilderness.

This he knew. Yawindi had told him. They had left her there – after giving her a ki'cti-pa. A lot of good that would have been, with no back up. He was not even there to protect her.

Double shame; And if she does live, then she does not even know that I am alive ….

D'yiunda was watching him carefully, her wise, aged eyes narrowing slightly. "You think too much," she snapped. "In the meantime, I have some news for you. We have learned that there are more kiande amedha loose on Earth. The Council are making a decision. I have recommended – that you accompany the team."

But Scar only scoffed, his mood turning fouler. "They will not want me!" he snapped.

And it was as well. How could he face the ooman now?

"Good morning, Alexa."

Doctor Fawlkner looked, as always, coolly professional. Blond hair neatly styled, she was clad in a pale blue suit which was obviously designer made. She smiled, a rather plastic gesture which overlaid a distinct 'don't fuck me around' veneer.

No doubt why she had gotten the job. It was in keeping with the company modus operandi. Even this 'therapy' - a supposed token of how well the old man Weyland had 'valued' the mental health of his staff and ex staff - fell into this category.

A value which Lex believed, like the smile, concealed a somewhat different agenda.

"So - how have you been feeling?"

Always an interesting question. Did I ever feel anything other than shame and regret since my father died? Or disappointment in humanity? Why else would I choose a life of expeditions into wildernesses as far removed from the human race as I could make them?

Not long ago, I saw twenty something people massacred and barely escaped myself. But you told met to keep my mouth shut. Do I feel anything any more?

"I'm fine," Lex returned the doctor's smile.

"Good. You seem happier."

The past flashed briefly; the alien ship, the drive away; the running out of petrol; stranded, had it not been for a survey helicopter prospecting for rare ores over that section of the Antarctic who had seen the stranded jeep.

The half conscious drive back to base camp. The questions. The endless questions.

You have a strong sense of need to prove your worth, Alexa. Clearly, you blame yourself for the explosion. When something's as traumatic as that, the human brain recreates a more palatable explanation. Even one in which imaginary creatures preside.

We're posting you to New Zealand – for convalescence. But while you're about it, we really do want you to keep your mouth shut. Not doing so could prove unfortunate….

Lex tossed her hair back. "Oh yes - I am. Much happier." Tell the woman what she needs to hear. Let her tick the boxes. That way at least they leave me alone.

"Are you eating and sleeping well?"

"Yes. Nutritious food and eight hours a night." It was partially true. She didn't need to mention the dreams. Or think about them.

"And the apartment?"

"It's nice. The view is – pleasant." Snow capped peaks would never lose their appeal.

"How is work?"

"At the plant? It keeps me busy. I like that." And while I'm humping equipment around, I don't have time to think … about you, or xenomorphs, or Yautja, or sacrifices, or broken corpses, OR – him.

Images of the masked, dreadlocked alien flitted through her mind. Lex dismissed them instantly.

The doctor sat back. "Social interactions?"

"I maintain good relations with my co-workers."

"That's not what I meant."

Why always the focus on this? Lex mused. It was ironic. For of the xenomorphs she had expounded every detail, spared no small item. But when Fawlkner's disbelief – or maybe Weyland's necessity for disbelief - had become obvious, she had not proceeded to tell them bout the Yautja. No – not a word. About Scar, the ship, anything.

Lex allowed herself a moment of reflection. The Yautja. Yes - she knew that was the name of their race. Or the English, 'ooman' pronunciation, anyway.

The weapon - the ki'cti-pa - that the elder had given her had turned out to have a strange dual purpose. When stroked in a particular way, a hologram sprang into view, showing stars, worlds, names. Fiddling further, she had discovered that she could bring the names up in different languages. She had persevered until English versions came – rather unexpectedly - into view.

They didn't know about the ki'cti-pa, either – as it seemed only she could activate it. To all others it resembled a toy, and displayed no characteristics of being anything other than a hunk of heavy plastic. The deadly blades were firmly sheathed and undetectable. They had never even questioned where she got it.

"Alexa?" Doctor Fawlkner's face wore a concerned frown.

Do they suspect something? And if, so, what does that mean?

"I met a guy," Lex said. "We're just friends, but I think it may have – potential." It wasn't entirely untrue. She had coffee with Shane, the foreman, often – and they discussed the finer points of glacier climbing.

Disbelief was written all over the Doctor's face. She tilted her head and regarded her patient with interest. "Any dreams, during your extensive sleeping hours?"

So she did ask.

Lex's mind went back to that which she had sought to avoid. A clawed digit sliding down her cheek, leaving a tingling in its wake. Her hand, tiny in his as she ran beside him, his powerful muscles flexing. That body! Was there a man on earth who could even come close to that physique.

And she had felt him against her on that harrowing ride to the surface, and again when he carried her. And his face was gnarled and hideous with those tusks, except that it wasn't. She had thought, just before he died, that it had been – beautiful.

His gentle touch when he inscribed the mark; her fascination with him so great that she barely felt pain. The longing to feel that touch again ….

His tusks, brushing the top of her hair. Mei-Yindi. He had called her. It meant'brave sister' in their language. She had felt him again; wanted him. But then, he was gone. And they took his body away …

Fawlkner was watching her with interest. Her eyes were on the scar – another anomaly explained as an 'odd face wound,' but Lex read a deep curiosity in the doctor. Wouldn't you like to know, Lex thought. But sorry – you made me lie in the end, about the rest. So I'm damned if you're gonna know about this now.

Lex perked up. "As a matter of fact, with those tablets you gave me I'm oblivious from the time my head hits the pillow!" She said. "Like I said – eight hours."

The doctor gave her a long, hard look. She smiled. "I'm glad to hear it," she said.

Yawindi had given the ooman a ki'cti-pa. This much Scar knew. And the ki'cti-pa was not just a weapon, but a location device. Provided its keeper had it activated.

In the dimness of D'yiunda's hut, Scar hovered over the galactic inter-sector tracker. He switched it on. Then he switched it off again. He cast an anxious glance around in the gloom. It was way beyond his station to have such a device in his possession, and not even D'yiunda could save him if this was discovered.

But it was worth the risk. Yes – Scar simply could not wait to hear about the expedition from which he was so obviously excluded. He wanted to know now if the ooman lived; if he would ever see her again.

She has to have lived, he thought. Her strength and courage were astonishing. He remembered the way he had flung her across the cavern; yet she had gotten up and – attacked him. She had cleaved at the hard meat, despite being scorched by acid. He recalled the way the skin had parted under the acid from the claw. It must have hurt. But the ooman had hardly flinched.

That skin. So soft! Oh how much Scar needed her to live, needed to feel that softness again; needed to feast his eyes on the lithe, compact but very female form.

He thought of her. Yes, very female. She had similar features to a Yautja. Many of the same organs, D'yiunda had later said. Arousal flared, a fierce warmth burning in his veins. Within that compact form lay reproductive organs, the seeds of future spawn, the ultimate means for a Yautja to show his prowess, his strength, his superiority.

Scar had spent nights since his recovery tossing and turning in frustration as he seethed with thoughts of the breeding rituals. Impregnating her would be …

Heat seared through Scar, as he grew hard and ready. He cursed. This was hardly the time! Concentrating, he inhaled and exhaled hard, returning his attention to the device. He snapped it on, scanning the display screen for signs of life. There were none. That did not mean that the ooman was dead, however.

Nevertheless, his frustration raged like a caged animal. Scar brought his fist down on the worktop with a crash, shaking as he glared angrily as the hopeless blankness.

"Curious. A female warrior!"

Scar jumped. He turned to see D'yiunda in the doorway. Fear shot through him, dampening his arousal like a blanket thrown on a fire. He moved hastily away from the device. D'yiunda may be his dam, and they may share a special relationship rare between parent and offspring. But the law was the law. And D'yiunda was senior in the village.

But the old female did not seem about to report him to the authorities. She glanced at the screen, and then back at him.

"I know you it is her are trying to contact," she said. "You say she is fierce and brave, yet with no young to protect, and no other apparent reason to be that way?"

Scar cursed that in the early days of his convalescence he had told her so much about the ooman. Even though but for that, he would not have known about the reproductive organs. For now he was sure to get a dressing down at least, a harsh reminder that he was a Yautja, of the gulf that separated their species.

"Their ways are different from ours!" he muttered. "Besides, I do not think she was not hunting the hard meat by choice. More – she found herself in the situation and was the only one of her kind to survive." He scowled. "You cannot tell me that any Yautja female would not try and do the same."

To his immense surprise, D'yiunda nodded. "It is a strange state of affairs, Scar, that I cannot deny. But there have been times when the females of our kind have had to rise both in battle and in the Hunt. It may be …" she hesitated, "that it is time for some new genes to invigorate our species."

Scar could hardly believe it. He had long thought, secretly, that some of the females in the camp would be better deployed using their own considerable talents than hanging around the village waiting to breed. But one just did not say such a thing. Especially to a female such as D'yiunda.

Now, D'yiunda was looking at him curiously. An affection swept through Scar, a warmth and gratitude. Not only had D'yiunda saved him from the immediate wrath of the Council. Unbelievably, she understood him, supported his need to go back to Earth.

Her mandibles ground softly. "I have some news that might interest you," she said. And then, as he caught his breath, sensing that somehow – he knew not how – the news was not bad –

"You have been summoned by the Council," she said.

And then she gripped his arm. Her tusks flared, dangerously. "This is your chance, Scar," she hissed. "To prove yourself. Don't ruin it …"

She relaxed her grip. "Your ooman must prove herself once again also. Only then will you be able to claim your prize."

Lex still could not believe that she was seated at a conference table, among top officials from Weyland Industries, in a high rise office in Sydney. She could believe even less that a small team of mercenary soldiers waited outside, and that the khaki clad figure opposite was that of Gem Masters, a veteran US Commander.

She was still struggling. All of a sudden, they believe me? And now part of her seethed with fury at the notion that they wanted her to go and fight the things. What had they said – a consultant?

Adrian Weyland, the nephew who had inherited his uncle's fortune, was talking again. "The facts are as thus," he was saying. "About a month ago, the fishing vessel Silvertail set out to Antarctic waters on a routine excursion, a few hundred kilometers south of McQuarie Island. It basically – disappeared."

There was a sliminess to the apparent youthful naivety; a distinct aura of opportunism. Lex had already decided she didn't like him. He had none of the poise of his uncle, who was greedy, but dignified at the end. It did not help that it was effectively Adrian who had silenced her, seen to her confinement in Auckland.

"A rescue attempt was launched about a week ago," Weyland went on. "There was nothing – but you would appreciate that there was a vast area to search. Eventually, a US satellite picked up a beacon near the Balleny islands. A closer look at the footage showed parts of the Silvertail washed up on a reef…"

The others shifted. Masters folded his arms.

"The icebreaker Commandier was close at hand and went to investigate. It seems that she then ran aground - and something happened to the crew ..."

"All except the survey pilot," Masters interjected. "He got away in his helicopter. He made it back to McQuarie Island."

Masters looked at Lex. "You saw the photographs, Ms Woods. I understand the creature in them is similar to the ones you initially reported?"

Weyland shifted uncomfortably. Lex stole a glance at the prints on the table. Amateurish and hastily taken they may be, but there was no mistaking the dead facehugger. She stared at it, suppressing unwelcome thoughts. She nodded.

"We also understand that the pilot managed to avoid its – clutches. It leaped at him and he got away. He hid in a store cupboard, where he survived for three days. He heard – things. When he came out, the others had vanished …."

"They didn't vanish," Lex cut in. "They would have been taken and stored by the adult creatures, or otherwise killed …"

"Thank you Ms Woods!" Weyland held up a hand. "The existence of this thing …" he gestured to the photographs, "is incidental to our mission - which is essentially of salvage. And collection - if there's anything worth collecting. We will, of course, be preparing a report about the crew - but there are many possibilities. They are probably safe on some Atarctic iceblock somewhere. I don't think we need provoke unnecessary fears."

Cold disbelief went through Lex. "Now wait a minute! Salvage and collection?"

"Yes," Weyland said. "We want to keep this small scale, and commercially viable. Not draw to it the attention of heaven knows who form every Government this side of the equator and beyond with fanciful speculation."

"Are you out of your minds? Have you any idea what these things grow into?"

Weyland's eyes glittered coldly. "Ms Woods - we're read the psychological reports of Dr Fawlkner," he said. "The pilot's tale is – interesting. However, it does not make your wider accounts any more likely." He leaned closer. "You should know that I am not the one who considers your presence valuable. I am the one paying, however, and I could just as easily change my mind."

So that was it! All along, they'd been keeping her from talking so they could take advantage of the need arose. So long as when it did, there was no truth allowed either.

Which was absurd, because that was an army outside the room, for fucks sake.

But she didn't doubt Weyland meant what he said. Sebastian's last words echoed, "They mustn't make it to the surface …"

The fools had no idea. She could not allow innocent people to suffer because of Weyland. She would go.

Masters was watching her carefully. "I've read the reports," he said. "That's why I've insisted on a team - as a precaution."

He raised an eyebrow. Lex calmed a little. He believes me, she thought. Nevertheless, she wondered how much they'd paid him.

"How many on the icebreaker?" She said.

"Crew of fifty six all up."

Fifty six cocooned ships company. Fifty six potential monsters.

"My guys can look after themselves," Masters was saying. "US and Australian trained - they've done salvage ops before. And they can handle polar conditions …"

But Lex's mind was wandering, as another thought which had been forming now came to the fore.

The Yautja will surely come. And when they do - I want to fight at their side.

The mark on her cheek burned.

Never mind Weyland and his idiotic ideas, or even the human race. I owe Scar this much.

The meeting was over. The men were getting up from the table. Lex found herself face to face with a plain dressed woman, who carried the same veneer as Dr Fawlkner. "I need to show you to your hotel room, Ma'am," she said.

The first thing Lex did when she arrived in her hotel room was pull out the ki'cti-pa. It felt warm to the touch; glowed faintly as though with a light of its own.

She stroked it. Light swept along its length, and the covering drew back to reveal the deadly blades. Lex held it up, angling it so the light glinted from the weapons and glanced off the walls. Her weapon. Her ki'cti-pa. her means of upholding her – honour.

"I will not fail you, Scar, "she said out loud.

The jumps had been successful, and now there was movement on the ship as the company of Yautja stirred, getting out of their sleep capsules and readying themselves for battle. Sh'tawie, the veteran commander, barked out orders as the youngsters attended to their ablutions and assembled hastily on the deck.

"We have pinpointed the location. We are going straight in," Sh'tawie said. "Under my command, you young sain'ja will concentrate on the kiande amedha, eggs and zygotes …" he glowered at them, "and I want a clean extermination. Yawindi and Tch'awi will take out any free oomans. Then we will all be needed in the restraint of the Queen."

There was a restless stirring, the stamping of feet. Mutterings, as tusks flared. "Can we not have a chance at the oomans?" snarled one newcomer. "They are a challenge, a chance to prove our mettle. They shoot back!"

"Hold your tongue!" it was Scar who snarled. "We have received our orders." He regarded Sh'tawie. "How do you know there will be oomans?"

"I do not," Sh'tawie said. He did not exactly look impressed. "But my guess is that they will come."

Scar glanced around. A hush had fallen over the others, and they watched him closely. This one of theirs who had defied the order, who had survived a zygote implant, who had been given a second chance and now spoke of – rules?

Yawindi emerged from the shadows at the end of the deck, then. Yawindi who had given Scar's ooman, (his ooman – a thrill rushed through him) the ki'cti-pa. He looked at Scar. Then addressed Sh'tawie.

"There may be an ooman among them who has the mark," Yawindi said. "It would be much against protocol to harm her. Indeed, I believe she could be – valuable."

Now, the surprise among the Yautja was almost tangible. And it was not just the inconceivable fact that an ooman – one of those tiny, insubstantial creatures who were good for sacrifice and hard meat incubation and little else – could bear the mark

"Her?" Sh'tawie growled incredulously.

"Yes – her!" Scar spoke up. And then, even though he knew he was not out of the woods yet and it definitely was not the wisest thing to say: "Why the surprise? Are not our females every bit as equal in warrior capability as ourselves?"

"They do not go into battle against the hard meat!" Sh'tawie looked outraged, as though he had just been struck with a ki'cti-pa.

"Their ways are different," Yawindi said calmly. "I believe this one could be an asset to us. Teach us more about her kind, who I realized after the last incident on Earth we knew lamentably little about. I had it in mind to …" he looked at the Yautja around him, "to see if she would accompany back to our world."

"Impossible!" Sh'tawie snapped. "Whoever heard of such a thing? The other Yautja grew restless at this. Feet stamped, weapons hammered at the floor. Only Scar stood motionless, trying to digest what he had heard.

Bring her back? If she survived. She must have survived. Never was anything more imperative.

Yawindi was holding up his hand again. The rumblings died down. "It is within our code to admit to our ranks those who prove themselves worthy," he said. "We shall spare the one who carries the mark. But Scar …" he frowned at the youngster. "You have already been warned, I believe, that the ooman may be asked to prove herself again. Should she fail, I will regard the situation in a different light."

"She won't fail," Scar snapped.

Let me be right in this.

The moon shone in the cloudless sky of the Antarctic night, studded with thousands of stars.

It was one of those times when Lex was grateful for her training in hostile terrains, the nights on mountainsides, of huddling in freezing canyons and abysses. She was grateful for her thermal clothing, her physical fitness and her lungs, long adjusted to extremes of heat and cold.

A sheen lay on the water, shimmering and between the icebergs clearly visible in the light of the almost full moon. Beyond the bergs lay the dark skyline of the low island. The outline of the Commandier, listed to one side, was clearly visible.

She should have been asleep right now, preparing for the battle (carnage?) tomorrow. But sleep was impossible. The mark on her cheek burned strongly, exceeded only by the almost overwhelming impulse, the longing in her soul to go to the icebreaker.

I have the mark. I have a weapon. One of their weapons. I can do this ….

She thought of her fellow humans, asleep, the soldierly precision of Masters and his team. The best of the best, highly trained specimens of male combat. Not good enough, however. The conclusion was inevitable. And Lex thought, with an increasingly sick feeling, that they would surely die as the others had, and they did not deserve this. Even greedy Adrian Weyland didn't deserve it.

Unless I intervene. If only they were here …

Something caught Lex's eye; a bright fleck in the distance. It moved, fast - incalculably fast. Glowing bright orange, it plummeted down from the star field sky, faster than any human craft could have done. And it was headed directly for the Commandier.

Lex stood up. The object was closer now, an elongated disk clearly discernable. As it came into view, it seemed to shimmer before winking out. It simply – disappeared. But some way off the air seemed disturbed, and ripples formed on the water. There were movements in the smaller icebergs, waves lapped against the side of the ship.

Then a low kaboom sounded from the island and the air shuddered. There were a few bird noises – screeched and cries – then silence. Something had landed.

The mark seared into her flesh, and her hand moved up, fingers tracing the outline.

They have come.

Lex looked around. Surely the others could not have been oblivious to what just happened. Yet there was no movement, nothing to suggest anyone had seen or heard anything. Evidently Masters had meant it when he said that getting a thorough rest was to greater advantage than wasting energy keeping watch.

Like a panther in the night, Lex left the deck, proceeding to the lower levels where three motorized dinghies crouched in the dimness of the ship's emergency lighting. They were each equipped with an impressive arsenal, mini death machines waiting in readiness for the excursion tomorrow.

Lex's earlier amusement returned. Surely rather formidable for a salvage and collection mission Mr Weyland? But this was no time for dark humor. One of them would do nicely just now.

First, however, she needed her ki'cti-pa.

By the time Lex had finished, there would be no need for the others to venture anywhere tomorrow in the cold light of morning.

"Many adults," the scout reported. "Many eggs also. And a nest. Many ooman, but all either dead or cocooned. Many more potential adult kiande amedha."

A ripple went through the assembled warriors. In the cold air, steam rose from the suit clad figures, dreadlocks flopping around masks. The scent of Yautja male pheromones rose strongly.

Sh'tawie glowered at them. "If you would behave as becomes those of your station and hear out the report!" he snarled. Though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his own excitement.

Yawindi nodded. "The queen will not be far away," he said, with a glance at Scar.

Among the now suited Yautja attack team, Scar stiffened. The faux pas of leaving the Queen alive, which had so nearly cost him his place in the Yautja order had it not been for D'yiunda, was far from forgotten. But he remained fixated to his spot, eyes staring straight ahead from beneath his battle mask. Now was not the time.

"Any sign of the queen?"

The scout shook his head.

"Very well." Yawindi addressed the suited warriors. "The holding chamber is in readiness," he said. "We will wait here. You will be swift in your extermination, as your actions will fast draw the queen to her nest. You will not engage her, but will await my command. If other oomans come, you will also leave them to Tch'awi and I. Is that clear?"

There were snorts, grunt; the customary sounds of Yautja concurrance.

"Yawindi raised his ki'cti-pa. "Sain'ja!" he said. "Were this a customary Hunt ritual I would spend some time on blessing and other necessities. For now, however, time is of the essence. So I say only this. Thar'n-da s' yin'tekai! (Strength and honour). And may the light of Dawath'y'indee shine upon you!"

Thar'n-da s' yin'tekai! The others roared. This was followed immediately by the rustle of armour, the clicking of weapons.

Scar checked his own, made sure his spear gun and disc were at hand, his dah'kte blades prepared and energy flechette primed. His Plasmacaster hummed softly, along with the standby shift function in his suit. He was ready.

Outwardly, he appeared as enthusiastic as his fellow warriors. But inwardly, he felt sick with anxiety, consumed by only one thought.

What if Mei-Yindi is among the impregnated in the nest?

But no – Scar told himself. That could not be. Mei-Yindi would have fallen on her own ki'cti-pa rather than end up cocooned.

But what if she is among the dead?

The Yautja started to exit, the air shimmering as they slipped into shift mode and hurried to the waiting hover-barge. Scar almost despaired - but it seemed at that moment that D'yiunda spoke then, her words echoing through the young warrior-hunter like an ancient prophecy, a call to him of all that he was, must be.

Go forth and prove yourself, Scar. To your own kind. And if your ooman woman has met with the long sleep of thei-de then you will accept this as the way of things, but use your grief, her memory to rise up as the leader you must become.

Scar nodded to his absent counsel in silent respect. It came to him that D'yiunda was not young, and may not last that many more summers, and that he, Scar, had perhaps not always appreciated her the way he could have. Now, whatever happened, he would make her proud. And by the Gods, she would set eyes on both he and Mei-Yindi before her time was out.

Holding his ki'cti-pa high, Scar roared, tusks flaring. Then he sprinted after the others, through the darkened corridor and out into the starry night with its waiting prey.

It was further than Lex had anticipated between the transport ship and the Commandier. And the dinghy, despite its powerful outboard, was forced into painful slowness on account of the icebergs. Lex grew more apprehensive as she wound her way between them, eerie in the moonlight. The memory of snapping jaws and fizzing blood-acid was all suddenly too vivid.

To think of all those times she had said 'don't anyone go anywhere alone.' Then she thought of her father. "Don't do as I do, do as I say," was practically his motto. And "rules were made to be broken."

Perhaps, it had been the breaking of him. Perhaps, however, he had fulfilled his ultimate dreams.

Behind, the darkened hulk of the transport ship receded. Ahead, the Commandier loomed between the bergs. Lex strained her eyes and ears. It seemed for an instant as though the air around the vessel was filled with that same shimmering as before. Faint flashes came from its midst, and Lex thought she heard sounds, a screeching, as of animals in pain.

Then there was the distinct red flash of laser fire from the deck of the stricken vessel. A faint smell of burning reached her nostrils. Those are no animals.

A chill ran through her very core. She thought again of Sebastian, and of Graham, and Max, and all the others that had died. Of how she would have surely joined them too, no matter how she had fought, had it not been for Scar.

And at the thought of him, fear gave way to anger. They started without me! They gave me a weapon. I should be there. I have a right to be there, to honour him!

And then another, quite different but horribly real possibility: What if they do not see it that way? How do I know they will even see that I bear the mark? What if they kill me before I have a chance to even show them?

But Lex had no need to further consider the possibility. Her train of thought came to a standstill, all else swept from her mind as through the water, not twenty yards away, moved a dark, monstrous shadow.

The xenomorph queen swam easily, almost gracefully through the dark water. Lex cut the outboard, her gaze frozen as the behemoth's scaled, undulating body slid past, huge and ancient.

Seconds later, the creature picked up speed, the mighty headcrest rising above the water like a shield, moonlight glinting from alien armour, tendrils of white wake streaming to either side. Waves rocked the now stationery boat as Lex continued to stare. With wings furled back, the queen almost looked beautiful, like a dark dragon from an illustrated fairy tale.

But then the past came back in sudden shocking detail. The chase. The cold malice in the creature's eyes, the sure knowledge that the queen wanted her dead, for pure sport. The helplessness. The sheer luck of the escape; and Scar …

Beloved Scar …

The need for revenge burned again; and deep in Lex's psyche hatched another idea. If I can kill a queen then they must recognize me. It seemed a duty; a necessity even. Or maybe it was simply the deep longing she had for Scar, for the Yautja, for acceptance, and to join with a race when her own had so sadly failed her.

Whatever the rationale, Lex found herself grasping the ki'cti-pa and uttering in an ancient tongue. The weapon came to life in her hand, a stream of lights running its length, whilst the metal sprang apart to reveal the sharpened blades.

But more would be needed. Lex leaned forward and activated another weapon way - a substantial, very un-Yautja rocket launcher.

Nobody would ever say she hadn't come prepared.

Revving the outboard, Lex roared the dinghy towards the retreating behemoth – and fired.

Scar roared, hurling his disk at the encroaching hard meat as the sixth kill of the day fell before him. It landed with a crash, writhing hopelessly on the floor of the xenomorph hewed cavern beneath the ooman ship as its guts spilled. Raising his ki'cti-pa, Scar cleaved the monster's head from its body. Acid spurted up, fizzing against his chest armour, spilling on the floor around with a hiss of toxic steam.

From all around came the shrill cries of the hunt, as the other sain'ja did their business. An unearthly guttural screeching sounded from the nest beyond as the last of the cocooned and impregnated oomans perished in flames.

Scar had done a quick scan. Mei Yindi was not among the cocooned. He was sure of it. And he had to be right.

Another kiande amedha appeared on the ledge, its inner jaws thrusting and snapping, narrowly missing Scar as its tail thrashed from side to side. It was larger than the others – a veritable trophy. Scar did not wait for it to leap. He brandished his ki'cti-pa, sizing the beast up, intending to slash the ugly head straight from the body, a worthy specimen to mount and parade.

But Scar did not get the chance. The creature's head whipped around. And then it bounded away. The ki'cti-pa lunge was too late. Metal chinked loudly, sparking off rock instead.

Then Scar saw that the other creatures were fleeing, an exodus of kiande amedha streaming towards the hole which led back up to the innards of the gutted ship. "They seek the queen!" came Sh'tawie's cry. "Let none leave!"

When Scar reached the deck, the creatures had gathered in a block, a seething mass of black exoskeleton, hard silicon flesh and thrashing tails. Jaws emerged, teeth glittering, saliva dripping as they snapped shut and shot back "Surround them!" Sh'tawie cried as the mass bunched together, preparing to rush the side of the ship and plunge into the icy ocean.

The hard meat seemed intent on one direction of escape. Sh'tawie roared a command and the Yautja moved directly into their path, hard against the railing around the deck. Scar glanced behind him at the icberg dotted water – and saw for an instant a commotion, something huge in the pale light, rising up and crashing down again.

And it looked for a split second as though another were there as well – a small figure, in a boat ….

But he had no time to consider it, for the hard meat rushed at that moment.

They were fewer, now. Scar joined the blockade of sain'ja, his roar joining theirs as the creatures were upon them.

Then the air was filled with screeching and the crunch of jaws. Metal glinted in laser and plasma fire as creature after creature was hurled down, the deck hissing with their innerds and blood. Scar leaped and slashed, barely hearing Sh'tawie's order to burn the ship and get to the barge.

Recognizing the huge monster from before, Scar hurled his disk, neatly slicing off its head, just as the ship erupted into flames and the noises transformed to a single high pitched screeching. "To the queen – engage the net!" Sh'tawie roared.

The hoverbarge was there. Scar was leaped on it with the others. He could see thorough the smoke hazed air that others battled the huge queen already; Yawindi, and the ones who had stayed behind to prepare the holding bay in the Yautja spaceship.

And there was another with them also; a much smaller, slighter figure; yet one which brandished a ki'cti-pa with all the skill of a trained Yautja.

Mei-Yindi ….

The missile only grazed the queen. Lex cursed as she whipped around and rose up, wings flaring as she towered above. Her beady eyes flickered, savage and primeval. And Lex saw within them a horrible recognition, a realization that this was the one who had sentenced her to her icy prison.

Lex dived from the boat as the queen came down. The small vessel snapped like a matchstick, bits disengorging into the dark sea. Lex struggled in the icy water as the behemoth whipped around. Like a giant preying mantis she rose again, claws outstretched.

Strangely, Lex felt neither cold nor fear. That sense of duty gripped her again. Instead, she had just one thought. This is Scar's killer.

With a calmness which came from she knew not where, Lex scanned for weakness – and saw it, an unprotected patch beneath the stubby arms, in front of the scaled chest armour. The queen came down again. Lex threw herself to one side, dragged under water by the suction from the mighty plunge.

The queen was rounding again, a menacing dark shape through the swirling water. Lex saw a shadow above, a piece of the ruined dinghy. Somehow, she clawed her way up and managed to crawl on to it. But the time the queen rose again, she had staggered upright.

The sky was lightening in the East. Filled with determination, ancient and deadly, Lex raised the ki'cti-pa. For a few seconds they faced each other: human and alien. Then, with a guttural screech, the queen came down again. Lex thrust with all her might ….

The weapon struck home. But her enemy didn't die. She writhed in the water, screaming alien fury. Lex sickened inside. The ki'cti-pa was gone. She was weaponless; and Scar went unavenged ….

But it was not to be. There were cries, a flash of steel discs and blades; armored bodies with straggly black hair, and a massive net that came down seemingly from nowhere. An arm was around her, pulling her to safety as the queen screamed, writhing as the trap closed.

Then there were vessels, the acrid smell of smoke. Several craft which hovered from which the armoured figures held chains, tightening the hold on their struggling captive.

Lex felt faint, now. Blood gushed from a gash in her arm where the queen's claws had struck. Yet she struggled, determined to end this, not wanting the queen caught, wanting her DEAD. Caught was no way good enough …

"Mei-Yindi!" She knew that voice. Frail, last time she heard it, losing fast the life that sustained it. Now it was strong, commanding; yet there was relief there too - overwhelming relief - and undisguised admiration.

Lex stopped her fight, felt the warmth from the alien armour, looked up into the eyes that burned above the black mask. "Scar!" he lived? Or was this a vision - a hallucination from her exertions.

He was no vision. His grip tightened, and he pulled her to him. Their eyes met. She inhaled his warm, musky scent, felt his touch on her cheek, an instant before the world turned to grey, then nothing.

"Yawindi – the other oomans approach …"

"Leave them be," Scar held the elder say. "They think themselves well armed, but they are no match. It would not be honorable. We will leave them for another time. Is the extermination complete?"

"All evidence of kiande amedha has been incinerated …"

"Good. Let us depart."

As pink shades tinted the sky with the gathering dawn, the barges skimmed away. The still thrashing cargo they towed cleaved a furrow, walls of wake sending waves cascading over the icy water.

Steam rose from the exhausted Yautja, the scent of hard meat and exertion staining the cold clear air. Tired though they were, the mood was triumphant, filled with satisfied effort. For all that they had been outnumbered, only one of their company had fallen.

And they had the Queen; after aeons of entombment on Earth, she was finally back in their captivity, an honorable breeder of the means by which Yautja for many turns to come would prove their worth.

Scar held Mei-Yindi close,hugging heragainst his chest armour. Yawindi had cauterized her arm, and it bled no more. But the small body was cold, and the face beneath the dark, soft hair was deathly pale.

Her breathing was shallow. Scar knew she needed the warmth of the ship's medical bay, the skill of Yawindi and Tch'awi the healer.

"Faster!" he roared. The chatter died down as the others stared at the two of them. The barge speeded up.

From the others, Scar felt nothing but respect. For on the spear behind him was mounted the head of the huge kiande amedha, the one he had finally slain, a giant among monsters. And behind them, the Queen's wild movements grew weaker in the special mesh that held her prisoner. She fought to the last. But she would not escape. And it was Mei-Yindi - his Mei-Yindi - who had brought her down.

No Yautja worth his tusks would ever dare to question the value of the ooman now, or her place among them. Or question Scar's worthiness.

As the barge left the water and sped into the hold of the starship, Scar pressed his masked cheek to her forehead. "Soon," he muttered. "Soon you will be healed and you will be mine."

He was proud of her beyond his wildest imaginings. As soon as the barge had docked, he carried her hurriedly to the med-room. She felt warmer, stronger. She would be healed.

Scar's heart thudded with excitement Soon she would waken, to find herself a queen in her own right beside him. And he was now a sain'ja, properly come of age, restored to where he should have been when he first set out on the fell mission with Grid and D'arr.

They would be proud of him. On Yautja Prime, he would celebrate in their honour. With Mei Yindi beside him.

Lex was aware of a faint whirring, a shuddering as of machinery firing up. She was drowsy, her arm throbbing lightly with a dull ache. Something, a familiar touch, hard yet paradoxically tender, stroked her forehead. It was soothing, pleasant, as was the musky, masculine aroma which pervaded her nostrils.

She allowed herself to drift back to the realms of half sleep. Somewhere in a dream, she had tackled the alien queen, but taken on too much. The Yautja had come. They had rescued her. She had imagined he was there.

But he couldn't have been, of course. Any more than she could possibly have fought a queen. She must be back on the Australian ship. Masters and the others must have rescued her after all...

More alien sounds. A deep rumbling like thunder – and Lex was pressed heavily down – like in the front seat of a powerful accelerating car. The surface beneath her vibrated. It was neither hard nor soft, an unrecognizable substance which seemed to mould her body.

The touch came again; the ache to her arm. Then voices – non human voices….

Somebody – something – was bending over her. She felt hot breath on her cheek, her hair caressed with that familiar tender strength. The breathing got closer, heavier. Lex opened her eyes.

Lex may have dreamed often of Scar, of their time together before; of his bravery, the magnificence of his body, the athletic movements. She had imagined his face to be beautiful at those times. Now confronted with it unmasked at close quarters, the very human fear of the unknown flooded in. She recoiled.

At the same time, she took in the rumbling, the feeling of heaviness. The figures in the round shaped room weren't Weyland, or Masters and company; and oh God, she was on a space ship leaving Earth … with the Yautja …

They captured me … oh God, they captured me ….

Shoving away the one who stood close, she sat up, fighting down panic. Her breath came in gasping stabs as she struggled to absorb the magnanimity of the situation.

Stay calm. A voice said in her head. They didn't kill you. And Scar is here.

But Scar was clearly affronted. He stood back now, arms folded. Hurt burned in his eyes as the rumbling died down, the ship having obviously past its acceleration phase. He turned away, his shoulders hunched and dejected. The others remained motionless.

Lex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing calm. She opened them again...

Her breath hitched. Scar stood with his back to her. He wore only partial armour. The frame beneath the black dreadlocks was immense; powerful and beautifully proportioned. She took in the broad shoulders, the curve of his back, the thighs like tree trunks. The feelings of before came flooding back. He was beautiful. And he had - rescued her?

She struggled to remember. "Scar!" She said softly.

He grunted, and remained where he was.

One of the others came forward, then; and she saw that it was the one who had given her the ki'cti-pa. Old wise eyes sparkled brightly in a wizened face. It was ugly – by human standards. Yet not - for it was ancient, somehow; representative of many ages that had passed before her brief human life.

Is that why we find our own elderly ugly; that we fear their knowledge, the power of years of accumulated experience which the young have not?

Lex relaxed. As before, this one was not unkind. "I am Yawindi," he said, in huskily fractured English. "We can return you to your world, is that is what you wish."

Was it her wish? She suddenly didn't know.

"It is not our wish," Yawindi went on. "For challenging a queen is special, and our people will wish to accord you due honor. Including Scar, here …" He said the last sharply, indicating to the expressive back.

Lex remembered now the queen, as the details of the battle in the Antarctic came flooding back. She had fought, but not triumphed, not finished the behemoth off. Yet this did not seem to matter.

"You can speak our language!" It was all she could think to say.

Yawindi nodded. "Protocol demands that I speak a little ooman, yes."

"Come here, Scar!" Yawindi commanded when he had finished his short talk with Mei Yindi.

But the Yautja warrior remained rooted to the spot, arms folded. "She does not want me!" he snarled. "I have come all this way, honoured her, saved her, and she rejects me." He scowled.

But Yawindi only chuckled. "Worthy sain'ja though you now are, you have much to learn about females, Scar," he said. "Their strength is at no time more great than ours than when they are being forced against their will. That I have learned …" the old Yautja rolled his eyes, "at great cost on many occasions."

"Knowing that females if given a choice will generally choose wisely, I gave her this," he went on. "As expected, she quickly surmised that her own kind will probably kill her if she returns, and that she is safer with us. She therefore comes willingly."

But Mei Yindi's rejection still smarted. "I wished only to offer her a good life, as one exalted among our people. Maybe you should take her back as your prize!"

"I am too old to breed," Yawindi chortled. "Besides - I think wants to be with you, Scar. You should forgive her reaction. Oomans, not being space travelers in this dimension yet, have an in-built terror at leaving their own planet. I have assured her she will be well taken care of."

"Scar?" It was Mei Yindi's voice. He turned, to see that she sat on the edge of the berth. Her hand was outstretched, a tiny soft thing with those strange un-clawed digits. She no longer looked scared or hostile. Their eyes met, and he saw only admiration - and strength.

So delicate, yet so deadly. The softness, the strangeness. So - pretty. But so worthy of absolute respect.

How could he resist her? But the hand ...?

"It is an ooman custom to run one's mouth over this if they are worthy," Yawindi indicated to the hand. "I know it is strange but …" he shrugged, "I think we have much to learn from this ooman."

Scar's eyes met Mei Yindi's again. She smiled. He felt his ire evaporate as all the relief and joy of her being here came flooding back, his longing rewarded.

Slowly, he moved to her and took her hand. Bending over, he parted his tusks and touched his lips briefly upon it. "Thar'n-da s' yin'tekai" he said (Strength and honour).

And maybe it was that she spoke a little Yautja after all; for when she looked back at him, she reached out and touched his cheek and said: "Yeyinde, ky'vors," (Brave one, I am yours), and she didn't say it too badly at all.

Scar's joy was tangible as he took her in his arms. Yawindi turned away, pleased. It was not always possible to sort out matters domestic between Yautja, and he was certain it would not have been a smidgen as easy with one of their own kind. But never mind …

So long as Scar never found out that he had told her to say that.

Gem Masters and Adrian Weyland could only gape at the scene ahead; for the ship was completely burned out, a charred skeleton from which smoke belched into the pale morning.

What had gone on being that thick wall of smoke was not even possible to guess.

"I guess we didn't get here first!" Weyland spat the words out. The thought was in the minds of both men, even though they said nothing.

Human weapons didn't do that.

Masters chuckled inwardly. Weyland would never know that before the activity began over on the Commandier, he had heard a boat leave their own vessel, seen a small figure as it headed out – strangely coincidental with the cries and screeches, the strange forms which had then boarded the icebreaker – just before the smoke obscured everything.

Masters had known, then, that what Alexa Woods had said was true. And he was darned if he was sending his men to that. He'd been paid in advance. The contract wasn't revocable, just because somebody beat them to it.

Besides, had he truly believed Woods would die he then would have felt bound to act. And he had a strange feeling that wouldn't be necessary ….

"Any sign of the Woods girl?"

"None," Masters said.

"She betrayed us," Weyland growled. "You know, my company did the right thing. Gave her a nice place to live. Found her a job. Got her treatment – she was an emotional wreck, after what happened. And this was how she repaid us! Going to our rivals. Obviously, they got what they came for and left."

Well, he would hunt her down. And this time there would be no niceties. Heaven forbid, there never should have been in the first place.

Furious, Weyland kicked angrily at the white egg like structure which seemed to have appeared on the deck. He was too angry to even think what that was. "What did that bitch say about eggs? Something about eggs. When I catch up with her …"

He did not even notice the spidery tendrils creeping from the end …

Nor hear Masters' too late warning shout.

~End~