All characters in this work are fictional. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Aliens and Predator are obviously not mine, but all the characters created herein are, so please don't steal them.

This is a side story for my other fanfic, Quality of Resonance. While you can read Consonant Interval and get enjoyment from it on its own, the story may seem confusing or lack meaning if you are not familiar with the characters.

See additional Author's Notes at the end.

xXx

Bagthak watched the ship's computer compile their course, the Jumps that would be required, the habitable planets that were nearby, and the known kainde amedha hives. The silence ate at him, but there was little he could do for it; Cthinde was in one of his moods. He turned to look at the Clan leader.

It had been like this for months. Cthinde's hands seemed always clenched in fists, even when he was at rest. He was no longer the jovial drunk, but a hardened Clan leader, isolated and alone. Though his height was diminutive, or rather, because his height was diminutive, he was revered in the kehrite, dealing a quick defeat to all that challenged him. Bagthak rather missed the talkative side, which rarely appeared any more.

"Where is our next destination?" Cthinde's voice was soft; he didn't need to be loud. Bagthak tapped a nearby menu, feeling his stomach turn as the system came up. It was one he knew, one they all knew, although how it had been dealt back out to them was anyone's guess. Usually the Council, who generally put together itineraries for out-bound ships, avoided sending Clans on repetitive Hunts, and since it had been so recently visited, it was highly out of the ordinary for it to come up in rotation again, much less to the Clan that had Hunted it only a few months before.

"B19-M," he said, without much fanfare, hoping that Cthinde would miss the significance. The star's identification on the charts was very different from its name; Craxan.

He did. "What kind of prey might we find on this planet?"

"Humans, certainly. It's well within their habitation zone."

"Oh?" There was a keen note of interest in Cthinde's voice. Ever since Escthta had seized that human, ever since that time, Cthinde had an almost unhealthy interest in the Soft Meat. Even hunting large predators in groups, his own series of Great Hunts, had been no salve to his pride. Cthinde now nursed a personal grudge against humans, for better or for worse.

Cthinde sat up and rubbed his fingers together on each hand, warming his stilled nerves. Bagthak recognized that movement; the Leader itched for movement and something to do. The midday meal had just ended and the Blooded Hunters had already retired to their quarters to amuse themselves with whatever they did between the peak of the sun and the evening meal. Cthinde was irritated by the timing; a new location for their Hunts had roused his blood and he wanted to let off some steam.

Bagthak felt his own fist tightening; the ship had been quiet in the weeks since they left their last Hunt. It had been a Blooding Hunt for the eight or so unBlooded on board; only two had died in the ripping claws of the Hard Meat, and the other six were now Young Bloods.

The navigator chuckled low at the memory of Cthinde composing his Leader's Mark before deciding on an image of two vessels, two curved shapes put bowl to bowl, so that one opened up and one opened down. He had consulted a catalog of known Leader's Marks, and as soon as he had decided on his, he included it in a transmission to the Council and began to practice it. All six of the Young Bloods bore his Mark, and he had roared as loudly as they did in the kehrite the night they returned.

Young Bloods would not be allowed down to the surface of Craxan Prime to Hunt, of course. Humans were too advanced for such newly fledged warriors and some had injuries yet unhealed from their Blooding.

"How much time until we arrive at B19-whatever?"

"We'll come out of the Jump this evening and cruise at sub-light speeds for nine hours."

"So, tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Liege."

xXx

Cthinde was on the bridge, waiting for Bagthak the next morning. He looked at the navigator sourly. "Move it, Bagthak, we haven't got all day."

"You're not seriously thinking of setting up and launching a Hunt today, are you?" Bagthak couldn't quite hide his incredulity. He was older than Cthinde, but his own trophy wall was unexemplary compared to the Royal Guard skull Cthinde had in the center of his. That was why Cthinde was leader and he wasn't, aside from the fact that Bagthak was happier being a Navigator. He, of all people, had the right to question the Leader's authority when it came to putting the ship in danger.

And a rush into Hunt would do exactly that. Without allowing time for a proper orbital insertion, with cloak, they risked detection, and it was wise to never underestimate humans, especially on their own land. They needed to do reconnaissance, make sure there were no human military transports in the area, no large convoys (as the humans were fond of traveling in) and definitely no other yautja ships. A Clan War would be devastating for the young Leader, and it wasn't something Bagthak was prepared to risk.

"I am, unless you've got any reason we shouldn't."

Bagthak frowned, looking at Cthinde's face and finding no lines of jest, no mirthful twinkle. A small sigh escaped him as he keyed up the viewscreen. The system flashed to life, and a small warning popped up as Bagthak oriented the Zanna properly and began to maneuver her toward Craxan Prime.

"What's that?" Cthinde crowded into Bagthak's space, peering intently at the screens, although he did not know how to interpret them or what to look for. Bagthak shoved him out of the way unceremoniously, his eyes scanning the Zanna's star system report. It was either disastrous or a stroke of extraordinary luck, depending on the view one took.

"Human military. Lots of it." A pause, as he scanned. "Aside from two mining freighters loaded with carbauxite, there are five large battleships." Another pause. "They are armed, but I don't think they know we're here." He silently thanked Paya for the cloak.

Cthinde howled suddenly, clapping Bagthak on the shoulder. "It's about fuckin' time we got some real Hunting done!" he crowed.

Bagthak shook his head. "We need to do some thinking before we just jump into this. Let me spend the day scanning them and determining the risk."

Cthinde nodded. "Do whatever you have to, Bagthak."

Bagthak was surprised. He hadn't expected the agreement so easily, least of all from Cthinde.

"It just means we'll have to account for double tomorrow," Cthinde grinned.

"I don't think that is a wise idea either," Bagthak groused.

"Quit thinking and start scanning. I want to know everything about their movements and their purpose by tomorrow." The Leader was almost gleeful, and Bagthak shook his head. Something was wrong with Craxan Prime. Human military didn't just 'show up' out of nowhere. They were here for a reason, and he had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't entirely unrelated to the human Escthta snatched from the claws of the Hard Meat so many months ago.

xXx

"We're go for launch, sir?"
"You are, Lieutenant." Captain Arnold Hatch's chiseled features looked even grimmer than they usually did.

"I'll tell the men. Thank you, sir."
"This is not a walk in the park, Harper. There're bugs down there, and worse. Don't thank me for this."

"We'll stomp those bugs flat. You don't have to worry about my platoon; we're ready for those bugs, sir."

"Try to get yourself back in one piece, Lieutenant."

"Sir!"

Lieutenant Travis Harper was what might have been known as a career soldier in older times, but these days, Marines didn't just hop in and hop out of the military. All soldiers that were part of MSF Herculis, here on the fringes of known space, were there because they wanted to be. Harper prided himself on having the 'winningest' platoon in the regiment and he constantly jockeyed with two other Lieutenants for best platoon in the Division.

Harper's Hellcats were veterans of the Japanese invasion of some Network worlds, and had survived some encounters with bugs, with minimal losses. They were loaded for bear, plated in acid-resistant armor and body suits under that to protect them from the acid blood that would be spilled. The two Smartgunners, Spiers and Evans, had been cleaning their rigs for days, waiting for the go-ahead from command. Now that the order had come down, tempers would settle, and they could get into the serious business of kicking some ass.

xXx

The next morning turned up a great deal of information— enough, in Bagthak's opinion, to call off the Hunt.

The five starships were part of human military, and over the time Bagthak had observed them, each had sent down various transports, which might be full of supplies or infantry. If he was the betting sort, he'd bet 2 loads of troops and three loads of support, and that put the odds squarely against them. This was a known Hive world, and while he didn't doubt that the kainde amedha had something to do with the military presence, he felt naked in orbit with the human ships. Their cloak was not perfect; humans had seen through it before. He wanted the Zanna away from this planet, the further the better. They were better off avoiding this planet at all costs.

Cthinde would hear none of it. No matter the number of times Bagthak outlined the obvious risks, he shook them off, speaking of the glorious Hunt. This kind of infectious mania had accompanied him on previous Hunts for humans, and Bagthak again doubted Cthinde's real reasons for Hunting the pyode amedha, the small pink creatures that suddenly seemed to be crawling over every world.

Eventually, Bagthak suited himself up, wrapping up the armring of keys with the tails of the cloth that bound them. They didn't clank together when he was done, and he folded the ends underneath the band. His armor went on piece by piece, including his burner. The navigator trusted the guidance systems with his life, and he pulled his mask on, attaching the hoses with a practiced hand. The shoulder cannon came to life, peering over his right shoulder like an inquisitive pet, and he deactivated it with a mandible before walking through the ship to the pods that would drop them on Craxan Prime.

Cthinde and four other senior Blooded were waiting, and Cthinde was talking animatedly. Bagthak smelled the musk in the air, the excitement for the Hunt. Human military were hard to come by, and everyone appreciated the challenge. It was Bagthak's first Hunt for humans since before his candidacy for Leadership.

With Cthinde stirring up the Hunting musk, the room was fairly thick with expectations and apprehension. Bagthak could see the same signs in the Blooded that he had seen on dropships to Councils or before honor-challenges. They bounced on the balls of their feet, moving weight back and forth on each leg and pacing.

"Bagthak! Glad to see you could join us!" Cthinde clapped the navigator's shoulder and brought him over to the insertion pod nearest his own.

"Just because I don't think it's a smart idea doesn't mean that I'm going to sit around playing rith'ri'ghan with the Young Bloods," Bagthak retorted.

"A wise decision," Cthinde quipped with a smile.

xXx

"We have colonists down there that have not responded to repeated attempts to contact them. We know from orbital reconnaissance that there are three bug hives and one is within 200 km of the drop point. We have two objectives. First, we need to identify survivors and assist them in getting the hell off that rock. Second, we need to kill as many of those bugs as we can and get the hell off that rock ourselves. ALL people, Marine, Weyland or otherwise coming off Craxan Prime will be screened for xeno infestation in quarantine. Questions?"

"Are they giving the Colony up? It's like the bugs won!" Bruno Paxton, the Warrant Officer in Section A. He was a stocky man with a constant five o'clock shadow and a bad dip habit.

"Paxton, you know that bugs ain't like fightin' humans. They're relentless and they don't give a damn about preservin' architecture or art. When they're the ones overrunning you, best get the hell out and worry about ways to get them back later."

"Why not just nuke them from orbit?" The driver, Elliott Boyd. Of course he would want to nuke them from orbit.

"We're not prepared to give up on those civvies yet. When we've got the line on the civilians, we'll talk about nukes." Harper looked around. "Any one else?" He looked at his soldiers, each of them staring back at him with flinty eyes, already priming themselves for action.

"Section A, you're with me. Corporal Chapa, you have Section B." The corporal barked an affirmative and collected his half of the platoon over by their dropship, a UD-4 Cheyenne.

Section A gathered around Harper, each one paying attention to his briefing.

"Our drop point is the closest surface town to the mines, where the mines' base of operations was. Weyland doesn't want us there, but we don't give a damn about Weyland. We're going to find their center of operations, try to establish an uplink, get a list of personnel and their families. Then we'll split into squads and look for survivors. If you get xenos, radio immediately and get the hell out. Take them out in open areas."

"We know the drill, Top," Sherwin mumbled, flipping a poker chip in his hand and catching it as it came down. "We can handle a few bugs."

"This ain't a few bugs. This is a shitload of 'em. And Her Majesty herself might even make an appearance. You never know. Use your instincts, and use each other."

Harper straightened up. A note of machismo crept into his voice, as it must in all speeches filled with bravado. "Alright, Marines! We're gonna hit these fuckers fast, and we're gonna hit 'em hard!"

A cheer went up from the group of twenty-some odd soldiers, their clenched fists and focused faces the badge of their pride as the best soldiers humanity had to offer.

"Give 'em hell, give 'em Hellcats!" Section A roared together, their adrenaline up, blood pumping and guns ready.

They filled the UD-22 Navajo dropship like ants, strapping themselves into the transport. The smell of bloody metal and sweat rose as their bodies warmed the harnesses.

"God, what is that smell?" Chantal Lister wrinkled her nose and then looked at the Marine next to her, Rusty Spiers. He grinned at her, his tousled brown hair and freckles giving him a boyish look. "Hey, Chantal," he worked around a wad of gum in his mouth.

"Tell me you're wearing clean socks."

"Just the lucky ones for me, baby."

"Ugh," she groaned, and made a big show of turning to her left, away from the fragrant feet of the Smartgunner. She found instead the company of Sam Metcalfe, all-around good guy and Private First Class. He was in a team with Carlotta Mason, a sultry brunette with dusky skin and a cocktail of mixed blood. They worked well together, as Chantal did with Chips.

Chantal looked around at the other Marines. The pilot was making last minute preparations, and the W/O was talking with Vickerman about formations. Gilly looked exasperated with Bruno, but she put up with his repetitive instructions and formations; sometimes she even got a few ideas from them.

Jack "Chips" Sherwin was sitting across from her and he smiled at her, rubbing the poker chip between his fingers. She had gotten rather fond of him since his joining the platoon the previous year, and their bed had been the same for the last few months. He had improved her aim, given her the best oral in years, and helped her through the death of her brother in another unit. He winked at her, and she smiled back.

"You ready?" he mouthed at her. She nodded. She was ready for anything.

The dropship's engines powered up, and the overhead locks came down over their shoulders. Gilly and Bruno had stopped talking, and Paul was mumbling Psalm 23. Chantal whispered the words with him, their voices lost in the deafening roar of machinery. Roberto's mouth was working too, the words of prayer comforting, even if the words were not those of his religion.

Chantal said Amen, and looked over at Carlotta, sitting next to Chips. They were playing rock-paper-scissors for the right to go searching for survivors; loser had to make the uplink. Carlotta won with paper over rock, and she pumped her fist with a "Yes!" hissed between her teeth. She cradled her M41A and patted the gun affectionately. A glance up caught Chantal's eye, and although the women had been rivals for Jack's bed, they had smoothed over their differences long ago— you had to, when your life potentially depended on the other person.

"You ready for this, Mason?" Chantal shouted.

"Man, them bugs are in for whole lotta trouble!" Carlotta shouted back. The bad pun was the same one she made on each drop, and it soothed Chantal. She liked it when things were the same, when familiarity prevailed. If there was anything she was hoping for, it was an 'ordinary' mission: get in, get out, get wasted.

Below, on the surface of Craxan Prime, Weyland's mining ops headquarters sprawled like a metal spider. A large pit quarry gashed the earth, and now that the dropship had entered the first layer of the atmosphere, in a controlled fall toward the planet, the scale of the operation was dumbfounding.

"Do we have any idea on where the people are in this maze?" Mason looked toward the blue-hazed nose of the dropship as they approached the landing point.

"Last communication was weeks ago; once we get on the ground, the uplink should be able to find their ID tags." Gilly shouted.

"In the stratosphere now," Szekely said from the cockpit.

"Understood," Gilly replied into her mouthpiece. The roar was not nearly so loud as the Navajo switched functions from punching holes through atmosphere to transport on the surface.

"We'll land here, at the centerpoint. From there, we'll fan out." The pale blonde looked up. "Who won?"

Chips thumbed at Mason. "She did."

"Mason, take first squad and secure the area. Chips, you and second squad get that uplink going. The Eisenhower will be able to amp the signals of civilian chips. Once we have set up a base, we'll go section by section, collecting people until we've got them all, sealing the doors behind us. And you know what to do with xenos." Gilly lifted a hand to her headset and then nodded.

Mason and Chips nodded back, and the overhead locks lifted. Buckles snapped and fell to the floor as they shouldered their gear, the HUDs and Smartguns coming down and strapped on. The weight of the dropship settled on her hydraulic feet and the ass-end of her dropped out.

Boots thudded down the walkway, and Mason's teams fanned out over the landing pad, scanning the abandoned cargo crates and tarps for bugs. When nothing moved after them, they set up the pathway for Chips' squad. Grigson was the first there, plugging in a code scanner and applying military emergency override codes. The doors sprang open and the footpath lit up, lights chasing themselves to Operations.

Grigson blinked and turned to Chips uneasily. "Uh, that was easy."
"I don't think I have to say it, but that was too easy," Chips said, idly stroking the poker chip taped to his gun. A soft breeze brushed over them, and there was no smell of death, no smoke, no rot.

"Where the fuck are the bugs?" Metcalfe wondered out loud.

"They'll get here, Sam. Ain't nothing to worry about until they do." Mason dropped her gun and patted her teammate on the shoulder.

"Let's get in there and see what we can do about getting this job done so we can get off this rock."

xXx

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As you can see, this story is a vastly different tone from Quality of Resonance. The chapters are shorter, and this has more of the action people expect out of our fandom.

Thanks to Sara, who beta'd parts of the dialogue and runs the Predaphiles BBS. Thanks also to olgite, who makes a great late night companion. Check out her fiction :D