Chapter 2

Arbitration

They were the most elite team in the Yautja clans. The word 'Hunter' could no longer describe them, for they were beyond the scope of capturing and killing game animals. They were armed to the tooth and armor clad, showing battle scars that told stories of epic fights, which had become the every-day occurrences that packed their lives. These were the Yautja about whom stories were told to scare young suckers into obedience to both their mothers(Although not much encouragement was needed there) and their elders. These were the Tusk and Fang Arbitrators.

The Tusk and Fang had a Man'Daca of its own, and it had enough elite Yautja hunters to fill it up in almost the same density as a small clan could. Each of the Yautja on board had achieved honors, and each of them had left the life of a hunter to become the bloody hand of justice exercised by Clan Elders. To become a part of the Tusk and Fang was no small task; first and foremost, each prospect must have great honors and a great deal of hunting time on the Ooman home world. The Tusk and Fang was lightly based around Ooman culture, realizing the deadliness of these odd creatures and incorporating it into their style and hunting methods. Exemplifying this was the fact that every Tusk and Fang Arbitrator wore a mask that resembled the face of an Earth creature, which the hunter perceived to have something in common with. They were led by five, and the five had come to the Jag'd'ja Atoll to answer a most important call.

The leader of the Five was the most obvious among them. His mask took the form of what appeared to be a strange type of Pyode Amedha, what he himself called a 'Jackal,' and was the feature by which he was most easily identified. A strange type of H'sai-De blade was hung across his back. He did not use a plasma caster, showing far more favor to flame casters, of which he had two on either shoulder. Both sides showed throwing smart-disks in plain sight, and both of his wrists were decorated with wrist-blades, quite a rare display of achievement indeed. His true name did not matter; he was called Kweide – "Sly One" – by his peers and colleagues, for his strategic prowess was second to none.

Accompanying him was a team of four that were his most trusted subordinates. They were diverse in both appearance and talent, having different methods of hunting and combative style. They were looking quite impressive standing there in half-moon formation behind their leader, faces hidden behind animalistic hunting masks and fidgeting with destructive weapons that had become almost as much legend as their users had.

The smallest among them was the most easily recognizable. His mask was in the shape of close cousins of the Oomans, what The Sly One referred to as an 'Ape.' He was lightly armed and wore only the minimum amount of armor, the shin and knee guards typical to all hunters and arbitrators absent in favor of easier and more agile movement. Two small blades rested in their sheaths, which in turn rested upon his waist. Upon his right leg, a miniature spear-gun could be seen, but other then his wrist blades, no other weapons decorated his body. He was called S'teg-in, "Swift and Deadly."

The one who stood out the next most was by far the largest of them, standing as tall as a Yautja woman and built with twice the muscle mass. He was a dreadfully fearsome, deathly frightful looking Yautja, his dreadlocks whipping about with the twitching of his head, decorated by the face of a "Boar." His armor was heavy, covering his shoulders, chest, legs and forearms completely. He had a plasma caster on his left shoulder and wrist blades mounted on both arms, both of them lengthened beyond the norm. Other then those, only one weapon was to be found: An enormous double-headed axe was slung across the arbitrator's back. He was Lul'ij-bpede, "Crazy One."

Appearing fourth in formation among the five was a Yautja whose facemask was as that of a tiger. He was a peculiar one in that he had no weapons apparent on him – no plasma caster, no spears, not even wrist blades. His armor was just as a regular Yautja hunter, save that his forearm gauntlets extended to form clawed, metallic gloves about his fingers. He was of average height and build, but stories of H'chak'mode, "The Merciless One," told of his uncontested prowess and brutality in bare-fisted combat.

The last of them was called Mei'hswei. His height and build were impossible to discern; from head to foot, the Yautja with the mask of a serpent was covered in armor. Again, no weapons were obvious with him, although nine strange pod-like structures could be seen running down his back, closed off at the top by an opening and closing valve. Another set of the strange pods decorated his side, curving toward his front and sealed off with the same kind of strange valve, although these pods on his side were decidedly smaller then the ones across his back. The outside of his legs were also peculiar, decorated with what appeared to be an elaborate design of spikes and spines running down to the ankle across several notches of metal. An experienced Yautja would have recognized this weapon set for the deadly, destructive power it commanded, but to all others, the weapons that "Brother" commanded remained a mystery.

The five had been waiting at the loading docks for nearly a full hour. The Sly One knew that it was his own fault, for he had arrived early. He knew that when an Elder of the Clans called you, you didn't fool around. He had rocketed toward this mother ship at full speed on his modified Man'Daca, faster then most ships of its class by a long, precious amount of time, for its engine had been completely overhauled with state-of-the-art technology. In fact, there was no such thing as a part of this clan that wasn't advanced to state-of-the-art levels. They were, after all, the best of the best, the Arbitrators of the Tusk and Fang.

He remembered this hunt well. The queen was powerful, so much so that even Yautja women couldn't hope to imagine what terrors such deadly strength could unleash. Spearhead knew, though, for he had faced this kind of prey before. He quickly drew one of his glaives, circling the mother of the hive carefully. "Move well or die" was the hunter's prayer, and he had learned it well. It would hold especially true here.

The combat started all at once. The queen lashed out against him, playing more defensively then most of her species would. Her long, spined, deadly sharp tail lashed out over her head and straight for Spearhead. Knowing that the queen's attacks were too powerful to block, Spearhead did what he had done all those decades ago, ducking under the tail and striking up at it as the weapon flew above his head, his glaive striking across it and leaving a small scratch on its thick carapace. He followed the strike by continuing with his momentum, spinning out to the right and rising to his feet, his combative Hiju strong and reactive.

The queen's face was no longer her own. It was the face of a Yautja that was splashed with burns – burns that Spearhed knew well. They had come from the blood of a Kainde Amedha Praetorian, the first of the greater Kainde Amedha that Night Fear had ever defeated. This was the face of his old friend and dearest companion. The sight of that face on the Queen's body startled him greatly.

Suddenly, he wasn't fighting that queen anymore. He was standing on the sidelines, watching himself fight the queen which had taken the face of his friend. "Night fear!" he called out, and though he tried to run to him, he could not move from the spot. "Night fear, why do you attack me?" he cried, watching as he ducked under another tail slash, striking up with an attack that this time bit into the muscle of the Queen's weapon. 'Don't do it,' Spearhead begged, for he knew what happened next in this battle.

His wish didn't come true. The Night Fear – Queen hybrid hissed its displeasure at the cut on its tail, then started charging toward the prey that it knew to be hunting it. Spearhead watched his plasma caster charging, gathering energy into itself as the deadly adversary approached. When the Night Fear – Queen was right on top of him, he unleashed the blast, hitting it directly in its right shoulder. The blast didn't stop the momentum of the attacker, but threw it off, sliding hopelessly to the left with its arm blown away at the shoulder, hanging on by a meager thread of its carapace. As the queen smashed and fell toward the wall, Spearhead leapt with all of his strength in the opposite direction. "Night Fear!" he cried as he watched the scene unfold. "We don't have to fight like this!"

And then he was back in his own body, twisting about to watch the Night Fear-Queen struggle back to its feet. Its head whipped around as he backpedaled, no longer perceiving the hybrid as his friend. They were mortal enemies, and one of them was going to die in this fight. The hybrid opened its mouth to scream, but all that came out was a light beeping noise. Surprised, Spearhead stopped in his tracks, tilted his head to the side and clicked his mandibles in curiosity. The hybrid kept its stare on him as it opened its mouth and beeped at him again, this time louder, then again, and again, ever louder and louder…

Spearhead awoke from his strange dream to the noise of his door alarm's beeping. "Who is it?" he groggily demanded, putting his feet to the floor and rising to walk toward his sitting place. The door opened, revealing one of Spearhead's subordinates. His head was lowered respectfully as he approached, and the Elder bade him sit down. The subordinate quickly obeyed the suggestion, taking his place and looking across to the Elder that he served so faithfully.

"Elder Spearhead," the young Yautja called as he began his report. "The guests you ordered to report to this station – they have been waiting at the docks for nearly a whole hour."

"Then they are early," Spearhead called, checking the time on his console just to be sure of it. "Very well, tell them that I will receive them shortly." He dismissed the subordinate without a word when that was said and out of the way, and he went to don his own full suit of battle armor. This was going to be one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life, and he now recognized that his dream had been reflecting this to him. His inner ties to his first true friend were still too strong for him to operate in this mission as objectively as he wanted to. Still, he couldn't just give this mission to anybody else; he knew that Night Fear was too skilled to be taken down even by the Tusk and Fang alone. After all, one didn't simply get a nicnkame like Paya - "God" - on limited tallent.

No. If he sent the Tusk and Fang in against Night Fear, he might soon be receiving their heads in a nice, pretty, decorative basket. That wasn't something he wanted to have on his shoulders. He would go with them, allow them to take down the bad blood's underlings and go after the top dog himself. It was the only way this mission would be done correctly… Which was the only way Spearhead knew how to do a mission at all.

He thought heavily on Night Fear as he walked down the halls, donned in his impressive battle armor. If only he had stayed and faced his judgment, he would have been allowed to keep in control of his Man'Daca and all the hunters aboard it. As it stood, he was a Bad Blood, and he would be hunted to the death by not only Spearhead, but the Tusk and Fang Arbiters as well. Truly, Night Fear was a changed hunter… If he could even call himself a hunter any more. Spearhead drew in the deepest sigh he'd drawn in quite some time.

Then, before he was consciously aware that he had arrived at the docks, he was standing before the Yautja hunting party donned in their odd masks. He had on an impressive battle array himself, still wearing the mask of his old clan, typical in every way save that it was far more linear and angular in its design then the almost oval shape of a typical hunting mask, and it had two small, spike-shaped studs on its left temple. His shoulders and upper chest were donned in metallic plates as well, each shoulder with a spike-shaped stud that matched his mask. His hips were adorned with larger-then-usual side-plates to accompany the usual metallic Speedo that a normal hunter wore, and his legs were covered from toe to knee by a metallic boot. His forearms had the typical show of armor, stretching from elbow to wrist. His weapons arsenal was extensive, from a full-sized spear gun to a smart disk to a net gun, of course he wore a plasma caster as well, and his trademark weapons. Unlike the ornamental dueling staves, though, these weapons were the full three-meter size, a whole three times what their little cousins were in length.

"Elder Spearhead, you are dressed for battle," the Sly One commented. The surprise in his voice betrayed his thoughts; he expected nothing more then a mission briefing from the Elder.

"I am going with you," Spearhead replied. That declaration had four of the five reeling back in surprise, and The Crazy One even gave out an accompanying yelp of shock. Only the Sly One remained objective, untouched, completely calm, almost as if he had expected the Elder to say this. He finally gave an accepting nod of his head; what else could one do against the word of an Elder?

"What, then, are our orders?" Sly One asked. It was no surprise that he didn't know yet; the nature of these orders was far too important to send over a potentially hackable channel. It was ears-only stuff.

It was about to get real. No more pretending, no more lying to himself, no hoping his dear friend would come back around. It was the point of no return, and that Spearhead hesitated to cross it was clear to everybody present. He took a moment to center himself and forced himself to go on. "The clan leader, Guan H'Dalk, and all his clan are hencefourth declared Bad Blood. The Tusk and Fang will accompany me on the last hunt to send the betrayers to the Black Warrior."

An entire clan? It was shocking. It was not unusuall for a strong hunter to warrant multiple hunters, and sometimes even a group of hunters would revoke their honor and require hunting in packs, but never before had an entire clan been declared bad blood! There was silence. Had they heard correctly? They couldn't ask, that would be disrespectful and perhaps even challenging. Nobody understood the order, where it had come from, why it was happening now of all times.

Nobody, that is, save for the Sly One. He knew that this was a necessary evil, and he knew exactly why. He never went into any situation unprepared, and so he had researched recent events on the station. He knew of Night Fear's disobedience, and he knew that he would be declared Bad Blood, but even he hadn't expected the entire clan to be declared bad blood. It made sense, though, if they were still following the commands of their bad-blood leader instead of keeping their honor by confining him. The orders of a clan leader could never superceed the orders of an Elder! He was able to accept the orders far quicker then the others that were with him. He bowed his head slowly to the Elder. "The Tooth and Fang will see it done, Elder Spearhead," he swore, and the other four quickly bowed with him, more to follow their commander's lead then to accept the orders themselves. They would need a while to take everything in.

Not another word was said. The six master hunters turned and walked to the Man'Daca, ready to undertake their most important mission. It would take planning, praparation and long hours of tracking to find them no matter which planet they planned to go to. The clan of Night fear was also a large clan, so the fighting would be fierce and long. They would be outnumbered and outgunned, but their enemies didn't know how outmatched they would be...