Chapter One: Learning to Fly
"A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born." – Antoine de Saint-Exupery
The young female stood in front of the mirror over her sink, critically examining herself. She turned her face from left to right, taking in the strong smoothness of her jaw line. No mandibles were in evidence, the tiny ones that had threatened eruption when she was eight had eventually withdrawn, but the powerful jaw joint could have certainly hefted a set, she decided. Her mother was right. She did favor the aliens in appearance. She was thicker and coarser than the fully human mothers she had grown up with who were her defining models of femininity. The female had always longed for their thinner faces covered with soft skin rather than fine scales, as well as their petite fingers that ended in flat skin-like hardness. Running strong clawed hands over her bald forehead, she smoothed across the surface of her thick locks, appreciating their ruddy sleekness. If there was one thing she fancied about her looks, it was the collection of red 'hair' bequeathed from her mother. It made her stand out from the rest of the children with their dark, nearly black locks or groups of hair frizzle. Although they appeared primarily Yautja, the random hybridization had produced every variation among them. Now, with all the young males of the group gone – put to death by their Yautja rescuers – only the females remained and the width of variation had narrowed. She was fortunate, she supposed, to be a female.
Only a few months ago they had lived beneath the ruins, deep in the Yaut jungle. Led by her mother, Duncan, a police officer from Earth who had been kidnapped and then abandoned along with other women by a band of rogue Yautja for procreation purposes, they had been ruthlessly abused by their own male offspring. Half-human and half-alien, the sons and brothers of the group had turned upon their own females as lords and masters when the unchecked hormones of adulthood had come upon them.
So now here she was, rescued but pregnant by a young male from their little band. Pregnant with what would probably be another male abomination that death would rescue from the punishing trials of Yautja life. She looked down at her yet unbulging anatomy, fully conscious of the new life that had so recently begun inside. With the attentiveness to the new life came the realization that something was wrong, very wrong. Suddenly, she didn't feel so well and made for the comforting darkness of the bed furs pulled over her head. There was no pride, nor joy in the prospect of bringing another into the world that would possibly be taken from her and destroyed. She clenched her hands to her belly as a sharp cramping gnawed at her insides, causing her to curl up like a frying bacon rind.
"Mom!" she cried out, unable to deal with the intense pain and yet aware that something was amiss. "Mom!"
Across the open space that connected the different sleeping quarters, Duncan sat chewing on a slightly torn fingernail trying to reach a decision. They had offered to let her go home after all. Through all these years of raising their children and then suffering under the rule of their sons, Duncan had kept the goal in mind that she would one day return to Earth. It was only on Earth that she could teach her beloved children about civilization, proper manners and how to behave in polite society. Earth was her salvation – everything would be alright once they reached it. She would have dutifully hushed her complaining family had it not been for one unchangeable fact - her scarlet-headed daughter.
Duncan wondered at how the fates had allowed the genes to express themselves in such a wondrous and beautiful way, for her daughter was not only stealthy and also far stronger in her near-adulthood than anyone realized, but she was fair to look at. The shining, fairly scaled complexion was topped by a burnt-crimson crown which balanced a set of smoldering green eyes strikingly ringed with an amber-brown edge. Her troupe of women followers had often commented on the girl's looks as she matured. The growth of her ample hips had fleshed out in advertisement of her child-bearing abilities such that even her slightly younger brother had not escaped the inviting fascination she unwittingly broadcast to all males within her sight. Then her first fertile time had struck and with it a pack of huffing followers that her loyal brother had beaten, each in-turn, into bloody submission. When he had cowed the last one, he lifted his face to the sky and screamed like something possessed. For indeed that is what he was. He turned to face his once-defended-but-now-prey with a face twisted by an unknown need, and then dragged his own sister into the dark of his sleeping corner. The rest Duncan cared not to recall as she and the other females battled the crazed males who in the heat of mating frenzy had turned on the rest of them, but a voice from the past broke through calling, "Mom!"
Coming to her senses she hurried as fast as her aged body could haul her to the sleeping room of her daughter. "What is it, Chance? Are you alright?" She saw the girl twisted into a pretzel, groaning on the bed as her furs sprouted a trail of blood and amniotic fluid. "Oh God," Duncan exclaimed. "Hold tight while I call for help, Baby!" She hit the com and screamed for help which the Hunter on the other end could not understand. But her yells conveyed the idea of an emergency and so a cluster of guards and a Healer were soon on the scene. Duncan dug her nails into her palms as she watched the large Yautja examine her daughter.
"Let me look at you," the rumble directed her. Chance felt herself tighten at the anticipation of rough handling. "I will not harm you," the large Hunter stated in perfect English. Instead of continuing to touch her, he ran a device over her body several times, checking a read-out and pressing controls on it with a curved black claw. "Your pup is abnormal," he reported, "and it has died. Your womb is expelling the body which is perfectly normal. Expect to have more contractions and discomfort as you rid yourself of the remains. If you prefer, I can give you medication which will cause your body to expel it all at once, rather going through the possibly long time required to deal with it. I must warn you however, the process is painful."
He looked at the young female as she clutched her abdomen and bent over her own lap. If her face had not been contracted in pain, she would have been most attractive. He leaned in to her as her voice grunted a reply, "Yes, I would like to get this over with as soon as possible. I don't care how much it hurts."
"An admirable attitude and most practical," he observed. He prepared the injection and then shoved the needle into her neck. Chance barely winced as she felt the cold liquid enter and dive down to the center of her cramping. The speed and strength of the subsequent contractions left her breathless. In the next few minutes of grunting and moaning, the pup destined for death and all its surrounding supporting liquid and tissues had been passed. Chance lay on her side as Aseigan were called in to clean up the mess. They moved to assist the girl to the bath, but she balked. The servants were strangers, and aliens at that. She would not let her guard down around them in order to be bathed.
"I'll help her," Duncan offered, relieved to finally be able to provide some help.
"She is very brave," intoned the Healer. "Contact me if she begins bleeding again. She must rest for the next cycle, possibly two. She needs to eat and drink to keep her strength up and heal."
Duncan nodded her understanding and muttered, "Uh, thanks for coming and seeing to her."
"It was my honor," he nodded and then made to leave.
"Wait…please," came from the elderly woman. The Healer stopped mid-track and turned around.
"Is there something else required?" he asked, his quizzical eyes looking down on her.
"I need to know – was the baby a male or female?"
The huge Yautja nodded, "Understandable. It was a male. Count yourself as blessed by Paya." He whirled and was gone, snatched quickly away by the report of an injury to a pup-in-training who had clumsily run his foot through with a blade in the public kehrite. His foot would mend, but the incident would probably haunt him forever in the jokes of his Clan brothers. It had been some time since any Hunter had borne the nickname of 'foot-slayer'.
The Healer made hastily for the scene of the accident, wondering about the lovely red-locked female he had assisted through a miscarriage. The pup had been grossly malformed and unfit for life. Even at its still miniscule and undeveloped stage he had been able to observe the problems. Its disorganized form would not have sustained life. Fortunate for all that her body had decided the pup was not worth any further investment and had shed it from the womb. The terminated pregnancy was most definitely not her fault. The Sire had been too closely related, he was able to determine. This was solid evidence of the rumors he'd come across about how this band of outcasts had lived. He shook his body in a shiver of distaste and then decided to run some further analysis of his scans of her – did she possess the major genetic markers of being a Yautja? It might be that she could become a valuable part of the program to recreate their females. Even though she was the offspring of a BadBlood – if her lineage proved robust it would be valuable. Dropping by the Hall of Healers, he dropped off his test results and recommended analysis, then continued on to the arena. Healer Sig'dan was thankful that his own offspring, Signy would we well on her way to Chiva soon and was beyond the painfully awkward days of first training.
The Elite Elder Arbitrator looked over the collection of youthful females before him. Grouped by threes, they formed the Hunt packs that would soon embark on the sacred mission of Chiva. Originally, there had been twenty-one females which would have made seven complete sets of Huntresses. But one, Doru, had perished in battle when she was still quite small. So now there was an unprecedented decision to be made.
All of the females borne by the Matriarch and Melanie had qualified for Chiva. So everyone knew that all must attend. However, a Chiva hunting party was traditionally made up of three. Two would not suffice, and four would be too many. Long, long ago the wise Clan Elders had arrived at three for the optimal Hunt size – and so three it was and would be – forever more.
When the captured ooman females had been discovered living under an ancient temple to Paya in the jungle of Yaut, it had not gone unnoticed that one of the offspring was a comely half-Yautja female who had taken quite well after her Sire. It was true that he had been a BadBlood and the offspring of a BadBlood was forever marked by his, or her, shame. But these were not usual times. Because of the need to replace the extinct Yautja female as quickly as possible, and to provide a wide gene base in that population, the High Council was considering letting the hybrid offspring of a BadBlood participate in Chiva. The debates were still ongoing, the rhetoric loud and fierce, while the Trainers continued to prepare the teams for their trial of adulthood.
The hybrid female, Chance, was a striking fusion of Huntress and humanity. She was not as tall as the others because there had been no medical intervention to assure that all the Yautja characteristics came to the forefront in her particular DNA cocktail while still in the womb – but the lack of assistance had not diminished her muscularity. Bearing only the suggestion of Yautja heritage in her wide strong jawline, her face featured a small, pert nose and actual human lips over somewhat pointy teeth. However, her hairstyle definitely favored her Sire. The significant forehead went back in hairless smoothness to the locks that ringed her crown in a horseshoe shape and spread down the back and sides of her head. Each lock was as smooth and thick as a normal Huntress, but instead of being as black as night they were each a rich auburn which complemented her lustrous and finely scaled pale skin. Her appearance was considered bizarre by some and exotically attractive by others.
More importantly, her natural strength and hunting abilities were noticed soon after her arrival at the city and talk began that she might be a candidate to be trained. Her ooman Bearer had voiced some objection but was soon convinced otherwise by the Matriarch. She would be at a disadvantage of course, beginning her training so late in life, but if the best trainers were assigned and she worked very hard, she might excel in her learning and eventually be fairly caught up with the others. Now, Aldúlfr waited word from the High Council regarding training and joining her with the under-numbered Chiva team. How much of a disadvantage would she handicap that team, he wondered. It would be a hurried task to educate her and then work them as a group, while the others had been teamed up already for nearly twenty cycles, tracking and hunting together as they learned to trust each other and work as a unit. He searched the rosters via his wrist com for the finest to train her.
"We're going to be held up," growled Ulfrde to her sister. "That pauk-de hybrid offspring of Duncan has been deigned worthy of training. She is younger than us, but older than the current class of trainees. They should have shoved her to the back of the class and let us continue on schedule!" Her outburst was punctuated by the slam of her fist on the desk where Arndís was reading.
Looking up calmly at the fist brandisher, Arndís replied, "That would leave one of our teams without a third, which is unacceptable. You know that." She raised an eyebrow at her overwrought sister and then went back to her tome.
"Am I the only one upset about this?" Ulfrde roared back, her crown beginning to bristle. "We have trained long and hard to be ready for Chiva, and now to have it delayed? Is no one else affronted by this insult?"
"Probably not," her sister answered casually, still apparently focused on her reading. But Ulfrde knew better. Her sister was watching every move and fully ready to defend herself if Ulfrde's blustering turned to blows. Arndís cocked one eye and evaluated before adding fuel to the fire, "We all understand the importance of the Hunt mission of three, as well as the promise of new genes to the breeding program."
The stronger female's fists clenched into weapons as her sister's remark was processed, but she held back. Arndís was not stronger, but she was taller and could leverage herself well. Years of training together had taught them both all the other's moves and most matches ended in the draw these cycles, unless Ulfrde was unexpected and swift. She would be neither right now. Slowly, she relaxed her urge to attack the insulter, knowing that full mastery of her reactions would come in time as she matured. This moment was merely another in which to practice. "I would die before dishonoring the Chiva! New genes? I'm certain that the offspring of a BadBlood and an untried ooman will add vast new vistas to our Bloodlines!" She spread her face in defiance of her sister's calmness, a show all too familiar to Arndís who was immune to her sister's emotional outbursts.
"Honorable Duncan is far from untried. You are simply unhappy because you are ready to Hunt and now you must wait."
Ulfrde grimaced at the truth. She was a young UnBlooded female in her prime, raring to Hunt and then breed. Any delay was nearly unbearable. She had long admired her sister's ability to distance her emotions from events and take whatever happened in stride. Arndís' coolness often gave her the edge over her challengers and also impressed some of the Elders as a maturity that she did not truly yet possess.
"Look at it this way," Arndís borrowed a phrase from their Bearer, "it will give our team more time to work together before we go to Chiva. What can be wrong with that? When we finally Hunt for the right to wear our Clan mark, no other team will be as cohesive as ours. Perhaps that will enable us to take even more trophies. Try to see what is right with this situation, not just what is wrong," she gently chided.
Ulfrde felt her sister's correction as though Sally herself had given it and gracefully bowed her head. "I know my impatience shows. I feel as though I will burst through my scales if I have to wait another cycle, Arndís. Don't you feel it too?"
"I don't know if we feel exactly the same, but yes, I do feel the need to begin this Hunt and then to mate – if that is what you are speaking about."
"Pauk-de hormones," Ulfrde replied. "If only I could bury myself in study as you do, then perhaps I could survive this!" She dramatically flopped down on a large bench beside her sister.
"Do not think this is simple for me," retorted Arndís. "If not for my lessons in self-control do you not think that I would march into the High Council meeting, right now, and claim a High Elder for myself?" She chortled smugly at the image of herself striding proudly into the chamber and marching right up to him with a hard smack to his bulging chest. The scent of pre-arousal eked into the room causing Ulfrde to jump up, "Ya!" she whooped, "I knew you had a bad case for him! Now you confirm it!"
Arndís quickly regained her composure, "I don't know who you are speaking of! One of the High Elders is merely the most logical choice." She huffed in self-consciousness and tried to refocus on her reading.
"You don't fool me for a moment!" snickered Ulfrde, sending a stream of clicks into the air. "I know you all too well. Perhaps I shall inform him of your intentions so that he may be fully…prepared." A huge grin overtook her face as her upper mandibles smiled broadly. There was nothing Ulfrde relished as much as teasing her unflappable sister.
"If you do," Arndís raised her voice, "I'll…I'll…I will cut one of your locks off and wear it for a trophy!" The weak threat of temporary disfigurement only made Ulfrde chortle harder. She trembled in mock terror and then jumped up, circling her seated sister as if to charge, all the while shaking in pretend fear. The problem was that her laughter was causing more shaking then she had intended and she was wobbling like a drunken Elite Guard.
Not amused by her sister's satire, Arndís stood up, looked down her face and then stalked off, calling over her shoulder, "Of course, I would never think of telling a certain Trainer that your loins call to him!" Satisfied with the sudden halt to Ulfrde's antics and the look of genuine horror on her face, Arndís tossed her locks and left the room. That should calm down the 'little terror' as their Bearer, Sally, had referred to Ulfrde when she was about two. Arndís thought the title especially fitting at times like these.
How does she know? Ulfrde's first thought brought her body to a complete standstill. I have been so careful to never, to never ever…let it show. Our first duty is to complete Chiva. Only afterwards are we allowed to mate! She tried to discipline her thoughts with a headshake, but soon slipped in to the satisfaction of memories…
"You throw well," was his offhand comment. Ulfrde had just completed her first throw of the chakt-ra, sending it in a wide circle within the enclosure and then on trajectory back to her hand. He watched as she carefully caught it for the first time and lost none of her hand to its sharpness. "Very good!" he encouraged, giving her a slight smile. Then his hand moved toward her shoulder as if to shake it, but his attention was caught elsewhere by the screech of a missed catch and he bounded off to check on the wounded. She watched him run over to her clumsy sibling, who was holding the stump of a finger and watching the detached digit flex on the floor.
He was one of the largest Hunters she knew or indeed had ever seen - larger than many on the High Council, in fact. Why he had not applied to the Council was a mystery to her, but then she realized she didn't know his age. Perhaps he was only a giant. Still, he was older compared to her, and that drama of an older, capable male of prime age and ability called to her reproductive organs as clearly as any Master called for his servants. She watched him gracefully sprint to her whining sister and call for the Healer. Honorable Sig'dan was on hand to reattach the freshly cut finger and insure that it would heal. "Next time you will be more careful," her Hunter patted the weak whiner on the top of her head as one would a tiny pup. Clearly, there was no attraction there, but the fact that he had touched and comforted another was not lost on Ulfrde.
All night long, her freshly aroused senses replayed the scene - first his nearness to her, his words of approval and then the rich maleness that had enveloped her scent glands when she huffed him in. He had been so close. He almost touched her! Not the head pat of a superior to a mere pup, but the shoulder shake of one adult to another. Did he think of her as grown? Her knees knocked with excitement as she recalled the proximity of his body and his aborted reach for her. She recalled his graceful run across the floor and how smoothly he knelt down next to her sister. She traced down the exposed parts of his body, each muscle outlined to perfection. His every move and every gesture, along with his words had been committed to deep memory. Only to be played back at times such as the present when she allowed herself to fully sense the ghosting of his former close presence and remember the taste of the scent of his body. How long had she felt this way about him? How long had he been noticing her? And how in Hel does SHE know? Ulfrde's tusks clashed in anger at the though of being discovered. This was her personal affair and none of Arndís' business! Would she actually tell him? I'll rip her arms off and stuff them up her ass! Am I embarrassed about desiring him? He is not the highest ranking male that I could rightfully claim. In a fair match, I would give Arndís a good fight for her longed for mate! Who have I been matched up with anyway? Does Mom know? Hurriedly, Ulfrde set off to hunt down her Bearer.
Matriarch Sally was currently attending the shouting match, erstwhile meeting of the High Council, to determine if Duncan's daughter, Chance, would go into training. She and Duncan sat next to each other on the sidelines as one after another of the High Elders spoke. Theron watched with them, quietly interpreting for the women from the low rumbles, clicks and growls of each High Elder.
To Duncan, they all looked alike. Each alien-made mountain of flesh stood in turn and had his say on her daughter's fate. Each one had those fleshy braid-like structures pouring down from the edges of his cranium and they all looked the same – glistening, frosty white. They all had an immense and heavy set of exterior jaws that opened and closed like some great trap to threateningly emphasize their speech. And then she noticed that each whale of an Elder wore a long red Superman cape. She almost snorted aloud at their cartoon attire. But her innate fear of the race that she had only experienced as brutal and cruel kept her silent. Tuskers, she thought, those are real tuskers! The broad jaws looked as if only a very large Samson could have slain an entire army with them. Besides, I don't know if his words qualify his jaw to be used in that way. She turned her attention back to the oddly gray-colored alien who was interpreting for them.
The current speaker was arguing that no opportunity to expand the gene pool could be missed, not even for the sake of punishing the lineage of a BadBlood. She could almost feel some of the others in the audience gasp at his words. Sally tells me that these guys are very focused on tradition. For them to allow my daughter to become part of their society would be something completely new – so new that she doesn't know if it will fly with these traditionalists. Even if there is scientific prove that it's a good idea. All I know is what I want for Chance. Come on, Tusker – plead with these guys – convince them! Do it and I won't recommend your jawbone as belonging to an ass.
There was only the sound of the High Elder retaking his seat when his discourse came to an end. The others seemed to be reflecting and no one moved to request the floor. The mountain who was in charge, according to Sally, turned to her and said something. Sally responded with a slight nod and then turned to Duncan, "The Leader wishes to know if we have any words to add to the testimony."
"Words to add?" Duncan seemed confused. "What in hell would I say? I just want what is best for my daughter! How would my words have any influence on them?"
"They respect us because we are females and mothers," Sally explained. "Our words carry weight. If you have something to say, here's your chance! Remember they value honor."
Warily, Duncan stood. Made brave in this moment by her love for her daughter and the understanding of what seemed best for her future. "Say your words slowly," the gray Hunter spoke, "I will translate for you."
Duncan felt befuddled. She was not a public speaker and had precious few opportunities to address anyone in such a forum. Her last public address had been to testify in a court case. Deciding on that for her model of decorum, she faced the Council. "Your Honors," she began. Theron shot her a brief glance but quickly determined the gravity of her address. "Honorable High Council," he began. Duncan reached deep within and found the waxing inspiration that only comes to those desperate for the good of their children.
"I am the mother of Chance. The young woman you are considering allowing to become a part of your society. As a mother, I could speak for her good qualities, including her strength, her bravery, her intelligence and maturity. But you would probably just conclude that these are the slanted observations of a mother who greatly loves her child. In that observation you would be somewhat correct. I do love Chance – more than my own life. However, I loved all our children – even the ones who became bad. I did not love their deeds, but I loved them. Can you understand this? I hoped for the best for each of them. I tried my best for each of them.
"So let me not speak of how I value Chance, since my opinion is biased. Let me instead speak of her Father." The Council nearly came to its feet as all members leaned forward to hear this unexpected direction of testimony.
"I understand that what he did was wrong according to the laws of your society. It was wrong according to the laws of my society as well. However, I witness to you his incorrect decision was made for what he considered the best of reasons. He cared for those under his command. He cared for me. Yes, he took me against my will, which is wrong. But he looked out for me, he cared for me. He ensured that I was well and when needed, he even carried me upon his back. He was not totally without honor.
After we landed on Earth, and one of the women was injured in the landing. He saw to it that she received medical attention. And when she couldn't be saved, he ordered that she be mercifully killed. Was this an act of dishonor? He was extremely angry with the Hunter who did not see to her safety during the landing. If he was completely without honor, would he have even cared? I heard his anger. I may not have understood the words, but his anger was clearly evidenced.
"And when he…" Duncan stopped, trying to control her emotions. "And when he impregnated me, he was very careful not to injure me. He also became very angry with those who were not as careful with their women. Was this action dishonorable?
"I believe that the father of my children made errors in judgment and pursued the incorrect path. But I also believe that he did so out of reasons that seemed valid and genuine to him. And while on this incorrect path, he did many things that demonstrated his valor and honor.
"Your Honors, I am only human. To me the universe is not black and white, but many shades of gray. On my planet, I am a police officer and it is my job to see that the law is kept and to arrest those who disobey it. I have witnessed the behavior and attitude of those without honor and those who although they are outside the law – still have some form of it. I testify that the Sire of my daughter, although a criminal, was not without honor. And so it logically follows that his daughter is also not without honor, and is worth taking a chance on. Funny thing – that is the name I gave her, Chance. I have worked all her life to give her the best chance that I could to live a good life. Please continue, please give her a chance."
Duncan sat down to an arm squeeze from Sally. "Good job," she whispered. Even Theron gave her a look from the corner of one eye as he finished speaking to the Council.
The group of Elders began again to confer. "Can we go?" asked Duncan, "This obviously isn't going anywhere in Chance's favor."
"Not so," said Theron. "Patience." The little group continued to wait, with Sally and Duncan trying to look attentive. The Elder's were muttering to each other and Theron was unable to hear well enough to translate. So they all sat, ignorant of the conversation of the High Council. After a long while, after Duncan's backside had grown stiff, the Leader rose to address them.
"We have considered all that is to be considered. Our judgment is that the hybrid female, known as Chance, is granted time to train and apply herself towards the upcoming Chiva. This Chiva will be delayed. Her trainers will meet with us in a moon's cycle to determine her progress, if she is Chiva worthy and how long to continue to allow this Chiva to be delayed for her to attend. This is our decision, let discussion of this matter cease."
Sally grabbed Duncan's hand and squeezed, "Congratulations! Your daughter is on her way!" Theron said nothing but looked concerned.
"Spill it, Theron," the Matriarch commanded, "What's bothering you?"
"Has Chance had any training yet?" he asked Duncan.
"Well, I taught her to defend herself. She's pretty good in a knife fight! And she can chuck a spear as well as any of the boys could."
"Don't you think she can make it?" Sally anxiously asked the Hunter.
"I am concerned about the little amount of time allowed for her training. It is hardly a fair trial! It would have been better to have put her in the newer class and not held this Chiva up for her. I…I suspect that viewing her breeding potential is the reason for the rush."
"Well, then," Sally asserted, "She must be trained by only the best. That means you, Theron. I don't care if I miss some of the fruit you get for me from Earth – Chance must be trained!"
"Of course, Matriarch. It will be accomplished." He nodded smartly and then went off to locate Aldúlfr. He also needed to get word to Melanie that his next trip or two to Earth would be delayed. He hoped she would understand.
Arriving early at the High Council's private kehrite, the former Dor'an Warrior paused to take in this hallowed space. Here since long before his birth, the legends of the Clans had battled each other for the ultimate prize of a seat on the High Council. The viewing benches were few as this place was not for public spectacle. It was a solemn ring where the victor was awarded the ultimate responsibility for his Clan and the loser was handed over to Cetanu. There could be no question among the masses over who was chosen. This was understood by all who vied for leadership. If the victor had not killed his opponent outright, the bested Hunter would claim his own Honor by falling on his blade. Every member of the High Council knew that his claim to lead could be tested, and perhaps bested, at any time. Therefore, all High Council Elders kept in the finest shape and constantly honed their skills. This private arena was home to their efforts as well as their challenges. It was in this sacred space that it had been decreed he would instruct the hybrid and train her in an impossibly short amount of time up to Chiva standards. She could not fail, for to fail would have reflected poorly on his abilities as a Trainer. So he arrived early and went to the center to begin to flex and warm his body.
Chance arrived at the arena a little prematurely for the appointed time. Not wanting to appear as an over-eager green pup, she waited behind the columns in the shadows for her com to signal the meeting time. As she waited, she watched the lone Hunter go through the forms and postures to warm up. She recognized few of them, having only learned some basic stretching from her mother. She had watched the Matriarch a few times in the arena and these motions seemed to have a commonality with what Sally had done. But the resemblance ended there. This Hunter did not simply move gracefully through poises – he nearly danced from one point in space to another as his body seemingly moved without effort. His body was fluidity. Chance found herself moving out onto the arena to get a closer look at the astounding movements. He suddenly turned his head to her and beckoned with one hand, "You are here ahead of time. Good!" he pronounced as he unwound himself from his own body.
"How?" she started, but remembered she was only a student who had just learned proper manners. She looked at the floor in submission and then stated plainly, "I am the unBlooded student, Chance. May I ask you a question?"
"Sei," he replied, keeping up a stiff formality even as he examined her.
"How? How are you able to move like that?" Her voice rang with wonder.
Theron took in her fit body, tight with smooth muscle. She walked in a very balanced fashion which was good – her head up as her vision took in all the room, not just him. Very good! She has some awareness of her surroundings. He heard her discretely huff his essence even as he took in hers. She was tense, alert, but not frightened of him. She was also feeling something. The word burdened came to his mind. What student does not feel the load of others expectations of her?
"I am able to move as you witnessed due to a lifetime of preparation and training, as well as the inherent abilities given to me by my Bearer and Sire." She kept her head down and tried to think of something else to say.
"I hope that in my lifetime I may accomplish even half of your ability," she spoke humbly.
"A good goal! I am Honorable Theron, your Trainer. Let us see what you already know."
He gave her a small shoulder push to which she responded with a glare that distanced her new manners, "What? Why did you push me?"
"I am testing your balance. And I am challenging you," he tried not to grin. She had little in the way of civilized manners, but was willing to stand up for herself.
"To a fight?"
"Yes!" He pushed at her again. This time she reached up to his greater height and pushed back. It was a sound push, he noted. "And you have now accepted! As you are new to our ways, I will explain the rules." Pleased with his even generosity to his student, the Hunter relaxed slightly and was immediately met with a punch to his face. Chance sprang away from him as though he were on fire and raised her hands. She danced around him, "Okay, tough guy. Let's see what you've got!"
The surprised Hunter raised his crest in anger. This upstart had gotten the best of him with the first blow! Why had he not seen that coming? He began to circle her, evaluating her form. She had an astounding natural sense of center, he decided, even though a bit clumsy and definitely overconfident. He reached out with a tap and sent her slightly off-balance. She is much denser in muscle than she appears! He admired her ability to regain herself and kept circling, this time delivering a harder tap that send her clumsily off to her side. She did not fall, but was ungainly in regaining her feet. In a real fight, he could have used that opportunity to finish her, but he was evaluating her – not trying to win.
Getting up with a human-like yell, she packed her entire body behind the next blow and sent it towards the outside of his knee. He easily stepped aside to let her fly through the air and crash-land this time. Then stood waiting for her to get up. At least she has some training in the vulnerable places to hit, he thought as she got back on her feet, even if she cannot hit them. Her pissedness was palpable now as a bitter taste crawled through the air, searching out his potential weakness. He thought she might lose to her anger, but she stuffed it back inside and shook her head to clear it. "Every opponent has a weakness," she could hear her mother's voice. Find it. Exploit it. She joined Theron and moved to orbit him, waiting and watching.
As she assessed him, she moved a single hand to unlatch the fastening on her top. The Hunter saw her move and assumed she was positioning for some new hit. His jaw-dropping surprise was observable as the silken top cloth fell open and then off, leaving the female bare-breasted, her perfect orbs held in high perfection. As though she were cloaked, she moved on him even as his circling was stopped by shear astonishment at her unveiling. Too late, his arm went up to protect himself and only glanced at her legs as two powerful feet crashed into his solar plexus and rode him to the floor. Unable to breathe, he lay in powerless pain as she got up.
"Pussy," she spat, with the disgust clear on her face. "Graceful? Yes. Pussy? Yes." With no move to assist him up, she strode from the arena and headed for home.
Slowly thumping his foot on the floor to show approval, the High Elder Healer Myn'dill approached the downed Hunter. Theron was still on the floor, heaving for air. The Healer offered a hand up which was accepted. Under Myn'dill's watchful eye, the gray Trainer's diaphragm finally relaxed from spasm and he was able to breath normally again.
"She is not without skills," the gray one finally spoke, too chagrined to look the Healer in the eye.
"Indeed," Myn'dill replied, his solemn face worthy of any Earth-side poker tournament. "I am certain she will benefit from your training."
He shook Theron's shoulder in a comradely fashion and then walked off at a normal pace towards the exit. It was only after he had completed the walk to his clinic and shut himself in a treatment room that he let his full volley of laughter shoot out like a cannon. He would not tell anyone of course, about how the hybrid student had laid Theron out like a youngling. But he knew that the Hunter knew - he had one on him. It might never be used, but like valuable currency Myn'dill pocketed it where it could be retrieved for future need.
