22 years prior...
LV-0023 was in utter chaos.
Paik'ri had decided to anchor his hunting ship behind the smallest of the three moons that orbited the planet. The oomans had taken to calling it Symphony. Something about natural rock formations that made wind tunnels that sounded like music, or so he had heard, spawning the name.
He chortled to himself as he monitored the panicked communications of the more or less unprotected world as six other hunting ships like the one he was piloting decloaked in quick succession, scattered in the space near enough to the planet to set off the proximity radar that the pyode amedhas had begun to set up long ago when the Yautja, his people, had been discovered by the public at large. He especially enjoyed the high volume of distress calls as a clanship appeared out of thin air, carrying dozens of individuals. The soft meats did not think they would have any incursions in inner Human space so close to Earth, and the nearest Colonial Navy fleet capable of dealing with these threats was six hours away in human time with their inferior fusion drives.
Well, they were not exactly his people. Not anymore.
This hunter was what was colloquially referred to as a badblood, a Yautja that had sullied his honor enough to be excommunicated from their society. A first offender of a minor offense was banished for a short period of time, given a small scout ship and the tools on his back. They could offer a plea to the only official "government" that the Yautja had, the Arbitrators. They were the forum for the various clans to bring conflicts to, being the judges, lawmen, and game wardens of the Great Hunt.
No, the crimes he had committed was far too grave to be pardoned. He had taken a liking to killing as he wished, innocent undistinguished from the worthy. He had singlehandedly slaughtered a human colony by leading a small kiande amedha hive to it, all because he had wanted to have the easy challenge of finishing off newborn serpents and passing their skulls off as hard kills. He was discovered a few months after that and branded a badblood, the sigil burned onto his neck and the rings from his dreadlocks pulled. His fellows had almost cut off his dreads entirely if not for him overpowering them long enough to escape off the mothership.
And now, a few decades later, he was here, watching the show. The soft meat boy leader of the clan he called Maximus had called a meeting with these individuals. Paik'ri had had some dealings with him, peddling scrap pieces of useless predator technology in return for fuel and supplies, but this time was different. Why this planet? Why at this time? Why did he want them to reveal themselves as a token of good faith? Maximus had no power here.
The badblood scoffed. In all his 231 years of life, he knew a trap when he smelled one. The others were lured in by greed, promises of wealth and playthings. Paik'ri would sit back and watch.
/ / / /
Three hours passed. The various badblood vessels communicated with each other, trading jibes and threats, even engaging in game simulations they had acquired from oomans, as they waited for their host. None were aware of the lone ship that had masked its signature on one of the moons near the rallying point.
Then, four more forms blinked into view with a as they came out of foldspace, the dimension entered to quickly get from location to location that the Yautja sometimes employed when kinetic drives were not sufficient. Yet, only one caste had access to it.
Paik'ri's eyes widened. Pauk, Arbitrators!
/ / / /
The new ships revealed themselves, sleek metallic outlines that also bristled with weaponry. These vessels were dedicated for one thing: war with other predators. Most Yautjan starships were nothing more than transports to get from one hunt to another, some customized to afford small armaments to engage other sentient space-faring species and disable their vessels, hopefully allowing the hunt to commence; these were not they.
The badbloods panicked, attempting to spool up their engines to escape. The clanship had three plasma cannons among its arsenal, bringing them to bear on three respective targets. A bright blue began to glow from within the huge barrels.
The clanship shivered as a small sphere shredded through the vessel, stern to bow. The projectile had come out of nowhere. Multiple decks depressurized, causing humanoids to be sucked out into space. Its engineering disabled, the ship could not stave off the pull of gravity, beginning to fall adrift. Only one cannon had been able to fire, the others having had the power cut short. Its target had not been able to throw up its shield quickly enough so soon after exiting foldspace, an explosion claiming the lives of its crew when the side was struck. Normally, the armor would have protected them, but passing through dimensions rapidly had the toll of temporarily weakening the molecular structure of whatever passed through barriers that were there for a reason.
The smaller badblood ships, carrying at most three hunters, looked on in awe as the clanship went dark and began slowly falling towards the planet below. Its attacker began moving, a dark silhouette that blotted out the stars behind it.
It was a human vessel. The hull was painted black. It had been there the entire time, awaiting the arrival of the Arbitrators. There had been no muzzle flash, no rocket trail, no indication of where it had fired from aside from looking at the trajectory of the projectile itself.
Four other figures bearing the same signature as the human submarine, a class that had been outlawed many decades ago by interstellar law, began shifting, rolling to orient themselves into better firing solutions. Turrets on top of their chassis tracked the remaining badblood vessels as they began to try and escape. The arbitrator vessels opened fire at the same time as the mass drivers, green-blue streaks of plasma lighting up the void, reflecting for the briefest of moments on the deadly spheres.
One by one the badblood ships exploded up in a dizzying array of strong reds, muted orange, and other colors of fire. There was no quarter. All of them had been condemned the day that each individual betrayed their own kind in the Great Hunt.
The ambush finished, the Arbitrators moved to collect their precious technology before it fell into the pyode amedhas' hands.
/ / / /
Paik'ri watched as his compatriots were obliterated by a ragtag bunch of humans using such simple technology. A radar and sensor canceling chaff embedded within the submarine hulls made them nearly invisible when motionless. He could not figure out how they were able to run silent at the same time as maintaining their position, given the prolific gravitational pull of the planet body below.
His ruminations were interrupted by another burst of movement. The five subs had maneuvered into a cone formation that encompassed the wrecks of the various badblood wrecks. An Arbitrator vessel edged towards them and received a warning shot across the nose from the lead human boat before stopping. Had the humans laid a trap for both parties of Yautja?
"Do not attempt to violate our agreement, Predator. The right to salvage is ours," a younger sounding ooman's voice squawked over the radio band. "The United Systems Navy will be here in two hours. Do you really want to trade fire and risk them getting this bounty?" The voice sounded playful, but the tone was unmistakably clear that this one would not be trifled with. "I can assure you, your tech will remain in our hands, and in our hands alone."
"You may have helped us greatly, pup, but we must collect the dead. Their bodies will not be yours," an Elder's voice clicked and growled in reply. The lead Arbitrator ship, the one who had received a warning shot, again crept towards the battle site, plasma cannons charged and trained on the potential aggressors.
"Fine. It is only fair. I am not interested in your bodies at this time. Happy hunting, Bha'Kahruk."
With that, a delicate ballet of acrobatics commenced as the submarines deployed towing cables and the Hunter ships collected the spoils of the short conflict.
Paik'ri sat back in his chair and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He would need to keep an eye out for this particular group of humans.