Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator or the Alien franchise.

Hey, guys! Five days later and I have a 4000 word monster of a chapter for you. Finally, things get interesting, and some new developments arise. Enjoy! :)

Thanks to hippyflowerp (my graciously accepted stalker), xVentressx, anom, IluthraDanar, Lady Augustin (whose comments are always the most awesome), XxSilentEmpathxX, Angle1 (who I love for the double reviews), Katherine (who should think about signing her reviews so I can show her my full appreciation), mizukikage (whose randomness is always appreciated) and Luv4Uncas for all you guys's totally awesome and cool reviews. :)

anom: Meh... Likable heroines are not my specialty. Heroes, however... ;) I can make you like even the most evil bastard of a hero, as you can see. :P


Chapter 7

Syra raced through the dim hallways, his footsteps pounding, as he didn't bother to quiet them in his hurry. He was still annoyed at the ooman, Amber, for questioning him like that. And the little baggage had the nerve to make ultimatums! He would have to deal with her; the current situation was becoming intolerable and she refused to accept her place. But not now, not when his mask had just informed him of a perimeter alert. He had it set to inform him as soon as his ship detected another ship anywhere near. He didn't want any nasty surprises, like an Arbitrator, sneaking up on him.

At last, he reached the ship's controls and sunk down into the pilot's chair. He brought up an image on the large, viewing screen – the ship was foreign, certainly not a Yautja vessel. But it was fighter class, whatever it was, and that was no better. Being the most dominating race in the galaxy had its disadvantages; there were a lot of other races that hated your guts. And the Bad Blood clan had developed a reputation for being even worse than the other clans. They were hated equally by almost every civilized race. He, personally, was wanted for murder, manslaughter or genocide on over 50 planets. It made space travel difficult, to say the least.

He did have several major advantages over the other ship, however, if it came to a fight. His own vessel was far better equipped, built for long voyages and totally prepared for hostile encounters. Not only was it much larger than the average fighter class, it had more weapons, stronger shields, plus the latest in cloaking technology, "acquired" by yours truly. Arbitrators aside, it was gkei'moun to sneak into one of the massive research labs on Yautja Prime and swipe some of the abundance of technology they had stored there. Some of his weapons weren't even available yet for public use, a fact he was quite proud of.

But getting back to the topic on hand, Syra decided a fight was just what he needed. The other ship was blocking a full scan, so he didn't know what exactly was on it, but he figured there was a good chance it was hostile. A good hunt should provide an interesting diversion and might take his mind off the irritation in his bedroom. Stealth being of the essence now, he quickly engaged the full cloak, rendering his ship nearly invisible to almost any scan, even the most thorough. He set his ship on a course to come alongside the other, magnetizing the hull so he could board it easily. This wouldn't take long, so he had to hurry to prepare.

He realized with annoyance that he'd have to return to his bedroom to gather his awu'asa. The kehrite contained nearly all his weapons, but he kept his prized armor in his bedroom, close at hand. Syra growled. Unfortunately, if he wanted that fight, there was no time to deal with Amber just then; she would have to wait. He had to stop letting her get to him. There was no reason why she should be able to get under his thick skin like no one else ever could. Most of his own clan actually found it quite difficult to provoke him, not that they dared. That he could let a little ooman make him reluctant to enter his own bedroom...

With a snort of disgust, he headed for the kehrite to gather some weapons. Not being sure of what he would encounter on board the other ship, he took a few more than usual. The first one he grabbed, most important by far, was his treasured ki'cti-pa. He had crafted it himself for his chiva, so long ago, yet it was still in pristine condition, being made of the finest d'lex, a material his old clan had specialized in making. Though he was fairly skilled in most Yautja weapons, his skill was unmatched with the ki'cti-pa; with it at his side, he was practically unbeatable.

With the retracted spear safely stowed away on his back, he quickly grabbed his dah'kte and chakt-ra. Fully armed, except for the sivk'va-tai, which he disliked, he looked quite imposing, hopefully enough to keep the ooman shut up long enough for him to grab his awu'asa and leave. Syra huffed. He probably wasn't that lucky.

Striding quickly through the silently opening door, he found her pacing agitatedly, as much as her self-placed collar would allow. She glanced up, but amazingly, she was, in fact, surprised enough by his changed appearance to keep her mouth shut for once. Thank Paya, he inwardly rejoiced. She must have thought he was ready to kill or torture her with his newly outfitted gear, because she raised her hands, palms out, to ward him off and backed away with a look of horrified dismay.

"Whoah, w-what are you doing?" She stumbled over her words in her panic. Apparently, she had not expected such a drastic reaction to her silly ultimatum. He sneered. As if he would bother to get out his ki'cti-pa just to punish her for locking herself up, of all things.

He shot her a quelling look, but she didn't catch it through his mask. "Be quiet," he said harshly. "Other things demand my attention for now, but I'll deal with you when I get back," he assured her as he efficiently secured his armor, his movements automatic after so long.

She looked at him warily. "Where are you going? Are you going down to a planet?"

"We're nowhere near any inhabitable planet," he answered distractedly.

"Then what-"

"No more questions!" Amber jumped when he barked at her. "I won't be back for a while, possibly not for several hours." That was being generous, he thought. Shouldn't take too long to clean out the crew, even for a fighter class. Then he'd gather whatever trophies caught his fancy and hop back here. The clean up was no problem, a few shots from the massive plasma cannons his ship was equipped with and the other ship was toast, decapitated bodies and all.

"Make yourself at home," he sneered at Amber over his shoulder on his way out the door. "And don't even think about trying anything stupid. If I find one of those,"–He motioned toward his trophies lining the walls–"just a little askew, I will break every bone in your body. Understand?" His tone made it clear to her that he was dead serious. She nodded stiffly, her jaw aching from clenching it so hard.

Syra nodded in approval and strode out of the room. Just to be sure, he securely locked the door; there was no way she was getting out of that room now. He got to the exit door just in time, the ship shook slightly as it attached itself to the other's hull. The door slid open, revealing the door of the other ship. It wasn't locked, he just pressed the control button and it slid open to reveal the pressurized airlock. Using his mask, he ordered his ship to detach from the hull, but stay close. He didn't want anything on this ship to have access to his own.

That done, he engaged his own cloak and stepped through the next door. His mask was switched to infrared, but he found no heat signals immediately. There weren't even any lights on. Everywhere was pitch black and cold. If this was just a derelict, that would be quite a disappointment. But wait! There was a faint heat signal coming from the right. Syra walked silently down the quiet hallways. Suddenly, his foot stuck to something on the floor, while at the same time, his fingers stuck to the wall. He pulled them away and stepped back cautiously. He rubbed his fingers together, analyzing the material with his mask. It almost felt like...

His eyes widened as he realized. The gooey substance along the walls and floor was te-dqi and this was a kainde amedha nest! How-

His shocked thoughts were interrupted as something threw him hard onto the floor, catching him by surprise. He brought his dah'kte up just in time to impale the drone that leaped on him. Unfortunately, in its dying throes, it smacked him in the head hard enough to make his mask malfunction for a second and make him see stars. It also left four long scratches across the front of the mask. Hopefully, they would serve as a reminder of his stupidity, which had almost gotten him killed.

Syra tossed the drone off his dah'kte before it dripped its acid blood all over him, rising to a crouch. His hair swung around him as he looked around quickly to make sure there were no more waiting to attack him. The thing's death scream had undoubtedly alerted all of them of his presence; he cursed himself for his stupidity. He decided the best option was probably retreat. Who knew how many more drones there could be? There had to be a queen, he knew that. Only she could produce the te-dqi in such a quantity. Still, he ought to check out that heat signal.

He rose, brushed himself off, and re-engaged his cloak, which thankfully was undamaged. Since they already knew he was here, speed was more important than stealth, since they could undoubtedly smell the blood from their lost brother on his dah'kte. He raced silently through the hallways toward the faint heat signal, getting stronger as he got closer. Finally, he came to a door which appeared to be locked, as there were at least five drones all prowling around it, scratching on it and trying to pry it open. They were unsuccessful so far, but it was only a matter of time; they were very persistent little bastards.

He resisted the urge to roar a challenge at them, knowing it would only further alert them to his location. He pulled out his ki'cti-pa, extending it with a faint metallic "shink." He twirled it, going automatically into a fighting stance. Syra gave a quick grin, then leaped on the group gathered in front of the door. There was no warning, just a huge spear that suddenly appeared inside one of the drone's heads, killing it instantly. In a flash, he'd pulled it out and stuck another one through the chest. He held its body up with one hand while the other shot out to catch a third drone with his dah'kte.

He shook both bodies off, tossing the one still impaled on his ki'cti-pa onto the other two, who quickly backed off, hissing in rage. One of them jumped onto the ceiling while the other tried to get away, probably to collect some of its nestmates to help. In a flash, he pulled out his chakt-ra and threw it at the escaping one. The sharp disc instantly decapitated the drone, bouncing off the walls and returning to him.

But in the time it took for Syra to catch the chakt-ra, the one on the ceiling had attacked, its long tail nearly taking off his arm. With a screech, it too tried to jump on him, but he dodged, neatly severing its tail on the ground with his ki'cti-pa. It let out a pained scream, but was quickly silenced when he dug his claws into its neck and ripped its head off. Ignoring the painful acid burns, he looked around, checking the area, and sheathed his spear and retracted his dah'kte.

Too late, he heard the scratch of claws in the darkness, and felt something heavy land on his back. Syra felt a brief moment of fear, then his training kicked in and he threw himself on his back, crushing the beast beneath him. He did a back somersault, stabbing it in the chest with his dah'kte as the inner mouth grazed his neck. He caught the long tongue, ripping it off in rage.

Finally, he looked around him, seeing only dead. Breathing hard, he moved to the door, quickly hacking into the lock with his mask, which was still giving him static every now and then. That first drone must have damaged it more than he'd thought. He'd have to check it out when he got back. Finally, he got the door open, stepping in cautiously. There was shallow breathing coming from the corner and his head swung around to look.

Syra was rather surprised to find the heat signature was still rather faint, so he switched the mask to its color night vision setting. He gaped in amazement. It was a small child, huddled in the corner. Not a pyode amedha, obviously. They didn't have spaceships nearly this advanced, though once they did, he wouldn't be surprised if they had some kainde amedha infestations, what with their carelessness. His mask did a full scan of the child as he slowly approached it. It was female and appeared to be carrying a very sharp knife.

She had dark green, glistening scales, and no ears, to speak of. Besides that, she looked quite similar to the oomans in many ways. As he approached, she opened her mouth to hiss at him with a mouth bursting with tiny, but very sharp teeth. Her cheeks were hollow, giving her small face a skeletal look, and her eyes were tiny silver slits, glinting in the dark. Her hair was pitch black, but glittered in the dark like diamonds. Her modesty was protected by a strange material; it was hard, but it conformed easily to her movements.

Suddenly, he knew what she was. Of all the races in the galaxy, it was hers that hated him the most. The Sijila planets had orders to shoot on site anything that even looked like it might be Yautja in origin. How ironic that he should be the one to rescue one of their precious daughters. Or not. He didn't have to save her, after all. With the way she was waving that knife in front of her, it was apparent she'd already started on battle training; it would be easier just to leave her here, rather than fighting both her and the drones to get her off this ship. The Sijila were trained to be hostile to everyone and everything, but they were sure to be extra hostile to him, even a little girl that was barely trained.

He huffed in annoyance. But of course he couldn't just leave her here. His old clan might think he had no care for any life but his own, even that of a child, but he had his kinder moments sometimes. This was apparently one of them. But he had to be quick, time was of the essence here. He'd better get his ship reattached to the hull so he could make a quick exit. He called up the ship's controls on his mask, ignoring the hissing little snake in the corner for now. He growled in annoyance when he found they weren't working right. That drone had damaged his ability to direct the ship; he could only control its inner functions.

He thought for a moment. Maybe... He grunted in disgust. Nothing for it, he supposed, but she'd better not get any ideas...

He turned on the ship's intercom, connecting to the one in his bedroom.

"Amber! Press the glowing blue button on the wall and tell me if you can hear me."

There was a moment of silence, and he huffed in annoyance, almost giving up.

Then, "Syra? What's going on?"

"Be quiet, and do exactly as I say. Pull that collar apart as hard as you can."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Just do it!" he gritted out. A moment later, he heard a clang and thanked Paya for his luck. She hadn't locked the thing completely, though he hadn't considered that when he'd left.

"What? How-" she exclaimed.

"You didn't lock it all the way, but never mind that!" he growled. "I'm unlocking the door, now go out and turn right."

"But-"

"Do it now! And take the com with you. Just snap it off the wall."

There was a clang as she ripped it off the wall, then the just barely discernible swish of the doors.

"Okay, what now?"

"Just keep going until the hall ends in a doorway. I'll unlock that door too. And make it quick," he snapped.

She muttered something about a "grumpy bastard," but he let it slide, time being of the essence. The little snake in the corner was getting restless in his presence. He heard the swish of doors again, then her gasp.

"Wow... I'm guessing these are the ship's controls..."

"Yes, they are," he growled. She was taking too long! He didn't want to have to fight off the whole nest while he waited for her to stop gaping in wonder. "Go to the pilot's chair, it's the biggest one."

"How am I supposed to get in a chair that big-"

He didn't hear the rest of her sentence. All he heard was the scratching of claws on the metal floors. Well, as long as they knew he was here...

He roared, his arms coming up instinctively into a hostile pose. The drones weren't even phased, merely slowing their approach to evaluate the situation. He swung his ki'cti-pa from his back, letting the sharp ends shoot out. The ooman was still talking, though her voice had become significantly more fearful.

"Syra, what's going on? Where are you?"

"Amber." His voice was low and quiet, and unbelievably menacing. She shut up instantly. "Sit in the chair and tap the biggest screen you see."

Around him, the drones attempted to encircle him, hissing occasionally. He counted at least ten. His hair swung wildly as he tried to keep an eye on all of them at the same time, plus make sure the Sijila girl was unharmed. Luckily, the kainde amedha were ignoring her for now, deciding instead to concentrate their force on eliminating him. Syra snorted. How flattering.

"Okay," came Amber's voice, "I touched the screen. Now there's some red... letters...? And a bunch of pictures, I guess..."

The first one jumped, immediately followed by two more. He stuck one through the neck with the spear, impaling another on the other end and blocking the third with the staff part of it. He shook the two dead off it and stabbed the third through the chest. Then he shook off the blood.

"You see the red lines connecting some of the symbols?"

"Yeah!"

"Drag your finger-" He caught the sharp tail that lanced toward him and used it to slam its owner into the wall. "-from the last connected-" Two more came at him. He tossed his ki'cti-pa into the air, catching them through the necks with his dah'kte and threw them back at the now cowering mob, just in time to catch his spear as it fell. "-symbol to the one in the..." He thought for a moment while he jumped onto another drone, pinning it through the chest into the floor with his ki'cti-pa. "...fifth column, second row."

"Um, okay..."

He used the spear as a vaulting pole, jumping up and running sideways over the last four who tried to surround him again. Having knocked them back, he quickly dispatched three of them with his dah'kte. One left. The Sijila was hissing fearfully in the corner, clutching her knife desperately. Apparently, her training hadn't yet prepared her for this.

"Okay, I did it! I think..."

He was paying no attention to the ooman as he caught the last drone, holding it high over his head before he slammed it down on the ki'cti-pa still stuck into the floor.

"Syra?"

He stood there panting for a moment, enjoying the delicious feeling of victory. "Good. Go back to my quarters and wait for me. I'll be back momentarily." He cut the communication off before she could say more. He didn't really care whether or not she obeyed him; it wasn't like he couldn't deal with her when he got back. And now that she'd seen the controls, she should know that she'd have no hope of deciphering them enough to get herself home without him.

Syra heaved himself up off the floor, aware that more drones would be coming soon. He picked out the biggest and most undamaged drone of the bunch and hauled it out of the pile. He would take this one back and make a trophy or two out of it. Finally, he turned his attention back the snake. He huffed. All he saw the girl as right now was an extra irritation that he had to cart back to his ship. She couldn't be more than a few years old, though they matured pretty fast. She might look small, but she was probably old enough to have a few children of her own, one reason why the Sijila were so dangerous. A bottleneck meant nothing to them; they'd be back up to strength within fifty years.

Slowly, he approached the girl, crouching before her. She hissed and brandished her knife, though he could smell the pungent fear coming off her. Maybe her fear would make her easier to handle.

"What's your name, little girl?" he asked in Sijilan, a language made up primarily of hissing. No surprise there. Thanks to his body's extremely evolved speech system, he could imitate it perfectly.

"Zhali," she spat. "Who are you?"

"Syra is my name, but that's not important. Now listen up, Zhali," he said harshly. She gazed at him warily. "Your life depends on how well you obey me. If you don't do exactly as I say, I'll leave you here to die. Those things-" He motioned toward the dead drones behind him. "-will plant an egg in your chest through your mouth and a couple hours later, a little baby will dig its bloody way out of your chest, leaving your dead body behind as an empty shell. Understand?" She flinched and nodded. "Good, now hold on to me."

He opened his arms and, after a brief hesitation, she leaped into them, wrapping her arms around his neck in a near-stranglehold. Clearly, he had terrified her sufficiently, he thought wryly.

"Don't let go, no matter what," he ordered sharply. Her head nodded from where it was buried in his neck. "This should be interesting," he muttered in his own language.

He grabbed his chosen trophy kill and tossed it over his shoulder, before he strode out the door, making his way carefully down the hallways toward the exit door where his ship was waiting. He must have taken a wrong turn, because somehow he found himself in a room which, upon further examination, contained at least fifty eggs. As if sensing his arrival, they began to open, revealing the agile, octopus-like creatures which planted their own eggs inside a chosen host. He looked up and saw, way in the back of this surprisingly spacious room, the queen, undoubtedly the one responsible for the slaughter of this ship's entire crew. She scented him and screeched in rage and fury.

Throwing caution to the wind, he turned tail and ran. He found the turn he'd taken wrong, corrected it, and sprinted for the exit. He heard no pounding footsteps, so the queen had obviously not deigned to chase after him herself, but the scratching behind him suggested that she had sent her drones after him in force. Zhali shook in fear.

Finally, he reached the airlock, slamming it shut behind him. A drone screeched as its claws were severed between the heavy doors. Breathing heavily, he gave a quick look around the small airlock to make sure there were no face-huggers lying in wait that could potentially cross over to his ship. Seeing nothing, he opened the door of both ships, crossing gratefully into his. The door slid shut and locked behind him. He sighed and leaned against the door, tossing the dead drone to the floor. Thank Paya for blessed peace. He looked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Oh, my god! What the fuck is that?"

Ah, well, it was fun while it lasted.


Well, hopefully you enjoyed that action-packed update. I spent a lot of time envisioning those fight scenes, so I'm hoping they were up to par. The ship's controls are taken mostly from the comic, Alien vs. Predator: War, where Machiko demonstrates them by crashing the Predator ship and killing them all. The Sijila are my own creation, taken from nothing except my own imagination.

Comment, complaints? We take 'em all! You know what to do! :P

Translations (in order of appearance)

gkei'moun - easy/simple
awu'asa - armor
kehrite - training hall/dojo
ki'cti-pa - Combi Stick/spear
d'lex - super-strong metallic/crystalline material
dah'kte - wristblades
chakt-ra - smart disk
sivk'va-tai - plasma caster/ shoulder cannon
te-dqi - xenomorph secretion; gooey substance that coats the walls, floors and ceilings around a hive
kainde amedha - hard meat; refers to xenomorphs