ALL REMNANTS OF VESSEL ASPHODEL LOCATED AND ELIMINATED

NEW FILE GENERATED: GROUP AYH-1

AYH-1 CONSTITUENTS: ALIEN 'SHADOW', ALIEN 'SPIKETAIL', HUMAN 'ELYSA VARBOLT', HUMAN 'TYRION VARBOLT', YAUTJA 'OTHAR'A CHA, CLAN M-DI H'CHAK HULT'AH', YAUTJA 'KAL'ARAK'E CHA, CLAN M-DI H'CHAK HULT'AH'

THREAT LEVEL OF AYH-1: UNACCEPTABLY HIGH

LIKELIHOOD OF CAUSING DAMAGE: MEDIUM

PRIORITY: HIGH

REPORT ARRIVING

GROUP AYH-1 SIGHTED IN SECTOR 798-223-GAMMA, YAUTJA VESSEL

ACTIVATING ATTACK GROUP 928

ORDER: TERMINATE


Othar'a gave a scream of rage as she saw the bridge.

The last three youngbloods lay near the door, all dead with the same marks as the rest. And at the centre of the bridge, wristblades and combistick still extended, as the Elder.

Countless wounds ran through his flesh, and the green blood had formed a huge pool around him.

She rushed to him, and reached for the neck to find a pulse.

A slow, ragged breath came from the Elder, and his arm reached out towards her.

"I do not believe a week has passed, Othar'a cha," he said softly.

Othar'a choked out a laugh. "My apologies, Elder, for returning prior to the end of the Chiva. More important issues arose."

"Possibly… issues… that also arose for us? The… armoured ones?"

Spiketail moved into the Elder's vision, and he jerked slightly.

"Do not worry, Elder, this is a friend. A long story, which I fear you do not have enough life left to hear."

"True." He coughed blood. "I didn't think… that I had enough thwei left to cough up any. The… armoured ones were… skilled warriors. I have little time. I will give you the codes needed to control the ship, and then you should… leave. This planet… is no longer… safe. The Hulij-bpe Paya has decided that it no longer wants us here. Go… and warn… the rest of… the clan."

"No. This cannot go unavenged. What attacked you? What did this?"

"Servants… of the Hulij-bpe Paya. You are… brave, young one. My time as leader of this Hunt is over. Make your decisions in honour." The Elder let go a slow, ragged breath, and died.

>Armoured ones,> said Spiketail. >The Cythera, perhaps? But they were no challenge when we fought them before!>

Othar'a pressed several controls on a nearby panel. "I know, I saw through Shadow's eyes. It makes no sense, unless…"

>It was a ploy,> said Shadow bluntly. >The Cythera destroyed the Charon so that we would be forced to go with Vathris to the Asphodel. Tartarus must have somehow weakened them. A race that challenged the supremacy of the galaxy from… they must have been more effective than we saw.>

"From what? Did this Tarutaska Amedha say more?" asked Kal'Arak'e.

"You're right, Shadow," butted in his sister. "This is footage from the Gkinmara."

The main screen on the ship's bridge lit up to show a small war in progress.

Five Yautja were retreating along a corridor, throwing discs, spears, and even using plasma casters despite the risk to the ship. Their foe was not immediately visible, but as they watched a red spear of light lanced into one of the Yautja. He fell with a cry of pain, and a huge scorched area across his chest armour.

The remaining four retreated away from the Gkinmara's view, and their opponent appeared.

They were Cythera, several different types. At the head were two highly agile ones, armed with two pairs of claws, moving quadrupedally with their upper arms stretched out, reaching for their foe.

Behind them were several of the ones that had attacked the Charon; long barrelled weapons hanging from their lower arms. Red lances spat from them.

>The Cythera on the Charon only fired pulses, didn't they?> said Shadow.

The next row was made up of a single huge one. It had two pairs of legs, and its upper arms hung down from the weight of the huge, multi-barrelled cannon on each.

At the rear was another Cythera similar to the lighter ranged ones, but it had heavier armour and a huge helmet. Its arms were constantly in motion, pointing and commanding the other Cythera.

The view of the Gkinmara changed to show five Yautja facing off against the agile, clawed Cythera. Wristblade met claw with brutal force, but no matter how skilled the Yautja were, they were slowly being forced back. One by one, the Cythera overwhelmed their opponents and cut them down with a flurry of slashes.

The view changed again, to the bridge. The Elder stood there, spinning blades and combistick, scything through the swarms of clawed Cythera. Red lances spat across the room, but even when they found their mark he kept going.

But even with such skill and power, he was outmatched. Slowly, his stamina began to tell, a slash here, a punch there getting through his defences.

And then it was over, the mighty Yautja disappearing under a flurry of slashing talons. The Cythera gathered their dead, and left.

The Gkinmara flickered out, and silence filled the bridge.

>I thought this would be difficult before, but after seeing such firepower, it's impossible,> said Shadow. He spoke quietly, matter-of-factly. >If the Cythera could overwhelm thirty Yautja without significant losses, what chance do we have? We should do what the Elder said, and leave.>

Spiketail shook her head sadly in a rare demonstration of returning to human instincts. >You saw what Tartarus did to the Asphodel. Even assuming that this ship is space-worthy, we'd be shot down before we got away.>

"I concur," said Kal'Arak'e. "If Tartarus was willing to spend so much firepower on destroying a Hunting party or an escaping ship, we would stand no chance. Our ships have left here before, but they never encountered such an attack from the Cythera. Our only hope of leaving is to at the very least destroy the Paya's ability to attack us, and preferably destroy the computer itself."

"The ship is more or less functional," said Othar'a. "It can take us into space and will survive there. The cloak is fried, but not beyond repair. But if we try to leave now…" She made an explosion gesture. "Tartarus must be destroyed for all the crimes it has committed."

"I've no idea what was just said there, but I think I got the gist," said Elysa, wincing as her leg wound stung again. "We need to take out this bloody computer before we've got a hope of leaving Hades."

>But we don't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning against the Cythera! We can barely withstand the local wildlife, and for all we know, Tartarus has worse than the Cythera at its disposal! We just don't have the weaponry!>

Othar'a's mandibles flicked in and out several times in a Yautja grin. "That is one problem we can soon rectify…"

>The armoury got trashed, though. Just a few knives left.>

"You seriously think that all our weapons are stored in the armoury?"


"Welcome to my quarters," said Othar'a.

The room was typically Yautja; distinctly functional. A few skulls lined one wall behind a glass cover, with three Alien skulls in pride of place.

A strange bed was tucked away in one corner; it seemed to be composed of carefully arranged rocks. Next to it was a workstation with various strange components on it, including a half-built wrist computer.

"At least the Cythera didn't come in here," she grumbled. "It's taken me seven rotations to get that thing this far."

>Seven days?> asked Spiketail.

"Seven of our days. Approximately four weeks of your time. Now, let me see…"

Spiketail and Elysa watched as the Predator fiddled with a section on the workstation, and a panel on a wall retracted.

"Got it!" She moved to look in the panel, and a blinding blue light extended from inside.

The light snapped off, and the section opened further to reveal a selection of weaponry and equipment any human mercenary would have been proud of.

At the centre of the display were two plasma casters, with left and right shoulder attachments. Three spear-gauntlets, five wrist-gauntlets, two combisticks, a plasma pistol, four shuriken discs, a smart disc, and a huge variety of blades surrounded them with a indefinable pattern. Spare armour sections and another mask were placed at the top of the armoury.

Elysa whistled. "Just a few weapons, then," she commented sardonically.

Othar'a began extracting equipment and assembling it.

The final result was impressive.

Wrist-gauntlets were strapped onto both arms. A spear-gauntlet was strapped underneath each. The twin plasma casters were carefully attached to her shoulders. A pair of combisticks, the discs, and several blades placed on her belt completed the arsenal.

"Help yourself to the rest, though without the computers in the armour, some of it will be of limited use."

"How on earth do you intend to use both of those shoulder cannons?" asked Elysa. "The people on the Asphodel said that they tracked your head movements, or something."

Othar'a grinned, and the 'casters rolled up into 'active' position. She snapped out her arms, and the cannons spun to follow the movement.

"Most plasma casters do rely on either head movement or mental command," she said as the weapons retracted. "But the latter is difficult to use. When they're active, I get two targeting windows in the mask that follow their progress. Mandible triggers activate them individually. Took a while to get used to, but they're deadly when used properly."

The Predator extended both sets of wristblades, tested the motion, and then flicked a finger. They snapped backwards to lie against her arm, and then flicked back to normal.

Spiketail winced at the motion. >Flexibility and duality is a watchword with you, I take it?>

"More or less. Careful with that! The trigger's sensitive!"

Elysa looked up, startled, and almost dropped the plasma pistol. "What?"

Othar'a snarled in irritation. "The sooner we learn each other's languages, the better. Kindly explain to that ooman that a) she's pointing that thing the wrong way, and b) that red section is the trigger, and it's touch sensitive!"

Spiketail sighed, and transmitted the information. >Othar'a's right, we should link so that you can learn the Yautja language. It'll only take a minute.>

Elysa looked doubtful for a moment, then approached the Alien.

As the two heads met, Othar'a left to check in on the others.


The Cytheran Stalker designated SC-212-928-377 watched the Yautja vessel like a hawk, scanned it, and transmitted a command to the Stalker under its command to advance.

It flicked through vision modes, scanned the vessel again to locate its targets' locations, and flicked its four sets of four claws in readiness.

There was no particular anticipation about the coming battle. The Cythera had fought thousands of opponents as a race, and the Stalker in question had lived for almost twenty million Earth years. Experience, and a low opinion of its foe, tended to produce a certain disdain for combat.

The unit of Warriors and supporting Destroyer moved in behind the Stalkers, and waited.


Elysa blinked rapidly.

"Now that," she said, "was a wild ride. Learning an entire language in thirty seconds is definitely a new one on me."

>You get used to it,> said Spiketail. >Try being a drone that can instantly learn the sum total of the Hive's knowledge.>

Elysa picked up the plasma pistol again, and aimed it. "Bit heavy, but I could get used to it. Any idea what the ammo capacity on this thing is?"

>I've only got second-hand knowledge from Shadow, and he didn't learn much from his link with Othar'a, but I think that they've got capacity for about ten shots before they need to recharge. Thirty seconds to recharge one shot.>

Elysa winced. "Ten shots is a bit painful, but I suppose not needing to reload is good. And with the firepower these things punch out…" She strapped the pistol to her belt, picked up a couple of blades for back-up, and admired the arsenal.

>Wonder what a Xeno with a knife would be like?> mused Spiketail. She picked up a small sword, and experimentally punched a wall with it. The blade snapped after going in a couple of inches.

The Alien looked at the handle disappointedly, and then slammed her claws into the wall edge on. They came to a stop a lot deeper than the sword. >So that's why we never became tool-users,> she mused.

"Good, you're both ready," said Othar'a, looking in through the doorway. "Wait a minute. What's that you're holding, Spiketail?"

The drone looked down at the handle, and realised that she had just broken a Yautja's weapon. >Ah. Sorry about that. I was experimenting.>

"If it's any comfort, we've worked out that Aliens are actually more effective when they aren't wielding a weapon," offered Elysa. "What now?"

"Now, we scour the ship's records for any clues as to where to go. The source of the energy blast that destroyed the Asphodel is probably the wrong place to start; I would imagine that there are lots of those weapons."

"Whereas we're looking for the heart of the computer itself," completed Elysa.

The Predator did a small double take, and chuckled. "Strange how habits form. It shouldn't be a surprise that you can now understand our tongue, but it is. Come."

The trio moved into the corridor, and started moving upwards along a set of ramps.

"We're going to the main chamber," explained Othar'a. "We'll be checking the records in there for what has been seen on other Hunts on this world. The others will be looking through the records of this hunt on the bridge."

A tall, imposing door lay in front of them. Othar'a clicked a command, and it ground open.

The Cytheran seemed to grin through its mask, and swung its claws.

So how much time have I earned in that hell for cliff-hanger writers now, Miika? Couldn't resist...