Othar'a leapt backwards, but the Cytheran moved with terrifying speed, still managing to score four deep lines across the armour plating.
Elysa made a grab for the plasma pistol.
"No!" barked the Predator. "The canopy is too thin here! If you fire and miss, this ship will never fly again!" She snapped out both wristblades to maximum length, and crouched, ready for the attack.
The Stalker moved in a blur, all four arms slashing from different directions. Othar'a blocked two with a wristblade each, but was forced to disengage before her opponent's other arms ribboned her flesh.
Two more Stalkers moved into view, and made for Spiketail and Elysa.
The lead Cytheran abruptly stopped in its offensive, and looked at them. The single, wide eye-slit changed colour from a crimson red that counterpointed their yellowy-tan armour, to blue, emerald, purple, and back to red.
It rose from the strange half-crouch it stood in, lowered its four arms from their attack position, and spoke.
"You cannot defeat us," it said in strangely buzzy Yautja. "We are a scouting force. Three more are attacking your companions. More are coming. Surrender."
"Surrender and we'll live, is that it? Make sure that we don't harm your precious computer?"
The Cytheran's helmet turned to look at Elysa, and spoke in English, with the same buzzing overtone. "You pose negligible threat to the Sentinel. You are offered one chance to join with our master."
Spiketail directed her thoughts at the creature, and found a strange familiarity in the Cytheran's mind. >Your master?> she queried.
To her surprise, the alien heard the telepathic message. "What of it? What do you know of the Sentinel?"
>You built that monstrosity! A Space Jockey told us that! You've become slaves to your own creation!>
The Cytheran cocked its head curiously. "Space Jockey? Analysing." The red light emitting from the eye-slit flashed several times. "Species correlated. Our ancient enemy. The Sentinel was constructed by our forebears, and now it guides our efforts. A productive arrangement."
"How long have you lived in service to your Sentinel?"
The clawed monster switched back to Yautja instantly. "I have existed for approximately twenty four million standard Yautja cycles. Twenty million standard human cycles. The first Cytheran vessel to encounter the Sentinel after its activation landed and submitted to its rule approximately one point three two billion Yautja cycles ago, or one point one billion human cycles. A total of five billion of Cythera have existed under the Sentinel's rule, and a current total of five million are spread across the planet's surface."
>You've served that thing for over a billion years! When was it built?>
"Just as the war effort against the 'Space Jockeys' began to fail. We hoped to use the Sentinel to block one of their major trade routes. Unfortunately, the return for the expenditure was minimal. Our homeworld was destroyed by a batch of Corrupted shortly afterwards, and the Sentinel was never put into use."
"'Corrupted'? You mean Xenomorphs?"
The Cytheran's eye flickered, and then it chittered what seemed to be an acknowledgement; the only noise it had made that had not sounded flat and monotonic. "This discussion has no further purpose. Provide a response to the Sentinel's offer."
Othar'a glared at the creature. "You destroyed this entire Hunt, and the Elder who tutored us. We will not join with you, or that monstrosity you call the Sentinel."
"Does this Yautja speak for all of you?" asked the Cytheran, monotonic once more.
Spiketail merely hissed. Elysa looked hard at the Stalker, and said "You destroyed my home, and all the people who I had come to consider family. For that, we're going to reduce your Sentinel to scrap metal."
"Your refusal has been acknowledged. Should you survive this encounter, all servants of the Sentinel will treat you as hostile and will attempt to terminate your existence." Without another word, the Stalker crouched down and moved its arms to attack position; two stretched out below its head, two above.
Othar'a leapt backwards to avoid the first slash, and fired both spear-gauntlets at the Cytheran. The darts sprouted in mid-flight into barbed missiles, and slammed into the alien's chest armour.
Somehow the plating withstood the power of the first spear, sending it ricocheting off. The second found a weak point, and penetrated in a spray of transparent ichor. The clawed monster was knocked backwards by the impact, but somehow kept its feet.
The second Stalker made a beeline for Spiketail, using a strange windmilling attack that meant two arms were always slashing forwards. The drone leapt onto the wall, and snapped out her tail. Despite the force of the attack, the stinger bounced off the tan plating.
The third was heading for Elysa, and that meant trouble. She had seen the slaughter of the Yautja on the Gkinmara, and the difficulties that her companions were facing now holding off the creatures.
Sensing a weaker opponent, the Cytheran made no immediate attack as it advanced. The red eye-slit flickered to emerald, and then back to red.
It sent a blow her way that would have ripped her apart had it made contact, but she managed to dodge it. Barely.
The lead Stalker had recovered from the speargun shots, was advancing again. Othar'a pulled out a combistick, and fully extended it, sensing that the extra range the weapon gave her was needed.
Telescopic spear met armoured fist in a shriek of tortured metal. The Stalker reversed its blow with startling suddenness, and grasped the combistick. With a yank, it tried to pull her nearer.
Most youngbloods and even a few more senior Yautja might have tried to hold on, but the Tjau'ke Thwei had taught that such an instinct could be fatal. She released the weapon, and the Cytheran tossed it aside.
Spiketail's opponent continued its merciless advance, and try as she might, no opening in the creature's defences yielded to her. It slashed again, and laid her side open. Acid sprayed and hissed through the deck, some of the Cytheran's arm plating smoked.
Spiketail stared at the smoking armour, and grinned as she realised that the Cytheran armour, although hard as nails, was not acid proof. She spat directly at the Cytheran's helmet.
To the Stalker's credit, it didn't panic as the helmet was melted away. It backed away, the smoking helmet opening up, but at that point it made a mistake; it raised two arms to retrieve the helmet.
Spiketail pounced, snapping out her arms to catch the Cytheran's lower arms. With a triumphant screech, she snapped out her inner jaws against the weakened helmet. They punched through, and the Cytheran collapsed backwards, the red eyeslit fading to a dull brown.
The other two Stalkers were apparently not affected by their companion's demise. Elysa's opponent continued to advance, while she dodged its rapid swipes with increasing desperation.
There was no way she could miss at this range, she thought, and drew the plasma pistol.
She raised it, leapt backwards to avoid another swing, aimed, and fired.
The bolt of charged super-heated gas slammed into the Cytheran's armour, and dissipated. The tan armour charred slightly, but there was no other effect.
As she stared in horror and the completely unharmed Stalker, it pounced, and sliced.
Elysa shrieked in agony as the claws ripped her stomach open. Through bleary eyes, she looked beseechingly at the alien standing over her.
It withdrew its claws from her, and raised its talons for the killing thrust.
A black missile slammed into the Stalker, and Spiketail crushed its chest with a punch.
Othar'a was having to use all her skill just to hold the Cytheran leader off. Twenty-four million years of experience were showing, and the few counter-attacks she had made had either been parried or had grazed off the armour with little damage done.
Abruptly it retreated. The helmet rotated, taking in the corpses of its companions, and seemed to come to a decision. A control panel flipped open on one arm, and it flicked a control with surprising delicacy.
There was a flash of green light, and the Stalker dematerialised.
Othar'a spun to Elysa, and snatched for her medical kit.
"Not… my day, is it?" said Elysa weakly. "First I'm nearly eaten by a tree, then I get disembowelled by a creature that's existed since before we evolved."
"Hold still!" the Predator snarled as she inspected the gash. " It didn't go in deep but there's enough damage to make movement a VERY bad idea. And stop dripping acid, Spiketail! You're ruining the deck!"
>All right, calm down! The wound's sealed already!>
The door into the chamber opened, and Tyrion burst in. "They're coming!"
"Who's coming?"
"Cythera, lots of them. We got attacked by three, and managed to beat them off. Then we looked out of the window, and saw that there are lots more coming out of the forest! Shadow and Kal are guarding the door, but – oh my… what happened?"
"Your sister had a small accident involving razor-sharp claws. I think she'll be ok, but… curse those Cythera and their timing! Someone needs to stay here with her to make sure her wounds heal properly, and that drains our defences…"
"I should stay," said Tyrion. "She is my sister, after all."
>Bad idea. There's no way the Cythera could have snuck into this chamber without our knowing about it, and the last one we faced just dematerialised. They must be able to teleport. No offence, but I don't think that you'd be able to face down a charging Cytheran. I'll stay – I'm better suited to this sort of combat environment if they do teleport in. Go, quickly! I'll heal her wounds.>
Othar'a clicked in acknowledgement, and rushed out of the chamber with Tyrion in tow.
>Now, how do these things work?> the drone wondered.
Elysa tried to laugh, but choked up blood. "Work it out quickly, eh?"
Spiketail located the Cauteriser, and activated it. With the brutal efficiency of Yautja medicine, the bleeding stopped to an accompaniment of agonised groans. These turned into full-scale screams as the Alien activated the injector, flooding Elysa's system with the regenerative fluids.
Othar'a peered around the airlock's outer door, and retreated as an incandescent red bolt streaked past her.
"How many?" she snarled.
>Eight, I think,> replied Shadow. >One of those clawed ones, six of those ranged ones, and a quadrupedal one with two big weapons.>
"Stalkers, Warriors, and Destroyers, to use the terms used by Yautja who came to this planet in the past," put in Kal'Arak'e. "We have a standoff. Their close-combat troops were all lost, and they would be forced into a nasty situation if they were to attack. Conversely, if we counter-attack, we would be shot down before we got two paces."
"Unfortunately, we can't stay like this," said Tyrion. "They can call up reinforcements any time they like, and for all we know they could blow the ship's hull open if they wanted."
>Can't we take off? Just fly away from them?>
Kal'Arak'e clicked a negative. "The way our engines work, we would have to get quite high up before we could move horizontally. That would put us in the sights of that cannon that destroyed the Asphodel."
At that moment, the ship rocked from an impact.
Shadow peeked around the airlock door as the ship vibrated again.
>The Stalker is gone, and the Destroyer is shooting us!> he hissed. >Must be something pretty heavy if it's rocking a ship this size!>
"Some sort of explosive shell," snarled Othar'a. "At least there's one less to worry about."
>Don't you have anything that we can throw, or something like that?> asked Shadow as the ship rocked again.
"I suppose… there are the Thei-bpi-de… Plasma charges," said Kal'Arak'e doubtfully. "But they should never be used on a hunt. It would be dishonourable."
>How about survival? If it makes you feel better, I'll use it!>
"He's got a point. Throw hard; they explode on impact," said Othar'a handing the drone a couple of the charges.
Shadow leapt across the airlock, throwing the charges as he passed in front of the door. There were two blasts in quick succession.
The drone leapt back across the airlock, observing the effect. The Destroyer was in bad shape, but intact despite the incinerated ground surrounding it.
>It's a start,> he commented. >At least we're no longer in danger of getting blown apart inside the ship. Hang on, if you don't use them on a hunt, what the hell do you use them for? Those things reduced the ground to ash around the Cytheran!>
"Secrecy. As I said, we don't like other races knowing we exist. Using the Thei-bpi-de means we can destroy the evidence of our hunts if there is danger of discovery. The Destroyer was killed?"
>No, it's alive, but it's in bad shape.>
Othar'a made an odd choking noise that was the Yautja equivalent of a whistle. "A Stalker took a plasma shot at point-blank range in the Main Chamber without much damage, but… One of those plasma charges can incinerate a Kainde Amedha drone's body completely. The Cythera must have some sort of heat-resistant armour."
"Does this ship have weapons? Could we use them to destroy those Cythera?"
"No. Although a Man'Daca-class ship is well armed, all the weapons have a minimum range to prevent 'backwash' from the impacts."
>Then we're running out of options,> said Shadow grimly.
Some ninth sense prompted Spiketail to jump aside, which was why she wasn't killed instantly.
SC-212-928-377 had barely finished rematerialising from the teleport when it was swinging its claws, but Spiketail's instinct stopped the attack from making contact.
>Not you again,> she complained. >You just lost. Can't you leave us alone?>
The Stalker Captain made no response, but lunged again. Remembering her winning tactic last time, Spiketail retreated and spat acid.
The Cytheran's eyes glowed turquoise, and the spit vaporised millimetres from contact with its helmet.
Spiketail dodged another lunge. >Nice trick,> she said grudgingly. >I killed one of your companions with that one.>
"My War-armour has several modifications over the basic model," said the Cytheran, somehow injecting smugness into the monotone. "Including this one." It raised an arm, and a small protuberance glowed red.
A cone of energy spat out from the Repulsor, and Spiketail was knocked several feet back, and slammed into a wall.
Elysa had been watching the match in growing horror, and struggled to her feet, ignoring the shooting pains from the not-yet healed wound. She raised the plasma pistol, and fired three shots into the Stalker. Each one coruscated over the tan armour with little more than a scorch.
SC-212-928-377 looked at her, irritated, and fired a Repulse at her, knocking the loosely-held weapon from her grasp.
Spiketail spotted the opening, and leapt.
As though in slow motion, she flew through the air towards the distracted alien. She was moving far too fast for anything to stop her. This battle ended here. Nice try, Cytheran scum, but no-one beats me, she thought smugly.
The Stalker turned, began to raise its arm…
Time snapped back…
Spiketail looked down in shock at the four long claws that had buried themselves in her body.
The Cytheran looked at her detachedly, as though at a recently acquired butterfly pinned up in an insect collection, and flicked another set of claws across her chest. Acidic blood and organs spilled.
The Stalker removed its claws, and Spiketail fell lifelessly to the floor.
Elysa stared in horror, silently mouthing "no". "SPIKETAIL!"
The Cytheran turned towards her, and advanced, claws raised.
Fury rose over loss, and Elysa fired the plasma pistol at the Stalker. On the seventh shot, the Stalker was knocked back, the armour burnt away. She pulled the trigger triumphantly.
There was a dull droning sound as the pistol alerted her to its empty state.
The Cytheran advanced again, and with a flick of a hand, knocked the weapon away. Before she could react, it raised a set of claws, still dripping acidic blood, and plunged them into her semi-healed wound.
She screamed from the double action of the razor-like talons and the acidic blood eating at her innards. The claws were withdrawn, and the Cytheran looked down at her dispassionately.
She slowly crumpled to the floor. Her vision blurred… flickered… went black…
Oh dear… sorry, Miika, another cliff-hanger. I didn't mean it, honestly… it just
happened.
