They marched in silence through the forest, watching for any potential threats.
"Are you sure that we're going the right way?" asked Kal'Arak'e. "That blast came from a long way away, and it's easy to get lost here! We can barely see thirty nok in any direction!"
Elysa sighed, and paused, leaning on her makeshift crutch. "That's the third time you've asked that. Leave them alone, they know what they're doing."
>Shut it, both of you,> said Spiketail, her temper fraying. >I can't think properly with you interrupting all the time.>
A large beetle-like insect buzzed at them, and then flew off at high speed.
"I wouldn't want one of those flying at me," commented Tyrion.
>What did I just – one of what?>
"Big beetle. Didn't you see it?"
>No. What was it like?>
"About ten centimetres long, shiny blue… it didn't stay long, I didn't see much."
Spiketail was silent for a moment. >Probably nothing. Let's keep moving.>
"Look! There's another!"
Spiketail spun to look, and saw the strange insect. It had long legs that dangled from its body as it hovered, and a curious little tail that bent underneath its body.
She swore.
>Parakin larva! That means the adults can't be far off! RUN!>
"Surely an adult can't do us any harm if the babies are that size," objected Tyrion, sprinting to keep up with the speeding Xenomorph.
>You've never heard of Parakin? Pray you don't have to – what's that?>
A noise similar to a helicopter sounded above them, and an adult Parakin dropped to the ground in front of them.
It looked similar to the larva, but bigger. Much bigger.
It would have been eight metres long if its tail had been stretched out backwards. Vicious, serrated mandibles jutted forwards from a more conventional set of fanged jaws, and clattered constantly. Four relatively thin pincers extended from next to its mouthparts. Its wings were not the classic transparent insect membranes, but massive sheets of carapacing in two pairs. Four small, yellow eyes at each corner of its mouthparts completed the monster.
It observed them for a moment, twitching constantly.
"What the hell is that thing?" hissed Tyrion.
>Parakin,> replied Spiketail. >I've only seen them once. They're highly territorial, and very protective of their young. Watch out for the sting, the venom is paralysing.>
With a deafening whirr, the Parakin's wings snapped open and pulled the creature into the air with impossible ease. It moved at terrifying speed straight at them, pincers and stinger at the ready.
Tyrion drew his borrowed Speargun, and fired three shots. The little darts morphed into barbed spears in mid-flight, and slammed into the winged monster's carapace.
The shots penetrated, and the Parakin gave a strange, buzzing shriek of pain, but continued to attack.
And then the thing was on them, jabbing with pincers and stinger while it hovered a couple of metres off the ground. Spiketail leapt to one side as the long tail slammed into the ground where she had been a second before.
The two Yautja attacked in earnest, swinging their weapons in wide arcs that hammered into the creature's thick shell. Despite the damage being done, the Parakin seemed unaffected apart from becoming steadily more enraged.
Spiketail leapt for the creature, hoping to get a hold on its blind upper surface, but was battered away by the humming wings. As she jumped to her feet, she spotted a problem.
With a noise like a like a giant chainsaw, the second Parakin dived for the battle, leaning out pincers to snatch away anyone vulnerable.
Elysa looked up from trying to get a clear shot, and sighed. "Not in the mood, you overgrown dung beetle," she snarled, and unloaded the plasma pistol.
Huge chunks of the creature's armour were melted off, but it seemed unaffected by the barrage. She dived for cover, swearing as she landed on her injured leg, and swivelled to see where the Parakin had gone.
Tyrion spun to see the flying tank coming straight at him. He yelped, and brought the bulky Speargun to bear.
With impossible agility, the creature pulled out of its dive, snatching the human with its pincers. Both jaws and mandibles clattered excitedly, and the pincers raised him to the Parakin's maw.
He fired the Speargun's fourth (and last) round. The dart went straight down the Parakin's throat, the sprouting barbs ripping its innards apart. With a buzzing scream, it ploughed into the ground, and fell still.
The first one was not going down so easily. It had learned to be wary of the Yautja's wristblades, and fended off their attacks with flicks of its front legs. They were increasingly on the defensive, as the creature lunged with its tail again and again.
Shadow and Spiketail watched in increasing agitation. They had tried several times to join the fight, but they lacked the 'arm's length' weapons of the Yautja, and were easily battered away each time by the throbbing wings and occasional kicks from the Parakin's legs.
As Othar'a's combistick was battered away yet again, she lost patience. The twin plasma casters came online, and came to rest aiming at the giant insect.
It lunged, knocking the Yautja off balance. Twin blasts of superheated gas erupted from the 'casters, setting a tree on fire but having no other effect.
Kal'Arak'e leapt forward, but was battered aside by the creature's wings. The Parakin squealed in triumph, and raised the helpless Predator to its jaws.
"Hey, you!"
The Parakin paused, and its attention turned to Elysa.
"I might only have one shot, but it's going straight down your throat, you ugly mother-" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the blast of the plasma pistol.
The creature managed one screech of agony before the superheated gas incinerated its vital organs.
Everyone slowly relaxed.
"My thanks, human," said Othar'a. "It takes bravery and skill to make a shot like that, especially with your injuries. You have earned a name among our kind for your deeds. I name you Ye-Luins'tayak'a, the bold one who will not die. Apt, considering your injuries."
Elysa bowed her head in thanks. She knew little of Yautja culture save for a few glimpses while Spiketail had taught her the language, but giving a Yautja name to a species that was usually considered prey was a rare honour.
>We should get moving again,> said Spiketail. >There may be more of them. To my knowledge, the Parakin live in small groups of two or three, but there's no sense in taking chances.>
Tyrion looked at the body of the Parakin he had killed, and went slightly green. "I used all the spears," he said. "I'd better get them out."
>I'll help,> said Shadow. >It'll be quicker, and as Spike says we shouldn't stick around.>
Tyrion twisted the spears on the first creature, and they retracted their barbs, returning to the small telescopic dart form. He snapped them into the rough-and-ready ammo chamber of the Speargun, and turned to look at the second Parakin.
"You know, I'd actually rather face another of those things than have to get the last one," he said. "The outsides of those overgrown beetles are bad enough without adding the insides into the equation."
>One advantage of being part of a hive for the best part of a year,> commented Shadow as he flexed his claws. >You lose any ability to be squeamish.> He picked his spot, and ripped off a section of the Parakin's upper shell.
Foul-smelling, semi-liquid yellow flesh and blood spilled from the gash. Tyrion retched, but managed to control himself, and peered into the creature, looking for the gash marks of the spear.
>There,> said Shadow, pointing to a small section of metal protruding from a long tube. >Shall I get it?>
Tyrion steeled himself. "No, I'll do it. I won't always have a Xeno there to do the dirty work." He plunged his hand into the mess, twisted the spear, and pulled it out. A section of yellow goo dripped slowly from the dart onto the ground. Hastily wiping it, he snapped it into place with the rest. "All right," he said. "Let's go."
"So what was your role on the Asphodel?" asked Kal'Arak'e curiously. "I've studied oomans in some detail, and I know that you are younger than you might expect on a military vessel like that."
Tyrion shrugged, and kicked aside a section of particularly recalcitrant undergrowth. "You're right, we're both eighteen. We were only fourteen when the Asphodel crashed here. Kind of stupid really," he mused. "We never knew our parents. Just raised ourselves on the streets of Centauri 5, just about getting by." He paused, reminiscing. "We both had dreams of going into the Marines. Once we were in there, we could wipe out the bugs swarming over Earth. The arrogance of youth…"
Kal'Arak'e growled in faint amusement. That was something both species had in common.
"Then there was a big fuss about this new warship being built, looking for crew. Elysa and me just snuck aboard one of the transports and stowed away on the thing. We were found, of course, and got brought before the captain. Hell, that was scary… but I managed to stand my ground, and say that we'd always wanted to help mankind rid itself of all its enemies. Then he just grinned, made some comment about there not being much danger on a warship, and the next thing we know we're more or less the ship's mascot. We spent a couple of months finding our way around that thing, and then it crashed on Hades." He snorted. "He was right. No danger while we were on the Asphodel. But that's not possible anymore, thanks to that bastard of a computer. What about you? I don't know much about Yautja."
Kal'Arak'e considered the question. "Well… we have three different castes, each of which has a different role in society. First, and foremost, there are the Arbitrators. Our people are solitary and nomadic, for the most part, and have no real leaders, but the Arbitrators would be them if we did. They enforce the Law, hunt down those break it, and act as role models for the rest of us.
"Then there are the Hunters, the K'cha'ku. Our role…" The Predator paused. "I'm not actually sure. It is not something I have ever considered before. To become a Hunter is a great honour; it shows that we have the courage and will to go out into the universe and prove ourselves to be… I don't know. Worthy, perhaps. It is just the way it has always been. We have the respect of all, but do not necessarily have control. It…" He struggled to find the words, and then flicked his mandibles in and out in a helpless shrug. "Some Hunters live and Hunt together in a Clan, finding comfort in friendship and support. Others become Warriors; loners who have no time for the restrictions of duty, only for their own… quests, I suppose.
"Finally there are the Searchers, the I'ka'ga'ku. They are a caste that I almost joined; those Yautja who find a wonder in the world around them, and a desire to understand, follow that path. There are two subsets of them; the Healers, the Chi'de'a, who concern themselves with not only caring for the sick and wounded, but also find interest in life and nature as a whole. The other subset are the Teki'ke'a, the… Tinkerers. They help to repair and maintain equipment, and find their interest in the mechanics of the world, immersing themselves in numbers."
"So they build all those weapons that you use?" asked Tyrion.
Kal'Arak'e clattered a negative. "It is a tradition amongst the Hunters that you are not allowed to use weapons and equipment you cannot build and maintain yourself. Once you have proved you can do that, you may seek help from the Teki'ke'a; Othar'a had some help in creating those twin plasma casters. There are a few exceptions, for particularly sensitive and complex items; the Self-Destructs, for example."
"A theory of if you don't understand what it can do, you shouldn't have it?"
"Partly. The other side is that you must earn your equipment."
Tyrion remembered some of the marines on the Asphodel. "A lot of humanity's problems might have been avoided if we followed that philosophy."
"There is little to tell of how my sister and I came to this world. We completed our training for the K'cha'ku, and took the Kainde Amedha Chiva –"
"The what?"
"When a Hunter reaches the end of his training, and his Elders consider him ready, he and several other Unbloods are taken to a remote world. Several… Xenomorph is your term, is it not? Several Xenomorph eggs are placed on the world, and allowed to hatch. Once the drones have matured to full size, the Unbloods are landed on the planet, and given the task of destroying the Kainde Amedha. Those that kill a Kainde Amedha are marked with its blood…" He gestured at the burnt symbol on his mask. "What happens to those who fail depends on the manner of their failure, and the nature of the Elder governing the Hunt. Some are taken back, to have another chance in the future. Some are killed for their weakness."
Tyrion winced. "Sounds pretty harsh."
"The Chiva sums up our society. Those who succeed survive and prosper. Those who do not have no place. As I was saying, we both passed the Kainde Amedha Chiva with honour, and our next step was our own. At that point we learned of a world where the prey made that on our homeworld (which are no pushovers) look like zabin insects. We made our way to the Tjau'ke Thwei, who rule this area, and asked to join the Youngbloods being taken here. We have been training on this world for almost four of your months, now. What of your society? I learned little from Shadow's memories."
"I suppose we have castes as well. The military protects us, the scientists are like your Searchers, then there are all the people who make the world run… and the government rules the lot. There's not much else to tell."
"And who has the role of the Arbitrators?"
"The government makes the laws, and employs police to enforce those laws. When it suits them. Some governments try to be fair and honourable, but others are just out for themselves."
Kal'Arak'e looked shocked. "Then why are these 'governments' not replaced?"
"They're too powerful. And other governments just turn a blind eye, usually."
"What a strange, corrupt society you live in," the Predator remarked.
"It's a vicious circle. Those who are most likely to get into power usually have relatives in power, so they are brought up with that corrupt mentality. Those few who do become part of the leadership who are decent, honourable people are usually shouted down whenever they propose something that doesn't suit everyone else."
They walked in silence for a while.
Abruptly Spiketail, who was a little ahead, stopped.
>Good news and bad news,> she commented. >The good news is that I can see the place where that blast came from.>
"What's the bad news?" asked Elysa.
>This.>
They came level with the drone, and saw the problem.
A massive drop lay before them, a near vertical cliff-face that went down almost a hundred metres. At the bottom was a huge swamp.
On the far side, barely visible, was a dome-structure lying next to a wrecked ship.
"That's the source?"
>The dome or the ship, yes. I'm not sure which. But at the moment, we've got a bigger problem to deal with.>
>Only slightly…> remarked Shadow sarcastically.
Second chapter in a row without a cliff-hanger… well, sort of.
Once again, many thanks to Veriea Fornnan for creating the caste names, and not kicking up a fuss over me 'borrowing' various bits of Pred lore from Fuzzies. Oh, and to my knowledge the way the Speargun works here is different to in any other canon or fic; just makes more sense to me that the shots work a bit like a combistick. Much more portable, to begin with…
