Slayer's Vengeance

by Jago-Dakari

A meeting between a yautja huntress and a human marine turned vengefull slayer will shake the very foundation of both races in this story of adventure, love and loss.

31. Chapter 30

Hey all.

Once again I have kept my schedule and cranked out the next chapter your writing pleasure. This chapter is also going to introduce a neutral force in the galactic roster and bonus points if you can get the nod as to the inspiration. Also that little competition in which I read a story from you guys, to illustrate that writing takes time and effort to make a good story, is still on and i have been noted of interest in it. so I will set a deadline on the 31st of July and depending on the number of entries I will include the winner, or winners if multiple storyies are submitted, into the story as members of the new faction.

In this chapter, Alaric and co are settling in on the ship as the dwarves work hard to bring the Karak on line. Ja'anya is on lai'kairis, still holding strong for Alaric's return, though her position has grown more precarious and Kal'deris is giving an ominous piece of advice.

as such, please leave a review in the box, to keep my momentum going, and I'll see you guys in the next one.

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Chapter 30 Respite and realisations

It took some time but the colonists got settled into the ship. The golem Igneous was a major surprise for the colonists when they first saw him, owing that they had never seen a moving talking stone statue before, and the colonists in turn were another annoyance to Igneous who had other things to do then act as a tour guide. The colonists had now taken up residence in a hab deck where, much to their overdue relief, there were actual beds and, even more delightful, hot food waiting for them provided by the dwarves. The wounded were taken to the medical wing were they could get some proper treatment by the medical staff. Engineers were about checking essential power and system conduits, cleaning the sections most afflicted by frost. And in the armouries, dwarf warriors were equipping their armour and weaponry in preparation of imminent combat.

Even though there was no indication of any attack on the Karak, it never hurts to be prepared.

By now and in quick time that would make human crews look slow, dwarves were busy with the running of the now operational ship, preparing for the imminent take-off.

Well, nearly all of them.

In one of the barracks' restrooms, there was a serious issue at hand in one of the toilet cubicles. As one of the more vocal dwarves had just discovered after he had done his business.

"Where is the fucking bog roll!?" Treval ranted inside the cubicle. "My first shit in centuries and there's fuck all in here!"

He stomped a boot loudly in frustration on the stone decking, muttering in Khazdyrn.

"Bardin, you haven't seen the bog roll have you?" he asked.

Bardin was over a line of sinks in front of a large mirror of polished metal, busy preening his beard with a silver comb. He was in his flight uniform, a fur lined jacket with segmented armour plating with a winged axe emblem on his left shoulder and runic chevrons on his right that marked him out as a warrior. He also wore trousers and armoured boots

"The bog roll? Yes, you ate it before we went into stasis, remember?" Bardin nonchalantly reminded.

There was a pause, Treval's boots shifting as he processed that piece of... unsavoury information.

"Did I?" Treval asked at a loss.

"Yeah, your logic was that it would save time in the morning." Bardin recalled, putting the comb down. "And you did down a full keg before you did that."

Treval's feet crossed as he remembered vague images of himself literally downing a whole keg before snacking on a huge pile of the paper wipes. He had wondered why there was paper mache in his teeth when he woke up.

"Is there any that I didn't eat?" Treval questioned, meekly.

"Here." Bardin called, grabbing a roll from the dispenser and rolling it towards Treval's cubicle. "Good thing you didn't think of raiding the dispenser."

Treval's hand fumbled around in view for a moment before he grabbed the roll.

"Ta, very much." he muttered indignantly.

The door to the bathroom slid open and the dwarf that resembled a puli dog came walking in. Evidently an engineer as shown by his smocks, padded jerkin and thick gloves, helmet with a built in torch visor and a belt of tools jangling away. Though with his hair style, that of a mop head with a nose poking out, his visor was rendered superfluous. Though, as one would presume, this was to ensure that no sparks set fire to his beard.

In his hand was a tankard that was no doubt full of ale or some other alcoholic beverage

"You guys are still in here?" he asked, in disbelief.

A loud bout of flatulence erupted from the cubicle, along with a groan of relief from Treval. Bardin looked to the dwarf as his cybernetic eye blinked.

"Yep, that definitely saved time." Treval commented inside his cubicle.

"What is it, Krags?" Bardin asked, combing out a stubborn knot in his beard.

Krags, or Gyrm Kragsson as his full name was, waved a hand as his nose cringed from Treval's 'efforts'.

"If you two are finished, we need you up on the bridge." He reminded, raising his tankard to his mouth. "It's almost time."

"In that case, lets get busy!" Treval yelled.

The toilet flushed loudly before the door was violently kicked open by Treval. And he was wearing just what appeared to be the dwarf version of briefs with his boots. Krags spat his drink from his mouth in a spray from the sight while Bardin held his hand over his eyes in mirth, suppressing a giggle. Krags was more repulsed then humoured, considering Treval's body had a myriad of scars and marks hinting his lack of self preservation. Be it accidental or intentional.

In fact, Krags' hair around his face raised up like eyebrows.

"Treval, by my ancestors, what are you doing?!" the engineer asked in disgust. "You supposed to put your trousers on before your boots!".

Treval looked at the dwarf with implied insult on his face. His beard twitched as if a delicate thread inside Treval's head was about to snap.

"If I want to put my boots on first, that's my own damn business!" Treval declared, stomping off to get his clothes. "My feet were freezing!"

Krags walked off, muttering incoherently about having that image burning in his brain for the next month. Bardin put his comb into a chest pocket as he waited for Treval to get changed, hearing the dwarf's vulgar mumbling.

In the mess hall, The Archangels and many of the surviving colonists were hungrily tucking into some wholesome dwarven cuisine. Considering that the crew had only just been awakened, it was only right that breakfast was first on the agenda. Something quick and easy to make. And on the menu was a thick porridge of some sort with a variety of sweet and savoury toppings available. What ever it was made from, obviously some kind of oats, it was proving to be very palatable. For drink, they were issued with what looked like a hot mug of milk. Of what animal they couldn't tell but, from the taste of it, their best guess was some kind of cow. And there were also round biscuits not unlike hard tack, only that it didn't require a power-loader to break. Dipping them into the hot milk was sufficient to soften it enough to eat.

The thought of this food being thousands of years old wasn't on anyone's mind.

The mess hall, less grand then that feasting hall found earlier, was obviously the communal feeding ground for the crew. The feasting hall must be used for special events like housing dignitaries or for a celebratory feast after a successful battle. The mess hall was arranged with large octagonal stone tables, each face a meter long, arranged in three rows. In the centre of the ring was a small glowing crystalline orb that flickered. Lining the walls and pillars were runic banners and tapestries depicting famous battles of the dwarves. One such battle depicted was on a mountain with a dwarf, wielding a hammer wreathed in lightning, duelling something akin to a dragon.

The atmosphere inside was rather jovial and warm. With the ships environmental systems operational, there was not an ounce of frost anywhere and there wasn't any indication that they were on an ice world.

There were dwarves in the hall, some getting steins of a hot brew from the line before rushing off and others were still shrugging off the hibernation sickness with bouts of coughing and a few falling asleep into their food. Some dwarves however took the opportunity to get plastered for the first time in centuries and the sound of chugging from tankards, belching and laughing was filling the air.

The Archangels were at one table, their cloaks, helmets and thermal jackets removed and piled up but still wearing their armour as a precaution, while Kra'vyx and his friends were on the table next door and they were, to put it lightly, ravenous. Despite not being in a yautja's natural diet, which was largely carnivorous, the porridge was proving to be a hit. As indicated by the large cauldron sized pot that was on their table.

"Thank Paya, I can't remember the last time I had real food." Kravyx praised, shovelling in spoonful after spoonful from his bowl.

"Kind of them to provide for us." Ly'enta added, reaching for her mug and taking a sip. "Though, I never had anything like this before."

Mal'fax and Fel'tak, both of whom had been subjected to dwarven 'custom', merely grumbled on their porridge. Fel'tak had slight trouble swallowing the cereal based food while Mal'fax, keen not to loose his wobbling tooth by chewing, was sucking his porridge rather noisily through a large straw.

The Archangels too were thinking highly of dwarf cuisine and were heartily scoffing it down. Especially Karl, owing to his Scandinavian roots. Having to live on emergency rations for a week was nothing new to them but on an ice world with no other sustenance, it was utterly monotonous.

"This is just... great. I can't think of anything else to describe it." Andrzej said, impressed with the culinary skills of the dwarves.

"Certainly beats the stuff at home." Karl praised, having literally licked his bowl clean. "Are there seconds?"

Alaric, his helmet next to him and his shield holstered on his back, wasn't eating, rather he was just drinking, or more accurately chugging, from a hefty stein. What he had was something akin to the Spartan's Blood drink, a hot thick soup that is quick and easy to make. This was a staple among the engineers and technicians who were getting the ship operational the moment they were out of their pods. Something that they can take and drink on the go.

"Look at Alaric packing it away." Mac joked, pointing with his spoon. "Its a wonder he stays in shape, eating like that."

"I think it's his metabolism." Sarah mentioned. "Burns it faster then it could gather in his body."

There were half a dozen empty steins on Alaric's end of the table signifying just how hungry he really was, despite not showing any sign. Slaying xenomorphs was hungry work. Aegis, much to everyone's surprise and amusement, was eating sliced meat from a deep bowl. Until now, owing to his metallic plumage, no one had any indication that Aegis could eat as the shield-hawk never showed any signs of hunger.

Alaric plunked his stein down with a thud and sighed in relief. Amusingly, he had a trickle of the soup running down to his chin.

"That was good." he sighed, wiping his mouth.

"Seems you haven't lost your appetite." Andrzej said, pointing at all the steins. "Though I seem to remember you chugging a few more back home."

Alaric counted the number of steins he drank in his head and nodded

"Yeah, you're right. Normally I have around eight or ten." Alaric agreed.

"And this stuff isn't pre-made?" Sarah questioned.

"Everything here is made from scratch." Alaric explained, placing the empty stein with the others with a chink. "You won't find canned stuff here."

"Then they must have one hell of a fridge then." Karl guessed, reaching for his mug. "Bar leaving stuff outside that is."

"Well, they don't have to use cryo-pods for people, you know." Hicks interjected. "Though how they managed to keep it as food is anyone's guess."

He was right in that regard. There had been ongoing development of utilising stasis for preserving foodstuffs for undetermined periods which would be of use in remote sectors where resources are scarce or long voyages that could take years to complete. But so far, attempts were proving to be less then adequate. Biting into shrivelled mummified food is hardly an appetising proposition.

Sergei was silent to the banter as he munched on his porridge.

"Going through withdrawal, Sergei." Andrzej asked in a joking manner.

The Archangels were left with just their swords in their scabbards and their empty pistols in their holsters. The gauss rifle and revolver had been respectfully returned to the dwarves, much to Sergei's disappointment. Though, Varlin did hint at a possible replacement for them. As thanks for bringing back some of their technology. Alaric, much to his and everyone's surprise, had Razeal taken under the pretence of 'improving' it to what the dwarves call an 'acceptable standard'.

"It's just a spur of the moment, firing that gun." Sergei claimed, brushing off the implied joke. "I'll get over it."

"Yeah, we heard that before." Karl quipped. "I still remember the autocannon affair."

"Spur of the moment." Sergei insisted as chuckling seeped out from everyone.

They were of course referring to a time on one mission that Sergei got his hands on a tripod mounted autocannon and had gotten very... possessive of it. In fact, on his turn to rest, in which he wrapped himself and the autocannon in a blanket, he was actually talking to it in his sleep. The squad even went through in recording one said session, the name 'Mishka' cropping up several times.

They were interrupted at that point by approaching steps. A female dwarf, carrying a large tray laden with second helpings, came up to the table. She looked young, maybe in her early twenties by dwarf standards and her long red hair was tied into three large braids, two over her shoulders and the third down her back. Her eyes were sky blue, She was dressed in what looked like a forest green two part fur-lined, geometrically patterned dress comprised of a long linen layer reaching down to her feet and a soft leather scarlet corset with an apron on the outside held in place by two circular broaches on her chest. She wore fur-lined laced boots of a feminine make that reached to her shins and had black fingerless gloves on.

Indeed, she was attractive.

"Anyone for a second helping?" she asked.

Karl was quick to answer when he grabbed a bowl and hungrily tucked in. The other archangels simply held a hand out for another mug. Alaric looked over to Kra'vyx's table and he was amused when he saw Kra'vyx had his head down the cauldron, scraping up all the porridge he could get.

The dwarf looked to what Alaric was watching and she smirked.

"He's got a healthy appetite." she laughed, resting the tray down.

Alaric gestured a hand to her as everyone got a second mug.

"This is Kila." Alaric introduced. "She's one of the chefs."

"And a Shield-maiden, I'd like to add." she reminded with a hint of pride. 'I only help cook from time to time.

"A Valkyrie, eh?" Karl said, his attention momentarily drawn from his porridge.

The name of the warrior maidens of Valhalla from norse mythology rang a bell to the dwarf.

"Well, not yet." Kila admitted. "Still have much to learn before hand."

She looked at all the empty bowls that had been scraped clean. Karl was almost through his second helping, pausing only to take a large gulp from his mug.

"Is the food alright?" she asked.

She got enthusiastic nods and appraisel as a reply.

"Its excellent." Andrzej complimented. "How on earth do you keep this as fresh as is?"

"We have better methods for keeping food from spoil." Kila said with a smile. "We always make things to last."

She placed the tray down and went about gathering all the empty bowls and mugs, stacking them up quickly.

"I must ask." Kila began, placing the stacked bowls on her tray. "How has Gaia held up over the centuries?"

"Gaia?" Andrzej said before he realised what she meant. "Oh, old word for Earth. Well, Earth has had a few rough moments in it's history."

"Such as?" Kila asked, picking up the empty steins next to Alaric with wide eyes. "You certainly have a healthy appetite." she praised to him.

"Better question is: What we DIDN'T have." Sergei sardonically corrected.

Murmurs of humoured agreement came from the Archangels. Alaric nodded as Aegis looked up from his bowl, gulping down the last slice.

"If you took a book of world history and took out all the wars, plagues and such, there'd only be one or two pages left in it." Karl joked, having finished his second helping of porridge and was now wiping his beard.

"Sounds fun." Kila quipped, gathering his bowl. "Anything in particular?"

"World wars, terrorism by religious hypocrites, climate change." Andrzej recalled, idly counting with his fingers. "You name it, we had it. But we always find a way through."

Andrzej then rapped his fingers on the stone table as he brought up the biggest challenge humanity has yet faced.

"The biggest deal, the one which made all others look like minor disagreements, was the Xenomorph Infestation in 2193" Andrzej revealed.

Kila paused as she heard the name.

"Xenomorph Infestation?" Kila said, playing with the word before her eyes widened as she realised. "You mean the Primarch's Kin had invaded?" she asked in shock, almost shouting it out.

Archangels quickly hushed her overreaction. Hicks, nearest to her quickly held her by the shoulder reassuringly.

"Well, there was no primarch, whatever that is." Hicks corrected. "No, we were basically sold out by fanatics who believed the bugs to be God's will."

Kila thought for a moment before she nodded. Evidently, she may have heard of some group similar to Xeno Extremists.

"They have a way of doing that." she confirmed. "The weak minded were always easy prey to their influence."

"Desperate degenerates more like." Karl clarified, his disgust evident. "Or rich quislings with too much time on their hands."

Kila raised an eyebrow at the word.

"Quis-lings?" she said, enunciating the word.

"Collaborators." Karl explained. "Named after a bastard politician who sold out my homeland to the enemy during World War Two."

Kila scowled as she heard the meaning of the word.

"That's the worst kind of traitor." she said, placing another bowl on her tray with a notable clatter. "But what did these fanatics do to your world?"

Hicks took a swig from his mug as he remembered what he had been taught in history. The squad let him go on, letting the Scribe recite that dark period of humanity.

"Led by a 'prophet' named Salvaje, they broke into a Bionational Corp complex in Lima that was housing, for reasons we can only guess, a xenomorph queen and everything just fell apart after that." he explained. "Back then, our knowledge about xenomorphs, aside from them being deadly fuckers, was rather minimal. Much of the planet had fallen before an evacuation was called and Earth was then a global battlefield. Much of the major mega-cities were overtaken, save for isolated pockets and rural areas, and over seventy percent of earth's population had died in the first year."

"Regarding that Earth's population was in the tens of billions at the time, you could guess the toll." Sergei added. "Ample fuel for an infestation."

"From vids I've seen, some places were so bad you couldn't tell where one hive of bugs ended and the next began." Mac added. "As was the case with China, with its population in the billions, it was just one massive hive. As far as the eye could see"

Kila blinked as she remembered the fate of one planet with a high population. The visage of an ocean of xenomorphs covering a planet's surface made her quiver. The Archangels could testify for that, given the nature of some of their missions.

"Alaric's father and grandfather were some of the few that stayed on earth, fighting a guerilla war lasting five years. " Hicks continued. "Eventually, in a campaign known as Operation: Extinction, aptly named for a final battle, Earth was reclaimed through use of orbital bombardment of hived cities and landings right into the heart of the enemy. The fighting was some of the most fierce in the entire infestation or even human history. Many of the old cities were razed to the ground, having become essentially mega-hives. The environment and ecosystem was for the most part unaffected. And, in some places, even improved from lack of human encroachment."

"My grandfather died taking on a queen mother in that operation. In the remnants of the EU." Alaric recalled. "From what I was told, he had commandeered a dropship packed with thermobaric explosives and did a kamikaze run right into the central hive. I believe his last words were: I am the god of hell-fire and I bring you fire!'"

He chuckled at that information.

"Suffice to say, as the phrase goes, he went out with a bang." Alaric remarked. "Him, a queen mother and millions of bugs. Thanks to him, Europe was liberated within a month."

Kila nodded respectfully at that mention of self-sacrifice. For dwarves, it was better to give your life to save others then to take it just to cheat fate.

"The aftermath of the infestation was beyond counting. Billions dead and many more missing, over ninety percent of the population wiped out, and most of the major cities had been turned into necropolises. Shrines to remind us of those lost to the xenomorphs." Hicks concluded. "But, in a way no other conflict had ever done, the Infestation did finally bring humanity together. And thus, the United Earth Federation was born."

"Its amazing how it takes extinction at the hands of an alien race to put things into perspective." Andrzej added. "Though believe or not, we still have dissidents who think otherwise."

Kila shrugged in agreement.

"We dwarves can be a bit like that." she admitted. "Stuck in the ways of our ancestors. But sometimes, the old ways are the best ways. But despite clan differences, we dwarves always stand united."

Sergei laughed in an ironic tone.

"Wish we could say the same for humanity." he sardonically pointed out. "We've been beating each others heads in over petty reasons for thousands of years."

They were interrupted at that point as steps were heard and, by steps it was the sound of stone blocks being dumped on the deck. The vibrations were making bowls and utensils shake and clatter. Looking up, everyone at the table could see the lumbering hulk of Igneous approaching. Colonists who were in his path nervously edged out of the golem's path. Igneous paid no heed, maybe less so if he 'accidentally' crushed one under his feet.

The golem arrived at the table with one bowl rattling thud and his sapphire eyes looked at everyone with his usual hint of annoyance.

"I thought I'd find you lot here." Igneous said, his dour tone permeating the otherwise jovial atmosphere. "Stuffing your faces."

Kila looked up at him, her azure

"Igneous, mind your manners." Kila scolded.

The golem looked down at the dwarf and his sapphire eyes blinked at her.

"If you've been alone for centuries, doing the exact same thing over and over, you'd be like this too." he reminded. "Unlike some I can recall."

The golem looked at all the empty bowls and he grimaced an indication of envy. He clearly wanted to eat some of the porridge but couldn't.

"You don't eat?" Hicks asked.

Igneous looked at Hicks with a frown, like the marine had suddenly went dumb.

"I'm an eight foot hunk of masonry, of course I can't eat." he exasperatingly pointed out, thumping a fist on his abdomen and making a stony thud. "No digestive tract whatsoever."

Androids, such as Hyperdyne Systems' Bishop Series synthetics, have a capacity to ingest food, despite having no nutritional need to, in order to make them social in everyday life. If certainly helped people acclimatise with them if they acted human. Earlier or 'cheaper' synthetics had a reputation of being... unsettling to those who saw them.

However, Igneous made them look more human by comparison. And by human meaning that they were not hulking constructs made of stone and having a dour disposition literally chiselled in.

Igneous tentatively picked up a bowl, careful not to crush it in his massive fingers and looked at the contents. He scoffed as he tilted the empty piece of crockery in his hand.

"Being a golem has downsides." he said. "I don't need sustenance but I long for the taste of real food again. Most of all, a good ale."

"What do you mean 'again'?" Karl asked.

Igneous ignored the question with a mumbling grunt as he placed the bowl on Kila's tray with a clatter that sent the neatly stacked bowls tumbling over loudly onto the table. Kila cursed in Khazdryn as she went about tidying up the table again. Evidently, that poked a soft spot in his otherwise impregnable front.

Nevertheless, his reaction was enough to make Karl not to probe further.

"And with hands this big, dexterity is at a premium." Igneous pointed out, flexing his stony appendages.

The golem looked to Alaric as he lowered his hand.

"But at any rate, Thane Ironbeard wants to see you up on the bridge." Igneous finally informed Alaric.

Alaric nodded, getting up from the bench and grabbing his helm. Aegis jumped up onto his shoulder.

"What is it?" Andrezj asked.

"We're about to set sail." Alaric said, walking off.

"This I gotta see." Hicks said, taking a last gulp of milk and slapping it down. "Not every day we get to see ancient tech work."

The Archangels followed Alaric, grabbing their helmets as he walked out of the mess hall and towards the bridge. Kra'vyx, seeing them walk off, followed after them but Mal'fax and the others stayed were they were. Fel'tak had no intention on leaving his spot, not wanting to be used as a stress relief implement again. Mal'fax had in the meantime decided to risk his loose tooth and eat normally, having grown fed up of the indignity of sucking food through a tube. Ly'enta stayed put because she was now busy with acting as baby sitter to her two disgruntled friends.

Kila looked up at Igneous who was about to plod off. She quickly stepped in front of him, tray in hand and he halted. Igneous looked down at her, his dour features unchanging.

"What now?" he asked.

"Since you're here, you can make yourself useful." She said, placing the tray into his hand. "Hold this."

Igneous looked down at the tray and grumbled with barely disguised irritation as Kila starting placing empty bowls and mugs on it.

Outside the mess hall, Alaric led everyone to the elevator that would take them to the bridge deck. They passed more dwarves rushing about the place, getting things ready for the launch. They also passed a platoon of dwarf warriors in one room that looked much like a dojo, brandishing large tower shields and broad headed spears, who were evidently undergoing practice drills. The warriors, under the loud bark of orders from their leader, assumed different formations in quick time. One formation was a typical shield wall, front row holding their shields straight and the second row on an angle like a roof over the front rank, while another formation was a fully enclosed sphere with their spears pointing out like an armoured urchin.

Also among the dwarves was Lysandros and his grandson Cyrus. The old Spartan was training the younger Spartan in full kit. Cyrus' armour suit was more basic and, in a way, lighter then Lysandros', the most prominent armour was his greaves and gauntlets. He also wore a linothorax reinforced with scale plating and his helmet was lacking the horsehair crest.

The two of them were involved with spear play, though Lysandros was using his shield and Cyrus was not. This is likely in that Cyrus was not at adulthood yet, which in spartan terms was twenty years of age when the trainee would become a full member of the army. One could say that his training was teaching him to fight in case his shield was destroyed. The older spartan would yell orders at his grandson to attack and defend, thrusting and parrying with their spears in unison. Every now and then, Cyrus would try to get inside Lysandros' guard, only for the old spartan to beat his grandson to the floor with a punishing counter attack. Which was accompanied by a scolding reminder on exposing himself or striking too soon.

"Do we have to walk there this time?" Karl asked.

"Nah, the elevators are working now." Alaric said walking up to the elevator door and hitting the button. "Unless, you really want to take the stairs?"

"If you're carrying me." Karl joked.

The doors opened after a few moments and they all stepped inside.

---

Alaric and co arrived on the bridge to find a hub of activity. The dwarves were at their stations and were hard at work. Varlin was in a seat that was to the left and close of the command throne, as an advisor to a nobleman so to speak. Jari was at the centre helm with two other dwarfs to his sides. Bardin and Treval, in his uniform that had it's fair share of patches and repair, were seen climbing down a set of ladders near the helm to a level underneath the bridge, no doubt it housed the gunnery section and also tactical operations.

Dwarfs were manning the side consoles, likely to be any other systems such as scanners and the like for the navigation and running of the Karak. All the terminals and computers were of a unique design, both conventional and holographic. Each had a stone and metal console and the three enclosing screens were projected onto both the main monitors and also around the operator's head rests that followed their head movements.

Standing next to Varlin, looking out of the bridge's canopy, was the oldest dwarf on the ship. He was dressed in an attire that spoke of some highly ceremonial position, like a warrior priest of some sort. A mixture of long robes and highly decorated runic armour, made up of a segmented cuirass with a scale mail hauberk protecting his upper arms and legs. He also wore decorated gauntlets and greaves as well. On his brow, he wore what was an intricately forged crown, decorated with crystals and precious metals with a large diamond on his brow, nasal guard and had cheek pieces that reached to his cheekbones. His beard had been richly decorated with gemstones and runic bands. On his left shoulder was a large eagle headed pauldron with sculpted runic features and on the right was a runic dwarf face, about half the size of the pauldrons normally seen on dwarves. There were also symbols decorating the armour that symbolised the elements of earth and fire, mainly things like obelisks, wisps of flame and the like.

In his right hand was a long geometrical stave, decorated with runes and topped with a hammer head in the shape of an anvil. His left hand was resting on his belt, on a large tome, leather bound and metal lined, that was chained to his belt by an intricate chain. On the front cover was a symbol of a mountain with a double-headed hammer and anvil in the centre.

Varlin turned in his chair, stuffing tobacco or some other equivalent into his pipe, as he heard Alaric and the others walking up.

"My lord, welcome to the bridge." Varlin greeted, holding his pipe in the air in greeting.

"Thane." Alaric greeted back.

The dwarf priest turned too, formally bowing his head to Alaric.

"My, lord, I don't believe we've met properly." the priest greeted.

"No, we haven't." Alaric said, holding a hand out.

The priest took his hand and gave it a hearty shake. Despite wearing armoured gauntlets, Alaric could feel the old dwarf's iron grip on his hand. He was sure if he wasn't wearing armour, his hand would be easily crushed.

"Hell of a grip." Alaric complimented as the priest let go.

"This is our honoured Stonefather Kazrik." Varlin introduced. "Our spiritual leader and representative of Khazdryk, ancestral father of the Khazdryn."

"No family name?" Alaric asked as the priest let go of his hand.

"We renounce our clan names when we join the priesthood." Kazrik explained. "I was formally of Karak Kragmar."

He said that name with a hint of sadness. Alaric nodded as he remembered Gri'nyr's memory and the fate of that colony at the hands of the Xel'khala.

"My condolences." Alaric apologised. "I meant no offence."

Kazrik nodded in acceptance.

Varlin at that moment looked to the Archangels and to Kra'vyx.

"Had a good fill in the mess hall?" he asked.

Kra'vyx nodded while the Archangels gave a myriad of praise. Varlin gave a low chuckle.

"Seems our cooking hasn't suffered much." he joked before he raised his pipe with apprehensiveness. "Don't tell the chefs I said that." he hushed.

It was not wise to doubt or even joke about a dwarf's abilities, even between other dwarves. Dwarves by their nature are a very proud race, taking great pride in their work, be it forging metal to cooking.

Alaric looked to Varlin.

"You're not in the command throne?" he asked.

"Me?" Varlin questioned, putting his pipe in his mouth. "Well, I'm not the highest ranking lord on this ship at the moment. That is already known."

Varlin pivoted to Kazrik, pipe in his mouth.

"Is the Keeper ready?" Varlin asked the Stonefather.

"Yes." Kazrik reported. "Korrina is linked to the ship. She will notify when she is ready to open a Gate."

This was unheard of even to Alaric, regardless of the knowledge he possessed about the dwarves from Gri'nyr's memories.

"What do you mean linked?" Alaric asked.

"Well, Keepers are linked to the ship in a special chamber, essentially becoming a living core." Varlin explained. "It's necessary for Gate travel."

"Only Keepers can open Gates." Kazrik added. "And Keepers are rare, even among Aethyreals."

Alaric thought for a second as he processed that information before he made a real life, albeit literacy inspired, comparison.

"Like a Navigator from Dune." Hicks said, beating Alaric to it.

Varlin looked up at the marine with a raised brow.

"From what?" Varlin asked, pulling his pipe from his mouth. "Is there a planet called Dune?"

"Science fiction literature series from the twentieth century." Hicks clarified. "Has something similar to 'Keepers' in it."

Varlin tapped his pipe in his hand as he processed Hick's explanation. His brows raised as he gave a curt chuckle.

"Well, you humans may be more advanced then I first thought." Varlin said in surprised praise, reaching for a match in a pouch. "If you're writing things like that, I wager it won't be long before you can develop Gate Travel."

"We have FTL capabilities." Andrzej interjected. "How else could we have come to this planet?"

Varlin didn't appear to be concerned at the mention of faster-then-light.

"Oh yeah? And how long did it take you to get here from wherever you were?" Varlin asked, probing for the truth as he pulled a match out.

"Several weeks." Hicks answered.

Varlin's eyebrows furrowed, showing he wasn't impressed from that revelation as he struck the match on his chair and lit his pipe. But before he could speak his mind he was abruptly interrupted.

"Pah!" Treval down below could be heard. "With a Gate, you can get to your destination without moving an inch!"

Kazrik sighed from Treval's boast. Treval had a habit of giving his own input into conversations, whether or not anyone asked for it, occurring from afar. Traditionally by yelling some random nonsense or satirical remark.

"Thank you, Treval." Kazrik called in exasperation.

"No problem, Kazzie you old bastard." Treval cheerfully praised.

Kazrik's brow raised when he heard that nickname and some of the dwarves paused in their work when they heard the insult. There was an ominous pause in the air that was broken when Kazrik's staff tapped the deck loudly. Varlin was now nibbling on his pipe in what could be described as tense apprehension. Alaric and the archangels held their breaths as they heard Kazrik's knuckles crack.

Kra'vyx was even now edging towards the throne for a bit of imprmptu cover.

Showing disrespect to an elder dwarf in a blunt manner like that was a cause for concern.

"What did he say?" Kazrik questioned the thane, pointing a finger downwards.

Varlin opened his mouth to calm the priest down but Kazrik let loose.

"Did he call 'Kazzie' again?!" Kazrik asked, his voice raising.

Evidently, Kazrik did not like being called 'Kazzie' more then being called an old bastard. Kazrik's brow furrowed as he grumbled in poorly hid annoyance as he walked over to the ladder well and bent down, his beard curling around his feet. Jari and his co-pilots were shifting in their seats, trying to keep their distance from the stonefather who looked like he was about to let loose. Like a volcano about to expel its incendiary payload.

"Treval, you will address me by my proper title, you little bollocks!" Kazrik yelled at the top of his lungs.

Jari and his co-pilots had sunk further into their seat with a flinch, owing to their proximity to the priest. There was another pause as that outburst set in, some of the dwarves tensely holding their breaths, and the echoing of Kazrik's yell died down.

"Sorry, Stonefather Kazrik, sir." came the meek apology.

Kazrik nodded in satisfaction as Bardin could be heard cautioning Treval. Judging by this, the Stonefather was the only one that the foul-mouthed, maybe borderline psychotic, dwarf was scared of.

"A little softer then usual today, Kazrik?" Varlin nervously joked.

Kazrik walked back up to Varlin and Alaric.

"I don't mind 'Old Bastard' but a bastardisation of my name, I will not tolerate." he clarified.

Alaric stepped in to quell down the bantering.

"Preferential insults aside, is the ship ready?" Alaric asked.

"Just finishing off the last of the checks." Varlin explained. "We're ready to go as soon as you are."

"If that's the case, proceed." Alaric acknowledged.

Varlin took his pipe out of his mouth as he pivoted forwards.

"Jari, start her up!" Varlin commanded.

Jari and his co-pilots began the initiation sequence. They brought up screens on their consoles and began pressing buttons and and pulling levers in sync with each other. Runic readouts blipped into being, symbolising all the main systems. The sounds of machinery whirring and rumbling could be heard as the ship began to power up.

"Main drives online." Jari called out the readings on his monitors. "Gate-core online. Gravity matrix online. Environment configuration changing to Karak Khazdra."

There was a low hum, followed by a sort of haze filling the air and then suddenly anyone not a dwarf or wearing power armour was pulled down to the floor like someone had suddenly dropped a heavy sack on their backs. Karl, Hicks and Sergei, who were luckily wearing their helmets, face planted unceremoniously into the deck while Andrzej, Sarah and Mac put their hands out just in time. Alaric noted the change in gravity when he felt his stomach lurch, nearly bringing up a bout of nausea. Kra'vyx was taking it rather well, he was only on bent knees and was slowly getting up like he was holding a loading barbell over his shoulders, though a trail of saliva running down his chin indicated that he almost lost his porridge.

The air too was getting heavier and more encumbering like being in an abnormally hot rainforest, though lacking the humidity.

Varlin looked over his shoulder, saw the Archangels in their predicament and he suppressed a chuckle. Kazrik shook his head in hidden mirth.

"Sorry." Varlin chuckled in apology. "Forgot to mention, our homeworld has a higher gravity then that on Gaia."

"How... high?" Andrzej asked, straining with effort to not faceplant on the floor.

Mac, looking like he was about to pass out from exertion, managed to get back up on knees. And he was rewarded by falling backwards into the deck with an exhausted groan. Sarah meanwhile was busy trying not to lose her stomach.

"Only two times." Varlin said, reaching for his control pad. "Just a moment."

He tapped a button and a microphone shifted out from this headrest.

"Engineering." Varlin called on his seat's comm unit. "Set gravity control to that on Gaia. Our guests are having an intimate encounter with the deck."

"Very funny!" Karl mumbled, his mouth encumbered by the stone decking.

There was another bout of haze and the weight was thankfully taken off their backs. The Archangels picked themselves up from the floor, giving groans of relief. Hicks, Karl and Sergei were rubbing their faces, fortunately with not one broken nose or any loose teeth among them. The worst they got was some bruising and a slight bout of dizziness. Their helmets had succeeded in taking the full brunt of the impact.

"God, that felt like we were back in basic!" Hicks compared, cracking his neck.

There were mumbles of agreement from the squad from that comparison. Karl on the other hand felt his stomach complain, muttering how he shouldn't have had that second helping of porridge. Kra'vyx looked as though his didn't suffer as much

Though what did the colonists think of that sudden change?

A holoscreen popped up in front of Varlin and a female dwarf, clad in white clothing typical of a doctor, came on screen. Her ash black hair was tied into one long braid and she had two thin braids that snake down her temples and under her ears before connecting to the main braid. She was wearing what looked like surgical goggles with various magnifying lenses and lights on the rims.

"Thane, this is Medical." she called, with a hint of questioning. "Did you activate gravity before setting it?"

"Slight lapse in judgement, Maja." Varlin explained. "Why do you ask?"

Maja moved the screen around and she showed an array of colonists being brought into the bay. All holding their heads, some of whom were wearing dented helmets. Some looked like they were about to bring up the porridge they had just been eating.

"Well, I now have multiple cases of headaches and nausea among the manlings cropping up." Maja explained. "Owing to a sudden increase of gravity to the unaware, they ended up in the deck, many of them face first. It was fortunate their wounded were already in bed."

Then the sound of loud retching erupted as a marine finally lost his breakfast, using his helmet as an impromptu bucket. Dwarf orderlies rushed forward with a bucket and a mop as the soldier gagged on his own vomit. The marine cursed through his teeth as he sat on a stone bench, holding his head and muttering that he shouldn't have eaten so much.

"Oh, I see what you mean." Varlin said.

Maja sighed as more retching was heard from a colonist behind her, streaks of digested food squirting from between his fingers

"Just alert me when you plan on tampering with the ship again." she firmly asked before turning her attention on the chaos erupting around her. "Get a mop over here!"

The screen flickered out, muting the sounds of regurgitation and Varlin pivoted to Alaric.

"Maja is... dedicated about her duties." Varlin explained with a nervous chuckle.

His embarrassment was soon forgotten as another detail was brought to his attention.

"Final checks are complete." Jari called out. "We are ready to sail."

"My lord, take a seat." Varlin invited, gesturing to the throne as Aegis jumped of Alaric's shoulder and sat on top of the throne.

Alaric walked to the throne, placed his shield onto what was a convenient rack on the back of throne along with his great axe and sat down. There was the sound of shifting metal as Alaric's armour interfaced with the seat, the armour plates shifting and connecting to the throne, essentially locking him into place. The throne then whirred into life as the controls lit up and the runes flicked into life.

"I was right, the armour is an interface." Andrzej said, watching the show.

"Alaric, you look quite a treat in that throne." Sergei pointed out. "Fit for a king."

Alaric looked to Varlin and noticed that the dwarf was looking at him with pride in his eyes. Alaric was now getting slightly apprehensive, and possibly embarrassed, by this amount of attention.

"I take it I am now in command?" he asked.

"Need we say more?" Varlin replied.

Alaric looked over to Jari, in his seat and watching Alaric over his shoulder, and held a hand out.

"Helmsman, raiser her up." Alaric ordered.

"With pleasure, boss." Jari called out before turning his attention to his co-pilots. "Alright lads, as one."

Jari and his co-pilots pushed their levers forward, pressed pedals and pulled on the sticks. Readouts on their screen flickered into life as energy levels started to climb. A few moments later, there was the sound of rumbling as the snow and rocks on the other side of the canopy started to quiver and shift. The rumbling then grew louder as everyone felt the ship starting to lift.

---

On Lai'kairis, things were not adding up. The latest reports from the search parties uncovered no sign that the initiates' shuttle has passed through their sectors. Calls of inquiry from any inhabited planets along the way proved fruitless as the yautja colonies in those areas reported no shuttles passing through.

How could they not see a shuttle passing through their territory?

At this point, the searching was clearly clutching at straws. There were those on Lai'kairis who were coming to terms that the initiates will likely never be found. Even the families of the initiates were already beginning plans for a service.

What's more, Ja'anya's confrontation over in the communal hall had spread rumours.

Malicious rumours.

Wherever she went, she received looks and heard hushed whispers from those she passed. Even when resuming her work, she could tell that she was being treated differently. Soon, for her own safety, she was sent home. Quel'lyr and Fyr'lyn, more concerned for her well-being then her now plummeting social standing, escorted her home.

Her outburst in the communal hall convinced them enough that Alaric, most of all a human, was the only male for her. And that had consequences.

Ja'anya was now home and she was not answering the door or the intercom. She was busying herself with repairing the chain to her shield-hawk pendant on her lounge table. With the help of a jeweller's monocle, she tenderly slipped the chain from the hawk's loop, setting the silver and bronze icon to one side. Examining the broken links, she reached for a pair of needle pliers and unlinked the damaged links, careful not to damage the adjacent links that were intact. After she removed the links, depositing them into a small dish, she went about replacing the links in the chain with spares that Alaric had leftover when he made it.

The fact Alaric was able make this chain by hand without magnifying glasses spoke much for his skill with crafting, as much as his skill in combat.

Every now and then, she would look up and she could see Alaric's marine greaves neatly placed in a corner. And when she did, choice moments of her time with Alaric would pop up in her head. Such moments included the time when she trained with him and when they shared a quiet meal that he made for them. But one that brought a smile to her face was when one night she had trouble sleeping so he softly sang to her in his slayer tongue, holding her in his arms. While she had no idea what he was singing, he hinted that it was one song that always worked for him. And it worked for her too as she drifted off to a melodious slumber.

The door buzzed and Ja'anya let out a quiet growl of displeasure as she ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. The door buzzed again after a few moments. She looked at the door for a second, wagering whether or not to answer before resuming.

She had reason not to answer.

The door buzzed again and Ja'anya lost her patience.

"Go away!" she shouted.

A friendly voice was heard over the intercom.

"Ja'anya, it's important." Quel'lyr explained.

"If it's everyone suddenly understanding my position for their own amusement, I don't want to hear it!" Ja'anya yelled.

Keeping up her strong front, she went back to her chain. But she didn't get far before she was interrupted . The intercom buzzed again.

"What is it, now?!" she yelled.

"Ja'anya." Zel'tyr could be sternly heard from the other side.

The monocle fell from Ja'anya's eye when she heard her mother's voice, bouncing loudly on the table. She lowered the pliers as she watched the door. She had just shouted at her mother, unknowingly but was still a show of disrespect.

"Ja'anya, we need to talk." Zel'tyr said, firmly.

Ja'anya placed the chain onto the table and walked over to the door.

"There's nothing to talk about." Ja'anya stated, her tone now more level.

"Only that I have heard that you have gotten into a fight." Zel'tyr told her. "And also the fact I have been hearing rumours about you."

"I've already heard them." Ja'anya exasperatingly reminded. "Everyone on Lai'kairis virtually knows about it by now."

"Ja'anya, open the door. Now." Zel'tyr ordered, her firm tone unchanging.

Ja'anya clicked her mandibles as thoughts began bubbling in her head. Things must be serious if her mother had to come see her.

But after what happened, how was Zel'tyr going to react?

Ja'anya tapped the release and the door slid open. Zel'tyr, in her usual robes and jewellery, and Quel'lyr, who had changed into more casual wear, were on the other side while Fyr'lyn, in her full huntress gear, was keeping a watchful eye at the door. There were a few yautja grouped on the other side of the street.

No prizes for guessing why they were here.

Ja'anya promptly shut the door the moment her mother and friend was inside. Zel'tyr walked over to one of the cushions by the table and sat down. Quel'lyr stayed by the door, giving Ja'anya and her mother ample room to talk things out.

"Sit." Zel'tyr gestured to a cushion.

Ja'anya reluctantly sat down in front of her mother. Zel'tyr rapped her fingers on the table, her talons clicking on the hardwood surface. Evidently, as Ja'anya learned throughout her childhood whenever her mother did this, the interrogation was about to begin.

"Now. You will tell me what happened." her mother softly demanded. "And I want the truth."

Ja'anya took a deep breath, bracing herself for her mother's reaction.

"We were having lunch and this hunter came over and we got into an argument. About Alaric." Ja'anya explained with reluctance in her voice "He said something... personnel and I just lost it."

Zel'tyr looked down at the shield-hawk pendant on the table and its chain that was undergoing repairs. She picked up the chain and looked at it while also noting the torn links in the bowl.

"And I presume it has something to do with this." She deduced, the chain sliding between her fingers.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Ja'anya subconsciously rubbed her neck. When she looked up at Quel'lyr, Ja'anya's friend nodded. Zel'tyr sighed as she placed the chain back on the table.

"I thought I taught you better." She ruefully said. "Though I have to say, from seeing the footage, you handled yourself well, given the circumstances. Taking out him out with one blow."

Ja'anya bowed her head as her mother's disappointment hit her.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you had let yourself get riled up." Zel'tyr scolded. "A huntress does not let personal reasons interfere with a hunt."

"As it will lead to one's own demise." Ja'anya added, finishing off her mother's lesson.

"Precisely." Zel'tyr confirmed. "And it was one that I made the mistake of doing, in my younger years. It cost my hunting party a valuable member."

Zel'tyr held up her right hand, showing Ja'anya one of the many bracelets she wore. It was a custom of Zel'tyr's to add jewellery to commemorate an important hunt. To remember the victories and also the mistakes. This bracelet she indicated was decorated with scriptures from her home clan, lessons that had been handed down to her from generations past. And, the emblem of a mask pierced by a xenomorph tail, it was related to the story.

"In trying to help, I only made the hunter, my teacher, lose focus." she recalled. "He took a Khainde Amedha tail right through the heart for my mistake. I had to live with that for the rest of my life."

She then sighed.

"Although, there are times when I lose control." Zel'tyr admitted. "Before Quel'lyr called for me, I had degenerate hunters harassing me and my students. They won't be walking again for a few weeks."

Ja;anya lifted her head up.

"What have you heard about me?" she asked.

"Things that I've already heard. Only that people are now being more blatant and... spiteful about them." Zel'tyr replied. "It... vexes me. That they have the audacity to do that, yet not actually say it face to face."

Ja'anya growled.

"I don't care what they say." she said. "They can call me a... all they want, if that's what gets their rocks off if they're that petty."

"Rocks off?" Quel'lyr questioned.

"Self gratification." Ja'anya explained. "Alaric taught me that."

Quel'lyr played with the word several times before she nodded. That was another word to add for her vocabulary. It would make a nice... phrase to use on Ryl'zant when the Season comes around.

From this display of defiance, despite everything being hurled at her, Ja'anya's resolve was not faltering. It would seem that Alaric was starting to rub off on her in more ways then one.

"Has there been any word on Alaric and Kra'yvx?" Ja'anya asked. "Anything?"

Zel'tyr shook her head.

"None. At this this point, I'm beginning to doubt if they'll ever be found." she said. "Kal'deris has heard nothing. There already plans being made for a service."

Ja'anya could sense from her mother's voice that she was truthful in her thoughts. But underneath, there was a hint of uncertainty.

Zel'tyr picked up the shield-hawk pendant and held it in her fingers. She looked at all the detail that Alaric had put into it, each of the contours of the wing, right down to the individual strands in each feather. And the fact that Ja'anya toled her that Alaric had made this without even using a magnifying glass spoke much for his skill

"Mother?" Ja'anya asked, reaching a hand over and clasping her mother's. "There's something else isn't there?"

Zel'tyr looked up to her daughter and Ja'anya could see in her mother's eyes that there was a glimmer of uncertainty.

"I have this feeling. A suspicion." Zel'tyr said, dragging her thumb over one of the pendant's wing before looking up to her daughter. "That maybe something doesn't want them to be found."

---

Kal'deris in the meantime was in his office, going over the latest findings from the search parties. There were a multitude of datapads precariously piled up on his desk from over a dozen search parties to go through. But, each file he read spoke of the same thing. Finding absolutely nothing. This whole endeavour of trying to find some missing initiates, one of whom is his best friend's only son, was starting to turn into a farce that had long lost it's humour.

He was beginning to understand why his grandfather, the late Elder Kal'dyr, had been, as humans would say, a miserable old git. Considering the weight of responsibility of being an elder of the clan, his grandfather was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing ever got past him and he was a firm believer in the old ways of life, especially in the ethics department. Even some of the other elders would think twice before trying to head to head with him. Kal'deris had been on the receiving end of Kal'dyr's discipline a few times as a child but, he had to hand it to his grandfather, he learned his lessons and was stupid to try and push his luck again.

Thinking back, Kal'deris was grateful that his grandfather took him in when his parents died in battle against bad-bloods. More specifically Black Yautja, the most powerful bad-blood clan in the galaxy. Kel'dyr may have been stern and old-fashioned in the upbringing his grandson but he was fair. And there were times when Kal'deris did enjoy being with his grandfather, such as fishing down on the planet that Lai'kairis orbited and learning how to use the smartdisk which became his preferred weapon. He never forget the look of pride on his grandfather's face when he fulfilled his initiation.

Though when his grandfather, who was almost legendary for his stoic disposition, laughed to death after watching that human comedy, Kal'deris pardoned the hunter who brought it to him as his first act as elder, seeing that the hunter had no idea of its 'potential'. Kal'deris, and several other elders, later remarked that he never saw his grandfather happier in his life.

Suffice to say, Kal'dyr died with a huge smile on his face.

But, back to the current state of affairs, Kal'deris did learn one thing from all of this.

Alaric, the human who had made a huge impact on Lai'kairis since his arrival, wasn't fully human at all. His terrifying Rage was proof of that. Despite his outer looks, within was a another story. The DNA on his paternal side did not match those of any human or any race in the galaxy.

What secrets did his blood hold?

Kal'deris sighed, shaking his head as he dumped the pad he was holding onto the table that made the pile of pads tumbled with a loud clatter. Some of the pads broke as they hit the floor, sparks flying from their cracked screens but considering they all said the same thing, this was hardly note for concern.

To Kal'deris, it just about summed up everything.

"This is not right." he muttered to himself. "An entire shuttle vanishing. No sign, no ion trail. You would think that shuttle would've stopped for fuel some place. Where can they be?"

None of the other Elders had any success. Then again, he essentially had sole responsibility for the searches on account of Kra'vyx being missing. Hy'dorles for one wanted nothing to do with it. Rather openly, he couldn't care less if the initiates were ever found so long as Alaric was gone. It took Kal'deris all his restraint not to rip the arrogant elder's head off then and there.

Kal'deris looked to a picture on his desk. It was one of him and Kra'vyn on one of their first hunting trips, sitting on a large aquatic beast, a sort of cross between a fish and a serpent, that they had hunted. A smart-disk was lodged into it's eye while Kra'vyn's glaive, of which Ja'anya had inherited after his death, was embedded in it's back.

Right now, he felt that he was letting down his old friend.

He sighed.

"I'm doing everything I can." He told the picture, as if he was speaking to his friend.

Then, to relieve some of the built up stress and frustration, Kal'deris picked up the smartdisk from its pedestal before throwing it hard with a frustrated grunt. The spinning disk of razor sharp alloy surged trough the air, drawing a trail behind it before embedding itself into a conveniently placed target with a loud clean thunk. The disk hummed itself into standby just a ring away from a bullseye.

Kal'deris sighed again as he felt some of the pressure leave his body.

"But I have virtually nothing to work with." he said, rubbing his brow.

At this rate, it would take a miracle to find any information. And it was about to come from an unexpected source.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, catching his attention. It was from one of the guards on sentry duty outside.

"Elder Kal'deris." the guard called.

Kal'deris grunted, rubbing his eyes as he held a finger on the intercom's button.

"What is it?" he questioned.

"It's about the missing initiates, Elder." the guard answered.

Kal'deris' eyes widened but surprise wasn't what he felt.

"Is it another failed report or do we finally have an actual lead this time?" he asked. "I have enough reports on my desk to last me for the entire day." he looked down at the pile of broken eletronics. "Well, used to."

"No, but we've got someone here you should talk to." the guard explained.

Kal'deris was slightly surprised but his surprise turned to exasperation at the thought of having another elder coming to speak to him or more demands of action from the missing initiates' families.

"Who is it?" he asked, hoping for anything other then the same visitors he'd been getting.

"Its a smuggler from the Trade Confederation." the guard explained. "He has invoked the Rule of Negotiation."

Kal'deris growled softly in displeasure. Maybe an angry parent or two would have been better.

The Trade Confederation was the formal name for the conglomeration of traders, smugglers and various black market syndicates that operate throughout civilised space. To the general public, they were simply known as Confed for short or, among the older generations, by their former esoteric title Smugglers Guild. The Trade Confederation were known for a series of complex rules known as the Rules of the Trade which govern all their practices, be it from conventional trading and smuggling to mercenary services to even the most... questionable services. Despite this, they maintain an armed neutrality, with the firepower to back it up, that strictly abstains them from taking sides unless their contract specifically requests their assistance or in a situation when taking sides is deemed appropriate for economic reasons.

A saying that most associated with the Confederation, maybe even it's motto, is: A contract is a contract, regardless who pays. Even so, in what could be thought as morals, there are times when they consider a price too high or not in accordance with the Rules of the Trade.

"What does he or, should I say Confed, want?" Kal'deris asked, distrust in his voice.

"He wouldn't tell us, saying that his business is with you only." the guard explained. "He did say it was... personal."

Kal'deris rubbed his eyes. If the Confederation had information, they would no doubt expect something in return. But what would that entail?

He weighed up the risk in his mind, regarding that this was the best link that has yet cropped up, before coming to a reluctant conclusion.

"Bring him in." Kal'deris ordered.

The doors opened and the mystery informant was escorted inside. And Kal'deris couldn't help but grumble when he saw that this smuggler was in fact a yautja.

This yautja was dressed in a manner that was the opposite of the traditional yautja garb. He looked much like a human would dress, albeit with yautja design and motifs in mind. The smuggler wore a long trench coat that was ornamented with various symbols and insignia, no doubt ranking of a sort within the Confederation. On his shoulder acting as a pauldron was the skull of an reptilian creature with the head structure of a snake but with a sweeping crest running up it's skull. Underneath, he wore a multi layered tunic of which was a baldric across his chest containing a myriad selection of pouches and a variety of trinkets of yautja make and those of other races. He also wore something that was a cross between a segmented kilt and trousers with reinforcements on the knees. Strangely, he wore knee high boots in stark contrast from sandals that yautja usually wore.

On a thigh holster was a plasma pistol, a hand-held version of the traditional plasmacaster. This was not out of the ordinary as some hunters utilised this variant when they deemed the auto-targeting variant 'unsporting' or if they prefer the thrill of lining up a shot themselves. He also had what appeared to be a dagger that resembled a russian kindjal, that could very well be authentic, sheathed on his belt.

His colouration and markings were of an unusual type. They were a series of downward chevrons that ran down his crest and over his face, his eyes resting below the points of one row, giving the false impression of a furious disposition.

The guards escorted the smuggler to Kal'deris desk, stopping a meter away. The smuggler, out of custom, promptly bowed to Kal'deris. Kal'deris did nothing to hide his dislike as he straightened his shoulders.

"It's rare to find smugglers on Lai'kairis these days." Kal'deris commented. "Especially ones that willingly hand themselves in."

"Call it a matter of civic virtue, Elder." the smuggler clarified, standing up straight.

Kal'deris waved his hand and the guards walked back to their posts, shutting the doors behind them and giving Kal'deris time alone with his 'guest'.

"I'm surprised smugglers, especially yautja smugglers, still have a sense of 'civic virtue'." Kal'deris scoffed the moment the doors closed.

Smuggling was seen as an unsavoury occupation by yautja standards. Typically, smugglers are treated with disdain and, in rare cases depending on the clan, are branded as badbloods. However, joining the Trade Confederation offers some immunity against this.

"Despite the Rule of Neutrality, we are allowed some allegiance to our respective races. To a degree at any rate." the smuggler revealed. "And I took the liberty of finishing off any loose ends before coming here."

Kal'deris' brow creased as he reached for his intercom.

"Has this smuggler been checked?" He asked.

"Arbitrators checked his ship, Elder. No contraband on board." one of the guards reported.

"Nothing to fear if I have nothing to hide." The smuggler pointed out, intentionally loud so that guards could hear on their end.

Kal'deris resumed his attention to the smuggler as he cut the line.

"So, were you here to smuggle some produce off Lai'kairis?" Kal'deris questioned. "Or are you here on 'legitimate' terms."

The smuggler simply straightened his coat at the perceived insult.

"Actually, I have... information." the smuggler said, patting a pouch on his baldric. "About some initiates you mysteriously lost."

The reaction the smuggler got was what he was hoping for. Kal'deris' posture tightened and he blinked.

"Well, that's what I presume to understand, giving the current gossip." the smuggler concurred. "The shuttle certainly fitted the bill."

He could tell Kal'deris was going to react with an accusation from the way his mandibles curled.

"And before you rush to accusations, I run a small corvette by Confed standards." the smuggler clarified. "I don't have the facilities to hold prisoners even if I wanted to. Its against the Rules to take hostages without good cause."

Kal'deris' mandibles relaxed.

"Explain." Kal'deris ordered, gesturing to the cushion in front of him. "And you better not be wasting my time."

The smuggler walked up to Kal'deris' desk and sat down on the cushion in front, unfurling his coat as he did. He then rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward in what was a typical show of business.

"You see, simply put, you have all been looking in the wrong place." the smuggler began. "You have been too narrow with your search. You simply had to delve into the... excluded zones."

The smuggler had a point. So far, all the reports had been conducted in routes that were known to Lai'kairis and others that are major routes where ships regularly traverse. The thought hadn't occurred yet that they need to search off the beaten track.

"If what you say is true, how is it you of all people have seen them?" Kal'deris asked suspiciously.

The smuggler simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Divine providence?" the smuggler quipped. "But, as the Rule of Choice says: A person can either choose to embrace or renounce the decision. So, right here, you can either accept what I am going to say or reject it. But, is it a choice you can afford?"

Kal'deris hated to admit it, but the smuggler had a point. All his efforts and those of the search parties as of now had been fruitless. And this smuggler seemed to have at least a vague idea of what may have happened to Kra'vyx and his friends.

"Very well." Kal'deris decided. "What information do you possess?"

The smuggler then cast the joking demeanour aside and got straight to the point of his visit.

"I was travelling along a... seldom used route, after concluding a 'business' matter with another client, when my scanners detected a shuttle." the smuggler began. "I wasn't sure at first who it belonged to or why they were in a backwater of all places. It wasn't another Confed vessel, so I kept out of visual range by a fair distance until I could be sure. I attempted to hail them but all I got back was static. And, for some reason I'm associating to equipment failure, they were not picking my ship up, despite hailing them multiple times."

Kal'deris rapped his fingers on the table as he processed what the smuggler was telling him.

The smuggler was claiming not to be able to hail them?

"Adding to that, my scanners were not identifying the vessel or where it came from." the smuggler added. "Like it had a scan block on it, all I was getting was static. I decided to follow them so that I could make visual contact."

The smuggler let that sink in, Kal'deris adjusting his posture, before he continued.

"Now, it wasn't until they reached their destination, and after many attempts to hail them that my computers identified the shuttle to be from your clan." he added. "But by then, it was too late."

"Too late?" Kal'deris questioned.

"They had began planet-fall." the smuggler revealed. "On an ice planet. One that, if my education recalls, showed to be off limits. And by that I mean the 'stay out of the whole system' limits."

Kal'deris sat up when he processed that information. The pilot had intentionally taken Kra'vyx and his friends to a restricted planet against his orders.

"There's no way that the pilot would have intentionally landed on a restricted world." Kal'deris said, not believing what he was hearing. "He was a veteran of many hunts."

"I don't think he had much choice." the smuggler stated. "As they were approaching, I could tell that the pilot had second thoughts and had tried to pull out of orbit. However, I detected an energy spike in the shuttle and it resumed it's course."

The smuggler saw Kal'deris' brow raised at the mention of an energy spike.

"Based on that, I deduced that the navigation system on the shuttle had been tampered with." he concluded.

"Tampered with?" Kal'deris said. "HOW could it be tampered with?"

The smuggler tapped a talon on the table in thought.

"My guess, an educated guess from past dealings I'd like to make that clear, is that it is some kind of navigational virus." the smuggler postulated. "The usual method of delivery is via communication. The virus then reprograms the shuttle's navigation computer, basically locking the auto pilot to a predetermined point. And for that to happen, they had to have had contact with a third party."

The smuggler then lowered his voice, ensuring only Kal'deris could hear him.

"Whoever wanted them to go to that planet obviously wanted them to get there, willing or not." the smuggler theorised. "And if you say the pilot was of veteran status, someone in the upper hierarchy had to have given orders to change course."

Kal'deris, much to his viewpoint on smugglers, had been taking everything the smuggler had been saying with a hefty pinch of salt. Only he or any of the other elders had authorisation to change a shuttle's course. The smuggler was insinuating sabotage as the primary reason for the shuttle's disappearance.

And if so, by whom?

"You are insinuating one of our own had deliberately sabotaged with this initiation hunt?" Kal'deris questioned, hostility lacing his tone.

The smuggler held his hands up in a gesture of defence.

"I'm not accusing anyone, I'm just saying what I think." the smuggler bluntly said. "Would you rather have the plain simple truth or truth hidden in words?"

The smuggler was once again reminding Kal'deris of the Rule of Choice. The elder could either accept the smuggler's assistance and hope to discover a cause for the initiates' disappearance. Or, he could turn down the offer of help and spend the rest of his time floundering until the time when they are consigned to the void of space, never to be seen again.

"If what you're saying is true, where is this planet located?" Kal'deris asked.

"I took the liberty in compiling a map before docking." the smuggler said, pulling out from his baldric a small holo-projector.

He placed it on the table, punched in a few buttons and a holographic projection blipped into life. It was a standard galactic map that highlighted all the galaxy, divided into many sectors depending on the races inhabiting those areas. One indication showed the extent of humanity in the western arm of the galaxy with many colonised systems. Other areas were more sporadic, in regards to the various yauta clans, be they settlers or nomadic. Lai'karis, by comparison, was more like a city state, controlling the system it was located in and several others while the rest was unclaimed wilderness. The Trade Confederation had a scattering of enclaves throughout all the major sectors of the galaxy but their largest holding was nearer the galactic core in the north.

The largest yautja controlled area of space was in the east, an empire you could call it, taking up most of the galactic east, aside from the odd pockets of other galactic powers or client states. The most prevalent feature was the Xenomorph homeworlds, which had a notable gap of 'no-man's-land' between it and other areas of habitation.

"This is their projected route." the smuggler pointed out, tracing the line with a talon at Lai'kairis' location. "And this is where they are." he finished, stopping the line at the location in question.

He tapped on the star system in question, a remote backwater as the smuggler had described it, several hours away from Lai'kairis when at full light-speed. In fact, out of the five worlds that made up that system, only one was even remotely habitable.

But not in a good way.

Kal'deris looked at the planet in question. He then brought up a map of his own from his desk's computer, punching in the correct coordinates from the smuggler's map. And when he did, he saw bold lettering that symbolised restriction and above all danger.

It was true. The planet was strictly off limits.

The planet was described to many a hunter to be utterly inimical to any visitors. Although it was habitable, to an absolute minimum to be precise, there was virtually no life on that planet. It was essentially a giant ball of ice and rock from a permanent ice age that had lasted since time immemorial. Many a hunting party in the past decided to brave the elements of that world and had paid for it with their lives, or limbs if they survived the frostbite. Thus the reason to seal off the planet.

Kal'deris brought up a screen on his desk. Dialling in, he brought up the route that the initiates were taking before they dropped from sight. Then he compiled what the smuggler's data was showing and he quickly plotted out the route that the initiates shuttle must had taken. Estimating the distance that the shuttle could take on it's fuel capacity, he saw that it was just within range for a return journey, if the shuttle was running on fumes. The journey that had yet to occur.

As far as Kal'deris could tell, this fitted with what was already determined about it's course. And as of now, it was the only evidence that he had to give.

"You are sure?" Kal'deris asked, certain that this was some lie designed to garner reward for little effort.

"Why would I lie?" the smuggler questioned. "I have nothing to gain from it in this circumstance. Besides, people are worth more alive. Unless you happen to be a gravedigger."

Kal'deris growled at that joke. The smuggler shrugged his shoulders in apology.

"IF they are on this deathworld, I'll have to petition the council to send a search party there." Kal'deris pointed out. "And I'll doubt if they'll ever consider it."

"Do what you want." the smuggler said, reaching a hand out to the projector "My business here is concluded."

He briskly shut off the projection and stood up. To Kal'deris, this was to be expected. Confed were never ones to see things through to the end unless they had adequate reason to.

"So that's it." Kal'deris said sternly. "You expecting a reward now?"

"Reward?" the smuggler asked, seemingly insulted by the word. "No. But, a favour? That is entirely up to you. As the common saying goes: You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

"Ah yes."Kal'deris said, in fake realisation. "One of the Rules of the Trade."

"A contract is a contract, regardless who pays." the smuggler quoted, reaching for a pouch on his baldric. "You can expect the Confederacy to contact you in the near future. For your end of the bargain."

He pulled out a gold coin with a large studded rim, juggling it in his fingers before placing it on the table, face up. On the face of the coin was the symbol of the Trade Confederation. A symbol of three octagonal rings, decorated with Confed scriptures, linked together in the middle, making up a triangular pattern and each ring is grasped by a runic hand.

This was symbolic of the Confederation's ideals. That of an unbreakable bond or, in this case, debt. A much more simplified variant is simply just the three rings on their own to mark Confed craft or places of interest.

Kal'deris picked up the coin, turning it around to see the other side. On the opposite side of the coin was another symbol. This runic symbol was more simple, or maybe more ominous, in that it was a pair of hands clasping each other's wrists, bound by a chain. And the fact that the right hand was missing, leaving a notable sculpted dip in the surface.

"Need I ask?" Kal'deris said, holding the coin with one armed side towards the smuggler.

"That's one half of a bond." the smuggler explained, pulling out another coin. "I have the other one here."

He twirled it in his fingers before showing it to Kal'deris. The symbol on it's side was the same as the one given to Kal'deris but the left hand was missing. Kal'deris immediately realised the purpose behind the coins. Aside from being something of a business card, it also represented a loose end that would need to be repaid in the future.

"Then our business is concluded." Kal'deris said, placing the coin back on the desk and picking up the smugglers holo-projector. "And this?"

"Its the only evidence you have." the smuggler pointed out, returning his coin back to it's pouch. "I suggest you make use of it."

Kal'deris grunted in admittance as he placed it back on the desk. He pressed the intercom once more.

"Guards, our business is concluded." he ordered. "You may escort our 'guest' back to his ship."

The doors opened and the guards marched in to escort the smuggler out of Kal'deris' office. The smuggler turned to Kal'deris one last time and bowed.

"When the time comes, you will hear from us." the smuggler reminded. "And I hope for your sake that your initiates are still alive."

With that the smuggler walked off to the door, the guards following him. When they walked through the doors closed, leaving Kal'deris alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that have now began to form in his head by this troubling turn of events.

The evidence now, along with the smuggler's eyewitness account, had opened up a possible and maybe intentional sabotage of an initiation hunt.

But who would , or even want to, do such a thing?

The only reason he could think of was Alaric. There were those on Lai'kairis that had despised him since the day he brought Sil'cais' head in a sack. And the amount of times he had beaten hunters in duels had caused much dissent among the populace's more vocal and, more bluntly conservative, contingent.

However, that proved to be nigh impossible to determine who based on the evidence he had. But given the smugglers information on rank being a factor, Kal'deris had a suspect or two in his head. However, he would need more evidence before he could start accusing anyone. The fact that this information came from a smuggler would cast suspicion on his own part.

Also, he had to wonder what the Trade Confederation would want from him when the time comes to return the favour. The Rule of Repayment.

Would it be a requisition for some item that they wish, a task they want fulfilled or will it be an offer he couldn't refuse?

However, the Confederation were not ones to abuse debts wholly for their own gain, as many criminal organisations would. Many a dealing with them can always be upheld to the letter and they never break their word. As such, they could command a loyal consumer base from those that they treat well.

The Rule of Formality: Honour the client and they shall provide.

Kal'deris picked up the coin and held it in his fingers, seeing the three ring emblem of the Trade Confederation. He flipped it and saw the linked hands emblem on the other side. The reminder of the debt he had now incurred.

But in his position, Elders had to make decisions that they didn't like for the greater good of the clan.

"The things we do for love." he softly said.

With that he popped the coin into a pouch on his belt and began collating all the evidence to bring before the council. He would need some time to present it in the right fashion if he had any hopes of organising a search party to the planet in question.

Kal'deris would need to be seriously convincing if he could get even one elder to back him up. He may be able to get the backing of the High Priestess if it meant getting her granddaughter back safely. He certainly wouldn't get Hy'dorles to support him, in fact he knew that the 'loremaster' will fight to prevent him from forming a party to find the initiates. The High Elder may be more inclined to help but until Kal'deris presented his case, he would have to hope.

But as he went about forming his case, looking at the ice world, he couldn't help but think.

Why, of all the deathworlds in the galaxy, was this planet chosen to be their tomb?