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A New Alliance	By : Kehlan Category: M through R > Predator Views: 2899 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator movie series, nor do I own Star Trek, nor any of the characters from either of them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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His attention focussed on the Ooman commander who was explaining the workings of the ship’s information system, the predator Elder was caught by surprise as the hapless security guard cannoned into him. Momentarily off balance, he staggered sideways, only his superb reflexes preventing him from colliding with the Klingon female standing immediately to his right. He recovered his balance and instinctively flexing his wrists to release the blades concealed in his ornate gauntlets, turned to face the potential threat.

If the Elder’s reactions were fast, those of his son were even quicker. With a furious snarl, Kihr’yende stepped forward, his wrist blades emerging from his gauntlets with a faint susurration of metal on metal as he inserted himself between his Elder and the intruder.

Horrified, and all too aware that his carelessness just might have caused a major diplomatic incident, the security officer jumped backwards, starting to apologise to the General and her guests.

Even as the Elder, realising that it was a simple accident, nothing more than a moment of clumsiness caused by the newcomer’s inattention to where he was going, relaxed and sheathed his weapons, the security guard saw the two sets of blades and reacted instinctively to the perceived threat to his safety. Hand going to the phaser tucked into his belt, his fingers closed around the handle and started to pull it free. It was the worst possible thing he could have done.

The predator named Da’rian had also seen the threat and moved to the defence of his Elder, activating his own weapons in readiness to fight. But situated as he was, to Kihr’yende’s right, his way was blocked and it was the Elder’s son who got there first.

The predator captain did not hesitate, nor did he stop to consider. It was unthinkable to him that prey should raise a weapon to the Elder in anger and be allowed to live. Pivoting, he raised one arm, almost as though to salute and then lashed out in a back handed blow that sliced his victim open from waist to shoulder. His mouth opening and closing soundlessly, the guard stumbled backwards before falling to his knees with his hands clutching at his entrails. Kihr’yende stepped closer and followed up with a smooth thrust to the chest, impaling the security guard on his blade in one swift well practiced combative move.

The guard’s body jerked convulsively on the end of the blade, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The only sound he made was a faint gurgle, a mix of pain and surprise that was replaced by an ominous silence as life faded and his eyes dulled, leaving him hanging limply from the predator’s wrist blade.

With a sharp motion of the wrists, Kihr’yende retracted his blades, allowing the body to slide to the deck and pulled a small serrated knife from his belt. It had been many years since the Yautja had hunted Oomans. The skull of the dead man would be a good addition to his trophy room and would very likely earn him both the respect of his peers and enhanced mating rights on his return to the home-world.

The Elder however, realised what his son was about to do and intervened with a sharp command. On one hand, he was pleased to see his son's finely honed skills but he was also keenly aware of trouble this incident would cause. While the taking of a trophy was fully in accordance with the traditions and rituals of his people, it would endanger the treaty he hoped to make and could therefore not be allowed.

Kihr’yende stepped back with a sullen growl and re-sheathed his knife. The Ooman had died too easily, he decided. His father was right to interfere - there had been no challenge in the kill and the trophy was not worth the taking. Besides, he was here for a reason, had responsibilities that went far beyond the hunt and he would not risk the failure of the mission his father had undertaken.

Khetara stared in shocked disbelief at the fallen security officer. The whole incident had happened so fast, neither she nor any of the other members of her party had had the slightest chance to react, let alone prevent the killing. She was a Klingon General, a warrior, and she had fought many battles, some in space but many more hand to hand. Death was nothing new to her. What stunned her was the sheer speed with which the huge predator had moved, the ruthless efficiency of the kill and the silence with which it had happened. The dead man had had no opportunity even to scream let alone defend himself. There was no way this could be described as a fair fight, it had been nothing more than a slaughter. Kneeling, she turned the guard’s body so he lay on his back and prying his eyes open, she threw back her head and howled. He was not a Klingon but he had died facing his enemy and with a weapon in his hand. The traditional call to Sto-vo-kor for a fallen warrior was appropriate.

Tribute paid, Khetara got slowly to her feet, clenching her fists in an effort to control her temper and stop herself from reaching for her knife. Sensing her internal struggle, the equally shocked Speares reached out and placed a hand on her arm. She turned her attention to him momentarily and he shook his head emphatically. “Don’t!” he said, his voice quiet but full of urgency, “Don’t even think about it!” In truth, he was as angry as she was. But his priority now was to calm the situation before anyone else got killed. The Yautja were well named Predators, killing was second nature to them, the mainstay of their culture. To react the way he wanted to would at best cause a bloodbath and at worst an interstellar war. It was also an unfortunate fact that as ambassadors, the Yautja delegation held diplomatic immunity. Which did not mean, he thought angrily, that they could just walk around slaughtering his crew.

“Qu’vatlh!” The Klingon woman swore before taking a deep breath and calming herself. Allowing the crewman’s death to pass unavenged went against the grain, went in fact against everything she had ever been taught. It was only with the greatest of restraint that she was able to prevent herself from ignoring Speares and escalating the conflict by reaching for her own weapon. She was here to forge a treaty, not start a war. She could not however, prevent her anger from showing as she addressed the Elder “What in the name of Gre’thor…”

The Predator Elder stared impassively at the Klingon General. “He drew a weapon.” In his eyes, there was no further explanation that needed to be given.   To draw a weapon on a Yautja Hunter was to declare oneself prey and therefore fair game.

Khetara glared back at the Elder. “Weapon or not” she warned him, “If you want these negotiations to go ahead, there will be no further… misunderstandings… of this type! This can NOT happen again, our security personnel are armed for a reason. They have a job to do and that job is to protect this ship. I will NOT have them slaughtered for doing their jobs! Am I understood?”

A low growl rumbled through the Predator Elder’s body as he moved closer to her, deliberately crowding her in what she could only assume was a deliberate attempt to intimidate. He lowered his head to stare at her as his growl intensified.

Khetara held her ground, looking steadily into the eyes hidden behind the mask, silently informing him that she did not fear him and would not give way. Displaying an icy outward calm that hid the furious anger locked up inside, she repeated the question, her words firm and clear. “Am I understood?”

Beneath the Elder’s mask, his mandibles flared in momentary disgust and the resonance of his growl increased further before he turned to his escort and said something in his own language. Both Kihr’yende and Da’rian bowed their heads in acknowledgement of the order. The language was incomprehensible to Khetara, the universal translator unable to make any sense of what sounded to her ears, more like growls and clicks than actual words, but she guessed their meaning. The Elder was in effect, telling them to behave… or at least, so she hoped.

Turning his attention back to Khetara, the old predator spoke, and with a shock, Khetara realised he was no longer using the translation device on his wrist, but actually speaking Federation Standard, albeit with a very heavy, guttural accent.

“You arrre underrrstood”
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A New Alliance