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Full Contact	By : LemonCrisis Category: M through R > Predator Views: 2486 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Predator or Aliens, nor the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
"You're going to kill me, aren't you."
Mor'Che was surprised by the little ooman. It hadn't been a question; she had stated it with a kind of weary acceptance. Truth be told, it had been the first thing to cross his mind once he turned his attention to this part of the problem, and it would be the easiest - indeed even the expected - way. His species had always remained hidden, hunting on the fringes. Taking care of unarmed, innocent witnesses wasn't usually a task his kin had to deal with, because it very rarely happened. When it did, it was left up the the individual hunter's discretion to weigh up the threat of exposure vs honour. The various leaders of the ooman's world were well aware that they weren't alone in the galaxy, but his species did their best to make sure that the general population's suspicions remained that - just suspicions. More care had to be taken in certain areas than others, like cities and highly populated clusters. In the more natural, wilder parts they could still afford to be less stringent. Wildlife, weather and the natural cycles of a biome took care of any marks they might leave behind with unmatched efficiency.
The female in front of him did seem to possess some resourcefulness, having managed to get both of them out of a potentially lethal situation, albeit with a good dose of luck. She was looking up at him now with her strangely coloured eyes, waiting for his affirmation of her death. He cocked his head at her curiously. Oomans had always fascinated him. Considered to be one of the best prey species other than the hardmeats, they were physically quite weak and relied on their intelligence and technology. He had always wondered if an ooman would be able to adapt to his species' way of life. And now he had the chance to find out. If she was brave enough to take the bait.
"You saved my life," he said finally, "And for that I will spare yours."
She blinked, her odd features morphing into evident surprise. She really had believed he'd kill her in cold blood, and he felt an unfamiliar stirring of shame as he thought how easily he'd entertained the idea.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he cut in, raising a clawed hand, "However you cannot return just yet."
"What?" She looked stricken, "Where will I go?" despair tinged the edges of her voice, "If I can't go back to Earth, then where will I go?"
He paused, giving the question serious thought.
"I do not have the fuel for another atmospheric exit."
When the ooman's brow furrowed he elaborated, "Earth was my last stop before refuelling. I cannot re-enter your planet's atmosphere and exit again until I refuel my ship. I'd be stranded there until another of my kind arrives."
"Oh." The ooman's voice was subdued. She looked up at him, "How… uhm… how long will refuelling take?"
Mor'che considered her question. He'd have to quantify it into her measure of time. The span of a day/night cycle on Earth was slightly different to his homeworld. He ran a few calculations through his head.
"There and back will take approximately seven of your Earth days."
Her strange face fell again, and he almost felt sorry for her.
"You can stay with me until I am able bring you back to your planet. You will be safe here."
"Okay," she took a deep breath before meeting his eyes and nodding, "Okay, thank you."
Though obviously unhappy with her situation, she was taking it well. But there were no other options open to her.
"I know this isn't ideal, but I will return you to your homeworld once I am able."
When she nodded again he made a pleased sound, then made his way to the bridge, the ooman trailing along behind him.
He nearly choked when he saw the control screen. The unassuming, unthreatening little ooman he had just invited to stay had somehow managed to set them on a collision course with the sun in her solar system.
Elders above, maybe she wasn't so harmless after all.
He suppressed the sudden urge to put his face in his hands and instead busied himself correcting course. It was nothing short of a miracle that she'd even managed to take off, let alone plot a trajectory course. He shot a sideways glance at the female. She was hovering, clearly uncomfortable and unsure what to do with herself. He stepped back from the controls, turning to face her,
"Do you wish to explain why we were on a collision course with the sun?"
Her eyes widened "The sun?!" she squeaked.
"I commend you on your efforts to get the ship off the ground, but maybe it's best to leave it to the experts next time." His mandibles twitched in amusement behind his mask as he watched her process his sense of humour. A shy, fleeting smile appeared on her face as she realised he was joking. He moved past her into the corridor, motioning for her to follow. Leading her to the room she'd been put in before, he pointed towards the door, "These quarters are yours until we can return."
She nodded, "Thank you."
"The rest of the ship is open to you, but it may be better for you if you limited yourself to the exposure."
"Is it dangerous?"
Mor'che snorted, "No more than any other. But the leaders of your people are. When you go back to your home you may be in danger."
"Oh," She frowned, "The government?"
Mor'che inclined his head, "They know that other species exist. If they find out you've had contact they will come for you." He regarded her not unkindly, "So it is better for you this way."
She nodded in wordless agreement.
"That being said," Mor'che felt compelled to add, "If you wish to you can use the training room."
"Oh no! I can't… I mean, I'm not…" She waved her hands around as she grasped for the words, "I've never had any kind of training. I wouldn't know where to begin." She admitted finally.
Mor'che felt a long-absent but familiar excitement bank in his chest. The challenge of a new youngling to train always used to set it off, but he hadn't taken on a trainee for many years now. He crushed the dangerous urge back down with a ruthless surge of willpower. Now was definitely not the time to be getting such radical ideas. He had no idea if she'd truly be suitable yet. But there was precious little she could use on the ship that the oomans didn't already have some idea about, so letting her stretch her legs would be relatively risk free to his species.
"Nevertheless," he said, "Should you change your mind you are welcome." He turned, heading back to the control room and leaving the ooman by her quarters.
Dantia was in shock. Or at least it felt that way. It was like her head had been emptied and then refilled with cotton wool. Seven days. She couldn't go home for seven days. She'd have been reported missing by then, her wrecked jeep found. Presumed lost in the jungle. Given up for dead. She chewed on her lower lip.
And what the hell was she going to do on an alien ship for that long? He'd offered the use of his training room - pretty much the only thing to do on this ship that she could discern - while at the same time warning her off too much contact. She could see his point. Turning up suddenly after being missing would mean many questions posed, and she'd have to lie convincingly enough as it was without waltzing around exposing herself to more of his culture. Her fingers clenched into fists. She hated the idea of governments acting like they could get away with anything if they were sneaky enough about it. She didn't doubt now that they had whole sections devoted to alien research, and knew they'd have no qualms about making a single person disappear without a trace. The whole cliche movie thing about shady government organisations was probably truer than anyone realised, she thought with a tight smile. So hell, if there was a high chance they'd catch her anyway, she might as well make the most of the next seven days.
Now that she was decided, she crossed diagonally over the corridor to the training room that she'd seen before, taking the predator up on his offer. The door opened with a smooth swish and she stepped inside, noting again the weapons lining the walls. This time she could explore at her leisure, and so she did. She stood with her hands behind her back while studying the strange guns, afraid to touch anything lest she accidentally blow a hole in the hull of the ship. It hadn't exactly been a lucky couple of days. The guns were varied in design but all shared one common characteristic - they were big. Far too big for her. She'd only be able to lift something small and light. Her eyes slid to the opposite wall, crammed with blades and close combat type weapons of all kinds. She crossed the central mat and was reaching out to run her fingertips over an ornate spear when the door opened, admitting the predator. He barely cleared the predator-sized doorway without having to duck, his giant obsidian frame a looming presence. Dantia snatched her hand back, straightening to face him while she tried not to let the instinctive guilt show. He had said she could use the room, after all.
"You are here against my advice, why?"
Despite the directness of the question, he didn't sound angry, only curious. She shrugged, "I decided that if my government wants to detain and interrogate me, I might as well give them something to arrest me for."
When he cocked his head to one side in contemplative silence she added, "Extra exposure to your culture on top of what I've already had is not going to make me any more likely to be detained. If they happen to come after me then I'd rather have had the experience than not."
The predator nodded, "That is a good attitude to have." He seemed pleased for some reason and regarded her for a moment, before speaking again, "The weapon behind you is called a combi-stick."
Dantia felt heat suffuse her cheeks. She reminded herself again that she hadn't been prying.
"It is mainly used for close combat, but it can be thrown." he continued, striding over to pluck it off the stand and twirl it in an impressive display of dexterity. Then it suddenly shrunk, withdrawing into itself until it was less than a quarter of its original length - not much longer than a rolling-pin.
"It is also retractable." The predator tipped his hand towards her so she could see him thumb a discreet button to make the deadly ends spring out again. He hooked it back on the stand.
She reached out a hand and traced the ornate ridges of the weapon's shaft with her fingers. The metal held faint traces of fading warmth from the predator's palm and she marvelled at the intricacy of the workmanship. She wondered if there were those of his kind who made things rather than just killed things and resolved to ask him about it later. They had to get their weapons and ships from somewhere after all.
"If you wish, I can teach you some basic hand to hand combat while you wait to return to your homeworld."
Dantia blinked in surprise, the offer entirely unexpected. For a predator who had warned her that exposure to his kind would be dangerous for her, he was strangely eager to teach her things. Self defence and martial arts had been on her bucket list for years, amongst other things, along with a trip into space.
"Yes please," she heard herself say, "I'd like that."
Why the hell not.
- 4
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