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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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Knitting? Oh Kahless, how did one explain knitting to a Predator? Of all the things the Yautja warrior could have asked, this was not the question that Khetara had expected. "It's… err…" She stopped, struggling not to laugh. "It’s a Terran tradition that involves sharpened sticks and ensnaring lengths of yarn.”
The Predator cocked his head, confused yet intrigued by the description, waiting for her to continue. Obviously, he thought, knitting must be some strange martial art that was not mentioned in the linguistics database.
"However since it is most often practiced by elderly females or those with young offspring, the sergeant is insulting his men by suggesting that they participate and find it dangerous" the Klingon explained.
A Yautja female with a sharp stick would be a truly dangerous creature. Ooman females were generally smaller and weaker than their male counterparts, Rakai'in remembered, although some of them at least could still fight. Doubtless 'knitting' was a female only discipline that the males feared.
The question resolved to his satisfaction, Rakai’in returned his attention to the window, glancing wistfully at the shuttle, still visible through the slowly closing doors.
The Ooman marine had seemed genuinely pleased to see him. The Predator had not expected to form new friendships during that last hunt. Come to that, once the warrior drone had impaled him he had not expected to live more than a few more minutes. His only focus had been to find a way to survive long enough to kill the creature. Even the best Hunter could be killed by the Kainde Amedha, there was no dishonour in that. They were truly the ultimate prey.
"Your marines are truly great warriors," he offered suddenly, "I am alive only because that one who waved and another of your race, risked themselves to aid me."
Khetara nodded, accepting the compliment on behalf of the men. "It is what they do."
He sighed. "I would have liked to fight by their sides again."
"You are not the only one who is banned from leaving the ship today." Despite her best intentions Khetara’s tone was snappish.
Rakai'in nodded. "My Leader assures me that my wounds were honourably gained. I must accept that." He lowered his head to meet her gaze, yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at her. "Your own injuries are equally honourable… and like me, when the time comes you will fight again."
“I dislike feeling so... weak,” Khetara confessed, not sure why she was confiding in the Predator, yet knowing that this at least, he would understand.
The Predator growled. He knew that feeling all too well. "Not weak... injured."
"There is no difference,” the Klingon snapped bad-temperedly.
"There is every difference," he snarled, his mood deteriorating in response to her anger. "Weakness is of the spirit. Injury is of the body and can be overcome."
"And what do you say,” Khetara asked shrewishly, “to those warriors whose injuries will never be overcome?"
He grunted and started to turn away, not willing to admit that she had a point. There was no room for failure in Yautja society. Failure in the hunt meant death – or if the Hunter was too cowardly to die, then dishonour. He knew that it was not so different in her society. The female was being unreasonable; her injuries were not insurmountable. She would heal and in time she would fight again.
"Don't you turn your back on me, petaQ!"
It took all of the Predator's self-control not to turn and kill the female for her attitude. He had been polite and respectful so why was she going out of her way to provoke him? Maybe, he thought suddenly, a fight… or at least a spar… was what she needed to work off her aggression. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself he turned back. "Will you join me for a sparring exercise?" he invited. "My leg grows stiff and I would be interested in learning your fighting techniques, honoured General."
His self-control and the unexpected politeness of his invitation disarmed the angry Klingon female. She was being unreasonable again, she realised, even childish. He had not deserved her bad temper. Spar with him? She did not know if her lungs would allow such a thing, but she was determined to find out. Suspecting that she was about to get her rear end handed to her on a plate, she found herself nodding. "I would enjoy that."
The Predator flared his mandibles in satisfaction. "The kehrite on board my ship will be unoccupied at the moment," he invited. "Maybe you would enjoy the opportunity to try some of our weapons?"
Not sure what a kehrite was, Khetara guessed from the context that it was some form of training or exercise room. "Is the atmosphere sufficient to my needs?" she asked hopefully, making no effort to cover her eagerness.
"I can adjust the oxygen levels in the Kehrite and purge the methane," he said, quickly considering the possibilities, “Although not in the whole ship.” He was probably going to get into trouble for this later, but for now, Yeyinde was deserted and there was no-one to stop him.
“I should make a request for a backup Triox supply.”
"Our bio-masks have an inbuilt breathing device" he said thoughtfully, "Do you have anything similar you could use?"
"I believe an emergency oxygen pressure mask would be sufficient,” she responded, “For a short time at least.”
"Then you should request one from your healer," Rakai’in said. As he spoke, he opened the control panel on his gauntlet and began to tap in commands, sending remote instructions to his ship.
Khetara grinned fiercely, her mood much improved by the prospect of sparring with him. "First sickbay, then we fight."
*****
The carcase of the Kainde Amedha drone lay sprawled on the ground at Colonel Speares’ feet. The big marine stared at it in fascinated disbelief. He’d paid careful attention during the briefings, had studied the accounts of those who had already fought the creatures but until now, he had not quite taken in the reality of the situation, had not realised just how big, fast and deadly these things really were.
He and the team he had been assigned to had been moving through the jungle for some time. The Elder had split them into small groups, each consisting of a mixture of Starfleet, Klingon and Yautja. Their instructions were to spread out through the jungle, approaching the mountainous nest site from different angles and cutting off all avenues of escape. They would not be entering the cave system. That was for the Elites and the very small number of non Yautja they had considered worthy to join them. Kehlan of course was with the Elites, as were Cordero, Van Zyl, Urtok and one or two others. Speares was not sure whether he envied them that privilege or not.
While he was in command of the marines, ultimate command of the mission belonged to the Yautja. Speares had no problem with that; this was their world and they knew it and the dangers it held. He and his men... and women... would follow their orders without question.
The lone creature had come crashing through the trees, emerging from the undergrowth right in front of Speares. Realising it was trapped and outnumbered by the ancient enemy, it had turned at bay and seeing the human as the weakest link, it had let out an eerie howl and attacked.
To his surprise, the Predators had not moved to assist him, rather they had stepped back to give him room and settled down to watch the fight. They were assessing him, he realised, judging his abilities and his worthiness to hunt with them.
Ducking to avoid a swipe of those vicious claws, he drew his mekleth and hacked at the monster. He’d always liked the versatility of the Klingon weapon and it did not let him down, slicing with ease through the black, chitinous appendage that was reaching for him. Whitish blood spurted from the wound and he threw himself to one side, rolling to avoid the spray of deadly acid. Coming up onto his knees with mekleth in one hand and phaser in the other he fired at point blank range into the creature’s gaping maw before scrambling to his feet and moving in for the kill. It screamed, reeling backwards and he fired a second time before slashing at the beast again with the mekleth, the blow severing its outstretched neck and ending its life.
He stood looking down at the creature, feeling both shock and a sense of pride at his achievement. It had been a good fight and he knew he had acquitted himself honourably, even if by his own admission, he had got lucky. The first kill of the hunt was his. The Yautja took trophies, he remembered; it would be appropriate for him to do likewise. It was their custom to keep the skulls of their kills, but the skulls of these creatures were big and heavy. Even if he knew the correct method of removing it without getting acidic blood all over him, it would be too cumbersome for him to carry into battle. He thought for a moment before remembering the spear that his captain was carrying. She’d made it from the tail spike of one of these beasts. That gave him an idea. With a little trimming and polishing and a short handle attached, the tail would make a good knife to be carried with his battle gear. Decision made, he removed his marine issue combat utility knife from its sheath and hacked at the tail, removing the vicious barbed spike and tucking it into his belt.
Trilling their approval, the Predators moved in to assess the dead drone. It appeared to have been hosted by one of the larger carnivorous reptiles that inhabited the nearby river. The creature was indeed formidable.
"Nice one, Colonel! What is that? A fifty point buck?" One of the enlisted soldiers grinned cheekily.
Speares had long since regained his breath but chose not to waste it. A flick of his index finger and a grin sufficed to communicate his response.
"We must move on,” the Yautja Leader growled. “The other drones will scent the kill and come to investigate. We need a better hunting ground if we are to be effective.”
All business now, Speares gave the Predator a nod of acknowledgement. The Hunter was not quite old enough to have earned the title ‘Elite’ but he was nevertheless an experienced and formidable warrior. His name, Speares recalled, was Vor’chak-te, a name that with its resemblance to the Klingon battle ship, was at least easy to remember. "All right guys, you heard the boss, move out."
Despite their laughing and joking the team were well disciplined. Within minutes they were on their way again.
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A New Alliance