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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.

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As his father moved forward to walk along side the Klingon female, Kihr’yende stepped into place behind him, Da’rian at his side. Both Predators were watchful and wary in this unfamiliar environment and ready to protect their Elder from even the slightest threat. They had been on board the Ooman ship only a few minutes and already things were not going according to plan.

He was a ship’s captain though and despite his distrust, he could not completely repress his curiosity. This vessel was nothing like his Yeyinde and he was looking forward to seeing more of it. If he was lucky, he would also get a chance to visit the nearby Klingon vessel as well. Its exterior configuration was very different to the Federation ship, its lines sleek and menacing and it seemed to him that the two had little in common. What, he wondered, had brought the two races together as allies?

The doors that led from the shuttle bay into the rest of the ship seemed to be set at a ridiculously low height and all three Predators were forced to duck in order to pass through them. The necessity was annoying to Kihr’yende, serving only to remind him how pathetically tiny these creatures were. He bit back a growl. They might have advanced technology but they were prey and nothing more.

The thought was unproductive and he shoved it aside, concentrating on the here and now. He understood the reasons for the treaty, knew why his father and the other clan elders had taken this unprecedented decision.

The corridors of the ship seemed plain and featureless to the tall Predator. He was accustomed to the highly ornate carvings that covered the interior of his ship. Intending to check for danger, he touched a control on his wrist panel, cycling through the various vision modes his mask offered. Of the various options available, he had always found the heat sensitive mode to be the best supplement to his natural vision, allowing him to detect the body heat of a potential enemy long before that enemy was in visual range. On this occasion though he found it was not a good choice. The view was extremely distorted, full of interference and painful to his eyes. It was caused, he guessed, by the backlighting to the display panels and the poorly shielded power conduits that appeared to run the length of the corridors. Wincing he switched back to a more normal vision mode.

One of the information panels on the wall caught the Elder’s attention and he stopped for a moment to study it. Raising a clawed finger he touched the display. “Explain this.”

Kihr’yende watched carefully as the Ooman whom he had been told was the commander of this vessel, stepped closer to the wall panel and gesturing towards the diagrams, began to answer the Elder’s question. The schematics of the ship intrigued him and he listened with great interest to the explanation.

*****

The security guards hurried along the empty corridor, checking each side junction as they went. Their orders were to ensure that the passages between the shuttle-bay and the conference rooms were clear. The Klingon General did not want any trouble with the first contact negotiations. All non essential personnel were to be kept out of the way for their own safety.

O’Henry shivered. He couldn’t dispute that order. He’d seen the… the… what was it they were called? Yautja? Yes, that was it. They were huge, they looked mean and dangerous and he wondered uncomfortably what lay hidden beneath the masks. He wasn’t xenophobic, he was a Starfleet officer after all and meeting new races was part of the job, part of what he’d signed up for. But something about this one scared him.

“Cold?”

He glanced at his colleague. He’d served with Rossi for several years, since the other man had come on board Endeavour as a raw recruit. He knew him well and had even been best man at his wedding a few months back to a pretty ensign on the Starbase. “No, just… thinking about them.”

“Them?” Rossi looked confused for a moment, then his expression cleared as he realised what his friend was talking about. “Oh… you mean those new aliens?”

“Yeah, the Yautja,” O’Henry said, “I don’t like the look of them. Mark my words Rossi, those… those things… are dangerous. There’s going to be trouble.”

Rossi laughed, “You worry too much, Peachy.”

O’Henry grunted at the ridiculous nickname that Rossi had given him. While it was silly, even mildly annoying, there was a good story behind it. Born and bred in Dublin he was as Irish as they came, but it was still true that the family name was not authentic. Typically American, his great grandparents, Thomas and Elizabeth Henry had always been very proud of their Irish heritage. That was to say, he thought in amusement, their own great grandparents had probably bought a pint of Guinness in the Irish Pub in Central New York. Certainly, they’d never been anywhere near Ireland. But in a bid to discover their ‘Irish roots’ the family had moved to Dublin. On the birth of their son, a slightly drunken Thomas had gone to register the birth and in a misguided bid to solidify his new son’s Irishness, had added the ‘O’ onto the family name.

That was bad enough, but then he’d met Rossi. The son and grandson of Italian fruit farmers, Rossi had gleefully pointed out that not only was O’Henry not a proper Irish name, it was also a variety of peach. Since the grapevine on board a starship seemed to operate at a speed well beyond warp ten, word had quickly got round and he’d been stuck with the stupid name ever since.

Ridiculous as it was, the name did not really bother O’Henry. There were worse things his colleagues could call him. Most of them had nicknames; it sort of went with the job. Feigning annoyance, he good-naturedly shoved at the smaller Italian, sending him staggering a couple of paces before regaining his balance.

Satisfied at having successfully needled his friend, Rossi grinned before turning his mind back to more practical matters. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do, let’s get a move on and finish checking these corridors. We’re running late as it is.”

The Irishman nodded “Yeah, don’t need any problems,” he grumbled. “It’s bad enough with the captain in control… now she’s gone and we’ve got that Klingon General in charge.” In actual fact O’Henry did not have any issues with his captain. She might be bad tempered and a strict disciplinarian but she was also fair and that was fine with him. Like most of the crew he was worried and stressed about her sudden disappearance. It had put them all on edge, especially with it happening at such a critical time.

“She’s not as bad as some of them,” Rossi said, “Least she’s spent time in a Federation fleet, she knows how we do things in Starfleet.” Nevertheless, he picked up his pace. O’Henry was right, they didn’t need trouble.

Still talking as they reached the junction at the end of the corridor, they turned towards the passageway that would take them back to the conference rooms. Neither man registered the presence of the ambassadorial group and its escort until it was too late. Looking back to answer Rossi, O’Henry came round the corner slightly ahead of his friend and ran straight into one of the huge aliens he had seen in the shuttle-bay.
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A New Alliance