Rivers Run Deep
folder
M through R › Predator
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
51
Views:
11,236
Reviews:
31
Recommended:
4
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
M through R › Predator
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
51
Views:
11,236
Reviews:
31
Recommended:
4
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Predator movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 20
==========================================================
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters related to Predator El, other unrelated human characters, and the character names of the predators Imade up, the concept of predator do not belong to me.
Authors Notes: This is a work of Fan fiction. please read on and enjoy.
WARNING: The following work of fiction contains, extream violence, course language (at times), sexual sudgestions, nudety, and explicit sex. If you are
under 18 (or whatever age is appropriate for your location), HIT YOUR
BACK BROWSER BUTTON NOW. If you find explicit sex offensive, please
don't offend yourself by reading further.
Author: Charlotte (jemstone5)
Email: jemstone5
Feedback: Please, yes lots.
Forward to others: would be flattered if you did.
==========================================================
Rivers Run Deep
Chapter 20
Eden, Nirvana, Paradise. Where any of them real? Were any of these supposedly mythically beautiful peaceful places hidden somewhere on a map? She didn’t know. But if she had to choose, the loveliest place she had ever been, it would be here. Sitting in an alien ship, looking out at the sea of stars stretched before her. She could go anywhere, do anything. There were no boundaries here.
Well, maybe one.
Ok, two.
She handed the floating tool back to Ver’On, as he turned in the air once more. They’d been in space for nearly two weeks now, and the gravity plating on the ship gave out. They woke up floating in the middle of the con. The only way they could get to anything that give them purchase to move around, was the tube running from her oxygen mask back to the panel where it was plugged in. From there, Ver’On made sure she was secure, and began tests, and other procedures to track the problem. She could do very little to help, other than hand him tools that slipped away from their floating pile as he worked.
There wasn’t enough length in the hose anymore. When the gravity went off, they were asleep, and the hose had been nicked by a floating knife some three feet away from the panel. Though she could still breathe, with a few coughs now and then, Ver’On had cut away the damaged section, and reconnected the tube. She could no longer move around the cabin as she once had.
The broken mechanism was located in the ceiling, of all places for gravity works to be located. But try as he might, Ver’On just could not get it working again. Another spark went off, and singed the side of his hand. He growled and hissed in frustration, but found himself being lowered in the 0G environment to come face to face with the ooman female he treasured. She looked over the burn, caressing his hand as she did so, giving him her unquestioning confidence that he could figure it out.
If she only knew exactly how much trouble they were in. With the gravity off line, he couldn’t use the hyper jump engines. The inertial dampeners were connected to the gravity works, and when one went down, so did the other. Many newer ships separated the two services, other’s had backups. But his ship was sentimental. This ship of his, was given to him by his mother, who kept it after his father had died. He refused to part with it. Though sometimes, he wished he could. It was in the shop, more than it was in flight. During his solitary hunts before the blue planet, he’d repaired a number of systems, just to keep it running.
He flexed his mandibles, and purred sweetly at her. She reached over and rubbed her fingers under his chin, right below where his mandibles crossed. He loved that, and he closed his eyes to the delighted feeling. She stilled his delighted quivering mandibles, and made him look at her when she stopped. “You can do this,” she assured, her voice muffled through the mask. He pressed her hand closer to his cheek and nodded. She was giving him praise, he knew, and let her go, returning to his work above their heads.
It was about another hour before the gravity came back on, Ver’On easily holding onto the open panel and dropping down so he didn’t land on the female. He looked at her, smiling through the mask on her face, and grunted with pride. He did it, and she clapped for his accomplishment. Alone like this, you had to entertain yourselves somehow, or you’d just go nuts.
Ver’On went back to the con panel, looking over the star charts and time tables. If his calculations were correct, he could meet up with a returning hunting party only a few short jumps from his current position. He only hoped there was a receptive elder aboard to accept his request of return. He looked back to the female, and shook the lap belt on his chair. It was his signal to her to buckle in, and she did. Once both were secure, he set the coordinates, and activated the jump drive. The ship lurched in space, just a little, then zipped off, the stars around them turning to streaks of light as they sailed off through space.
The oomans would never be able to recreate this technology, they barely were even space fairing. Which was one reason why the oomans were the most prized of prey. They had great potential as a species, but they spent far too much time concentrating on their bickering over possessions and who had what rights to the planets resources, to really make it to space. His people had been hunting the oomans for eons, and though they did advance, they found the advancement of the societies, and technology painstakingly slow.
The ship slowed in space, and Ver’On expertly steered the ship around several large asteroids. There was one huge asteroid in particular, where a space station was built. His species had negotiated visitation rights to the station, and agreed that it, and the asteroid field it was located in, would be neutral ground. Any one and any thing in the vicinity was free of being hunted.
It was a remarkable commerce place. Races of all kinds resided here, traveled here to trade, and negotiate with other races. On his last visit, some 180 ooman years prior, the station boasted a compliment of 37 different races, and all could breath the atmosphere. When he asked a methane breather how he could walk around without a breathing apparatus, the alien told him of a wonderful device that allowed them to breath without it. He’d not meant to stop here, but the device would be handy for his ooman, she would then be free of the cumbersome mask. The natural air on the station was also toxic to oomans, so there was no way she’d be able to go with him when he left to get it. He only hoped she’d understand.
He signaled the station, a standard greeting, and the reply was slow in coming. At least he thought so.
“This is Carna Station, to Yautja hunter vessel, you’ve been cleared for landing. Docking port 77, landing pad 9.”
“This is Hunter Vessel, acknowledged,” and he steered the ship to the asteroid.
A while later, once all the lock down preparations were complete, he reinstated the oxygen atmosphere on the vessel, and unhooked the mask for her. At once his throat began to scratch. He connected the tube to the only portable tank he had, filled with his natural air, and turned the dial. His own air flooded to his face, and he breathed easier. El went to unhook the restraints, but he stilled her hand. He pressed his hand to her chest, then pointed to the floor of the ship. When she turned her head in question, he pointed to the mask, then held up one finger. He then pointed to the outside of the ship, then to her, shaking his head no, as he took several deep breaths.
“I won’t be able to breathe? Ok,” she stated. “I’ll stay here,” and she nodded as he left, the ships automatic air field keeping out the toxic gasses of the station’s air.
“I won’t be long,” he told her, and closed the door, securing it with his lock code. He turned to the view port of the ship as she limped to the front to look out. She waved to him, then looked around the hanger.
“Hunter,” came a gruff voice, accompanied by a computer generated voice for him to understand. “Rengal, Station Security. Who’s that?”
Ver’On turned back to his ship, as the female continued to look around. He then turned back with pride, and a puffed up chest as he spoke. “My Mate,” he said. “She can’t breathe the air here. I’ve only one emergency tank, and my mask is damaged.”
Rengal, a methane breathing insect like creature nodded his head, his multi-faceted eyes watching the female in the ship. “What species is she? I’ve not seen her kind before.”
“She is ooman, a fine warrior. She’s lame though, recovering from battle wounds. Tell me, the technician who designs the breathing devices. Where might I find him?”
“Tech level 17. Why?”
“As I said, she can’t breathe the air here. If she had one of those, she could go where she wishes, maybe even see one of your healers while we are here.”
“You will need to trade dearly for one.”
“We will see.”
“Hunter,” Rengal called, as Ver’On began to walk away. “Are there many more females on her planet?”
“You must be getting ready to molt.”
“I am, but still I would ask the same if I were not.”
“There are many more females yes, but not many like her.”
The pair gave a good chuckle as they parted. Ver’On was familiar with Rengal’s species. When the males molted to a larger exoskeleton, they had an increased drive to mate. The female of his species was highly attracted to the scent they produced, and the colonies of the insect’s home world would often be clogged with huge molting males locked in an orgy of mating limbs and antennas. For a young male hunter to study the mating rituals of potential prey, it was quite the sight to see. One his grandfather had offered him the opportunity to take in once. Though at the time, for him, watching bugs mate, was very low on his priority list.
The first stop he made was to the infirmary, to have the healers there take a look at his own wounds to be sure they were healing properly, they drained a few small pockets of infection, and gave him a shot to fight off the infection in his system. He then asked if any were familiar with ooman physiology. One healer had stated that they had oomans in their training back on his planet. Old cadavers that had been collected from the planet, so that they could become familiar with the rapidly advancing species. Though when they failed to become the space goers they foresaw them as, they had dropped that elective in favor of more practical training. He stated he was the last to take the course before that happened.
Ver’On described the kind of wound his ooman had, and the kind of damage he suspected. He also told of how he’d treated them, and what had followed. The healer told him to bring her in on the first opportunity, Ver’On agreed.
His next stop was to the technical repair shop, run by a Yautja, named Sr’lon. He showed him is mask and asked if he could repair it. Sr’lon looked over the two halves, and then looked at the hunter’s face. “Were you wearing this when it was damaged?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because you are damned lucky you still have your eyesight. The circuits in the mask,” and he pointed to an area on the upper half, very close to where the break was, “that control the visual feed, were nearly severed. If that happened, the eye screens would have blown out, taking your retinas along with them. Oddly enough, you don’t have a scar.”
“Yes I do,” and Ver’On drew his attention to his upper right mandible. “Right here. The blade just barely scratched.”
“Damned Lucky!” he huffed. “Who were you battling with?”
“An ooman, very powerful.”
“Don’t make me laugh!”
“It is true,” and he pulled out a holo projector, and turned it on. He’d set his scanners to record the battle, and he had trimmed the image down considerably to optimize the usable storage space in the unit. Sr’lon watched in amazement as the female ooman in the recording sliced off the lower half of his mask, he then turned it off, as he knew the next part of the recording were of her guardians trying to remove her from the fight.
“That was amazing. Is there more?”
“Yes, but the entire battle would be too long to view, and,” he looked behind him at the number of other aliens gathering around in the shop. “You seem to be quite busy.”
“This is true. I’ll tell you what. I will trade you; a new mask, for you to show me the entire battle, and the skull of the kill. It would be a wonderful story to share with the young unbloods who come here with their sires on their way to their first training hunts.”
“I would,” he sighed, tucking the useless mask back into the bag. “But the ooman is still alive.”
“WHAT!!!”
“It is complicated.”
“Do you have her with you? A prisoner at least!”
“Yes.”
“Then the same offer. Only, let me see her. I want to see the ooman who took on, and survived a battle with a Yautja!”
Ver’On thought for a moment. “No battles!” he stated quickly. “She’s still recovering from the battle she fought that night.”
“Deal!” and Sr’lon extended his right hand, his trader’s mark tattooed to the inside of his forearm.
“Deal!” and Ver’On grasped his arm in return. The deal made, Ver’On gave him the useless mask, so that the inner fitting on the new would match his face, and left.
He then went to the technician who made the breathing devices. He was a bit difficult to find. He had to sift through several booths in the main commerce area, before he found him. The creature tuned out to be a Bendling. Similar to oomans in appearance, but their internal physiology was vastly different. They had two three chamber hearts, one would lay dormant, and when the one that was doing the work either became too taxed, or wore out, the other would begin to function, taking over. The creatures were also unisexed, both male and female reproductive organs. They could basically impregnate themselves, which for some, happened quite often. What fun was there in that?
From outward appearances the Bendlings looked male, though when they were carrying their young, they drastically changed in appearance, growing breasts, as their offspring, sometimes five at a time, grew in the womb of the strange creatures. Ver’On regarded the Bendling before him, before he approached. He was tediously putting together the very device he sought. Small, two pronged, and made of inert materials. Strong, yet flexible, so they were comfortable to wear. The only metal involved in their making were in the small circuts deep inside the plastic. “May I assist you Yautja?” the Bendling asked, not even looking up from his, or rather it’s, work.
“My apologies for staring. I’ve not directly encountered a Bendling before.”
“No apologies necessary, I’m used to it by now. But I appreciate it all the same.” The being looked up, removing the glasses from his face, a face that looked all too oomanly male. “What can I do…oh, never mind, I see your problem. I’m sorry, I cannot make one of my devices for your species, your nasal passages are far too small. The circuits wouldn’t fit.”
“One of your devices is what I have come to trade for, but it is not for me. It is for my mate. She is not a Yautja.”
“Oh?” he turned to his monitor, “What is her species?”
“Ooman.”
The Bendling typed. “Nothing, I’m sorry I’ve never encountered an Ooman before.”
“Forgive me, the name of her race is difficult for my species to pronounce properly, may I type?” The Bendling turned the keys over to the hunter, and watched the screen. Ver’On punched in the characters that he knew, and an image of an ooman came to the screen, complete with an image of their home planet, and the exact composition of the purified atmosphere they breathed. “There, that’s her species.”
“Human? I’ve never made one for a human. My goodness, that one is a strapping specimen. Too bad it’s deceased. Well, the good news is, I can make one.”
“The bad news?”
“I need you to take a mould of her inner nasal passages. I can provide you the kit for that.”
“What would you take in trade? I haven’t much, but what I have I will give.”
“Well, there is one thing, and I’m running low on it. You hunters layer a special mineral on the outside of your hunting masks, it makes them harder to dent or scratch. Many hunters have more than one mask, and some of them are damaged. I will trade you the device, for the complete outer layers of one of your masks. I use the mineral in the making of the circuits. So you will be helping me make it for her.”
“You are in luck. I have a new mask being made now. My old one was destroyed. I will have the layers scraped off.”
“Excellent.” The being reached down hand brought up a box. “The instructions are easy to follow. The mould will be made, and you can bring it back to me.”
“Deal?” Ver’On asked, making sure there were no unforeseen additions.
“Deal!” and the Bendling extended his right arm, showing his trader’s mark, and shaking the arm of the hunter.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters related to Predator El, other unrelated human characters, and the character names of the predators Imade up, the concept of predator do not belong to me.
Authors Notes: This is a work of Fan fiction. please read on and enjoy.
WARNING: The following work of fiction contains, extream violence, course language (at times), sexual sudgestions, nudety, and explicit sex. If you are
under 18 (or whatever age is appropriate for your location), HIT YOUR
BACK BROWSER BUTTON NOW. If you find explicit sex offensive, please
don't offend yourself by reading further.
Author: Charlotte (jemstone5)
Email: jemstone5
Feedback: Please, yes lots.
Forward to others: would be flattered if you did.
==========================================================
Rivers Run Deep
Chapter 20
Eden, Nirvana, Paradise. Where any of them real? Were any of these supposedly mythically beautiful peaceful places hidden somewhere on a map? She didn’t know. But if she had to choose, the loveliest place she had ever been, it would be here. Sitting in an alien ship, looking out at the sea of stars stretched before her. She could go anywhere, do anything. There were no boundaries here.
Well, maybe one.
Ok, two.
She handed the floating tool back to Ver’On, as he turned in the air once more. They’d been in space for nearly two weeks now, and the gravity plating on the ship gave out. They woke up floating in the middle of the con. The only way they could get to anything that give them purchase to move around, was the tube running from her oxygen mask back to the panel where it was plugged in. From there, Ver’On made sure she was secure, and began tests, and other procedures to track the problem. She could do very little to help, other than hand him tools that slipped away from their floating pile as he worked.
There wasn’t enough length in the hose anymore. When the gravity went off, they were asleep, and the hose had been nicked by a floating knife some three feet away from the panel. Though she could still breathe, with a few coughs now and then, Ver’On had cut away the damaged section, and reconnected the tube. She could no longer move around the cabin as she once had.
The broken mechanism was located in the ceiling, of all places for gravity works to be located. But try as he might, Ver’On just could not get it working again. Another spark went off, and singed the side of his hand. He growled and hissed in frustration, but found himself being lowered in the 0G environment to come face to face with the ooman female he treasured. She looked over the burn, caressing his hand as she did so, giving him her unquestioning confidence that he could figure it out.
If she only knew exactly how much trouble they were in. With the gravity off line, he couldn’t use the hyper jump engines. The inertial dampeners were connected to the gravity works, and when one went down, so did the other. Many newer ships separated the two services, other’s had backups. But his ship was sentimental. This ship of his, was given to him by his mother, who kept it after his father had died. He refused to part with it. Though sometimes, he wished he could. It was in the shop, more than it was in flight. During his solitary hunts before the blue planet, he’d repaired a number of systems, just to keep it running.
He flexed his mandibles, and purred sweetly at her. She reached over and rubbed her fingers under his chin, right below where his mandibles crossed. He loved that, and he closed his eyes to the delighted feeling. She stilled his delighted quivering mandibles, and made him look at her when she stopped. “You can do this,” she assured, her voice muffled through the mask. He pressed her hand closer to his cheek and nodded. She was giving him praise, he knew, and let her go, returning to his work above their heads.
It was about another hour before the gravity came back on, Ver’On easily holding onto the open panel and dropping down so he didn’t land on the female. He looked at her, smiling through the mask on her face, and grunted with pride. He did it, and she clapped for his accomplishment. Alone like this, you had to entertain yourselves somehow, or you’d just go nuts.
Ver’On went back to the con panel, looking over the star charts and time tables. If his calculations were correct, he could meet up with a returning hunting party only a few short jumps from his current position. He only hoped there was a receptive elder aboard to accept his request of return. He looked back to the female, and shook the lap belt on his chair. It was his signal to her to buckle in, and she did. Once both were secure, he set the coordinates, and activated the jump drive. The ship lurched in space, just a little, then zipped off, the stars around them turning to streaks of light as they sailed off through space.
The oomans would never be able to recreate this technology, they barely were even space fairing. Which was one reason why the oomans were the most prized of prey. They had great potential as a species, but they spent far too much time concentrating on their bickering over possessions and who had what rights to the planets resources, to really make it to space. His people had been hunting the oomans for eons, and though they did advance, they found the advancement of the societies, and technology painstakingly slow.
The ship slowed in space, and Ver’On expertly steered the ship around several large asteroids. There was one huge asteroid in particular, where a space station was built. His species had negotiated visitation rights to the station, and agreed that it, and the asteroid field it was located in, would be neutral ground. Any one and any thing in the vicinity was free of being hunted.
It was a remarkable commerce place. Races of all kinds resided here, traveled here to trade, and negotiate with other races. On his last visit, some 180 ooman years prior, the station boasted a compliment of 37 different races, and all could breath the atmosphere. When he asked a methane breather how he could walk around without a breathing apparatus, the alien told him of a wonderful device that allowed them to breath without it. He’d not meant to stop here, but the device would be handy for his ooman, she would then be free of the cumbersome mask. The natural air on the station was also toxic to oomans, so there was no way she’d be able to go with him when he left to get it. He only hoped she’d understand.
He signaled the station, a standard greeting, and the reply was slow in coming. At least he thought so.
“This is Carna Station, to Yautja hunter vessel, you’ve been cleared for landing. Docking port 77, landing pad 9.”
“This is Hunter Vessel, acknowledged,” and he steered the ship to the asteroid.
A while later, once all the lock down preparations were complete, he reinstated the oxygen atmosphere on the vessel, and unhooked the mask for her. At once his throat began to scratch. He connected the tube to the only portable tank he had, filled with his natural air, and turned the dial. His own air flooded to his face, and he breathed easier. El went to unhook the restraints, but he stilled her hand. He pressed his hand to her chest, then pointed to the floor of the ship. When she turned her head in question, he pointed to the mask, then held up one finger. He then pointed to the outside of the ship, then to her, shaking his head no, as he took several deep breaths.
“I won’t be able to breathe? Ok,” she stated. “I’ll stay here,” and she nodded as he left, the ships automatic air field keeping out the toxic gasses of the station’s air.
“I won’t be long,” he told her, and closed the door, securing it with his lock code. He turned to the view port of the ship as she limped to the front to look out. She waved to him, then looked around the hanger.
“Hunter,” came a gruff voice, accompanied by a computer generated voice for him to understand. “Rengal, Station Security. Who’s that?”
Ver’On turned back to his ship, as the female continued to look around. He then turned back with pride, and a puffed up chest as he spoke. “My Mate,” he said. “She can’t breathe the air here. I’ve only one emergency tank, and my mask is damaged.”
Rengal, a methane breathing insect like creature nodded his head, his multi-faceted eyes watching the female in the ship. “What species is she? I’ve not seen her kind before.”
“She is ooman, a fine warrior. She’s lame though, recovering from battle wounds. Tell me, the technician who designs the breathing devices. Where might I find him?”
“Tech level 17. Why?”
“As I said, she can’t breathe the air here. If she had one of those, she could go where she wishes, maybe even see one of your healers while we are here.”
“You will need to trade dearly for one.”
“We will see.”
“Hunter,” Rengal called, as Ver’On began to walk away. “Are there many more females on her planet?”
“You must be getting ready to molt.”
“I am, but still I would ask the same if I were not.”
“There are many more females yes, but not many like her.”
The pair gave a good chuckle as they parted. Ver’On was familiar with Rengal’s species. When the males molted to a larger exoskeleton, they had an increased drive to mate. The female of his species was highly attracted to the scent they produced, and the colonies of the insect’s home world would often be clogged with huge molting males locked in an orgy of mating limbs and antennas. For a young male hunter to study the mating rituals of potential prey, it was quite the sight to see. One his grandfather had offered him the opportunity to take in once. Though at the time, for him, watching bugs mate, was very low on his priority list.
The first stop he made was to the infirmary, to have the healers there take a look at his own wounds to be sure they were healing properly, they drained a few small pockets of infection, and gave him a shot to fight off the infection in his system. He then asked if any were familiar with ooman physiology. One healer had stated that they had oomans in their training back on his planet. Old cadavers that had been collected from the planet, so that they could become familiar with the rapidly advancing species. Though when they failed to become the space goers they foresaw them as, they had dropped that elective in favor of more practical training. He stated he was the last to take the course before that happened.
Ver’On described the kind of wound his ooman had, and the kind of damage he suspected. He also told of how he’d treated them, and what had followed. The healer told him to bring her in on the first opportunity, Ver’On agreed.
His next stop was to the technical repair shop, run by a Yautja, named Sr’lon. He showed him is mask and asked if he could repair it. Sr’lon looked over the two halves, and then looked at the hunter’s face. “Were you wearing this when it was damaged?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because you are damned lucky you still have your eyesight. The circuits in the mask,” and he pointed to an area on the upper half, very close to where the break was, “that control the visual feed, were nearly severed. If that happened, the eye screens would have blown out, taking your retinas along with them. Oddly enough, you don’t have a scar.”
“Yes I do,” and Ver’On drew his attention to his upper right mandible. “Right here. The blade just barely scratched.”
“Damned Lucky!” he huffed. “Who were you battling with?”
“An ooman, very powerful.”
“Don’t make me laugh!”
“It is true,” and he pulled out a holo projector, and turned it on. He’d set his scanners to record the battle, and he had trimmed the image down considerably to optimize the usable storage space in the unit. Sr’lon watched in amazement as the female ooman in the recording sliced off the lower half of his mask, he then turned it off, as he knew the next part of the recording were of her guardians trying to remove her from the fight.
“That was amazing. Is there more?”
“Yes, but the entire battle would be too long to view, and,” he looked behind him at the number of other aliens gathering around in the shop. “You seem to be quite busy.”
“This is true. I’ll tell you what. I will trade you; a new mask, for you to show me the entire battle, and the skull of the kill. It would be a wonderful story to share with the young unbloods who come here with their sires on their way to their first training hunts.”
“I would,” he sighed, tucking the useless mask back into the bag. “But the ooman is still alive.”
“WHAT!!!”
“It is complicated.”
“Do you have her with you? A prisoner at least!”
“Yes.”
“Then the same offer. Only, let me see her. I want to see the ooman who took on, and survived a battle with a Yautja!”
Ver’On thought for a moment. “No battles!” he stated quickly. “She’s still recovering from the battle she fought that night.”
“Deal!” and Sr’lon extended his right hand, his trader’s mark tattooed to the inside of his forearm.
“Deal!” and Ver’On grasped his arm in return. The deal made, Ver’On gave him the useless mask, so that the inner fitting on the new would match his face, and left.
He then went to the technician who made the breathing devices. He was a bit difficult to find. He had to sift through several booths in the main commerce area, before he found him. The creature tuned out to be a Bendling. Similar to oomans in appearance, but their internal physiology was vastly different. They had two three chamber hearts, one would lay dormant, and when the one that was doing the work either became too taxed, or wore out, the other would begin to function, taking over. The creatures were also unisexed, both male and female reproductive organs. They could basically impregnate themselves, which for some, happened quite often. What fun was there in that?
From outward appearances the Bendlings looked male, though when they were carrying their young, they drastically changed in appearance, growing breasts, as their offspring, sometimes five at a time, grew in the womb of the strange creatures. Ver’On regarded the Bendling before him, before he approached. He was tediously putting together the very device he sought. Small, two pronged, and made of inert materials. Strong, yet flexible, so they were comfortable to wear. The only metal involved in their making were in the small circuts deep inside the plastic. “May I assist you Yautja?” the Bendling asked, not even looking up from his, or rather it’s, work.
“My apologies for staring. I’ve not directly encountered a Bendling before.”
“No apologies necessary, I’m used to it by now. But I appreciate it all the same.” The being looked up, removing the glasses from his face, a face that looked all too oomanly male. “What can I do…oh, never mind, I see your problem. I’m sorry, I cannot make one of my devices for your species, your nasal passages are far too small. The circuits wouldn’t fit.”
“One of your devices is what I have come to trade for, but it is not for me. It is for my mate. She is not a Yautja.”
“Oh?” he turned to his monitor, “What is her species?”
“Ooman.”
The Bendling typed. “Nothing, I’m sorry I’ve never encountered an Ooman before.”
“Forgive me, the name of her race is difficult for my species to pronounce properly, may I type?” The Bendling turned the keys over to the hunter, and watched the screen. Ver’On punched in the characters that he knew, and an image of an ooman came to the screen, complete with an image of their home planet, and the exact composition of the purified atmosphere they breathed. “There, that’s her species.”
“Human? I’ve never made one for a human. My goodness, that one is a strapping specimen. Too bad it’s deceased. Well, the good news is, I can make one.”
“The bad news?”
“I need you to take a mould of her inner nasal passages. I can provide you the kit for that.”
“What would you take in trade? I haven’t much, but what I have I will give.”
“Well, there is one thing, and I’m running low on it. You hunters layer a special mineral on the outside of your hunting masks, it makes them harder to dent or scratch. Many hunters have more than one mask, and some of them are damaged. I will trade you the device, for the complete outer layers of one of your masks. I use the mineral in the making of the circuits. So you will be helping me make it for her.”
“You are in luck. I have a new mask being made now. My old one was destroyed. I will have the layers scraped off.”
“Excellent.” The being reached down hand brought up a box. “The instructions are easy to follow. The mould will be made, and you can bring it back to me.”
“Deal?” Ver’On asked, making sure there were no unforeseen additions.
“Deal!” and the Bendling extended his right arm, showing his trader’s mark, and shaking the arm of the hunter.