Let The Games Begin..

~*~*~*~*

Di’Sha felt like he was a suckling again, being hefted, dragged and then plonked unceremoniously wherever the ooman decided to put him. He would give it that it was remarkably strong; there were thousands of stories that said how weak, feeble and dishonourable oomans were but this one was neither weak nor feeble. It was most yautja in its intensity. The rest of the hunting party were talking amongst themselves, every now and then he would move but there would always be a harder press of what felt like mini knifes against his throat.

There was ooman talk infecting his eardrums; Cuba? Apone? He was further irked when it became apparent that the humans had suddenly stopped talking and were now acting as if resigned to something. Resigned to being dishonourable Pauking scum, Di’Sha said to himself. Whatever those little knifes were made of they felt sharper than his own shuriken that was honed on a daily basis to perfection.

“The ooman ship is being assimilated as we speak, Di’Sha. Once these know that their others have surrendered they will let you go little brother or have you finally found a female that is content to not kick you out of her clutches?”

Di’Sha growled loudly at H’tch’s running commentary.

Damn him. Damn him to the foulest hard meat infested hole in hell and no weaponry. His growl was cut short yet again as the crazy ooman holding him roughly shook him and pressed her blades deeper into his neck, this time he felt them drawing blood. Filthy soft meat! Spreading his mandibles and letting loose a roar he struggled again, he was not however expecting to be half flung away. Spinning around with intent to take the skull of the ooman scum, all of them if needed he gave a surprised bark when he was yet away flung away, this time by a blast of red hot air.

The explosion was louder than anything else and it had not just flung Di’Sha out of the way.

Di’Sha felt a flicker of amusement at the sight of H’tch getting to his feet. He listened to the angry voices of his hunting party but kept his back to them. The oomans had somehow given the wall a mini version of what they called ‘The Kiss Of Midnight’ and had escaped through the hole. He could tell from his elder brothers posture and the way his hands kept fisting that the oomans had managed to run far enough quickly enough to be out of scanning range.

He heard H’tch speak and if he had been human, a full-blown shit-eating grin would have been on his face. The prey would return to their ship and it would be there that he, Di’Sha would have his honor restored.

~*~

Vasquez wasn’t sure how they managed it but the ruse had worked perfectly. She had primed, tossed and then dived along with the others and the hostage had been thrown in front of them. Chase had gotten them through the hole and had insisted on full flight running for what seemed like hours. The kid hadn’t even broken a sweat while she, Hudson and Johner were dripping and breathing like steam locomotives. They headed for the main town and kept mingling with the populace; each looking for a sign of their new friends.

It didn’t help that ever sound had her hackles up and reaching for an imaginary but equally well wished for smart gun. The Betty was not in the main dock; seeing such a battle scared cruiser would only bring up questions at an outpost like this so they had landed on the outer reaches and there was no one ever around which was probably why the ship was under fire. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, she mused. The A.I just sounded off and truthfully she couldn’t see Call or Vriess or even Ripley giving in under a firefight.

Still, the thought had her speeding up her gait in an effort to match that of the kid who was almost furiously pounding pavement ahead and kept swinging round with a look of irritation of her elfin features. Vasquez pushed herself harder, shouting at Johner to move his fat ass and swearing at Hudson to start ‘humping like the Marine he used to be’ earned her a rare smile which she returned. They were close now, over the top of this tarmac hell hill and it was plain sailing. The proud Latino did not see Chase suddenly crouch and become still. When she reached her, her eyes widened but she remained silent. Hudson had no such scruples.

“Oh shit..”

~*~*~*~*

Oh shit was right. None of them, not even the kid had been in the right frame of mind to take notice of the gunfire that was currently being expended. Ripley, Call, Vriess were on one side, what look liked Hicks and the silly trio of new age hippies that passed for wannabe marines on the other, guns blazing while the ships tactical target turrets were also laying down their own brand of justice. A large looming shape was hovering near the ship and from the belly of this beast other looming hulks similar to the thing that Chase had attempted to take apart were dropping to the ground, sending slivers of metal blazing and what appeared to be some kind of raw plasma in the direction of the Betty.

Vasquez took in the scene with a trained eye. Her crew, Ripley, Call, Vriess, Hicks and the new civvies were held tighter than a tick’s ass. Mores the problem, hulking reinforcement were also probably coming up from behind them, ready to stick the Kid, Hudson, Johner and herself up everyone else’s ass. Splendid.

“Holy shit. How the fuck, THE FUCK are we supposed to get through those things, man?”

Growling at him to be silent Vasquez motioned for silence. They were outnumbered, that was obvious. Upon hearing a soft but rapid beeping Hudson clutched his head and cursed again, this time Vasquez did not catch it.

“You see a way in, Kid? Companies coming and after the ass kicking and the leaving present I don’t think we wannabe here, yo.”

Vasquez watched the kid, not by a muscle did she betray what was on her mind. The same placid expression adorned her pixie features but she could tell from the eyes that she was focused. Focus was what they needed as they sure as shit could not out run whatever had Hudson excited and they did not have a hope in hell of being the Calvary and offering some friendly assistance down below.

“The left. Not many of them. Take their weapons. Straight through.”

Vasquez craned her head and looked where the kid had pointed out and sure as shit she could just make out a few hazy shapes. If she had not of had them pointed out she would not of seen them. Sneaky sumbitches. Grinning wolfishly she slapped out at Hudson, eyes bright and pulled Johner closer.

“To the left, three maybe four. Hard and fast and easy money, take what they are attempting to fry our asses with and get to the ship. Somehow automate take off proceed and get our asses the fuck outta this particular kitchen. Amigas, ready?”

“This is a bad idea, man. We ain’t got shit to throw at these mother fuckers.. and I ain’t risking my asshole. Fuck that, bitch..”

Johner folded his arms and then with eyes wide backed up as the kid reached for him. He heard a whirring sound and before he hit the deck saw some spiked object with his name in it slam into the wall where his head had been parked. Eyes rolling with anger, Johner picked up the first thing he could lay his hands on and spinning hefted in the direction where that spinning piece of shit had come from. Hearing a cross between a dog growling and something else he couldn’t name he grinned and offered the finger salute.

“Stop clowning man, they up our asses enough!”

Johner ignored Hudson and kept throwing the odd sizable piece of junk metal or rock that managed to find their way into his paw. It was only a second later when he made a strangled sound that was so un-Johner like in timbre and quality that both Vasquez and Chase spun around to see what had him so upset. The things. The things were pounding pavement behind them and Johner was past them both before the order could be given. Following, almost gazelle like in her approach to the sliding dirty the kid hoped from parapet to dirt and back to parapet before heading up their almost suicidal charge into the backs of three of the hulking menaces.

Vasquez, if she would have had the time would of praised the kid for her hand to hand, and nothing could take away the pleasure at seeing a human hand snaking round the throat of one of the hulking brutes quickly slamming it down the ground, clearing a way through the trio while they ran at top speed. Within seconds Hudson and her had cleared the make shift barricade of supply boxes and other random cargo that was slowly being blasted to bits and slapped palms with Hicks. Crinkling her nose she could smell that the waiflike civilian fighter that went by the name of Riggs had pissed himself. Picking up his fallen weapon and a few clicks later she was spinning and laying down fire in a rain formation on the alien group that was firing on them.

Chase had cleared the boxes before the others and had half vaulted herself in a few flips to Ripley’s side. She felt her mother suddenly drag her down and marvelled at the fact that her mother had felt the blast, not merely saw it. She hadn’t noticed that one of the aliens had fired in her direction. Slanting her gaze under her mother’s arm she saw Call blasting a plasma rifle the way that they had come.

The Yautja horde descended upon the Betty with out mercy; soon all that was left of the once pristine wings, wings and alloy body were smoking charred holes. Their powerful plasma casters had already taken out three of those they hunted; their orders were recovery but if that was impossible then they would preserve themselves.

Eight of the oomans were left.

They had dug themselves in amongst the charred remains of their spaceship which gave the hunters a tactical advantage, the oomans were completely cut off.
.
~*~*~*~*
Great.

FUCK.

Angrily Hudson pounded his boots and then his fists into the weirdo prison cell that him and the others had been bundled into. Fucking aliens and their fucked up shit, man. It wasn’t enough that the Betty was fucked, most of the newbie civvies were also fucked and DEAD and they were all nursing their own particular hurts. There had been the firefight, then the lines had broken and hell arrived. An explosion and then some kinda nerve gas was thrown and then they were caught in the crossfire escaping.

From the moment that Hudson’s feet touched the ground in that suicidal charge he knew without a doubt that some bad shit was going down. His throat had caught when the Betty’s engines were targeted and shot to shit. If he hadn’t of stopped it a whimper would of escaped from his throat when the auto turrets went next and the whatever the fuck they were started to swarm them. The sight of seeing one of the new civvies being picked up, hefted and then slung as easily as he would do to a sandbag was unnerving as fuck. The way they seemingly worked as a unit, like him, Vasquez and Hicks did with the others back in the day made it obvious that even with unlimited ammo there goose was most certainly cooked.

Somehow the things had turned into gymnasts, vaulting, leaping around the place like something of their size and bulk should not be able to accomplish. Within minutes Johner, him and Hicks were on their asses. Vriess was disabled. Call and Ripley were surrounded and being made to move and the kid and Vasquez were having none of it and were busy fighting tooth and nail despite Ripley and Call foaming at the mouth and screaming at them to not resist. It gave him a little bit of woo hoo knowing that they both managed to get rid of some of whatever the hell they managed to piss off before one of them damn near broke the weird spear thing over the kids head; repeatedly and almost impaled the same item in Vasquez for their trouble.

Hudson shuddered at the memory of the sickening cracks and crunches that both of them had taken. The punishment was so… Hell he couldn’t even describe the wrongness. The kid was one thing; he knew that she could take a beating, get knocked around and then get up and stuff whoever did it up someone else’s ass. The things had really gone to town but in a way he guessed that it had to in order for them to survive. Knocking off his futile but stress believing tactic of attempting to knock a hole in the wall Hudson took a look at all that was left of the group.

Call and Ripley were with the kid who still hadn’t woken up. Grimacing as he saw the already blue and purple skin heralding the onset of mass bruising and helpfully the worst of the cosmetic wounds and slashing had already started to knit together and guessed that what had them both worried was the injuries that they couldn’t see. Stopping his mindless pacing he turned and looked at Hicks who was gingerly tending to Vasquez.

The small latino like the kid had a range of wounds. A waspish looking cut adorned her brow and her face was blood stained and dirty. Blood at some point had oozed freely where she had almost been run through. Johner was now sat with Vriess with his head in his giant mitts. Resisting to urge to go back to pacing Hudson strode toward them both and slid down the wall.

Jesus H Christ.

~*~

Elder Jo’ein surveyed the holding cell where the troublesome oomans were residing. Six of his blooded warriors were dead; having followed the way of the warrior they had died a good death. A large handful of his blooded might as well be living in the infirmary. His own sons, his sons who he had trained for every eventuality had not escaped without injury. His eldest H’tch, his mightiest that was first amongst his hunters was nursing wounds from oomans meagre weaponry. His youngest Di’Sha looked as through he had been dropped into a fighting pit unarmed.

He had been surprised at Di’Sha’s injuries and at the story he had been told. Looking through the holding glass his gaze rested on the small bundle being cradled by a tall ooman female and tended to by others. It was obviously its mother, and like a good parent it had fought tooth and nail when cornered. It like it’s young was surprising. The mother had turned almost feral when its young had been contained.

Clicking a mandible in thought the big yautja could not fathom how his warriors had taken such a beating. It was similar to walking into a hive, both mandibles turned up in a greeting while proceeding to obliterate the egg chamber and then attempting to get walk out. Narrowing his yellow brown eyes he looked back to the almost touching scene. Considering the size of it, the youngling should have not been able to tangle with a yautja warrior, let alone inflict damage like it had. None of the oomans should have been able to best any of his kind. His eyes hooded as he brooded over the footage that was recorded during both recon and capture. Things most definitely were not right..

Flicking a few of his greying dreadlocks over an impressively muscled shoulder he looked over the other captives. Eight had survived their final assault. One, an older male was sat in some kind of conveyance. Two of the other males were pacing while one was assisting another female with an impressive slash wound that should of rendered her incapable of movement. This particular female had managed to fling some foul ooman weapon at the group headed by him, the resulting explosion killing two of his best instantly and half killing another. The other female was tending the youngling with the larger ooman female, obviously an alpha in cooing to it.

For oomans, they had performed exemplary. In their drive for victory they should have been born yautja. A low cry had him chittering in sympathy for the feral youngling that was obviously being poked and prodded. H’tch had worked it over very badly. The little ooman did not give his son much choice and H’tch would bear the scars of their combat. H’tch had broken his bakuub spear over the females head when it had blindly charged him, obviously in temper. When it had gotten to its feet again, it had tried to assist its mother who had been contained. Another blow to the head and it had succumbed to oblivion. With the more elite of the groups’ fighters gone, the rest fell easily.

Five of the oomans had been killed; their skulls he had not allowed to be taken. Over zealousness or necessity Jo’ein did not care to contemplate. There were enough left to interrogate. Pressing a button on his arm guards he contacted the ships medic. Moment later, a trilled greeting implied he had been connected.

“Zion, The universal communicators are ready?”

Jo’ein barked his question. He was impatient. He wanted answers as to why the oomans would descend on a backwater planet and obviously engage the hard meats. There were tales of hard meats descending on oomans, and none of them ended in happily ever after. There was only one species that had the balls to take on the hard meat prey and that was the Yautja, the mightiest of warriors and the supreme hunter elite. A moment later and the medical officer strode into the viewing port clutching small transmitters.

It was necessary to sometimes communicate with other life forms; the yautja weren’t stupid they were merely select as to what they chose to reveal themselves to. Oomans were not usually on the list. Jo’ein nodded cordially to Zion and grasped his shoulder in thanks. A sudden commotion in the holding cells perked the medic’s attention. The oomans were attempting to hold the feisty small female down to the floor.

“…Chase..? Wake up sweetheart..”

“..Ripley, wake her up. She can’t go to sleep.. Johner…convulsions!! Need…blunt instrument.. pressure...head..”

Zion, twitched his mandibles. The oomans were obviously having trouble healing one of their own. Typical of their species, he thought to himself, easy for them to get into trouble and for them to meet Cetanu. Unless he asked his leader if he could heal the youngling, it would probably die. He could tell from the scene that was happening it had sustained a head injury of some kind and needed to be heavily sedated until the swelling stopped. It probably had internal bleeding along its puny brain also. Releasing an annoyed grunt he turned to Jo’ein.

“Elder, the oomans have not the brains to heal one of their own. It may assist in your endeavours if this one is healed. Make them more wiling. They are like cattle, kindness and they follow you anywhere.”

Jo’ein nodded thoughtfully. The tall female was obviously their leader and he had seen how it fawned over its young. If Zion was right and it made them more congenial what was wrong with the old fart healing a tiny ooman. It would be guarded and restrained obviously. He grunted and nodded, showing his agreement. Calling for his own personal bodyguards to flank him he stepped into the holding cell, part of him pleased when the occupants all seemed to shrink into themselves.

“Take the young female to the medical lab and take the other small female with you. Guard them at all times, doors to be locked. Restrain only.”

Jo’ein gestured as he spoke aware that all his prisoners heard were clicks, thrills and grunts. As expected his eyes brightened when the alpha female stood in a flourish, instantly taking offence when her young was approached. It was then that he decided to allow small liberties. He spoke in their language.

“Young. Hurt. Fix. Soon.”

“Holy.. Did that thing just speak English?”

Ignoring a now seemingly awake pack of oomans, he spun round after delivering as much as he was going to in their primitive earth speak, individually calling off his guards, not expecting a scuffle. Rounding on his prisoners with a particular angry growl that sent damned near all of bodyguards to their knees in deference he spied the cause. So, the other small adult ooman was the cause was it? Striding towards the surrounded group he barked another growl, sending his men from their knees in a flourish training their shoulder canons.

Call stood her ground. No alien was going to push her or any of those she choose to protect around. Slitting her eyes and letting her mouth fall into an unforgiving line she again pushed at the nearest guard that was attempting to scoop up Chase.

“I said back off! Got cloth ears, pal?”

Grunting with the effort she again managed to push another back while systematically attempting to keep Ripley and herself from being blasted by the very powerful weaponry. Eyeing what was obviously the head dick in charge and noting how angry he appeared at being detained. The guttural choking sounds and the bird like trilling was obviously their language; cocking her head at the unfamiliar sounds Call narrowed her eyes wishing that she knew what was going on. It appeared that the leader was coming to a decision.

Looking over her shoulder at Ripley she wasn’t quick enough in her reflexes when she was uncouthly yanked out of the way and then flung. Having been spun, dragged and then flicked away like a bit of paper and having managed to come to her feet Call saw Ripley start to charge and then come to a stop, eyes wide in her pale face. A moment passed before she fell to her knees, crumpling in upon herself. Calling out to the others when they came to their feet Call made herself clear. Move and we will probably end dead.

“Stay cool.. Is Ripley breathing?”

“Yeah man. Shallow but pulse is there. Must of knocked her out with this.”

Craning her neck attempting to look at what Hicks was waving which was damned near impossible with the hulking and uglies standing in front of her blocking the way. Sighing in frustration she wiped at her face. Why she had to be made with realistic human bodily functions she would never understand. She hated sweating. The sensation was disgusting. Keeping her voice steady, as it appeared their hosts became excited when they were raised.

“We’ll go along with what they want for now, ok? Just stay cool see what they…”

Call did not get to finish her sentence as one of those dear hulking uglies un ceremoniously grabbed her by the scruff and yanked her so hard that she was forced to follow in order to stay on her feet. Hearing the angry voices of her shipmates she did something she never ever did before. She prayed.

~*~

Call had been half dragged by one of whatever the fuck they were for long enough, had seen her little Chase be tossed like a sack of potatoes for long enough as well. Wrenching her arm from left to right she began to struggle, but even her motorised strength didn’t seem to phase the things. She was unceremoniously dumped and landed hard against the grilled metal floor. Looking up, an un-armoured son of a bitch was hovering over the child. Call saw red. Fury at the sight of Chase, lying there with faint trickles of blood from what were horrendous wounds before her alien healing kicked in and then at the sight of her small form being pawed at was suddenly released.

“Get your hands off of her, you fucking sadist!”

Call stood there, her fists clenched, not caring that she was outnumbered. The unfamiliar birdlike calls and growls were obviously their language but she did not have the knowledge to understand it. Her mouth set with a grim line Call approached the table unchallenged. The thing was still running its hands over the kid despite her warnings. Looking around she worked out where she was. It was some kind of alien medical room.

There were instruments everywhere, housed in metal casings and pots adorned every surface, screens obviously showing life signs hung here and there also. Where they going to help? What the fuck did they want for doing so? They had gone through an awful lot of trouble to capture them, despite them killing some of the crew, but they had spared the rest. Looking down at a small lifeless hand that was usually grabbing at things that she was working on she felt worry. Why do they care what happens to you? Do they know… about you and Ripley, the government’s involvement with the aliens?

A low clutter followed by a metallic hum had her looking curiously at the large alien. He obviously knew what he was doing and looking around it was further more obvious he had been tending injuries since they had been taken aboard. Her robotic senses told her hours ago that they had left the planet and instead or orbiting were travelling through space. Where were they going? Why were they going? Were the two continuous questions flittering about in her matrix.

Why.

Holding a small hand between hers, if she could have she would of paled at the feeling of dropping temperature she was picking up. A simulated event happened. Something caught in her throat. The kid was not all right, she didn’t think a couple of bandages and she would be slinking around the ship again was going to cut it. This guy… did he know what the fuck he was doing?

Zion watched with frustration when the strange smelling female marched towards him and questioned him. He understood what she asked and was puzzled. It was obvious that the small female that he was healing was not a genetic relative; their scents were very different. This female obviously worked with machines and technology. She had the expression for it. Zion found haughty females an annoyance and never took pleasure in being sought out by one at a clan gathering or on home world.

He had not the patience to butter them up for a quick rut or the inclination to purr poems at them. He noted that whatever the females shared must be strong when the mouthy one picked up the smaller hand. His examination lead him to an easy conclusion, if albeit a puzzling one. Its surface wounds were already knitting if not already knitted, there were various traumas on its surface skin but they would heal and now it was sedated the swelling in its brain would be healed in a matter of moments. Ooman physiology was similar to their own, he mused, half with morbid fascination the other clinical fortitude.

The main hatchway opened behind him, clicking angrily that he did not have the time or the inclination to treat anyone else at this moment he swung round with a roar, which he quickly swallowed. The elder’s mightiest progeny stood in the doorway. Zion regarded H’tch with a baleful eye. Now he had another distraction in his work place.

“You may not enter son of Jo’ein. I am working on a patient and as you can see I have my hands full with more than one ooman at present. Come back later if you have already made a mockery of my healing skill.”

H’tch ignored the healer; more intent on the being that was laid out on the examination table. He noted that another small female moved in an agitated fashion at his appearance. That one had been there when he had blocked his brother from taking the fallen young females skull. H’tch flared his mandibles when the female made to block his sight. He had unfinished business with the little female that appeared to be comfortably unconscious by his hand. He stepped forward and looked down at the table.

“The ooman will survive, Healer Zion?”

Chittered laughter followed by a collection of snorts had the conscious female dancing with alarm.

“Yes it will live. She will wake soon. I hear the oomans gave you warrior elite something special. They, according to Larvix’na fight like the bogey men.”

Pausing beside his perfectly ordered pain blockers, syringe in hand the healer half paused. Why was H’tch here? He had set his arm, wrapped his ribs and taken care of the burns to his hands. Returning to the tablet and ignoring the silly oomans gasp when he went to slide the needle into his newest patient he then turned to gaze at the readings. Seeing and immediate improvement he removed the needle and blinked.

What the pauk..?

The needle was half gone. Looking down at the small puncture wound he wondered if he had been over rough in the insertion but seeing no more that faint spots of blood he realised that he could not of broken the tip, it would be protruding and he most certainly would of heard the snap. Zion looked at the female who was seemingly gazing at him and then gazing at the remaining needlepoint. Noting that she looked nervous all of a sudden but also remembering the elder’s son was still hovering kept his mandibles shut. Flicking the switch on his translator unit and attaching it to his neck, near his vocal chords the aged healer fixed the female with a stern look.

“Patient. Healing. Must not… be running?”

Call blinked when a gravely voice started speaking in English. Eyeing the almost invisible box that had half embedded itself into greying flesh on its neck. A translator. Nodding her head, she discovered she wanted to thank whatever it was.

“Thank you. From me and her mother.”

Call continued to chatter every now and again, noting that while the healer answered in the broken gravely English the big one by the door had yet to say anything. She was about to initiate conversation, as it was obvious that they all could when she felt it. Looking down at her joined hands she felt it again, the sensation of slender fingers wiggling. A smile coming to her face Call rested a hand on top of the kid’s head, happy.

Chase lazily took a deep breath and instantly caught a whiff of the flowery scent that she associated with Call. There was no scent of Mother or any of the others but there was that sweet stench again. She felt like she was floating in a sea of the stuff that Call used to feed her before being banished to a secure corner in her mothers room. What was it called? Warm milk? She was lying on something hard, that told her that she was no where familiar as she would not fall asleep on something uncomfortable; not that she did not enjoy spending time hiding and pouncing on Johner or Vriess from an air vent or stair railing when the inclination struck.

She moved and she wished she hadn’t. Before she could stop herself, a low groan went galloping out of her mouth. She felt a hand, and instantly realised that she was right – Call was here. Another cool hand attached itself to her brow, it didn’t feel or smell like Call or anyone that she knew and thus she swotted at it, causing another pitiful sound to come out unbidden. A chittery choppy sound was uttered to her left. Groaning again she opened her eyes and blinked.

It took a while for her vision to clear and when they did her eyes flew open with shock. There was a thing by her head!

“Errrmf…!”

Sitting upright did nothing for her mood. The instant she was at a 90degree angle a symphony of pain shot up and down every single nerve ending, danced along her brain, whirled around and bit and then went off back below only to start again. She felt someone familiar this time touch her forehead and she unscrewed her eyes. Call.

“Chasey…Chase? Can you hear me? Jesus you gave us quite the scare.”

Chase gave her a watery smile and noted how the small act made Calls eyes shine brighter and how she suddenly became easier. Hmm, the more she wiggled and moved the easier the pain and the strange heavy sensation went away. Blinking her green eyes and flexing her hands and toes she took another deep sniff of the air and stared at the thing.. No things that were stood near the table. Call did not seemed overly stressed out and there was not a trace of any of the others blood on the air. What the fuck did they want? Hmm.. Fuck. I must have picked that up from Hudson. Shaking herself, Chase kept her eyes on them staring at them right back.

“Not broken, Call.”

“Yeah Kiddo, not broken. Now, no sudden movements, you were beat up courtesy of Mr. Asshole over there quite badly, Chase.. Are you listening to me? CHASE! Are you all right? Jesus! Don’t do that to me, Kid. When they put us back going to have a hard enough time talking to Ripley.”

Chase had not been listening to her. Having leant away from Calls probing on her head, she had subsequently lost her balance and falling with a cat like ‘yeow’ to the floor below, had Call running round the table to her side.

“No prod. No prodding!”

Coming shakily to her feet and ignoring Calls jabbering, Chase felt out her body, noting the odd tender bunch of nerves. It mostly only hurt on her head; there was the odd twinge of muscles but nothing that wouldn’t be gone in a few more hours. Call by this time had stepped closer and was yabbering about something about bruising… and having a lump the size of earth… again Calls fingers sought her head.

Hissing, baring her fangs and half leaping out of range she did not realise where she leapt to until she almost sneezed from the smell. Shaking her head to clear her nose she looked up and blinked at the yellow gaze staring back.

H’tch was impressed that the small female would be healed so soon. He suspected it was something in her blood that made her so for no ooman that had not been tampered with on the genetic level could have the ability, the stamina that she had. Yes, there was something niggling in his brain. Her blood… was different. He had hunted oomans before the clan had imposed a ban on ooman trophies and their blood was never corrosive; her blood and that of her mother was corrosive, not unlike that of hard meats.

Unless hard meats had suddenly started to mate with other species instead of infecting them it was something that did not even have to be thought of. Of course his race had tampered with their own genetic material thousands of years ago – making them a more efficient and superior species, which was why this collection of oomans were unlike anything, his kind had ever seen.

He had watched the healer work and ignored his jibes. Yes, he had taken his arm out of the netted sling. He did not need to be hampered by such a device and he could take the pain of the healing dislocation. The jibes had been easy to ignore. The old fart was full of piss and wind and today would be no different. He would move onto one of the resting young bloods that were filling his precious infirmary. Yes; it had to be genetic tampering that made these oomans different. Casting a critical eye over the slumbering female H’tch noted that 90% of them had knitted and had ceased to bleed earlier.

He was also further amused when the said ooman female started to recover consciousness in his presence. Part of him wanted to see what it would do waking up surrounded by him and other guards. Would it hiss and spit again? Attack him with the same fever it had used with Di’Sha and then later him and his comrades? That part of him was curious but for now he was amused at the scene of the other female prodding and lavishing affection, so much so causing the feral little thing to lose its balance and fall off the table.

He was further amused when the female, no he would call her by name, ‘Chase’ again moved from probing fingers and moved into his personal space. He clicked, the sound a low chuckle when she cocked her head at the sight of his face and then when her head fell back and the ooman female looked him in the face. The other female called out to her, but H’tch was pleased when she did not answer.

“Brave little knife…”

He spread his mandibles in what was the equivalent of a yautja smile when the little female cocked her head at the sound. H’tch raised a hand to his chest and fisted it, tapping against his armour gently.

“H’tch.”

He said it again, tapping his chest and then slowly reached out causing her to come to her feet and skittering away. He started to purr, low and deep in his chest when she looked as if she would move away.

“H’tch…”

He watched the way the oomans eyes would stay on its hand and it moved toward her and how her body would slowly slink back as it approached, expect this time she raised her own hand to her head and covered the mottled bruise adorning her temple, and her eyes darkened. H’tch knew instantly to be on guard; this little female was angry. Chittering, he saw that his laughter only made her eyes darken further and bare her teeth. Looking over her head and staring at the other female as she came closer he said his name again, tapping his chest.

“Chasey, come here. It’s trying to communicate, no killing the communicating alien..”

H’tch growled as the healer folded his arms and mumbled something about having ‘good luck’ and ‘hard up young males’ under his breath. He, H’tch was interested in the pack of oomans because of their skill, their strength, not because he fancied a quick rumble in the bed sheets with them. Eyeing the smaller of the females wrapping an arm round the shoulders of the almost rabid one that still looked as if it wanted a few more rounds with him and a bakuub.

His translation device was working perfectly; No killing the communicating alien, indeed. If it wasn’t the truth he would of found it funny.

“Not going to kill.. Straight away.”

Ha! This young female was most amusing. Listening with pleasure to the other female outlining how it would be a bad idea as the others were still being held, he saw the fire start to leave the eyes of the one that was called two similar sounding names but not completely douse itself. The other female notched her chin and bravely stepped forward, pointing at herself.

“Call. Annalee Call and you are ‘Heeech’?”

Call squinted as it lifted its tusk like appendages on its face, again making something between a sound being swallowed and a click. Trying again to emulate the swallowing sound, she smiled when the alien nodded its approval. Looking over to the kid, she noticed she still looked as if she was standing toe to toe with a bug. Clearing her throat with disapproval and again at the blank look and silence it became obvious that Chase did not want to place nice.

“Hey, kiddo. No pissing off the bigger alien when we are on his ship, hurtling through space to fuck knows where… Say hi. Don’t make me ask twice.”

H’tch heard the snort and admired the haughty way the little ooman lifted her face to air and made to turn her back, if she had been another yautja he would of wiped the look of her face but as she wasn’t he was not inclined to discipline her. It looked as if the smallest of the room was happily admonishing her own brand of discipline. The translator happily told him everything that was being said – threats about “Telling your mom.” And “No picking up wireless cable or forays ever again” reminded him of his childhood. Was the little female that young, then? H’tch frowned. It was dishonourable to inflict damage upon a real youngling.

“Her Tch.”

“See that wasn’t so bad. Work with me here. We play nice and maybe they will to. Better yet maybe they will let us go back to where the others are. You probably wanna see Ripley, right?”

H’tch noted that the youngling stopped staring daggers at him at the mention of the word “Ripley”. This “Ripley” must be important. Clicking a mandible and turning he made a come hither motion.

“Come.”

~*~