A New Alliance

The tall Predator remained motionless as he assessed the potential threat, a warning growl rumbling through his body.  Prey should not point a weapon at a Yautja warrior… not if it wished to live.  He was all too aware however of his status as an ambassador on this ship and had no desire to jeopardise the new and still precarious alliance between their peoples.  Reluctantly dismissing the tempting picture of a fresh skull on his trophy wall, he nevertheless could not and would not allow this Ooman, this Pyode Amedha, to attack him with impunity.  His mind was racing as he tried to decide how to avoid an unwanted diplomatic incident yet retain his own honour as a Blooded Elite Hunter.

As the crisis unfolded the watching marines were instantly on their feet and ready to act.  But they were all off duty and unarmed.  Any action on their part would mean hand to hand combat.  They’d all seen Da’rian fight and not one of them would have liked to go up against him although if peaceful methods failed, they would do their duty. 

Murray in particular would never forget the whoosh of air as the Hunter’s weapon had passed within an inch of his face to embed itself in the gut of the alien creature that had been preparing to leap on him.  Nor had he forgotten the Predator’s words: “I do not miss my targets.  If I had wanted to kill you then you would be dead.” The wiry Scotsman had no doubt of that.  He’d been sure at the time that Da’rian had been attacking and that he was about to die but the Hunter’s swift action had saved his life.  Later that day he had fought by Da’rian’s side against those terrifying, black, eyeless monsters and he could only admire the Predator’s prowess on the battlefield.  Any of the marines present during that fight would acknowledge that Da’rian was a formidable and very dangerous warrior.

Rossi however was not a marine and he had not been a member of the landing party.  Other than that one terrible moment… a moment that had haunted his dreams and nightmares… where he had witnessed the brutal and ruthlessly efficient slaughter of his friend and colleague, he had never seen a Yautja warrior in action and had no real concept of what they could do.  Not that he would have cared.  Blinded by a potent cocktail of grief, anger and hate, he had no thought other than to kill the enemy and avenge O’Henry’s death.  Taking aim at the spot he guessed would be the Predator’s heart… if the creature even had anything resembling a heart… he began to squeeze the trigger.

The Predator moved with unbelievable speed.  One moment Rossi was pointing his phaser rifle at the Predator, the cocky smile on his face warring with his expression of hatred, the next he was pinned against the wall, Da’rian’s large hand wrapped around his throat, razor sharp claws pricking the skin and leaving pinpoints of blood.  The rifle lay uselessly at his feet, snapped into two pieces.

“Da’rian, let him go,” N’Sal warned the angry Predator, “Let security deal with this.”

Reaching for his phaser, Kellie drew the weapon, checked the settings and aimed at the pair, wondering momentarily which one of them he should be shooting at.  There was no doubt in his mind that Rossi had deliberately set out to antagonise the Predator but even so, he could not allow Da’rian to kill the human.  Not completely sure if heavy stun would be enough to take down the Predator, Kellie prepared to open fire.

“Let him go, Da’rian,” N’Sal repeated, her own hand resting lightly on the vicious Reman knife sheathed in her belt, yet hoping she wouldn’t have to use it in defence of this idiot.

Da’rian’s grip on Rossi’s throat tightened causing him to choke, his face turning purple as he struggled for air. The Predator’s deadly claws pressed further into his victim’s skin coming dangerously close to piercing the carotid artery and sending rivulets of scarlet blood trickling down his neck.  Slowly Da’rian turned his head to face N’Sal.  Unmoving and unblinking, the Yautja warrior stared at her, meeting her gaze as he considered her demand.

The Predator recalled his promise to the female captain.  He had given his word that there would be no trouble.  In accordance with that promise he carried no weapons.  He did not need them.  His entire body was one natural weapon.  The claws at his fingertips would tear out his victim’s throat with one effortless slash. He knew that Captain Kay-lan would not be happy if he killed one of her crew, however deservedly.  He would also displease the small female who had befriended him and he found that he did not desire that outcome.  He gave a huff of annoyance and turned his attention back to the Ooman dangling from his fist; since when did he care what Prey thought, female or not?  No!  He would not be ruled by them. 

Bloodlust glittered in Da’rian’s golden eyes and enjoying the look of terror on Rossi’s contorted face, he tightened his grip further and raised his free hand to strike.  He huffed, taking in the pleasing scent of blood combined with fear… and less pleasing, the acrid stench of urine.  He was aware of the energy weapon that Kellie was training on them both but it meant nothing to him, nor did the knife in the hand of the female.  If they attacked then their blood would stain the decks and he would take their skulls as trophies.  That thought, while attractive on one level, stopped him in his tracks.  To indulge his desire for blood would put an end to the mission and any hope of a treaty.  The primitive, animalistic part of him did not care.  But he had a duty here.  His Elder had chosen him for a reason.  He remembered his own words when the Honoured Elder had himself given way to anger, that sometimes it was better to teach than to make the kill.  What lesson was he teaching here?

N’Sal’s voice seeped into his consciousness as she tried again to get his attention.  Sensing that their weapons were exacerbating the problem she sheathed the knife that without her conscious knowledge, had somehow found its way into her hand, urgently gesturing to Kellie to lower his phaser.  While she was technically a civilian, she held the honorary rank of commander and that made her the senior officer present.  She outranked the security officer and reluctantly he obeyed her order.  Holding out empty hands, the Romulan mercenary stepped closer to the Predator.  “Da’rian!  Let.  Him.  Go.”  Careful to show no signs of fear or aggression, she kept her tone calm yet insistent, “He isn’t worth it.”

No, Da’rian thought, this pathetic Ooman was not worth it.  For now he would allow his prey to live and those watching would learn that a Yautja warrior was capable of mercy.  Slowly and reluctantly the Predator lowered his hand again and then with a sudden motion that caught them all by surprise, he flung Rossi away from him.  The Italian crashed into the nearby bulkhead, sliding down it to land in an undignified heap on the deck.

Kellie sighed with both relief and irritation.  The stupid Italian was bound to need treatment after hitting his head like that.  Securing his phaser and returning it to its holster, he raised a hand to touch his combadge.  “Kellie to sickbay.  Medical team to Ten Forward.  One casualty in need of assistance.”

“On our way.” 

“And when he is recovered,” Kellie added in disgust, “Put him in the brig!”