Razorback Point Whaling Station
Antarctica
October 10, 1904
Wind whips the hair of the ooman about his face, as he races away from certain death. The yautja brother behind him does not hurry. There is no need. There is nowhere for the ooman to run.
The bones of the ooman’s spine and head will look good upon his net suit. Perhaps, he will even keep a hand or a foot to hang from the net across his chest. Either item will make a wonderful trophy. Even better would be the barbed tail of a black serpent.
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Slamming the door to the camp’s main dining facilities, Elgin Hj`almarr backs cautiously toward the center of the room. He glances around furtively, believing himself to be safe and alone. His false security is shattered when there is a rustling noise behind him. Followed swiftly by the stomping of heavy feet.
Elgin turns toward the sound and spies the skinned carcass lying on the wooden table across the room. The frightened workman backs away, and bumps into a large wooden pillar, sprawling clumsily onto the floor. A metallic slice cuts through the still afternoon air and Elgin’s eyes grow large in their pale swollen sockets.
“Another one of those things is in here,” Elgin screams in his head. “Holy fu—“
Before any words can escape Elgin’s lips, the cloaked warrior is upon him. The sounds of its heavy footsteps only inches from the heels of his feet. Backing into a shelf containing various wooden implements, Elgin prepares to meet his fate. A trio of red dots appears on the right side of his chest and Elgin breathes in deeply. This is it. How can this be it? The last words he said to Marit were not very nice. She had fought with him, and he had told her he hated her. He will never get a chance to take back those dreaded words. She will live on believing them.
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As Elgin presses his back against the wooden tools, there is movement to his left. A tall, slender black creature uncoils itself from the darkness. Elgin barely has time to gasp before it leaps. And is cut down by the unseen alien.
Blood from the black creature splashes over Elgin, and his face begins to melt away. The terrified workman grasps at his face and neck, pieces of flesh falling away from every place where the acid touches. He screams as the caustic fluid eats through his cheek and his left eye, boiling them into a liquid mash. He doesn’t scream for long.
The invisible warrior slices Elgin’s throat. Red blood mixes with yellow acid on the front of the doomed workman’s shirt. Elgin falls flat on his melted face. Dead before he hit the floor.
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The front door to the dining hall opens and a second—much larger—hunter enters the facilities. It is the hunter which stalked Elgin through the storm. The yautja warrior glances around the dining hall before casually removing his mask. His hunt brother has already gone to work on the body of the ooman—cutting away parts that are not suitable for a trophy. The ooman’s spine lies on a nearby table, the partially melted skull still attached.
“When you are finished here…We will make preparations to leave this planet. The serpent’s offspring, which were aboveground, have been neutralized. The hunt is complete. Until next time.”
“How many of the keinde did you slay, M-Klou? The serpent which tried to slaughter the ooman was my ninth. They are not so fearsome when separated from the group.”
M-Klou shakes his large head, grunting softly. The hunt leader ejects his wrist blade and uses the laser on his targeting system to sharpen its edge. He peers askance at his fellow hunter.
“Be careful of pride, D’yagh. Many a warrior has been taken down by a foe he was stupid enough to underestimate. Every one of my serpent kills today was hard won. Collect your trophies and let us be gone from this place.”
M-Klou exits the dining hall without another word to his fellow yautja.