I told those idiots this was a bad idea...

I told them they should learn about the targets they choose to hunt. I told them one must be able to step into the mind of their prey, to be able to understand it's thoughts, motivations, and it's base instincts in order to ensure a successful hunt.

Then again, what do I know...I am only one of the most premier bodyguards in the galaxy. I have protected my employer, an extremely wealthy Trikalian trader, for most of his 206 standard years. I kept him safe during business negotiations with the dishonorable T'kiln, who would sell their own nest mates for the cost of a molecule of hydrogen, then stab them in the back to steal the money back. I extracted him after an assassination attempt by Fizruli pirates. I even took a projectile meant for him fired by one of his MANY scorned mistresses.

But this job, this job may be the death of me.

The boss, Rlopa, called me into his office and informed me he wanted me to watch over his offspring, and potential successor, a youth name Rlock, on his manhood hunt. This hunt, like many before it, was not an official practice, but is still carried out by many wealthy families on our home world. It usually consists of a carefully selected prey that is snatched from their home-world, given very basic equipment, and dropped on planet Kraton. Kraton is a jungle world which is officially listed as a wildlife preserve, but is viewed by the wealthy as a private hunting preserve. The youths on the hunt are always escorted by experienced hunters and soldiers, who will often wound the prey, allowing the "conquering" youth the honor of the final kill. There is little danger, but it gives spoiled, vacuum-headed youths a chance to have a fine story to tell their equally empty-skulled friends and sycophants.

From the start, NOTHING went to plan...

A mere 12 standard hours after leaving the family station, Rlock summoned me to his "command center", a foolishly lavish stateroom decorated with military memorabilia of all stripes. Rlock considered himself something of a military expert, despite the fact that his dear old dad bought his way out of "mandatory" military service. He then informed me that He had selected a new target. I could almost see his two brain cells fighting for third place...he waxed expansive about how he had done "research" into a new species, the hunting of which would make him a "legend" amongst his idiotic friends. He claimed he knew all he needed to execute a successful hunt. When i asked for a briefing, he refused, stating that he didn't want to "ruin the surprise".

A few solar days later, we arrived above a blue and green orb in a backwater system with just a number designation, not a name. The planet was inhabited by a race he said could barely be called sentient, and certainly not civilized. Rlock then informed me he had selected a group of young males who trained "dolphins", a rather odd looking, but surprisingly intelligent water based mammal from their planet. They all seemed physically fit, but did not differ too wildly from Rlock's " research", which apparently consisted of intercepted transmissions of something call "television". The race was a "protected" species called huumanes, or something like that.

The group, around 14 young males, was successfully extracted from a fenced in area behind a dwelling in a fair sized city along the western coast of one the the largest nations. Because extraction technology is often an inexact science, another being was transported, a quadruped species called dog. The men and animal were kept in suspension until we reached Kraton. This is standard procedure to prevent escape attempts and infestation of the ship by lower life forms.

Once they were stripped of their garments and awakened, the humans (I knew I was close on the name), all began to speak with each other and glance around warily, but with no small amount of wonder, which is to be expected from such primitives. By the time the translator matrix was configured and engaged, wild theories were being bounced around the holding area like stray projectiles. The dog, who the humans called Nero, stuck close to one of the humans, who gave him simple commands in a different dialect. The whole group seemed to care for the beast, so the rock-headed Rlock decided to use it to "set an example". He used a tractor beam to extract it into a nearby cell and made them watch as he incinerated it with a plasma blast. The humans at first yelled and raged, but what they did next gave me my first true intuition that this whole thing might be a monumentally bad idea. I watched as the anger in their eyes and posture morphed into something as cold as the light-less void of space.

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Naturally, when I voiced my concern, the young fool laughed it off, saying that since these humans trained animals, they must be sensitive to its suffering, and its demise would make them into cowed beasts ripe for the hunt.

The humans were given 3 days of food that the computer said they could digest, along with 3 days rations of di-hydrogen monoxide, which is also vital for their survival, along with simple but robust clothing in simple brown. They were also given a blade with a mono-molecular edge, in the style of a "machete" a common blade from their home-world. They were informed that they would be given a standard day to travel and hide as best they could before the hunt began. They would then be hunted by the "glorious leader" of this hunt and 20 of his lackeys. I will admit, they seemed a poor physical match for us Trikalians, lacking our size, height, bulging muscles, and four upper appendages. Had i not seen the killing intent radiating off the humans when Rlock killed their beast, I would have had no misgivings hunting these humans. As it is, i have an intuition this would end...badly.

Day 1:

After waiting around the required first standard day, which was mainly spent eating, drinking, and boasting about their "prowess", the day of the hunt dawned rainy and hot. The hunters set out early, and picked up the trail easily...perhaps too easily. i trailed behind my charge, following instructions from both father and son not to intervene unless the boy's life was in danger.

We hadn't gone far when things began to take a turn. The hunter in the lead, T'lak, was following prints under a towering tree, when a sudden crack sounded, and the ground literally dropped away from under him. We rushed to the pit and saw him at the bottom, pierced in several places by sharpened stakes. During the time we were pulling him out of the pit, one of the lads noticed the tips of the spikes were covered in a brown material that smelled horrible. We would soon discover that the substance was a human waste byproduct, which made infection a near certainty. As we prepared to return him to base camp, another two hunters triggered another trap consisting of a large tree, cut down and twisted between two more trees, giving it incredible spring tension. The tree was also topped with more spikes. The two hunters were dead before they even realized they had triggered the trap. Since we would have had to cut them apart to get them out of the trap, we left them for the scavengers. The hunter wounded by the spike pit died screaming during the night, a super-infection rampaging through his system despite the top of the line medical station on the lander.

Day 2:

The day began with an explosion. We awoke to our lander exploding into a spectacular ball of cerulean fire. At my insistence, sentries had been posted, but the undisciplined fools were found where they had fallen asleep, their severed heads sitting cradled in their lower set of hands like a particularly precious jewel. A quick check revealed the explosion was caused by a plasma grenade carried by one of the two fallen the day before.

Now there are 15 of us...

Days 3-5: it continued like this, losing a hunter or two every day. They were all killed in different ways, each more creative than the last. I have to admit, these humans are certainly creative in causing death. We lost two to a trap that dropped logs from a hillside. One man took a primitive dart through his left eye. This continued until the only ones left were myself, Rlock, and his closest flunky, Ktwain. During our hunt, which had long a ceased to be a hunt, at least for us, we had discovered a small cave. I led the other two into the cave. Rlock was still concerned about what daddy would think about his unsuccessful hunt, despite me finally losing my professional demeanor and telling him i doubted he would have to face his father, because the " weakling" humans he had selected were masters of death. At this, Ktwain lost his last nerve and ran screaming into the jungle. His scream cut off with a wet squelch. We were now alone.

I backed my charge further into the cave, hoping to buy time until the search and rescue team my employer would doubtlessly send since we were 3 days overdue, arrived. It was then i heard the whisper of death right behind me..."gotcha".

The recorder jerks suddenly, falling to the ground, revealing the speaker with a 3 foot blade entering the back of his head and exiting his forehead. Rlock is seen scrabbling to crawl away from 14 shapes that seem to spring from the darkness and even from the stone around them. Their bodies are smeared with mud, sporting bits of local vegetation. Rlock is beginning to babble, but the following is picked up clearly:

"Why, Why are you doing this?"

The nearest specter rumbles," Because you killed Nero you sadistic bastard".

Rlock shakes his head so rapidly that drool flies from his mouth," NONONO, this was supposed to be easy, you are just dolphin trainers"....

"Dolphin trainers? We don't train dolphins, you fucking idiot, we train SEALs...."

Rlock's head then rolls into the camera, knocking it offline.

This is the video log of bodyguard Tlar in the employ of the Rlopa family, was all that was recovered by the search and rescue team that arrived on Kraton 12 standard days after the hunt began...