"No," she said. "No traitor. Warrior!"

d.a.m.n!

In this kind of situation she wished she had more than just a few words, a few honor-filled postures to use. She could explain everything in detail.

Instead, she just had to rely on imperatives and single emphatic words to get her meaning across.

"Kill her," said Shorty.

There was no time, it would seem, even if she had the words she needed.

She had one slim glimmer of hope, one trump card, and even as weapons were raised, she took a step forward and held up a hand.

"No. I challenge. I defend honor. Battle." This caused a great commotion among the yautja. They jabbered among themselves for a moment and then stepped back as one, away from their Leader.

Shorty grunted.

He raised his spear.

Threw it.

The thing throbbed to a halt in the dirt at Machiko's feet. Without hesitation Machiko picked it up. Brandished it.

Shorty called to a second, and immediately there was a spear in his hand.

He took a significant step forward.

The duel was on.

Machiko had gambled on this. She knew that if she threw down the gauntlet, it would have to be picked up. Such was the code of yautja. Honor was all.

Courage had to be met with courage, and life itself was not so important as the valiant and brave departure of life.

If she could best the Leader of this pack, then she could get them to listen. And she felt that if she could get them to listen, really listen, then she could get them to join with her in an a.s.sault; then possibly this horror being perpetrated by this rich maniac might be prevented, curtailed, stopped.

First, though, she had to defeat her old nemesis, the Hunter she called Shorty.

And defeating a Hunter in this kind of situation meant one thing.

A fight to the death.

Shorty feinted, then stepped back two steps.

He made a series of snorting sounds that was the equivalent of yautja laughter. Did a little shuffling dance, then mimed her usual initial attack moves.

d.a.m.n!

He'd seen her fight, of course. He knew that she knew some fancy steps, knew some sort of odd physical/mental laws generally dubbed "martial arts."

If she tried anything ordinary on him, this genius of combat, this Predator would know exactly what was going to happen and would be a couple of steps ahead of her.

Besides that, all she had in terms of weapons was this short spear. Shorty had his spear, along with his personal a.r.s.enal, to say nothing of his armor and helmet.

The Hunter concept of "even-steven" was rough indeed.

s.h.i.+t.

"Well, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said. "Thank G.o.d I've got some new moves."

She attacked. If anything, she was .in better shape now, more limber and agile, and she put it all to the test in just under two seconds. She feinted, flipped, rolled, jabbed, retreated, rolled, ran, fell, and then thrust upward toward the place she knew was the most vulnerable.

The moves clearly surprised Shorty.

Nonetheless, he wasn't quite in the spot where he was supposed to be, so the point of her spear only glanced off the side of his armor.

With a snort he brought his own spear down toward her.

Mistake.

She dodged the thrust, grasped the shaft by its base, and twisted the torque of her body in such a way as to capitalize on the momentum he had generated.

Her legs went up, and she executed a perfect flip.

The force of his fall on his back broke his grasp on his spear, and suddenly she had two weapons.

She used her original immediately, trying to push the head under the armpit of the armor.

Shorty wrenched away.

His wrist knives flipped out as he rolled to another fighting stance. He crouched and regarded her, doubtless with more caution and respect now.

"b.i.t.c.h," he snarled. Or a word to that effect.

Well, maybe not respect.

She bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, agile and ready, warming up and prepared for the next onslaught, the next maneuver.

They circled each other warily. She could hear him breathing harshly behind his mask. She could hear his mandibles working with hate and frustration.

Shorty had despised her. Now he loathed her even more, and he had the chance to finish this particular warrior's tale. Oh, how much the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d longed to rip her spine out. Oh, how proudly would he display her bleached Soft Meat skull, finally removed of the counterfeit blooding scar that had tormented him so!

Yeah, buddy, she thought.

Come and get it, you a.s.shole.

Two spears were not the ideal pairing of instruments.

In fact, she would have preferred a good hard knife. However, Machiko knew she had to make do with what she had. Although a thought occurred to her ....

The spear shafts were made of wood. She dropped the blade of one quickly to the ground, then stepped down, hard, upon it.

Snap.

She now had a knife. She picked it up just as Shorty lunged.

With no wasted motion she leaped, rolled, and came up several feet clear of his attack. Seeing an opening, she whacked him across his b.u.t.tocks with the broad side of the spear.

No damage, but doubtless it hurt his pride.

She laughed and called him the Hunter equivalent of "jacka.s.s."

He roared around and came for her. The move was expected, but it was so fast that she had to meet him head-on. She narrowly avoided the slash of his blades as she sidestepped him. She thumped the knife against the back of his head.

When she came away, she saw the blood on it. A nasty yellow-green.

She displayed it for the others.

"First blood!" she called.

Anything to put this killing machine off balance.

Maybe too off balance. Before she could recover from his last lunge, he lunged again.

This time she didn't have time to dance away.

Shorty whacked into her, and suddenly they were rolling around on the ground. Not exactly the optimum position in which to exercise her knowledge of martial arts.

Now it wasn't even street fighting.

It was dirt struggle.

Had he been a normal-sized Hunter, surely his strength would have overwhelmed her immediately. Fortunately, he was not, and she was able to keep those deadly razor-sharp blades away. Nonetheless, when they finished their roll, he was on top, bearing down, albeit without his mask, which had somehow gotten loosed in the ruckus.

His eyes glared evilly, and his mandibles crawled like crab spiders descending upon their prey. His blood seeped from behind his head, dripping at her.

"Know that I have killed you." He said the ritual words and brought the blade down toward her neck, struggling against the grip of her right hand.

It was like an unfair arm-wrestling match. Shorty had the right angle for all the power. Sweat popped out on her brow.

Her other hand. It had the knife. If she could just have a moment, she might be able to use it, now that the helmet was gone.

The clicking mandibles came down.

The burning eyes . . .

The blades . . .

Inches from her eyes and There was a hissing sound.

A wisp of smoke.

Machiko watched, astonished, as a tiny hole was punched in the side of Shorty's temple.

His force bearing down on her was abruptly diminished, and she did not wait around to question her opportunity but pulled the spearhead up, around, and stabbed with all her might at this oblique angle.

The edge of the spearhead thrust up into the soft juncture of chin and neck, below the mandibles.

Up, hard up, through arteries and brain tissue.

Shorty's eyes flamed and looked down with surprise at the warrior he thought he had bested.

Blood spurted from his neck.

The lights in the eyes struggled to stay lit. They went out, hatred still glaring, denying that Death was coming.

The muscles relaxed, and the Leader of the Hunters dropped upon her.

She pushed him off.

Got to her feet.

Pulled the makes.h.i.+ft knife from his throat, ripping out corded vein and artery and muscle in a swift coup de grace.

Not necessary, but an effective touch.

She brandished the gory weapon, the defeated's blood runneling down the blade onto her hand and her s.h.i.+rt.

"Victor! To me, glory!"

She didn't know many phrases in the yautja language, but she knew the most effective and necessary ones.

The Hunters raised their own weapons. Not to retaliate, but as a gesture of acceptance and respect.

She stood there a moment, taking her due for the victory, a foot squarely on top of the defeated Shorty.

Well, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, she thought. Payback time.

However, most of her mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out what had happened. The other Hunters clearly hadn't noticed the hole burning into their Leader.

The question was; Where had it come from?

She calculated its direction of origin.

Took a quick look.

And was astonished. There, looking out at her from the open bag in which he had been transported, was Attila the Hun.

The android winked at her.