Another Kind: A Predator/Mimic Fanfiction Crossover Novel

P’taal enters the access code to open the main laboratory doors. The automatic doors slide open and he stumbles inside—weighted down by the injured Glotis and his own fresh injuries. Dr. Boyd and three yautja follow P’taal into the lab, dragging the bodies of the fallen Judas queen and Glotis’ lieutenant.

Elder Glandis moves swiftly to intercept the team, his mandibles gnashing and his robe billowing out behind him. He goes to his sister’s side, worry etched on his aged face. Placing a clawed hand under Glotis’ chin, Glandis raises her head so that he can look into her pained eyes.

“I’m fine, Glandis,” Glotis says, hoping to wipe the look of worry from his face.

P’taal shifts his weight and adjusts his muscular arm under Glotis’ armpit. In response, Glotis reaches her arm further around P’taal’s shoulder.

“We completed our mission,” Glotis says. “We killed the Judas queen and brought back the desired samples. Many of our enemy died this day. However...We lost Lenaa.”

Elder Glandis' eyes soften and he opens his mouth to reply. Teresa swiftly interrupts.

“We killed ‘a’ queen,” Teresa corrects Glotis patiently. “That was just one nest. Another queen will simply rise to take her place. Like I said…There will be more. A lot more. That Judas…”

Teresa yanks the tarp from the head of the Judas queen, showcasing her royal awfulness. Elder Glandis chitters aggressively at the sight of the grotesque abomination of a yautja face protruding from the crest of the queen. Teresa pulls down on the two halves of the abhorrent structure, positioning it where it would be if the creature were alive and putting it to use. The two halves fit over the queen's head almost perfectly, with very little space between them. A mask to put all other masks nearly to shame.

“Do you recognize this yautja, Elder Glandis?” Teresa inquires.

Elder Glandis’ agitation increases and he utters a deep growl. P’taal answers for the elder—who is beside himself with anger.

“Jhitnoth,” P’taal says. “He was killed the day we first entered this ooman vessel. We did not believe there was anything but oomans aboard. He was caught unawares. I killed the insect which murdered him with my own combistick. But an even larger insect carried his body away. Jhitnoth and I fought together many times. He was like a son to Elder Glandis. And like a brother to me.”

"That's explains how they were able to adapt so quickly," Teresa mutters softly, her eyes widening. "They had a template to study. There could be numerous specimens using this same face. Or one close enough to it. Are you sure he was dead when they took him, P'taal?"

P'taal's mouth goes slack and his expression changes to one of grief. His round eyes shift away from Dr. Boyd and meet those of Glotis.

"No. I could not be sure of anything," P'taal says. "The Judas carried him away too swiftly. Jhitnoth's body was gone before any warrior knew what was happening. He was unmoving. I believed him to be dead."

Teresa stares at P’taal; with sorrow in her heart for the grieving yautja. She looks from him to Glotis. Glotis' eyes have not left P'taal's face. Teresa offers P'taal a kind smile.

“I think you should tend to her wounds,” Teresa says. “She may have a concussion. Maybe even some cracked ribs. I would suggest you use the med pod, but it’s not calibrated for yautja physiology. I should probably get to work on that, if we’re going to have more skirmishes like this in the future.”

“What of Lenaa’s body?” Glotis protests.

The yautja scientist glances at the tarp in which Lenaa’s corpse is wrapped. Her face is twisted from pain on multiple levels.

“We will see that he is taken care of in the usual way,” Elder Glandis reassures his grieving sister. “His body will be returned to the ship once the new guards arrive. Go. Take care of your wounds.”

Glotis again meets P’taal’s gaze, and he helps her to walk in the direction of Laboratory Room Seven. Laboratory Room Seven is outfitted with a small emergency medical station. The med pod is situated towards the back wall, with a couple of examination tables in the center of the room.

Glotis and P’taal disappear inside the room. Elder Glandis glowers at Teresa before turning on his heels and storming away. The other yautja nearby do the same. This newest revelation, and the death of Glotis’ lieutenant, has soured an already fragile working relationship between the yautja and the ooman ship’s sole remaining occupant.

In the far corner, N-Vorl's face twists into a cruel sneer. Teresa turns to find him staring directly at her. The yautja warrior's mandibles are spread wide apart, his eyes narrowed menacingly.

Dr. Boyd swallows hard and strides without confidence to her usual workstation. She unclips a small bag attached to her hip and opens it. Removing the three scent glands inside, Teresa opens the top drawer of her desk and retrieves a leather case. Inside the case is a complete travel surgical kit with scalpel.

Teresa's right hand shakes as she studies the scent glands laid out in front of her. She exhales deeply and unzips the leather surgical case. The next moment, N-Vorl voice whispers softly in her ear.

"Is this the price you are willing to pay for your samples, ooman? The blood of my kin?" N-Vorl hisses.

Teresa whirls in her seat to face the offensive yautja. Her brow knits, but she remains silent. To speak would be to risk breaking down. Lenaa's death had been swift and terrible. However, watching Glotis pretend not to be affected, had been even worse.

Teresa turns back around without acknowledging N-Vorl's challenge. After a moment, N-Vorl grunts and moves away. Dr. Boyd exhales deeply and glances at the table in front of her. Replacing the scent glands in the bag, Teresa pushes the entire bag across the desktop. She instead powers up her tablet computer and scrolls through the numerous apps on the screen.

-

-

Once inside Laboratory Room Seven, P’taal leads Glotis to one of the metal examination tables. He gently removes his arm from underneath Glotis’ armpit and allows her to sit down. P’taal reaches to a spot above Glotis’ knee and removes a metal case similar to the one he used while patching up his own prior injury. Glotis places a clawed hand over his, halting his hand in midair. With her other hand, Glotis strokes P’taal’s face.

“I am pleased that we can have this time together,” Glotis says. “When I heard you were joining Glandis on this mission…I called in every favor to be here. I did not expect it to be like this. Working with an ooman. Fighting creatures they created without the benefit of forethought. But our efforts have not all been in vain. Wounds can always heal. I am glad we are together. Even if, only for a short time.”

Cupping Glotis’ face within his clawed hands, P’taal lowers his face level to that of his lover’s. He nuzzles Glotis’ cheek with his own, his mandibles clicking slowly and methodically. Glotis closes both eyes and does the same. At one point, their mandibles become intertwined.

Dr. Boyd secretly watches the strange ritual, from her remote app, for more than fifteen minutes. Learning more about yautja courtship and physiology than she could have ever hoped to learn in another month or two--working alongside the stoic warriors.

N-Vorl has joined the other yautja. No doubt receiving a play-by-play of the hunt. Teresa quietly sticks out her tongue at the enormous yautja's back. Mentally, she throws him a two-fingered salute. Going back to her studies, she only glances up from time to time.

-

-

Brandishing a handheld black light, Dr. Boyd enters Lab Seven. Manually switching off the main lights, she uses the black light to illuminate any traces of bodily fluids left behind by the evasive yautja lovers. She finds what she is looking for and smiles wistfully. Teresa removes a sterile swabbing kit from her lab coat and goes over the spot with several clean swabs. She places each used swab in a sterile containment sleeve and returns them to the kit.

She has just shoved the kit into her pocket, and switched off the black light, when the automatic doors slide open. N-Vorl stands in the doorway, backlit by the light from the main lab. A slightly amused expression dances across his countenance. Teresa presses her hand against the kit in her pocket and wonders if it is possible that N-Vorl knows what she has been up to? Does he know about P’taal and Glotis? Is he covering for them?

Teresa runs a hand through her hair and climbs to her feet from her kneeling position. She lets out an uncomfortable cough and moves toward the door.

“Why were you kneeling on the floor, Dr. Boyd? In the dark?” N-Vorl asks dryly. “Were you in contemplation?”

Teresa is grateful that N-Vorl has given her such an easy out. She attempts to push past him in the doorway.

“Yes. Contemplation,” she lies. “Oomans call it praying.”

N-Vorl presses his hand against the door frame, stopping Teresa’s progress. Dr. Boyd is suddenly reminded of the savage clotheslining she received the day Harold was killed. It must surely have been N-Vorl.

“There’s a message on the computer you will want to see,” N-Vorl says more dryly than before. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I’m not liking a lot of things these days,” Dr. Boyd says.

She keeps her eyes on N-Vorl’s face. Her flesh grows hot and a strange sensation travels the entirety of her body.

“Let’s go check out that message, shall we?” Teresa states in a businesslike tone.

N-Vorl removes his arm, but he studies Dr. Boyd very closely. Teresa stands perfectly still, unable to collect her thoughts due to the sudden pounding in her head.

“Dr. Boyd?” N-Vorl says.

The fragility of the ooman female is starting to become more and more of a problem. First, the doctor's excessive breaks for the bitter drink she calls coffee. Then, her bouts of sleepiness and more than normal need to eliminate liquid waste. And now, she suddenly has need of contemplation and stares dumbly at walls.

“I’m fine,” Teresa says. “I’m just not too thrilled about the idea of more bad news.”

“Everything about this mission is bad news, Dr. Boyd. You should get used to it,” N-Vorl exclaims and turns away.

He strolls out of the door—leaving Teresa feeling somewhat insulted. She glares at his wide back with unbridled malevolence. It's a strange thing--realizing the universe is chock-full of assholes.

-

-

"Mr. Tomlinson! Mr. Tomlinson! A couple of questions, please?"

Maurice Tomlinson swivels his head to view the young woman reporter gesturing for his attention. He nods and points in her direction. Flashes fill the room as other reporters squeeze in, hoping to get their questions in as well.

"Mr. Tomlinson...Is it true you've had no word from the California? Is this a usual occurrence?" Natalie Savage, reporter for the United Tribune, hollers over the crowd.

"Yes," Tomlinson sheepishly admits. "Reports are correct. The vessel has not responded to hails, and we are unable to establish her whereabouts. This is highly irregular."

More shouts, pushing, and shoving as reporters wave their microphones above each other's heads. Natalie signals that she is not quite finished. A man beside Natalie shoots her an impatient glare, but she shrugs it off.

"Do you have another question, Ms. Savage?" Tomlinson says more patiently than he feels.

"Just a couple more questions, Mr. Tomlinson," Natalie says. "Is there any truth to the rumors that the California was performing secret experiments...Namely the revival of the failed New York City Judas Project?"

Tomlinson's face turns beet-red and he glances at his business partner, Russell Tan. Tan, a wide burly Chinese man with exceptionally deep dimples--excellent for charming unsuspecting ladies--steps smoothly to the microphone.

"You are quite mistaken, Ms. Savage," Tan says with perfect enunciation. His tone paternal and borderline condescending. "As co-owner of Dayshadow Industries...I can assure you. That is all that they are. Rumors. The California is in fact conducting research. Celstus Prime may one day become a thriving new colony for families. The California was sent to determine if her moons will make habitable colonies as well."

Natalie's question has opened a floodgate. Tan and Tomlinson spend the next thirty minutes of their press conference fielding questions about secret projects and humanoid supersoldiers. Natalie watches it all unfold with a dark smile.

-

-

Natalie exits the bathroom, a pink towel wrapped around her head. The seasoned executive from before lies prone on the bed, blankets pulled to just under his navel. Climbing on the bed, Natalie lies down beside her partner. On the hotel craft's large vidscreen, that evening's press conference plays as big as life.

"Those were some very pointed questions," the exec says, kissing Natalie behind her ear.

"Just doing my job," Natalie replies. She nestles closer to her partner. "The people deserve to know."

"MmmmHmmm!" the executive utters with a sly grin.