Another Kind: A Predator/Mimic Fanfiction Crossover Novel

Thirteen minutes later, the four yautja and one human arrive on the California’s C-Deck. Teresa squeezes out of the lift and then turns to her companions.

“We walk from here,” Teresa whispers. “We can walk quieter than that lift can transport us. Besides, although it appears that the worst of the geo-disturbance is over...The last thing we want is to be stranded in a crowded lift. It got us here. But why take chances? The habitat wing is only a few yards up this way.”

Teresa opens the top button on her blouse and tucks her tablet computer inside. Next, she ensures that her weapons harness is snug enough to keep the device from jostling around. Repositioning her duo of rifles so that they can be easily utilized, Teresa signals she is ready to move.

Just as in every corridor they have traveled down, the habitat wing is covered in organic Judas material. Even the light fixtures are plastered with layers of secretions, and decomposing flesh. Teresa halts her steps long enough to lean forward and observe something which gleams on the floor. She stoops to pick it up. A yautja throwing disk. Gripping the disk in a shaking hand, Teresa reaches back and offers it to P’taal—who is directly behind her.

P’taal takes the throwing disk, but refuses to show any interest. What is the point? They already know that their leader and comrades are dead. Better to forge ahead and get the battle over with. Dr. Boyd mushes on, her finger just a hair closer to the trigger of her Orville rifle.

She needn’t have worried. When they reach the main hallway leading to the common areas, the carnage is undeniable, and the battle is obviously long over. Corpses are strewn everywhere—in various stages of decay. Human, yautja, and Judas. The humans, dead long before any of the other visible casualties, have been torn apart. Limbs separated from torsos, trunks without heads and appendages, ribcages housing burst Judas oothecaes, and piles of pale bones lie about the entire living space.

The warrior party step around the battleground with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. The bodies of the fallen yautja tell a much different story. Most had not been killed for their meat, but for their faces. Masks lie beside some of the brutally murdered warriors—ripped from their faces by the hostile Judas insects. Teresa turns to face Mau-Nis.

"Is this where Elder Glandis and your team was attacked? Right here?"

The solemn warrior simply shakes his head negatively. His hawkish eyes filled with sorrow and grief.

“Then, how--? Oh my goodness. They saved them for a purpose,” Teresa says.

Dr. Boyd kneels beside a dead yautja warrior and traces the area where his face was literally cut away from the rest of his head. It reminds her of the old west stories of settlers and natives being scalped.

“They kept them alive,” Teresa intones. “At least, for a little while. So they could harvest their faces. To study them. Oh hell.”

Teresa waves a hand around the room.

“But this…,” Teresa says. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who killed all of these Judases? Elder Glandis and his team? I don’t smell any scorching. Could your people have done this, N-Vorl?”

“I don’t believe so,” the new leader says. “The injuries are not consistent with our weapons.”

Something catches his attention, and N-Vorl strolls to a spot a short distance away. For a moment, N-Vorl only stands there. So transfixed is he by the nightmare image before him.

Teresa climbs to her feet, Mau-Nis assisting her, and they walk over to where N-Vorl stands motionless. Beneath a pile of detritus and decomposition, is what remains of Elder Glandis. Having been half consumed by the queen inhabiting the habitat wing, there is very little—outside of his elaborate robe and adornments—to differentiate the elder from his kin.

Teresa places a hand gently on N-Vorl’s forearm. The big yautja barely acknowledges the gesture. Such is his obvious distress. There is no longer any shadow of a doubt that Elder Glandis is no more. N-Vorl is now leader of the clan. If he survives, that is.

Teresa wanders away from N-Vorl and Mau-Nis, respectfully allowing the two warriors to process their grief in some semblance of privacy. She studies several Judas corpses littering the common area. Her eyes taking in every detail.

“These Judas…Oh god…These insects are from two separate hives,” Teresa exclaims. “The patterns on the carapace. Glotis…Come here, please. I need your expert opinion.”

Glotis approaches where Dr. Boyd is kneeling. The human scientist pokes one of the Judas corpses with the muzzle of a rifle.

“Does it not appear as if there was some kind of civil war here?” Teresa says. “I’m seeing two types of bugs. There’s the green-brown insects with white and black spotting.”

Teresa peers up into the female yautja’s mask, before pointing at another specimen about two feet away.

“And then, there’s the reddish-brown ones mostly over there….Near the entrance,” Teresa says. “Anyone see a queen? Possibly an older one? You’ll know, because her coloring will be dull and faded.”

Mau-Nis and P’taal begin examining the insect corpses around the enormous common area. N-Vorl remains where he is, staring down at what was once his great leader. His father’s brother.

“Is my assumption correct, Glotis?” Dr. Boyd inquires. “Does it not appear as if there was a war here?”

“It does appear that way,” Glotis says, nudging a dead bug with her foot. “Many of these Judas have the same markings. But the majority do not. The victor has taken their hive elsewhere. We must figure out which queen…,”

“The old queen is here,” Mau-Nis states from a few feet away.

Glotis’ head whips around, her braids swinging with the effort. All but N-Vorl converge on Mau-Nis’ position. N-Vorl steps closer to the habitat wing’s entrance, holding a battle ready stance. Glotis glares down at the Judas female sprawled on the habitat floor. The old queen’s head has nearly been ripped off and her green-brown mottled skin is greatly faded by age and decomposition.

“This was not the old queen’s hive,” Glotis says with certainty. “She was the invader. The Judases by the entrance. They were put there as an offense. They warned the others of the impending attack. This meant that their hive mates were able to enter the fray prepared. It was a massacre. What we’re seeing is the result of a failed siege. The younger queen will have gone to finish off any other threats to her supremacy. She won’t risk another siege like this one. She is taking the fight to the other hives.”

Teresa rolls her eyes and runs a hand through her hair. The idea of a raging mad Judas queen roaming the ship and creating havoc doesn’t sit well with her morning meal.

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Teresa whispers sardonically.

“Because it isn’t good!” P’taal answers. “We are still in her hive. We don’t want to be here when she returns.”

“Right,” Teresa says. She motions toward the explosives bag slung over P’taal’s shoulder. “Let’s get busy, then.”