Another Kind: A Predator/Mimic Fanfiction Crossover Novel

Countdown to Evacuation

“May I please have your attention…Lady and Yautja?” Dr. Boyd calls to Glotis and N-Vorl.

Teresa carefully adjusts the angle of the camera inside holding tank thirteen before doing the same for holding tanks three and five. Glotis glides, more than walks, to stand beside Teresa’s chair. While N-Vorl casually approaches both scientists, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. Teresa is grateful that he stands some distance away. Pretending to be rival colleagues is becoming more and more difficult with each moment they spend together. No matter how those moments are spent.

“The reconnaissance bugs are nearly ready for release,” Dr. Boyd says. “I’ve outfitted three of the juveniles with nano-chips, frequency analyzers, and microcameras. With any luck, we’ll be able to track them wherever they go in the ship. We’ll also be able to observe any other Judases they encounter along the way. I’ll start procedures to release the specimens within the hour. I only hope we maintain power despite the geothermic activity. However, if the ship does lose power; the microcameras have internal power cells. We’ll only lose the ability to view what they see in real time. There’s a slight delay…Using the app on my tablet…Of about three minutes. Either way, the cameras will continue to record footage, and then relay it back to ops once the ship’s power is restored. The frequency analyzers are synced with the chips. As long as my tablet has power...I'll constantly be receiving data. When you all return to the ship; it will be as if you never left. We’ll immediately be able to resume our work…Using the data the cameras and chips provide.”

Teresa gazes at her yautja shipmates with a wistful smile.

“Although, I do hope you all hurry back. I’ve grown rather fond of you,” Teresa says. She only briefly glances in N-Vorl’s direction. “I don't know those other yautja. Not really. And I’m not looking forward to being alone on the ship with these insects.”

Glotis catches the brief exchange between N-Vorl and Dr. Boyd. She absentmindedly taps a clawed finger on the edge of her medical device, and her mouth curls slightly. N-Vorl now has a secret of his own. How interesting. The doctor lied. There was no accident with the centrifuge.

“You will not be alone,” P’taal says.

The gentle-natured yautja enters the lab and strides in military fashion toward Teresa and Glotis. He stops on a line with his forbidden love. Glotis' brow creases and she peers at P'taal inquisitively.

“N-Vorl and I have elected to stay behind. We will be replacing Elder Glandis' usual guard. To ensure the project continues as planned.”

Dr. Boyd believes the last part of P’taal’s statement is added to save face and make the two fearsome yautja appear hardened—And not as soft as she knows them to be. Teresa nods gratefully.

“Thank you,” she says.

Glotis is far from pleased. N-Vorl may have a vested interest in staying to protect the ooman, but P’taal is her lover—not Teresa’s.

“Why must you stay, P’taal?!” Glotis exclaims. Her eyes fall on Dr. Boyd in an accusatory manner. “What is this ooman to you?”

“We owe the doctor our lives. Many times over,” P’taal explains. “As she owes her life to us. We have each given and taken much. We have fought and won battles together. We have all lost many we cared about. I am not the only one who believes it would be a great dishonor to abandon the doctor now.”

N-Vorl unfolds his arms and nods his head.

“This is true,” N-Vorl says. His voice is strong and unwavering. “Dr. Boyd saved my life. Even after I threatened to take hers. I have informed Elder Glandis…That I will not leave the ooman doctor behind. So, if we cannot take Dr. Boyd to the ship…I will remain here with her.”

Teresa resists the urge to turn to N-Vorl and thank him profusely. She understands that performing such an act may jeopardize N-Vorl’s already delicate standing amongst his own kind. As he has said before, some things are just not done. N-Vorl is destined to be a great leader. Who is she to stand in the way of destiny?

P’taal moves to embrace Glotis, but she holds up a hand. The yautja scientist is beyond inconsolable. She hides her bitter emotions under a mask of indignation.

“There is no need to comfort or convince me,” Glotis says. “This is my project as well. I will see it to completion. If you stay…I will stay also.”

As if on cue, the sound of many heavy footfalls reaches Teresa’s ears. She glances at each yautja in the room, a saddened expression creeping onto her countenance. The time has come for the others to leave.

“That sounds like the last bus out,” Teresa says with a soft chuckle. “If you’re leaving the station…Now’s the time.”

Glotis folds both arms over her bosom and offers Dr. Boyd a wide yautja smile.

“We yautja do not run at the simple prospect of danger,” Glotis says in a business-like tone. “Glandis’ decision to return to the ship is not a retreat. The yautja who go back will live to work and fight another day. Should something happen to us…They will continue where we failed.”

Teresa scrunches up her face and shakes her head disagreeably.

“I know there was supposed to be a motivational speech in there somewhere, Glotis,” Teresa exclaims. “I’m just not seeing it. But…Thank you for staying behind anyway. All of you.”

Silence fills the room. After a brief moment, Teresa climbs to her feet. The four occupants head for the main laboratory, in order to see Elder Glandis off and wish him luck.

-

-

Elsewhere in the human sphere

General Ilyian Rodrigo leans over an expansive navigation console. He glares down at the large screen, and then peers at the young marine seated in front of it. The young woman squirms under his fierce gaze, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

"Where was the California when contact was first lost?" General Rodrigo roars.

Speaking loudly is a hallmark of General Rodrigo. A seventh generation military man, there was never a soft word spoken in his household. Save those of his ailing mother. She had always been sickly, always been frail, and he'd hated her for it. It'd driven a much younger Rodrigo crazy to watch his strong muscled father feed, clean, and clothe such a worthless bag of skin and bones. Nevertheless, his father had loved the wretched whore until the end.

The young private behind the navigations console reminds him a lot of his mother. Her thin frame, mousey brown hair, and round soft eyes. Even the sound of her voice is like his mother's. No force, no strength of will. People like Private Malone only join because they have no choice. Because they have overflowing debts, family obligations, or are hoping to escape a life of crime, sex, or poverty. Truth be told, Private Malone would be better off polishing a pole.

The general glowers down at his subordinate as she scrambles for the requested information. Her slender fingers fly across the keyboard and tap figures on the computer's touchscreen. The young private speaks as she searches for the exact data he requested.

"The last anyone heard of the California, she was near the fourth moon of Celstus. Just outside the Alterran Sector. She was headed—,"

General Rodrigo cuts the young woman off with a vigorous headshake.

"I don't need to know where she was headed, Private!" Rodrigo yells, clenching a fist behind the console. "I want to know her last known coordinates. That is all. Bring up the exact coordinates. That's where we will begin our search."

"Yes, Sir!" Private Malone says and retrieves the necessary information from the computer. Rodrigo stands to his full height and crosses his arms over his barrel chest. They should never have allowed women into the military.