Another Kind: A Predator/Mimic Fanfiction Crossover Novel

As they are walking, N-Vorl continues to stare daggers into Teresa’s back. He has slowed his pace, in order to stay behind the overloaded woman, and isn’t pleased about it. Dr. Boyd glances over her shoulder and then stops. The mask cannot hide the rigidness of the enormous yautja’s posture.

“What is it now?” Teresa exclaims. “If I’m slowing you down? You’re more than welcome to give me a hand. But I’m not leaving any of this stuff behind. I want to make as few trips to this side of the ship as possible.”

Teresa offers N-Vorl the duffle bag and he blanches, remembering the three Judas heads now wrapped inside the painter’s plastic. Did she expect him to carry her trophies?

Teresa sighs and impatiently shakes the handle of the bag. She keeps her eyes level with where she believes N-Vorl's eyes to be.

“We don’t have all day, Sir N-Vorl!” Teresa teases. “Your elder is expecting us.”

N-vorl roughly takes the bag and moves past Dr. Boyd. She lowers her eyes and bites on her inner jaw. A secretive smile curls the doctor's lips and she turns to watch him storm off.

“Thank you,” Teresa calls after him.

Dr. Boyd entertains the idea that the only reason N-Vorl had remained in back was to protect her as she struggled under her load. However, she's pretty sure he couldn't have cared less. Following orders, more like it. His storming to the front is yet another symptom of his tempestuous attitude.

P’taal, who is in cloak, moves to take N-Vorl’s place. Teresa is able to tell because he gently touches her forearm as he steps behind her. Despite the fact that both companions are distinctly alien to her; Dr. Boyd experiences a sense of calm. She knows they will not allow anything to happen to her. If only to satisfy their mission—and keep the orders of their commander.

P’taal drops his cloak and Teresa turns to him. The yautja reaches to the side of his mask and a loud hiss issues from it as pressurized air escapes. He repeats the process on the other side. Removing the mask, P’taal places it under his armpit and levels his eyes to Teresa’s face. There are no huge differences between the face of the yautja youth and that of his elder—save the excessive prickly hairs which dominate the elder yautja’s head and the size of the elder’s catlike teeth.

N-Vorl pauses in the corridor ahead and waits impatiently. P’taal’s golden eyes stare at Teresa as if he can peer into her very soul.

“I will walk beside you,” P’taal offers. “It is better this way. Elder Glandis does not wish harm to come to you. I will see that it does not.”

Teresa meets the yautja’s gaze. She smiles and lightly touches his arm.

“Thank you,” she responds. “Even if it’s not exactly for the right reasons.”

She continues to stare at P’taal, before shifting her gaze to the mask in his hand.

“That mask…What does it do? Why do you need it? You seem like you can breathe air just fine,” Dr. Boyd inquires, curiosity getting the better of her.

“It serves as a visual interface,” P’taal replies. “We are able to view the heat signatures of our intended prey using these masks.”

“Oh…Wow,” Teresa exclaims with excitement. However, she quickly lowers her voice and surveys the area. “You mean…Like infrared?”

“Yes,” P’taal agrees. “ I believe that is the word you oomans use for it.”

Dr. Boyd bites down on the tip of her thumbnail and stares fixedly at P’taal’s mask.

“Why infrared? I mean…Not all creatures put off excessive heat? Or...What if they develop a mutation which allows them to avoid detection? What then?”

“Our scientists have already considered that possibility,” P’taal says patiently. “There was a time when all yautja saw things only in infrared. However, our scientists found a way to alter our genes…So that many of us can now see as you see. We use the mask to remind us of the old ways. And to fight as our ancestors fought.”

“Geneticists?!” Dr. Boyd says excitedly. “So…You’re what? A race of badass universal soldier hunter geneticists?”

P’taal’s brow creases, making the prickly hairs along his hairline spring forward. His golden eyes study Teresa’s face.

“If that is your ooman name for us? Yes, that is what we are,” P’taal says almost dejectedly.

“Okay,” Teresa replies with a friendly smile.

P’taal does not return Dr. Boyd’s smile. He continues to peer at her, an eerie expression dancing across his alien face.

“You are an ooman,” P’taal says. “Why would you aid us? Do you not realize that what you do here might be used against your own kind one day?”

Teresa sighs and nods her head. Truth be told, she hadn't really thought about it. Hell. There hasn't really been time to think about anything. Nevertheless, in this moment, she experiences a sense of surreal calm. She has already made up her mind that she will help them.

“Oh…I’m very aware,” Dr. Boyd says. “I can’t help but be aware of that fact. But I don’t see where I have any other choice."

“There is always a choice,” P’taal says.

“Oh, yes. Choices,” Teresa says. “Death…Or death. The choice being…How fast? Or, how painful?”

“Is not an honorable death more preferable to one of dishonor?” P’taal inquires.

“Dishonor? I would say the utter failure of my project and the subsequent deaths of all my colleagues…Already qualifies me for that,” Dr. Boyd counters. “Even if I somehow manage to survive this ordeal, and get back to Earth…The only thing I have to look forward to is more dishonor and a forced retirement. They may even send me back out to the far reaches of space to create more monsters. As an atonement for my failure here. I’m tired of seeing the faces of my friends and colleagues on those damn bugs! Maybe I can turn them in another direction? Maybe I can’t? But I’ve got to try.”

P’taal says nothing but continues to stare intently at Teresa.

“Besides,” Teresa continues. “In the last twenty-four hours…I’ve seen mankind lose to not one, but two formidable foes. So tell me…Why should humanity have a monopoly on warfare throughout the galaxy? Or even the universe? Frankly, I don’t feel we deserve it.”

Further up the corridor, N-Vorl takes out his combistick and opens it to its full length. It is obvious, he wishes to keep moving. P’taal has learned all he wishes to learn about the strange ooman female, and replaces his mask. Teresa takes this as her cue to move along. Only one other Judas makes its presence known on their trek back to the transport hangar. P’taal and N-Vorl dispatch the humanoid insect without much trouble. Dr. Boyd can’t help but admire their skill.