More Deadly Than The Male

by Carycomic

An ANGEL/BTVS/ALIEN NATION/SPECIES crossover.

Synopsis: There's a new breed of monster in Los Angeles. One preying on human and Newcomer males, alike. And, Angel must work alongside the police to determine what kind of monster it is.

Foreword: In 1988, a feature film was released called ALIEN NATION that depicted the cultural differences between a human LAPD homicide detective named Matt Sykes (played by James Caan) and his extra-terrestrial partner, Samuel George Francisco (played by a pre-CRIMINAL MINDS Mandy Patinkin). Two years later, it spun off into a one-season wonder for the then-infant Fox Network. But, with Gary Graham and Eric Pierpoint taking on the Matt and George roles, respectively.

Another difference between the film and the series was the chronology. The former had been set in 1991 (three years after the arrival of the Newcomer slave ship). While the latter had been set in 1995-96 (English translation; five years after the ship's arrival). So, bearing this in mind, one wonders how both humans and Newcomers would have reacted to the city's more supernatural demographic being exposed as for real

UCLA MEDICAL CENTER

JUNE 14, 1996

(10:00 P.M./PST)

Dr. Cathy Frankel, MD, looked on in horrified astonishment as the petite blonde Earth girl was injected with chlorpromazine before being bound with a straight jacket and dragged into a padded cell. The two police detectives standing beside her were more stone-faced. They had helped subdue the little spitfire before accompanying the ambulance over here! So they had had time to get over their own initial shock.

"Who is she?" the Tenctonese physician finally asked.

"Buffy Summers," replied Detective Matthew Sykes (LAPD Robbery/Homicide): "Hemory High School student. Age sixteen. According to the witnesses we interviewed at the scene, she was attending her senior prom when she suddenly went berserk! Accusing some party-crashing Goth street punks of being vampires and. . .!"

"Vampires?!"

"Yes, Doctor," replied Detective Sgt. Samuel George Francisco, Matt's Tenctonese partner. "A nocturnal creature from Earth mythology that is supposed to feed on human blood! They. . ."

"I'm well aware of the definition, George. I'm just amazed that some Earth people still believe in such things!"

"Well, evidently, she's one of them," countered Matt: "A hard core believer, I mean. Because she killed every single one of those party crashers with wooden stakes!"

"At which point," added George, ". . .she was tackled from behind by several of the burlier male students. Three of them, Newcomers! And, even then, they had difficulty holding her down until the first uniformed police arrived on the scene."

"Personally?" declared Matt, "I think somebody spiked her punch with PCP."

Cathy nodded: "That would explain the delusions and superhuman strength. But, I'll run a full tox-screen, to be sure. That should take about twenty-four hours; minimum!"

THREE HOURS LATER

Dr. Warren Michaels, head of the psychiatric ward at UCLA Medical Center, waited until the satellite link between London and his office pc was totally secure before activating the webcam.

"Well?" was the first word uttered by the face of Quentin Travers.

"She's a lost cause. From what I was able to gather, from her narco-hypnotic ramblings, one of the vampires was her boyfriend, nickname: Pike! And, having to stake him, along with the rest, drove her over the edge. It's too soon to euthanize her, though. The best I can do is cause to her have another psychopathic episode. . .by having one of my orderlies inject her I-V drip with PCP. This will not only confirm the police theory. It will also allow us to legally hold her, indefinitely! In the meantime, I heartily prescribe immediate activation of the contingency plan."

"Already been done," smiled Travers: "Good night, doctor,. . .and good work!"

Angel walked into the Little Tencton cafe' and smiled as he watched Clem selling two beaver burgers and a sour milkshake with two straws to a young Newcomer couple.

"Who's nex. . .Hey, Angel! Long time/no see."

"Same here, Clem. How's business?"

"Ain't it obvious? I'm still in the black!"

Angel leaned forward and whispered: "Well, it certainly doesn't hurt that you superficially resemble your customers."

The Kiasyd vampire could not help chuckling: "You got that right. Them coming to Earth six years ago was the best thing that ever happened to me!"

Angel changed the subject, informing Clem that he was expecting someone. "You can't miss him," he added: "He'll be a blond-haired guy with a crew cut. Twentyish-looking. And, probably wearing a trench coat, with tusk shell earrings, and a pork-pie hat."

"You mean him?"

Clem pointed to a table down near the hallway to the rest rooms. Sure enough; a young man matching Angel's description was already seated there. So, Angel nodded his gratitude, to Clem, and went to keep his appointment.

"How are you doing, Whistler?"

The so-called "balance demon" smiled.

"Yo, Angel! Pull up a chair and have a seat."

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do."

A moment later, they were conferring in whispers.

"So, why are we meeting in Slagtown?"

"Whoa-whoa-WHOA!" replied Whistler: "Let's not get racist there, Angel-baby. It takes all kinds to make a world. Even if they're people from a whole other world!"

"Nice way to dodge the question. But, I'm only going to repeat it. So, you might as well answer!"

"Fine! Scrap the small talk, it is. I called you here because there's been another shift in the balance."

Angel did not immediately reply. The last time Whistler had told him that was the night before the Day of Descent. Six years, earlier.

"Don't tell me the slave ship's original owners are showing up!"

"Nah! Nothin' that melodramatic. Comes close, though!"

"How so?"

"The new Slayer who was to join you in Sunnydale, next spring, won't be available. Due to the fact that she'll be occupying a padded suite at the Ha-Ha Hilton for about the next six years."

"What?!" exclaimed Angel in a slightly raised voice that temporarily attracted some attention: "But, what about. . .?"

"Shhhhhh!"

". . .the Harvest?" Angel finished somewhat more softly.

"Don't worry. The PTB's have a back-up plan."

VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA
MARCH 1, 1997
(5:00 P.M./EST)

The portly, gray-haired bureaucrat walked up to the younger man just climbing up on to the dock. The latter was wearing a baseball cap, sans logo, blue jeans, a gray windbreaker, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. In his right hand, he was carrying a fishing rod. While in his left, he carried a string of steelhead sea trout.

"Preston Lennox?" inquired the bureaucrat.

The fisherman immediately ceased smiling.

"Who wants to know?"

The bureaucrat flashed some credentials.

"Special Agent Jeffries; Defense Research Initiative. We have a job for you. . .in Sunnydale, California."

To be continued(?)