Predator becoming one with the air

An electron force field surrounded the alien’s ship as the creature, now on the prowl again full-scale, came gliding down the laser-suspended ramp and out into the humid night. As it stepped from the beam of light to the rugged ground its humanoid form merged with the night’s moonless shadows. But its masquerade went much further than the coincidence of shadow play. For the remarkable being had set another of its defensive techniques into motion. Now its very cells began to swirl and integrate with the night air until there was no sign of the creature at all.

It was as if it had realized from observing the commandos the importance of absolute camouflage, especially under cover of darkness.

Thus, unlike the earlier incident of the cloning of the hawk, this time it didn’t require a host animal to receive. It simply vanished, its whole substance, tissue, skin, organs, coasting on the jungle breezes, dispersed and invisible. The tracks in the soft dirt stopped a few yards from the ship at the edge of the clearing, so that a tracker like Billy might have supposed the creature had flown off into the sky. But no—it was as disparate now as a virus. And it was on the hunt again, foraging toward the remaining commandos.

Now that it had satisfied itself with a thorough examination of Hawkins’s body it was impatient for a new specimen, perhaps something even more advanced.

As the alien disappeared into the darkness, the lasers silently retracted and the ramp withdrew, becoming flush with the spacecraft’s glimmering surface, not a hint of a seam joint. The craft became an impenetrable shell, pure and pregnant as an egg. Then its glossy copper-colored exterior began to fade and cloud. It too was becoming one with the night, just as its captain had moments before. Soon it held its place invisible as a god.

   The Predator (1987 novelization), chapter 12