Snatcher - Acid Blood

  The creature explodes, yellow acid blood and shrapnel spraying in every direction. Blue watches the others break free from their cells before a smear of sulfurous yellow smacks against the lens of her helmet. An acrid stench fills her suit. Blue screams as the electropolarized plastic begins to fail, blown glass bubbling away from her.

  “Get back to the airlock,” D ck says, any pretense of storytelling gone now. She throws one hand against her helmet, scraping the bubble free and fusing her glove to the plastic. It’s eating through into her palm. It burns like nothing she’s ever felt. She can’t see, but she’s begun to tumble. The full wrath of Kaufmann’s heat bears down in waves.

  “Blue… Blue!” D ck shouts. “It’s not real. You’re not dying, but you’ve got to get out of there.”

  She tries to steer the Turtle, but it won’t listen to her. She can’t find a way to right herself. There’s a “return-to-home” command on the right side of her pack—accessible via the hand that’s melting to her helmet at that very moment. She twists in open space, feeling for it. The other snatchers are going to pop at any second, a barrage of molten grapeshot.

  “Okay, Blue, hit the return-to-home, now.” D ck’s voice is calm and sure.

  Low-pressure warnings fill her ears. She’s losing oxygen—not that it matters. Marcus doesn’t need to breathe, but the thought of not filling her lungs induces more panic. Her visor’s protections are failing as acid disrupts the lattice of polarizing nanotubes. The sun blisters her face, and she can’t communicate because her microphone has fused with the half-melted visor.

***

Alien: The Cold Forge, Chapter 7