Чужой
IX
’Breathedeeply,workatit,’Ashadvised,whennooneelseofferedanysuggestions.
Kanetried.Thedeepbreathturnedintoascream.
’Oh,God,ithurtssobad.Ithurts.Ithurts.’Hestoodunsteadily,stillshaking,handsdiggingintothetableasifafraidtoletgo.’Ohhhh!’
’Whatisit?’Brettaskedhelplessly.’Whathurts?Somethingin..?’
ThelookofagonythattookoverKane’sfaceatthatmomentcutoffBrett’squestioningmoreeffectivelythananyshout.Theexectriedtorisefromthetable,failed,andfellback.Hecouldnolongercontrolhisbody.Hiseyesbuggedandheletoutalingering,nerve-chillingshriek.Itechoedaroundthemess,sparingnoneoftheonlookers,refusingtofade.
’Hisshirt..’Ripleymurmured,asthoroughlyparalyzedasKane,thoughfromdifferentcause.Shewaspointingattheslumpingofficer’schest.
AredstainhadappearedonKane’stunic.Itspreadrapidly,becameabroad,unevenbloodysmearacrosshislowerchest.Therefollowedthesoundoffabrictearing,uglyandintimateinthecrampedroom.Hisshirtsplitliketheskinofamelon,peeledbackonbothsidesasasmallheadthesizeofaman’sfistpunchedoutward.Itwrithedandtwistedlikeasnake’s.Thetinyskullwasmostlyallteeth,sharpandred-stained.Itsskinwasapale,sicklywhite,darkenednowbyacrimsonslime.Itdisplayednoexternalorgans,noteveneyes.Anauseatingodour,fetidandrank,reachedthenostrilsofthecrew.
