Well, other than being ugly as sin and effectively the communicable stage of a parasitic organism.
That was another problem with the species as a whole actually. It required a "host" to grow a new xenomorph. They also had a strong tendency to overrun all potential host species in short order so that they ended up with no hosts for the next generation.
The facehugger prepared to leap and then settled down in a puzzled manner.
The walrus-man pushed his broom as he went past the space herpes.
As he didn't have a proper face, having a mouth that was concealed under layers of tissue that locked against hostile environments, grabbing the janitor and sticking a tube down his throat just wasn't going to happen.
The facehugger scuttled on, undeterred.
"I don't like these uniforms," said one Mongoian soldier. "What's a 'stormtrooper' anyway?"
"I like 'em," said the other soldier. "Armor is a good thing. You remember how that one Emperor (may his name never be spoken in public) wanted us to wear fig leaves."
"Don't remind me," grumbled the first soldier.
Leap! Splat! grind grind grind!
"EWWWWWW, I think last night's mystery meal is trying to get you to eat it," said the second soldier on seeing the critter trying to force its way through a layer of polyceramic.
"I've had meals coming back to haunt me," admitted the first soldier, "but usually it's with Ming's Revenge. Can you put your blaster on low and shoot the damn thing off?"
Zap!
"There it goes!"
"Man, that stuff's uglier the second time around," said the first soldier as the smouldering face hugger ran off.
The facehugger scuttled away, the polyceramic armor (the idea had been that if they were going to wear armored spacesuits they damn well were going to be functional armor) being a bit too tough for it to penetrate and now it had bruised its proboscis trying to get through.
The sound of running water attracted it. Water = prey!
It crept into the C-deck men's shower. Slowly it approached the weird alien creature before it. Quickly it pounced, having determined that there was a suitable mouth opening there!
"YAGGHHHH! I'm being butt raped by some space herpes!"
The face hugger was puzzled. The prey had just unfolded (from where he'd been trying to pick up the soap) and was not getting sedated.
Several heavily armed women came into the room. "AHAH! There it is, it's got Private Singe by the, uhm, privates. Lughi! The neutralizer!"
"Yes'm!" Lughi stepped over and began pouring white powder all over Singe and the creature.
"Urk!" The facehugger declared as some of the powder got on the open cut.
"Take Singe in hand, and-"
GRAB! "Yes maam!"
"I meant take him to the Infirmary, Lughi!"
"Sorry maam."
"Uhm, what's this stuff?" Singe asked, hoping the white powder wasn't some bioweapon.
"Sodium bicarbonate, baking soda," indicated the Sergeant. "If the creature is highly acidic, applying a base substance would be highly poisonous. Oh, and put the space herpes in a cage. They can dissect it later. We don't want it coming back to life."
"I hate it when that happens," agreed one of the other soldiers.
Meanwhile:
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(Posted Mon, 31 Mar 2003 13:34)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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