128 - Burn, What IS That Thing?

“Well, Prime pretty much has several tons of ice in orbit, in pieces too small to see, that he could drop when and where he wants, and then there's more solid rocks brought from further out in the solar system. He has a fleet of a dozen small ships that are in-system capable and are kept under the fairground, but they've only been brought out for display and demonstration purposes, for years, so I don't know how effective they would be.” He stopped for a moment, thinking, not realizing how very quiet the two women had become on the other end.

“If he cannot just wipe you out from the air, then he'd be forced to shuttle troops across to attack you on the ground and the troop carriers I've seen have plasma weapons and rail guns that could--”

His voice cut off as Mom flipped over and everything went dark, tumbling, rolling. It happened so quickly that he was not restrained in the chair and went crashing against the wall in pitch black. “What the... Mom! Mom! Hey! Ouch!” His forehead hurt and there was stuff pouring down over his face. Full restraint everywhere in the cabin switched on and things stopped smashing as they were rolled over and over as if the vehicle had suddenly been caught in a flash flood. Then it stopped, leaving them pinned, heads reeling dizzily.

“Mom?”

Cabin lights came up and Terry blinked and blinked trying to clear his face. His tea cup had smashed and shards lay all around him. Eshmaeel was in his chair, since the roll had pushed him back into it rather than flinging him out of it, and Davood had been restrained before at his own request.

Mom made an ugly, screeching noise and the lights flickered before steadying, but they were far dimmer than they should be.

“Terence, do you have a knife? My feet are not sharp enough.”

“Knife? Certainly, what is going ON?”

“Quickly or we shall be electrocuted and then digested.”

She released him and he staggered up, fishing in his pocket for his clasp knife. “What's going on, Mom?”

“I seem to have inadver—awwwriiiiiikkkkkkikikikik –“ the lights dimmed almost to nothing after the electronic noise. “I've stepped on a sandsheet and it is trying to make me stop wiggling. When I open the cabin door, take the knife and cut. I'll push from there and we'll rip our way out.”

“A sandsheet?” Terry staggered and caught himself against the door as Mom began to force it open with a whining noise. He could barely see the thing bulging in. It was mostly maroon. A dark purple patch right in front of his nose was a nipple filled with a ghastly clutter of metal bits that looked like bits of bees. Eshmaeel came up with what looked with a sharpened piece of metal and stood beside him in front of this ballooning flesh that was starting to ooze greasy, acid stinking beads. With a scraping, grinding noise Mom slowly, slowly extended her legs and body, pulling the oozing skin tight. “Cut! Cut now before it can shoc-- iiiiii Oh thank goodness later shocks are considerably less.” The skin was now quivering taut across Mom's wide-open door, stretch marks beginning to show orange against the blue and purple.

“A sandsheet,” Eshmaeel said and they raised their knives and began slashing. Grease exploded into the cabin as the 'sheet began to split. Even though it stank as if it were rotten -- Rotten potatoes Terry thought, it ripped slowly, laboriously, even as Mom began expanding her body against it. That's when it started making odd gurgling, moaning noises.

Terry clawed the stinging goo out of his eyes, left the sodden veil in place in case it sprayed them again, and hacked at the split. Nothing's happening. Nothing's happening. Something should be-- With a sound like a flesh zipper being violently yanked open, the sandsheet finally tore.

Sunlight poured in through the hole and the tattered pieces of sandsheet wiggled loose and fled in three directions, diving under the sand as soon as they dropped free of Mom's hide, oozing bluish fluids behind them. Terry could see smaller, thumb-sized pieces squirming away, underground as fast as they could wiggle.He could feel the veil melting, and his clothing was mushy under his burning hands.

His exposed skin was prickling, itching, and burning, heat coming up under the hammer of the sun even as he yanked the veil away from swelling lips.  He pulled everything off and joined Eshmaeel, already naked, scouring himself off with sand. His hair came away in handfuls. “Aw, no. I'm going to show up at my new home bald and with no eyebrows and a ragged crust of scab across my forehead?”

Eshmaeel looked over at him and actually started to laugh. “You're worried what the girls will think?”

“That's silly,” Terry sniffed, raising his nose in the air. The boy looked entirely different, alien, without his hair and eyebrows, his scalp much paler than the rest of him. “There's much more important problems than that!”

“Right, Terry. At least they saw you before...” He shrugged. “And hair grows back.”

Terry looked down at the amorphous lump that had been his clothing and hair. Sand was already drifting over it. “And those were my second best boots, too.”

Mom was slowly cycling through a complete up and down motion on all her legs, absorbing the acid and breaking it down before it could damage her any further. “I believe I dislike sandsheets," she said.