The Orville Apr 2026

“Okay,” Ed said, leaning back in his command chair. “Standard first contact protocol. Kelly, hail it.”

Ed sighed. He looked at Kelly. “Remind me why I took this job?”

Isaac stepped forward, his optical sensor glowing. “Fascinating. The cloud’s digestive enzymes are non-random. They target specific mineral structures and organic compounds with the precision of a sommelier selecting a vintage. The moon it was consuming was rich in tricyclic hydrocarbons and volcanic salts. A ‘complex, earthy’ profile, one might say.” The Orville

Commander Kelly Grayson tapped her console. “Nothing, Ed. No response to any frequency. It’s just… munching.”

And then, the cloud spat them out.

A moment of profound silence fell over the group. Then, everyone turned to look at Bortus, who had just transported down to assist. In his hands, he held a half-empty bottle of his favorite beverage.

They jury-rigged the Sagan ’s comm array into a disperser. Bortus, with a single, sorrowful tear rolling down his stony cheek, uncapped the bottle and poured its foul, viscous contents into the emitter. The smell alone made Alara gag. “Okay,” Ed said, leaning back in his command chair

“A hundred-year aged Moclan fermented seaweed-malt liquor,” Dr. Fen read the label. “With notes of burnt tires, regret, and ‘a finish that lasts longer than a Union-Danube war.’ It’s perfect.”