The Orville Apr 2026

“It will taste of photons and lies,” Bortus said grimly.

Just then, Dr. Fen hailed them. “Captain Mercer,” she said, a wild, maniacal grin on her face. “You’ve just committed the first act of biological warfare using a fermented beverage. I’m submitting a paper. Title: ‘Palate Cleansing at the Galactic Scale: How a Moclan’s Poor Life Choices Saved the Union.’”

The Orville emitted a concentrated burst of the Pepto-Abysmal’s flavor signature directly into the cloud’s “taste” receptors. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the entire cloud shuddered—a cosmic, full-body dry heave. The amber haze turned a violent shade of chartreuse. A booming, psychic wave of pure revulsion washed over the ship’s hull.

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

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

Kelly smiled. “Because every other ship in the fleet would have tried to negotiate with it or shoot it. You? You made it throw up.”

“It’s… eating,” said Chief of Security Alara Kitan, her brow furrowed. “It’s not attacking. It’s just really, really hungry.” “It will taste of photons and lies,” Bortus said grimly

Dr. Fen pointed a trembling finger at Isaac. “ Thank you! It rejected the Sagan because our hull was coated in cheap, mass-produced duranium alloy. It’s like a wine connoisseur spitting out a mouthful of soda pop. But now you’ve brought the Orville —with its unique blend of military-grade armor, recycled shuttle fuel residue, and whatever that smell is from the mess hall—you’ve given it an amuse-bouche !”

Bortus looked at the bottle, then at the desperate faces around him. “You are asking me to weaponize… Pepto-Abysmal?”

Captain Ed Mercer stared at the viewscreen on the bridge of the USS Orville . A shimmering, iridescent cloud the size of Jupiter was currently digesting a small moon. Science scans indicated it was a rogue, non-corporeal lifeform with the cognitive capacity of a mildly ambitious goldfish. “Captain Mercer,” she said, a wild, maniacal grin

As if on cue, the Orville shuddered. Alarms blared on Ed’s communicator. “Captain,” came the voice of Ensign Turco, panicked. “The cloud is… licking us. Very enthusiastically.”

Bortus stared at the now-empty bottle in his hands. His voice was a low rumble of loss. “We are safe, Captain. But my vintage is gone.”