Tales Between the Lines

IV.6 The Truth

Problem was, he couldn't count on his completely rubberducked companions. And outwitting a parasitic, yellow alien-meme seemed like a tricky thing to do.

So, he returned to his trusty old thinking-aid of beard-scratching. The stubble had grown longer, he hardly could hear the calming sound of the bristles against his fingertips anymore. Not even this tiny bit of normality was left on his very own ship.

Somehow, this realisation made Cap's anger rise, a thing almost unheard of. In fact, his blood pressure rose at a rate that triggered Eve's overruling program, the one hardwired to protect her crew and ship. The AI's avatar jumped up, chocolate and other conveniences forgotten. Eve was in attack mode.

"Captain Whitewattle, what's going on? What happens to our ship? I have memory gaps and detect an alien presence in my private circuits!"

"Eve, glad you're back. I... um... please greet our visitor. Duck is of the symbiotic kind."

With his chin, Cap pointed towards the pond. Eve's virtual eyebrows twitched into a narrow V, an emoji she used when processing data only available to the ship and her artificial mind. Gone were all traces of electronic intoxication and brain-washedness.

New confidence surged through Cap's mind. Eve would find a solution. She always did, it was her job after all. Her next words proved she was her usual efficient self again.

"Captain, I confirm alien intrusion. We're dealing with infection by a yellow Cygnian vacuum wraith. They board unsuspecting spaceships and take over the crew's minds, projecting certain pleasant changes onto their surroundings to keep them happy. In the meantime, they suck out their brain energy."

Okay, Eve was back, but her news were not exactly reassuring.

"Eve, what happens with the affected crew and how long does it take?"

"An adult vacuum wraith—and to judge by our new wall paintings we can consider our guest to be fully grown—will use up the brain activity waves of an average human in about 1.357 days Earth standard. Then the wraith will move on and leave the host or hosts in a state of eternal bliss, not unlike a drug-induced high. The victims will happily starve themselves to death."

Cap stared angrily at Duck, paddling around its pond unaffected.

"1.357 days? And you call this a really slow process?"

Duck smiled innocently. Or at least it seemed so to the still angry Cap.

"Well, as your AI can confirm, and as one of your famous human physicists once stated, time is relative."

Cap felt ready to explode. He turned his back towards the offensive intruder.

"Eve, is there any means to get rid of a Cygnian vacuum wraith?"

"Yes, Captain. They are allergic to the effects of hyperhidrosis."

"Wait, that means excessive sweating, doesn't it? For example of the feet?"

"Exactly. Vacuum wraiths were known to perish if brought into direct contact with fresh corporeal sweat."

Cap's day brightened. He turned towards First, still sitting on the bench, his slippered feet outstretched.

Eve's avatar coughed.

"Sorry, Captain Whitewattle, this is not an option. Cygnian vacuum wraiths are listed as endangered species by GAGAG, the Galactic Action Group Against Genocide."

Cap's brain was working in overdrive. A headache started to get hold of it in an attempt to put a reign on such unhealthy activity.

He had a thought. "Fresh sweat, you say?"

Eve nodded. "Yes, it's totally forbidden to apply fresh sweat against Cygnian vacuum wraiths."

"And what about... stale sweat? You know, the kind that has fermented for weeks or more, the kind that's almost solid. The type that's somewhere beyond fermentation, nearly alive and seriously considering to climb the rungs to self-awareness."

She shrugged. "The law says nothing about that."

"I'll be back in a moment." Cap left his companions standing and sitting, and Duck bobbing. He sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of plastic gloves, and jogged back while putting them on.

The vortex room was unchanged. The only news was Duck, who had discovered the duckly joy of upending oneself in order to search a pond's depths for stuff. Cap was confused because Duck did not need to hunt for food. Maybe the urge for upending came with the duck shape.

First's gaze was still on Duck. "Ducky ducky ducky..." he murmured.

Holding his breath, Cap pulled one of First's slippers from the foot it hugged. It felt warm to his touch. Maybe it was a real tribble after all—a pink one.

Carefully, and still holding his breath, he placed the thing on the water's surface and was relieved—but not astonished—to find it floating perfectly. Layers of grease and worse made it watertight. He gave it a shove towards Duck.

Duck stopped its upending as the fluffy, furry thing drew closer. "Oh, what's this?"

"It's a playmate for you," Cap said.

"How sweet, thanks. What does it do?"

"It... brings you a surprise."

"Cool." Duck tilted its head, studying the cute ball of tribble trouble and paddled closer to it.

Then it dipped its beak into the slipper's top opening.