The first interplanetary detective

Chapter 3. Extremely sweet

A transparent train stopped at the Transition Building. On the one side, there was a spacious corridor and a glistening blue arch of the Gate, on the other — endless aquamarine snow. Today, the brain decided to start the action of a hated sleep on Goska. Alisa knew she was dreaming, understood that she should roll over, open her eyes and make the sleep go away. She understood but could do nothing. The sleep did not let go.

In a second she found herself passing the Gate. Parents, as always, were standing a little distance. It was hopeless to explain anything. They would never approve of her interplanetary travels. Mom shook her head and broke eye contact. Alisa looked at dad. She knew he would move the glasses from his forehead to his nose and, without saying a word, leave the Transition Building. Father's hand was already stretching upward, but then a gurgling cough came out of his chest. The plot had changed. Alisa moved a bit to him, and the next moment she opened her eyes ...

A Superman figure was looking at her from a nightstand. The character of earthly comics froze in a brave pose, ready to fight the terrible evil, despite fear and danger.

Easy for you, a superhero in bright clothes, you were born to battle injustice.

But nobody prepared Alisa to watch helplessly as another person was choking. Even if this person was not a human, but an irbugman. If he was also an evil mivan, it doesn't matter.

No doubt Bernard brought the toy from Earth as a souvenir. It would be nice if he grabbed some coffee. Only a cup of this miraculous elixir would be able to calm the buzz in Alisa's brain and get her head straight. The neck was getting stiff. Well, that's understandable, yesterday she decided to wait for her friend to come and passed out in a chair in the living room. Not in the chair, in the pouffe which looked like those she saw in the Cramina's house.

The cool stuff, but still it was not designed for uninvited guests from Earth who decide to settle in for the night. Grunting, Alisa slid to the floor, grabbed a toothbrush from her backpack and went to wash up.

Yesterday she had already dealt with the irbugish shower. Well, the design was very convenient. But, hell, someone could write a manual or something like this! She would like to know "term and conditions" in advance instead of being wet from head to toe. Good news now Alisa could give a course of taking an irbugish shower: set the parameters on the control panel, hide the clothes in the waterproof box, and only then press "on".

Next room to the shower she noticed something very similar to a sink: a yellow cupboard with a bowl on top. There was nothing that looked like a tap. But on the wall, Alisa saw an already familiar control panel.

She set the temperature slider to about the middle, lowered the intensity of the flow almost to a minimum (if it again rains from all sides, then at least not with such force), prepared for the worst and pressed the power button.

Nothing terrible happened: water began pouring from the surface of the bowl. Very well, but a sink was too hight. Or Alisa was too short. Her meter sixty-two lost to average irbugish meter-ninety.

In the living room, she found Bernard. He sat in the pouffe, leaning forward, and looking at the floor.

"How are you?" asked Alisa.

Her friend raised his head. His eyes were puffy, his clothes creased. Such an appearance was entirely out of character for the always neat irbugman. Alisa felt a lump in her throat.

"He passed away," said Bernard very quiet.

Alisa sat down opposite the pouffe. She did not know how to behave, what to say. And was there any need to say anything?

"How can I help you?" the question sounded shy, uncertain.

Bernard shook his head. He was clenching and unclenching his fingers. Alisa was trying to think of something to say, but all seemed to be stupid cliche. She just was sitting in front of him and did not dare to break the silence.