Tales Between the Lines

IV.7

Cap held his breath—again, surprised he was capable of so much genuine breath-holding—and hoped for his spontaneous idea to work. In duck form, the alien intruder didn't seem gifted with an acute sense of smell. Otherwise, it would have found a valid reason to bob upside down.

Instead, Duck pushed its nosy beak further down the slipper.

To Cap's considerable relief, seventy-five long mission days of sweat and slippery grime concentrated into a single piece of footwear did the trick.

Within moments of contact with the unhealthy mixture, the solid, rubbery body of Duck sublimed into its natural gaseous state. Soon, a yellow bank of mist floated over the pond, shifting with the soft breeze of the air vent.

Cap had to admit the mist coiling around reeds and waterlilies was a pretty addition to the setup. However, he wasn't entirely satisfied with the result of his experiment.

"Eve, any ideas how we can get rid of the mist for good?"

"I'm not sure, Captain Whitewattle. There are no reliable reports of survivors of a Cygnian vacuum wraith attack."

"But someone must have survived, otherwise it wouldn't have become known they are allergic to sweat!"

Cap knew he was about to lose it. Not even the brain compartment where, previously, all the smut and dirt of his life had been stored offered him consolidation. This was developing into the worst day he remembered. Even worse than the embarrassing day he tried to convince that little brunette—what was her name again?—to marry him and realised too late she was a hologram placed strategically in his favourite coffee shop to attract solvent male customers.

Cap reached for First's second slipper and threw it at the misty cloud bobbing above the pond.

Unfortunately, he was too agitated to remember to hold his breath. The assault on his nasal mucous membranes was beyond his already stressed body to process. He crumpled to the floor, leaving it to a perplexed Eve and slowly awakening First to witness the magnificent fireworks.

When Cap opened his eyes again, the duck and the fog were gone. Eve and First sat on the garden bench. But now, a gap and awkward silence separated them.

"What's happened?" Cap asked.

"Wormholes happened," Eve answered.

"Ugh?"

Eve nodded. "Yes, wormholes. My sensors recorded the event. Obviously, when you expose a stale-sweat-dazed Cygnian vacuum wraith to more stale sweat, wormholes form. And they sucked up the wraith."

"Great." Cap couldn't believe their luck. Then, a thought struck him. "Did we kill the thing?" It was illegal to kill them, as Eve had pointed out, and he was a law-abiding citizen, at least until his probation expired, the one he got from drunkenly ramming his ship into a police shuttle.

"No," Eve said. "The wraith got wormholed to planet HP. Obviously, the wormholes resonated with the last one we created on our ship, and that was the one forming when you operated the HP WormJet 8620."

Cap nodded. He wouldn't use that device anymore.* It now acted as a plug to hold the air in his spaceship.

So, all was well. Wasn't it?

————

* Any other users of HP WormJet devices were in for a surprise: Instead of silver bullets, death rays, and cow turd, the WormJets now brought forth nothing but rubber ducks.** And this was a good thing, as it ended all sorts of ferocious wars.

** Genuine ones, not the wraith sort.

~~~