The — Orville

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.”

“No,” Ed whispered.

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. The Orville

Ed couldn’t argue with that. He leaned back in his chair. “Helm, set a course for the nearest bar. I need a drink that doesn’t taste like a war crime.” Kelly smiled

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

And on the viewscreen, the Orville —smelling faintly of burnt seaweed and victory—sailed off toward its next completely absurd adventure.

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.”