The Voyages of the Penelope and the Yydryl , page 5

Whisper, after waiting for what had seemed days had retired to her icy cold quarters. No doubt there had been political intervening holding up the still mysterious mission of the Yddryl. She had never been one to care one way or the other along the political lines of Rigellian or the even more massive tentacle of the Orion Alliance. Having done the dirty work for each side of the factions, Whisper knew that no matter how honorable delegates started out to support their sectors, power and corruption reigned supreme.

Lazily, pondering these ideas of political corruption and the black tentacle that was she, slithering back to her quarters she became aware of a smell as she rounded the corner on deck six! Something or someone had just been here! She was aware that it had only been her and antar populating the ship. She had not yet visited antar for her pre-flight check up, Whisper resisted such protocols and did not like anyone making a fuss over her. Whisper could take care of herself, always had and always would – she needed no one. Or so the frontal brain told her – she wasn’t privy to the dark recesses of her third brain which protected her from others but mostly, from herself.

“I must be hallucinating.” Hangovers, they weren’t just for humans. She decided to stop at the mess hall to pick up a few libations to take to her room. She browsed the bottles, Rigellian juice, the human Coca-Cola (had this infested the entire known universe?) not sweet enough for her liking. Flicking an oily tentacle across the labels, “no, no, No.” With a heavy sigh, she realizes no alcoholic beverages were included in the mess hall stock. Snickering to herself she mutters, “That’s why you always traveled with your own supply.”

Always at the ready (frontal brain) but knowing no action would be required of her (rationalization from third brain) anytime soon, “Gwark we haven’t even received all of our staff”; Whisper retired to her desolate chilly quarters. Retrieving her black stylish luggage she searches for that special bag she can’t leave the galaxy without. Bottles clinking together, she pulls out a bottle of Betelgeuse ‘Juice’ and makes herself a concoction called a Betelgeuse Bomber. Most of her kind couldn’t stomach the highly expensive and rare cocktail. Humans passed out from just a taste. “Humans” she sneered. She ponders the 27,000 suicides in the last month and the implications. Whisper does another shot and settles back, tentacles restless.

THACK ALLON SST, THWARKSST

Gwark! How long had she been gwarking asleep? “GWARK” she chastised herself. Trying to get all of eyelids open she notices she has totally wrecked her cabin. “Two bottles?! I drank two whole bottles!” Whisper moans. That only left her with six bottles and who knows how long this undefined mission would last. Her tentacles shaking slightly, she grabs her tentacle oil hoping this will cover up the obvious smell still emanating from her. With another couple of her tentacles she scoops her personal mess into the small closet, grabs her standard issued Hyper Vortex Proton Disintegrator; the HVPD was her least favorite weapon. Whisper liked her kills a bit more…personal.

Whisper finishes dressing as she slithers along the halls. Antars message was urgent and distressed. “That smell again!” her tiny head whips right, then left; all of her eyes peering into the darkness. No time to investigate now she thinks to herself but does make a mental note to revisit the area later.

Whisper enters Yydryls command central to see antar looking quite distressed. “How long was I out?” she wonders to herself.

“Greetings antar, I apologize for my delay and my neglect to visit you upon arrival….antar you know I’m not an empath, please, I’ve never seen you so troubled. What is our status?” Whisper looks around, the only other entity she sees is a fellow worried looking tentacled Regellian, she nods in his direction with respect.