Zarb turned on her clan mate, his blue fur ruffling as she roared her disapproval at again being lost in some awful backwater.
“I swear by the many moons of Tarlex” she bellowed, “If we run out of fuel and end up marooned here waiting for a repair service I will rip out your throat and leave your carcass in this god forsaken place!”
“Now now dear” said Malen, attempting to calm her. She was half his size again and had such a frightful temper, “I know exactly where we are” he paused for a moment before adding “…more or less.”
She scowled at him, her claws twitching and her tail swishing impatiently. “My mother told me that you were an inferior mate” she snarled, “but no, I let you woo me with your throbbing brabnar and your eloquent songs of dal-bur”. She pushed him aside, reaching for the Navigation console.
“Zarb, my sweetness” Malen pleaded, “trust me, we are only a mere 4 quintels astray and we will soon be back on …”
Malan never got to finish explaining how they would soon be back on course following a diversion to avoid a rather nasty solar flare, because he was quite rudely interrupted by a loud alarm and a series of flashing lights emanating from the bridge.
“Malan you useless spawn of a fargon!” She cried, clubbing him across the side of the face and squeezing her ample rump into the not quite large enough chair in front of the console. Furiously she stabbed away at the illuminated buttons with her long fingers.
He looked over her furry blue shoulder as she plotted a new set of navigation coordinates.
“You’ve taken us too far out of range of that sun!” she growled, we’re going to need to spend a couple of cycles on the nearest planet to recharge the cells!”
Malan knew it was best to say as little as possible at this point. “How about I make us a nice cup of tea?” he offered apologetically as she continued to mumble insults about his mother’s cooking and the unimpressive girth of his father’s jarbul.
Now as it turns out, across the collective 11256 recognised civilisations registered at the Central Galactic Office for Sentience more than two thirds have something culturally equivalent to a nice cup of tea. The people of Karpisal V have a beverage almost identical to a refreshing Earl Grey taken each morning as a cleansing tonic whilst the amassed hordes of Qualik have something more akin to a soup of battery acid and pig trotters which is apparently quite invigorating on a summer’s day.
The idea seemed to calm her somewhat and she grunted approvingly.
“I’ll tell you what else we can do when we get there “ Malan said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“What’s that?” She asked, her interest piqued.
“Probing!” he exclaimed.
“Ooh ooh yes please” Zarb cried “It’s been far too long.
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