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Fur Ball Part Five The Robinson’s dreams that night were sometimes serious, sometimes dark, often disturbed. The problem concerning their unexpected guests had clearly plagued everyone, especially Penny, who blamed her for their ordeal. She tossed over and over. A sharp squeal startled her to wakefulness. Groaning in dismay, she plucked the tribble who had crawled beneath her free from the covers and lightly placed it on the floor. A few cabins over, Dr. Smith was also dreaming, but his dream of sipping sherry beside his large stone fireplace was far more pleasant. He reclined back into the expensive leather sofa, hearing a pleasing creak as he shifted. There was a heavily decorated Christmas tree in the corner, a hand‑embroidered tree skirt gaily stretched out from beneath the pine‑scented branches. Packages of many sizes and shapes were nestled on the skirt. From the next room he heard the child‑like giggle of his young nephew, who was using the circular access around the rooms to play hide and seek with his younger sister. She was crawling and chortling happily, thinking the game of tag was hilarious. Smith smiled broadly as he watched them play. When the little one drifted into view the dancing flames entranced her, and began to wander over there. Patiently he scooped her up and, turning her around, sent the child off in the opposite direction. Sighing contentedly, he sat down again. Dark curls swirled around her head as she realized she’d been duped. Like any obstinate and curious 10 month old, she reversed gears and headed back to the jumping light. “No, no, sweetheart,” he told her softly, but with a hint of firmness. “Hot!” The child looked at him with perplexed eyes, and smiled innocently. Her brother came in to find out why she wasn’t still playing the game, and crawled into Smith’s lap. Obligingly Smith gave the youngster a hug. Meanwhile, his eyes sought out the little girl who had started playing with a smooth African carving she’d removed from an end table. It was rare and expensive, but he could deny her nothing. Well, almost nothing. He drew the line at potentially dangerous situations. “When’s Momma and Daddy coming home?” the boy inquired. “I would assume pretty soon. They said the reception would end around six.” Wit that he gave his nephew another prolonged embrace, enjoying the unconditional love and acceptance he felt surround him. It was at moments like these he wished he could have found someone to share his life with. But it wasn’t easy to trust. Too many women’s eyes looked at him with blatant disinterest — that is, until he told them he was a doctor. And, oh yes, how they suddenly turned friendly. So he’d wine and dine them anyway, have a good time as long as he could keep things non‑romantic, and then just stop calling. Sadly, he hugged the boy tighter. Satisfied with all the attention, the boy crawled off his lap and disappeared into the huge kitchen again. Sith’s niece, the soon‑to‑be‑toddler, grasped the mahogany and glass coffee table and began to stagger along its length. At the end she took two hesitant steps and plopped onto her bottom with a crackle of plastic diapers. Soon she began to crawl over to the orange and red tongues of flame. She was quicker this time, and Smith had to bolt off the sofa. He scooped her up again, and this time carried her with him to the couch. At first she struggled briefly in his tight embrace, squiggling to worm her way back to the floor, but her uncle was quite adamant about hanging on. A few grunts and whimpers of displeasure didn’t dissuade him, so she settle down to wait him out. Smith placed his cheek against the tousled silky curls, enjoying how they tickled his skin. “Uncle Zach, I’m getting cold,” the boy called. Standing up he laid the baby on the floor and went to add a few more pieces of wood to the fire. It blazed up warmly. A bit too warmly, he thought. The temperature began to grow. He was definitely getting too warm now, and wondered why the fire should be burning so hotly. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and down his back. Too hot! His mind startled to yell. Instantly his thoughts turned toward protecting the children. Panic began to set in, though he didn’t know why. He began to experience a sense of claustrophobia. He looked for his niece and nephew, but couldn’t see them anywhere. In the kitchen were the sounds of birds chirping. The sound grew louder and louder, nearly driving him mad. Smith’s eyes, filled with worry for the children and fear of the unknown intruders, popped open wide. And immediately noticed the familiar ceiling of his cabin on the Jupiter 2. A dream! his mind yelled in relief. Then an important fact registered in his still‑befuddled mind. He was still boiling hot, soaked with sweat. And the noxious noise of birds chirping and cheeping hadn’t faded. Now they were mixed with loud and equally odious purring. He “things” moving around his face and head. Furry things. When he shifted slightly he felt the weight of many more sliding down his body. Bolting upright, he suppressed a gasp as he found that he had been covered, head to toe, in a thick tribble quilt. Worse than wearing a fur-covered cocoon to bed, he grumbled, struggling to get out from under them. A quick glance around the room showed nary a tribble anywhere but near or on top of him. In a great pile, they swamped his body and bordered his bed. From outside his door was a stifled masculine chortle. Smith scowled mightily. So they want to play games with him, do they? he thought. Then he remembered instigating the Major’s ire by escorting Judy around the mall, Okay, he admitted, I deserve this one, and was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from chuckling aloud. It was pretty humorous, now that he thought of it. Aft least it was the kind of pay back he preferred to receive if he had no choice ... the harmless variety. But he couldn’t let it pass. The individual or individuals outside were probably waiting for some response, or would provoke one if he tarried too long. Some small part of him spoke a kindly reminder that these people were the only “family” he now had left. Let them have their fun, he thought. Even if it’s at my expense.. So he made a hasty decision and took one mighty breath. The effeminate shriek that emanated from the cabin not only startled the pranksters but also woke every Robinson within earshot, and most of the aliens for ten ships around. Jerking open his cabin door — and being extremely cautious not to trod on any unfortunate tribble — Smith hurtled out into the main deck area, wild‑eyed, hair spiking in every direction, looking for all the world like a terrified lunatic. “Save me!” he yelled, letting another blood curdling scream rip past his lips. “They’re after me!” “Who, Doctor?” West asked, trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to hid a grin. Noticing it, Smith redoubled his efforts. “Those fearsome fur balls, that’s who!” He cast terrified eyes on the Professor. “They tried to eat me, I tell you. I was sleeping — quite peacefully, I might add — and awoke to find them swarming all over me.” While he spoke he glanced around to find the deck mostly empty of tribbles. Now sure that they’d been collected specifically just for him, he renewed his descriptions of the horrible things those monsters would have done to his person if he’d not awakened at just the right moment. As the lurid details escalated, West lost it and began to laugh quite loudly. Smith mentally worked himself up. Pointing one long, trembling index finger at West, he growled, “How DARE you, sir! Iniquity! Cruelty! You nearly scared me out of ten years’ life, and all because of some petty jealousy.” That got West scowling. Cleverly, Smith changed his tactics. Bowing his head, he worked up a pained, tearful expression, and used his sleeve to dab at dry eyes. “Oh sadness, oh sorry. To think that my bosom companion would do such a cruel thing to dear, kindly Dr. Smith. I fear I shall never be the same again. Never!” Though he knew the Robinson’s had heard it all before, he pushed the scene for all it worth, and was rewarded to see John and Maureen scowling at West as if he were some rudely mischievous boy. Once more he suppressed a chuckle by painfully biting his lower lip. For a moment, West seemed to shrink into the background. This was back‑firing in ways he’d never expected. Beside him, Judy looked uncomfortable. Rounding on her, he gave her his most piteous look. “Judy. My dear, sweet Judy. Please tell me you didn’t encourage this Neolithic Neanderthal in his perfidy.” “Oh, Dr. Smith, I’m really sorry. It’s just that he was so set on playing the job that I didn’t think I could stop him.” “The question is, would you have attempted to if you could?” Judy looked closely, VERY closely at his eyes and noticed the hint of laughter there. He was playing them all like a finely tuned instrument, she realized. For the first time since their lot had all been cast together, Judy looked at Smith in a new light. And liked what she saw just the same. But she couldn’t very well betray Don either. “I don’t know,” she responded. “Honestly, I don’t.” Forcing his back ramrod straight, Smith sputtered, “Collusion with this misanthropic miscreant? Judy, really!” He glanced back into his stateroom, then back at West. “And YOU! Id’ better find every single one of those fur balls removed from my quarters first things in the morning.” He instantly dropped the imperious tone and sighed. “I will never recover from this...” For added, effect, he massaged his lower back. “And to make matters worse, my back is now a disaster area.” With a sad shake of his, he rounded his shoulders to make it appear as if the weight of the world was on them, and plodded back into his room. With his most pathetic, hang‑dog look he turned, eyed them all a second, and quietly slid the door closed. From outside the door, he heard Will state, “Gosh, Don, that wasn’t a very nice thing to do.” And... “For heaven’s sake, Don, what go into you?” Smith strode to his bed, still careful of the furry balls on the floor. As soon as he could, he snatched up a pillow, smashed his face into it to smother any noises and, shoulders bobbing, laughed until he couldn’t laugh anymore. Score one for the Doctor, his mind giggled triumphantly. Finally he took a few deep, cleansing breaths. One half‑giggle squelched through, sounding more like a stifled sneeze. “Achoo!” he yelled. “Bless you,” came a few responses. Heaving a hearty sigh of contentment, Smith prepared to re‑enter his bed. Unfortunately the tribbles seemed to like it even more than he did. The piles he’d knocked down had returned to their previous place of repose. Ever so gently he picked them up one by one, off his bed and placed them softly on the deck. Most purred as he scooped them up., One orange tribble, which reminded him of his marmalade tabby cat, trilled louder than the rest. He brought its kitten‑silk to his face, rubbing it against his cheek as it seemed to purr its contentment. Genuinely tired, he drowsily stroked it a few times then gingerly lowered it to the pile on the floor. Making a hasty survey of the bed, he sank down onto it and flopped back onto his pillow. Something scolded him loudly. Hopping back up, he located the intruder just under his pillow. He removed it, set it on the deck, and with a gentle patting nudge on the backside, sent it back to its companions strewn on the deck. ***** Once more Smith awoke to noises of distress, but this time they weren’t his own. “My Lord,” Maureen was exclaiming. “What will we do now?” Intrigued, but not wanting to show it, Smith slowly unwound himself from the covers dotted with islands of fur, and slid back his door. The gasp that escaped his lips was real this time. The small molehill of tribbles had earthquaked into a huge mountain. He saw the children walking around in an odd, sliding gait to keep from stepping on anything that chirped, trilled, purred or warbled. He could see that the galley had an equally large mountain. It was also evident from the plate Maureen held that the tribbles had gotten into their food supplies. The girls looked close to panic. Will’s expression flashed from concern to laughter and back again. Professor Robinson looked like a victim of shell shock. If he’d any plans on how to handle the little creatures, it was evident they’d gone up in smoke overnight. Major West, ever the fighter, growled, I say bulldoze the things outside. I mean, they are cute and all that, but enough is enough. Let’s ship ‘em all outside and let things sort themselves out later on. “What kind of ‘sorting out’ do you think will work, Don?” John asked patiently. “If we suddenly dump them outside, the pile would surround the ship, and I’m sure that wouldn’t make the Gaelorian Gem’s staff happy.” “No, but it would make me happy,” West stated boldly. “I saw we need to purge the whole ship of them, right now.” As he said it, he roughly scooped up one tribble and brandished it for effect. The creature let out a long, offended series of screeches. Startled, Don dropped it and it fell onto the pile by his feet with a tiny chirp. “Professor,” Smith began, “perhaps it’s time to do what you nearly suggested. Maybe it’s time to alert the Gem’s security to this problem. I have a suspicion that we are not the only ship now plagued with them, and any time now we shall all be attracting unwanted attention anyway.” Giving Smith a long, hard glance, John said, “I hate to say it, but he’s right. Okay, kids, Maureen, get dressed. We’ll talk to the lobby desk staff and then grab something to eat while they’re working on the solution to this problem. Don, you have my permission to unload some of these things down below. Smith, you give him a hand.” “I? I? I’ll have you know, sir, that I am not responsible for this calamity, and I refuse to become a tribble taxi.” “You’ll do it or else,” John warned, not bothering to finish the sentence. It was usually enough. “Don, keep an eye on Smith. And Robot, you come with us.” “Whoopee!” crowed the Robot, sounding more like a little boy than a supposedly unemotional mechanical creation. Grumbling mightily, Smith dressed quickly and began loading up boxes to bring to the docking bay. On his first trip down he noticed that all the occupied ships around them had similar ideas. Much to his chagrin, his prediction had been true. The tribbles were everywhere, a furry plague, spreading out across the whole landing area. The tedious work grew even more boring after the fourth load. The Robinson’s had already left. And they hadn’t gone alone, either. Most of the private space vessel owners had conferred, John included, and the entire menagerie had gone off to seek help. Soon after, Don began pitching the tribbles like baseballs out the exit hatch. Below him, Smith was consigned to playing catcher. Wincing at the pained chirp of each one he dropped, he finally set aside his indignation and focused on not dropping any of the furry projectiles. “This is hopeless,” Don muttered finally, wiping his brow. For once, Smith had given up on proper decorum and had pitched his black uniform shirt aside. His white undershirt was soaked. “Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?” he asked. From just overhead he heard, “It’s you. This is what you get for doing nothing but lay around all the time.” “Bah!” Smith answered. “More likely it’s from the body heat of all these things. They appear to have a body temperature several degrees higher than humans.” “Oh yeah? Well, they keep this bay pretty cool so I doubt that’s it.” Grumbling, Smith continued to field the flying tribbles and lay them on the enormous, and growing, piles beside him. “Enough! I simply must have something to drink, Major, or I shall dehydrate and pass out on the spot.” “Suit yourself, Smith, but don’t think this will get you out of more work.” When the doctor climbed up to the lower deck, he looked around in dismay. It didn’t seem as if they’d made much a dent in the number of tribbles inside the ship. He went to fetch a cup and found two tribbles nesting in it. Then he went to find the water and found the container drained nearly dry and several soaked tribbles squeezed into the bottom of the container. “Ugh!” Smith grunted in disgust. He held it up for West to see. “Major, I suggest you hunt up the Robins and tell them to hurry. And while you’re at it, why don’t you be a good fellow and bring me back a tiny bite to eat? Chicken cordon bleu, if you please, and some pure water.” West tossed aside the tribbles he was holding. “Yeah, right. Anything you say.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “I am going to find John and the others. You stay put, you hear me? And stay out of trouble!” “Trouble indeed!” Smith sniffed with righteous indignation. “Rest assured I shall hold down the fort till my very last breath.” West drilled Smith with hard eyes. “You’d better!” Not long after the Major left, Smith waded through the river of fur and selected a big, plump, brindle colored tribble. He took it over to the laboratory alcove and did a quick visual examination. That revealed nothing more than lots of fur, no obvious eyes or ears and a single grey hole in the belly that made moist sucking motions. Okay, so he’d found the mouth, he thought. Brilliant deduction, Zachary, he quipped. So when will you come up with something other than what any 10 year old could figure out? Next he powered up the portable NMR machine, and ran a quick anatomical scan on the purring beast. As he studied the black, grey and white images, he noted small but distinct organs. What he saw dismayed him. Using a syringe, he cautiously removed some blood. Next he ran some additional blood tests, but the computers could tell him nothing of use. Not that he expected it. They were set up for reporting on aberrations within human biological systems. Still, he stored the data anyway. The thought crossed his mind that a dissection might have yielded more interesting results, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill the innocent creature, even in the name of “science”. Taking a pair of scissors, he removed some of the brindle hairs and ran a genetic scan. As expected there were some similarities to the standard nucleic acid sequences he found on Earth, but also some unrecognisable nucleotides. Next he used some of the purple‑tinged blood sample and put it under a microscope. He noticed the cells themselves had unrecognisable organs, and the nuclei had additional chromosomes not found in any cell on earth. Gently releasing the tribble back onto the floor, he pulled out a pad and jotted down his findings then took them back to his cabin. He was placing his notes in a “safe” place when he heard the Robinson's returning. “Smith, where are you?” Don shouted, his tone sounding as if he expected the Doctor to have gone AWOL. He looked disappointed when the object of his animosity showed up at the top of the stairs. “Right here, Major. Where else would I be?” Smith goaded, in an oily voice. Without preamble John Robinson began to tell Smith what he’d learned. “Apparently the tribbles are currently isolated to this docking bay, though they are going to check to see if that’s not the case. I saw aliens’ carrying them out earlier, so who knows. Also, they have called in a specialist to handle them.” “A specialist?” queried Smith with a raised eyebrow. “What sort of specialist?” “They didn’t say,” Will answered before anyone else could. “When will all this happen?” “They didn’t say that either,” was the ingenuous reply. “Marvelous. And in the meantime the tribbles are enjoying the fruits of our labor. Which reminds me, did you remember my food?” With a mocking look, West tossed a plain brown paper bag at the Doctor. Smith sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose, and ventured a look into the container. Sighing in resignation he pulled out what looked like a bright green burrito with black and grey vegetables and purplish meat. Quickly swinging it toward the Robot, he asked one simple question. “Edible?” “Affirmative,” the Robot responded, emotionless. Smith wasn’t convinced. “You had better be certain, my galvanized gourmet. Because if I get ill I assure you, you will be cleaning it up!” He took another tentative sniff. Without taking a single bite, Smith laid it down on the table, but not before shooing several tribbles away from it. Thoughtfully he lightly tapped his lips with one finger. Most of the crew was already starting to gather up more of the little invaders. Should he tell them? he wondered. If he did, they’d know he was actually “working” and if they knew that ... well, they’d surely find other things to keep him busy. He felt that, before he knew it, they’d be putting his medical talents to good use all of the time, and that would seriously cut into his 24 hour a day relaxation period. But for once he allowed common sense to win out over self-interest. “Professor, I, uh, utilized some of our medical equipment to study these animals.” At first he thought John was going to express doubt that the study had gone on at all. The man had crossed his arms and was waiting for the results as if he were waiting to hear a tall tale. Smith flinches inwardly. Heaven knows, he’d told some real whoppers over the last three years, but he pushed ahead anyway. “First of all, these creatures’ anatomical structures indicate they exist primarily to eat and breed.” “Tell me something I don’t know,” John stated, still standing with folded arms. Smith threw his hands up in the air in consternation. “All right, let’s forget all the game‑playing for a second. I’ll tell you what little I’ve discovered and I’ll also let you know, up front, that what I’ve found isn’t much use to us at the moment. “Upon initial examination, I find that their digestive and reproductive structures are well developed, while their brains and circulatory systems are designed with far more simplicity. I couldn’t discover any respiratory system either. Common sense dictates that there would be some pulmonary or similar organ system for the exchange of blood gases, but I couldn’t find anything as obvious as lungs or ‘airways’. There is the remote possibility that it doesn’t need to breath the way most warm-blooded mammals would. Which, incidentally, it is — warm blooded, I mean. “From cell studies it actually looks much like our own cells, with a few organelles missing and several other unique ones added. As you’d expect, it has a different chromosomal structure than earth animals do. “Also, genetic scans show that they have certain markers that would indicate they may be susceptible to a few diseases commonly plaguing humans. If true, certain cross species infections can conceivably occur. In other words, it might be possible for them to give us certain diseases and vice versa, though I can’t verify it at the moment, at least not without further tests.” Smith took a slow breath and watched the children pushing tribbles into a box on the floor. “I will tell you one very fascinating fact. And it explains why separating them did no good.” By now, John had leaned against the nearest counter, his hands resting partly over the edges. “Go ahead. This I have to hear.” Not sure of the intent of that comment, smith frowned, but decided to assume the best. “It’s born pregnant!” “What?!” John blurted out in amazement, causing everyone to turn his way. “Born pregnant,” repeated Smith smugly, finally glad to have caught Robinson off guard, at least for a brief second or two. “Each tribble has a litter of about four more. The scan clearly showed the reproductive organs, and I could see baby tribbles already formed inside, with the babies about to be born. That can only mean one thing — the infants can bear young soon after they are born. “Which would certainly account for the rapid growth in their population,” he continued. “If they reproduce about once every 15 minutes and grow to maturity in just under an hour, you have an exponentially increasing population which is consuming at full capacity with 60 minutes after birth. Add to that one more problem. The tribble I examined was, as I stated already, pregnant and she was full grown, so they not only bear a litter soon after birth without needing a mate, but they continue to bear young, also presumably without a mate.” “How can they do that?” West asked, as he shovelled balls of fluff into a container. Smith shrugged. “My best guess would be to say they are hermaphroditic.” “Huh?” Will asked. “Never mind, William,” Smith said sternly. “Go ask your mother another time.” As he spoke, Smith’s stomach rumbled loudly. Deciding that a green burrito was better that none, he turned to look for it. To his dismay, Smith found that the tribbles had gotten there first. Gulping down rising bile, he searched for the thermos William had carried back. Reaching for it, he poured a cup of cool water and downed it in three swallows. Ignoring his hunger, he once more turned to John. “I can’t say this with great assurance, but I would guess that as long as they have an adequate food supply, they will keep breeding, just like many primitive special will on Earth.” “Which is why the trader told Penny to stop feeding them,” Don called up from nearby. “But it didn’t work, remember?” John reminded him. “They had no access to food in Penny’s quarters to begin with, yet they apparently were having their litters anyway.” Smith gestured widely with both hands. “I wish I could tell you more than I already have.” Will and Penny waded through the rapidly replenished sea of tribbles. “How do they eat, Dr. Smith?” Obligingly Smith picked up a clear plexiglass clipboard and put some of the burrito on it. Then he placed one of the tribble at one end. As it started to wiggle toward the food, the doctor held the clipboard high overhead. It didn’t take any invitation for the children to duck down underneath. Even John and Don edged closer. The tribble settled over the crumb of food so that its tiny mouth hole was over it. Then, in a flash, a thick, pink/grey, fleshy stalk pushed it’s way out of the hole and plopped over the food. Instantly stalk and food were sucked back into the hole. “Gosh!” Penny exclaimed. “Boy, you said,” Will added, for once not interested in teasing her for her exuberance. “Now, you children move along. Time to start shovelling again,” Smith encouraged with a “shooing” motion of both hands. “Smith, you’ve given me an idea,” John stated. “Maybe one of the other ships has a more advanced sick bay. Perhaps we can find out if they’ve done any research.” John tiptoed, as least such a tall, powerful man could tiptoe, around the little islands of rocking, warbling fur. Second later he disappeared below. “What is that rolling roustabout?” Smith called as soon as the Professor had vanished. “Here, and forgotten as always,” the mechanical man said glumly. Smith did nothing to hide the disgust in his voice. “Oh really, please spare me the pathetic attempts to garner sympathy. You won’t get any from me. Now, we are fast running out of options, and since you are a ‘theorizing robot’, I want you to ‘theorize’ a way to solve this problem.” “Which one? Stopping the tribbles from breeding? Stopping the tribbles from eating? Stopping the tribble from travelling all over the ship? It would be helpful if you could be more specific.” “Indeed! Well, then let’s start with getting them off the ship. They are reproducing faster than we can shovel.” “I have a solution!” “Yes, yes. Spit it out,” Smith demanded, enunciating each word clearly. “Get bigger shovels,” the Robot replied. Smith’s head fell to the table, and he lightly banged his forehead against it a few extra times for good measure. “I can’t stand it. We are drowning a sea of fur and you throw us a shovel! Out, booby, OUT!” “Would you prefer a skillet?” the Robot offered. Looking perplexed, Smith queried, “Skillet? Whatever for?” “Vittles. There’s enough protein here to keep this family fed for a hundred years.” Rolling his eyes, Smith muttered, “Now, why did I know I should never have asked that question?” and he decided to check the landing bay himself, if only to get away from the culinary crackpot. The scene below him was pure chaos. There were a group of aliens arguing loudly off to his left. Professor Robinson was in the midst of the group, clearly trying to call for restoration to sanity, but the others weren’t interested. Other groups were scattered around, presumably arguing about the same thing. Throwing up his hands in disgust, John trod back toward the Jupiter 2. Smith calculated the situation before Robinson reached him. “I gather you had no luck finding help with obtaining advanced medical equipment.” Shaking his head, John fought to keep his voice calm. “No luck with that. Most of these aliens have arrived in pleasure vehicles. They all have some set up for treating minor medical problems, but nothing elaborate. Our lab, archaic as it to some of these beings, is still better equipped than what they have.” “I don’t know of any cruise ship that doesn’t have a fair self‑sufficient medical facility on board. I suggest we start there as soon as possible.” Smith took another look at the chaos. “Any appearance by the staff to check out our difficulties?” John’s eyes grew weary. “Not that I’ve seen. It’s just common sense to send someone...unless surveillance devices monitor this bay. I suspect that’s the case. They can probably see what’s happening from whatever passes as the ‘control room’ or ‘security office’.” He crouched as if to sit down on the steps leading up into the belly of the Jupiter 2 then jerked up, pivoting quickly. A look of relief flashed across his handsome features. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do it was to squash one of the little hairy beasts. Carefully he sat, then assumed a position of deep thought. As Smith stood facing John, a tribble, fat and furry, plopped down on his head with a shocked squeak. At first, John looked back up into the dimly lit entrance, frowned, then returned to his previous meditations. Another Furball buzzed him on its way down to the bay’s deck Thirty seconds later two more plopped right on his head, squawking in indignation. John ignored them. Finally it was clear that he could come up with no solution that would satisfy humans and tribbles alike. Standing up, stretching for lack of something else to do, he stated, “Well, I suppose I should get back up there and see if there’s anything I can do to help.” As he began to walk up the steps, Smith called after him, “Whatever you do, don’t let that murderous manservant serve you lunch!” “Why?” John asked, bending down to look at Smith. “Because he’s got ‘Toasted Tribble’ on the menu, that’s why!” John’s stomach did a revolting flip-flop. To Smith’s satisfaction he saw the Professor disappear into the ship with his hands clutching his middle. “I hear it tastes like chicken,” Smith crowed after him, trying to sound helpful. There was a loud “Ugh!” from overhead, and Smith chuckled evilly. When he was sure he could make his entrance back on board without cracking a smile, he strode up the steps. The other members of the Jupiter 2 crew had, in general, given up trying to unload the tribbles via the exits. Too much walking, Will complained, sounding more like an old man rather than a young and vigorous boy. Though it was not part of his nature to be cruel, he had opted for dumping the hairy balls down the garbage chute. They went, cheeping and chirping, into the dark tube, landing with annoyed little noises as they hit a growing pile on the Gem’s deck. Near Will, the Robot was picking them up one by one and handing them to Judy. “Tribble L’orange,” he stated. “Creamed Tribble over noodles. Tribble Stroganoff.” Judy’s beautiful smile lit up the lower deck, and she giggled at the silliness of it all. They were in deep trouble, she knew that, but somehow she couldn’t mire herself in the same seriousness as her parents. “I could sure go for Tribble Stroganoff,” she stated dreamily. Penny opened her mouth widely and stuck her tongue out in distaste. “Yuck! I hate stroganoff.” Mom and Pop Robinson took a long, hard, disbelieving look at their offspring. I think your children have finally lost it,” John told Maureen without a smile. Equally straight‑faced, she replied, “I think your children are entirely too much like you.” “Why, thank you,” John responded, and let out the laugh he had struggled to hold in. Maureen joined him. Bending over, she scooped up an armful of tribbles, and handing them to Judy said, “Tribble Parmesan...” ***** |
