The Orville -

“A hundred-year aged Moclan fermented seaweed-malt liquor,” Dr. Fen read the label. “With notes of burnt tires, regret, and ‘a finish that lasts longer than a Union-Danube war.’ It’s perfect.”

Kelly blinked. “The what?”

The Orville and the gutted Sagan were ejected from the nebula like a watermelon seed, tumbling end over end into clear space. The cloud, looking visibly offended, contracted into a tight, angry ball and zipped away at warp speed, probably to find a nice, bland asteroid to cleanse its palate. The Orville

“You idiots!” Dr. Fen shrieked, not with fear, but with academic rage. “You’ve ruined it! We were this close to proving the ‘Great Flavor Hypothesis’!” looking visibly offended