In episode seven, a group of anti-social travelers were blown to pieces. Let’s see if something similar happens in episode eight…
Chapter Four
Captain of the Guard, Luke Blister, was out in the woods that stood close to the End Cap military base at which he was stationed, looking for his absent pet plugmutt…
“Oh Shagblaster, where are you?” He called.
But he received no response from the indifferent creature. Then his ears caught the distinctive wail of a military siren in the distance…
It could mean only one thing: someone wanted to speak with him on the com-panel. The unlovable Shagblaster forgotten, Captain Blister raced to the radio shack as quickly as his tiny feet could carry him…
“What is it? What is it?” He asked breathlessly.
“Listen for yourself.” An orange subordinate replied. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“It’s a mother ship.” The other subordinate added. “It has just entered orbit.”
This shocked Luke…
Mother ships never entered orbit: they simply landed wherever they fancied – including the recreation ground, cricket pitch, or (if the pilot was feeling particularly daring that day) the skateboard park.
“This is Captain of the Guard, Luke Blister,” he replied when an agitated voice wanted to know if anyone was there, “ready, willing and able to do your bidding. How may I and my insignificant military outpost assist you?”
“You got a Suicide Squad stationed there?” The voice snapped impatiently.
“Er, we do, sir.” Luke replied. “They’re a little out of practise, but I don’t suppose you ever really forget how to blow yourself up for some worthless cause. They’ll be prepped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. I’ll just have to call them back from the beach first.”
“How many regular troopers you got stationed there,” the voice replied, before adding, “you obsequious little git?”
Luke thought of a number: thought about doubling it: but decided to go with his original estimate. He relayed it to the mother ship.
The owner of the disgruntled voice sounded a little more accommodating. “That’ll do.” He said. “I’m sending down a saucer to pick you up. Don’t forget to lock up behind you: you never know this might not be a suicide mission at all. We just like to cover all the bases.”
Naturally Luke was thrilled…
…as was his closest subordinate: finally they had something worthwhile to do; they could be proper soldiers. The other was less certain though:
“He said it ‘might not be a suicide mission’.” He wailed. “Equally that is exactly what it might turn out to be. Captain Blister; Ronald; this is not a time for unbridled celebration.”
However as Luke made his way along the veranda that would lead him to the path down which he would find his way to the beach…
…his pace slowed. Was the doubtful subordinate right? Might this be his and his command’s, first and last action? It was all well and good having a suicide squad in their company; but that didn’t mean they all had to follow suit, to use a card player’s vernacular. He didn’t have long before his stint was up: he wanted to draw his generous military pension. He most definitely did not want to die gloriously because someone else decided that he should.
“Hmmm,” he said as he regarded the plantain patch through a side window…
…”I think I might, possibly, avoid putting too much effort into this. I just need to rein Ronald in a bit: he’s a bit gung-ho.”
Meanwhile, in the Civic Centre, Douglas Tetrahedron continued to go about his business…
And in the watchtower that looked out over the gorge that led to the mountaintop citadel of Lemon Stone, the imprisoned felon, Mister Zinc and his biological girlfriend, Blue did as they always did since being incarcerated at high altitude; they watched for weary travellers that they might fleece with exorbitantly expensive passes…
“Party of five to our left.” Blue reported. “On foot and wearing identical clothing. Could be pilgrims. Probably as poor as a church plugmutt.”
Mister Zinc was only half-listening: he too had spotted a figure standing tall in the wintry conditions. “Fine,” he said to Blue. “Now cast your gaze to the right.”
Blue did as she had been instructed. “What the flip is that?” She inquired.
“I would say, at a guess, with only a modicum of information,” Zinc replied, “that it is a red sentinel robot from the future. Now I wonder what it wants: it can’t be a warm bed and a hearty meal.”
“Mister Zinc,” the robot’s voice boomed loudly as it echoed off the canyon walls and caused small avalanches of powdery snow, which greatly inconvenienced the pilgrims because it got into their haversacks and threatened to ruin their spare dry socks, “I would speak with you.”
Mister Zinc had become used to his life in the watchtower: the last time he’d attempted to better himself, it had all ended (once again) in miserable failure. He wasn’t happy where he was; but he knew things could be a lot worse. And it wasn’t often that the monks from the nearby monastery came round to enjoy a good kicking of his backside. “Bog off!” He shouted in return.
If Zinc expected the machine life-form to turn around and depart, he would be disappointed. “I am from the future.” It bellowed electronically. “Allow me ingress: I have an offer you will not want to refuse. Please. I’m quite good with frozen pipes: I can fix some, if you have any that are playing up.”
Zinc considered this: okay it wasn’t often he got a good arse kicking; but once was enough for a lifetime. “Yeah, okay.” He replied without enthusiasm. “You’ll have to duck to get through the door.”
Two minutes later the robot watched as Blue stood before a frozen haggis and prayed it would melt before spring…
The robot then explained that its group were recruiting all the best enemies of the Museum of Future Technology. He described how, once they had gained dominion over the curators and inhabitants, many more sentinel robots would pour in through a re-activated Tunnel Temporale…
…and cement their victory with sheer numbers.
“And our mesmeric wave is ten times better than it was when we last invaded.” It added.
It then looked out of the window and awaited Zinc’s response…
It waited a long time because Zinc and Blue had turned their attention to their secondary evening meal. It too appeared frozen, and might have been the fossilised brain of some extinct animal.
“Oh,” it added nonchalantly, “did I mention it? Um, we have a very well stocked larder. There’s something of everything in it. Tasty, so I’m told. I am a robot: I don’t eat”
Whether Zinc was really listening, the heartless device could not tell. It decided to play its trump card:
“We are going to do something to Magnuss Earplug that will so shame him the thought of it will haunt him to his dying day. He will effectively become Target Earplug. We’re out to get him: everyone will be out to get him: he’s going to be toast!”
Zinc didn’t require a second to consider his next act: “Blue, my dear,” he said as he made for the door…
…”I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you here alone to man the watchtower: we don’t want the monks to think we’ve abandoned our duty and reneged on our prison terms. Just in case this fabulous plan from the future founders once again, I’d like everyone to think I’d never left the place.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2024
Oh, so no major destruction then. Oh well; never mind. But there’s always Mister Zinc: anything is possible when that useless clown is around.
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Tooty Nolan: Languishing Somewhere Between Clever and Stupid 