Junior Earplug Adventures: The Masters of Scroton (Part Thirteen)

The Museum of Future Technology never sleeps. At any time of day or night every area and exhibit remains open to both customers and inhabitants alike. So whilst those beyond its futuristic walls lay in slumber, Throgennis Frote took Cuckoo Slazenger for a stroll around the expansive arboretum…

But far from cheering up his cousin, following her double-bouts of nausea, the plants of the arboretum merely…

…activated her latent talent for pulling hay fever-induced faces, which finally broke through Throgennis’s new-found good nature, and made him give her a dirty look.

“Oh sod this.” He said testily. “This tour is doing more harm than good. Let’s go take a look at the empty cafe I’ve just leased.”

So they did…

“Like I said in my letter,” Throgennis began, “the place is a blank canvas. I hope that you’ll bring your genius for interior design to bear upon it and make this a thriving enterprise.”

Cuckoo looked around inside the retail outlet’s interior…

…and she wasn’t impressed.

“I feel no warmth or character, Throgennis.” She said. “If I’m going to summon up some great design, I’m going to need some serious inspiration. Something significant is going to have to happen. Until then my head is entirely empty.”

“Yeah.” A downcast Throgennis replied. “And so is my café. Now where are we going to find some kind of amazing inspiration for your artistic talents?”

Meanwhile, upon distant Scroton, Magnuss had an idea…

“I know where we went wrong with your flying saucer.” He suddenly blurted to a despondent Nigel. “It doesn’t look like an End Cap attack saucer. That’s a great little ship. If yours looked like one of those, it is bound to work better!”

Nigel considered Magnuss’s logic to be the result of unsound reasoning; but without an alternative plan, he ran with it. Twenty minutes later…

“Very impressive.” Nigel commended his tech-guys. “You used the reconfiguration technology again, I take it?”

The scientists confirmed this. “It was the only course of action open to us. Your half-hour deadline was somewhat restricting. Do you want to see it rise up like a raging tornado of power?”

“Please.” Nigel replied.

So, as one of the tech-guys fiddled with a remote control unit…

…the craft did exactly as it had been described.

“I like it.” Nigel said appreciatively…

…”Let’s climb aboard.”

No one thought that it was a good idea, but Nigel was the Golden One, and anything he demanded must be made possible. So, having entered through the sole hatchway, Nigel and Magnuss enjoyed the sensation of floating above the ground on a column of energy…

…whilst everyone else tried desperately not to poop in their pants with the fear that their leader would  be blown to smithereens when the ship crashed to the ground and exploded in a fireball of incandescent fury.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017


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