The Time Tamperer (part 26)


For a moment everybody watching in the Museum of Future Technology were stunned into the silence of utter incredulity…

Not so much by the unprovoked attack and the destruction of the Deathwish by an alien power; but more by the complete absence of debris or any physical result of the strange bluish-violet explosion.

“Duh?” Wigo Rong grunted. “Where’s the wreckage? Spaceships that blow up always leave something of themselves to be seen tumbling back to Earth. I can’t understand it.”

Neither could the curators…

“What the heck?” Cushions Smethwyke began.

“I’ve extrapolated the logical location of the crash site.” Cheerful Charlie Chopsticks said from his position beside Cushions upon the Omnipresent Scanner. “It’s in the pea farming area near the site of the Time Shard duplicate Museum of Future Technology.”

“Then why can’t we see it?” Barcode Betty, behind him, complained. “We should be able to see it!”

“Call out the mountain rescue team.” Cushions commanded. “They get paid well enough: it’s about time they started earning their salaries.”

Three seconds later…

…mountain rescue team member, Ena Shoehorn heard the summons. So did her husband and fellow mountain rescuer, Carlos Minehunter…

Carlos quickly called his wife on his handy walkie-talkie: “Ena,” he said, “I’m on Level Seventy Nine. Have the team rendezvous with me on the helipad. Yes, of course they can visit the toilet first: how could anyone expect grown earplugs to go on a mission with a full bladder!”

A third team member, Heyho Smellery, responded in an instant: “I’m in the arboretum, guys.” He spoke into his communicator. “It’s right in the middle of the Wide Blue Yonder. It’ll take me yonks to reach the roof: you’ll have to come fetch me.”

So it took a while longer than planned before the Mountain Rescue Team flying machine…

…streaked across the night sky. But it wasn’t long after it arrived that the team set about their task…

Ena, Carlos and Heyho had been joined by the green and red mixed-race cravasse specialist, Chaz Wassaloni, and the crimson-haired, Cowpat Carlson.

“Right then.” Carlos spoke as they all gasped in the rarefied air of the mountains…

…”there’s nothing up here; let’s get to a lower level and take a look around in cracks and crevices into which space ship parts might have disappeared.”

Nobody doubted the logic of their leader; and before long…

…they’d descended to a level where mist formed. And from there to a more comfortable search area…

…where Chaz Wassaloni’s expertise…

…proved to have no worth whatsoever.

“Oh dear.” He said to Carlos…

…”I guess you’ll be requesting my immediate resignation, right?”

But Carlos had greater concerns…

“I don’t give a flip.” He growled. “I have to report our collective failure. I don’t think resignation is an option: we’re all gonna lose our jobs. Where is that darned space ship? Everyone: keep looking!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

 

 

 

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