Massive discharges from global electrical storms lashed the surface of the planet…
Frisby and the others stood resolutely as they watched it on the monitor…
To their credit, the engineers were pretty good at standing resolutely too…
…even when the storm redoubled its efforts to scare the heck out of them…
In space, the Gravity Whelk could do nothing now, but watch from a safe distance…
“I hope that’s not the atmosphere that’s getting sucked away.” Folie said nervously. “That could prove problematical.”
“Nah, it’s alright,” Bo Smidgin replied, “the rest of the planet will catch up.”
Heedless of the dangers – real or imagined – William of Porridge and Lillie stood together on the metallic apron that surrounded the museum…
“Look at that.” William said as he held his beloved Lillie to him, “Nasty.”
“Oh, William,” Lillie replied, “I might appear so frightened that I’ll likely wet myself: but I’m not. Not all the time that you’re with me. I know that with you here I can’t be hurt. You wouldn’t let it happen.”
It was some compliment…
…but, as the lighting altered even more, William couldn’t be sure that it was entirely accurate. So he said: “Oh, in that case, p’raps we’d better get indoors.”
Then the winds that Sir Dodger had more-or-less promised arrived – tearing at the sandy Martian surface…
…and scattering it far and wide. Monitors relayed the image to empty halls…
…because those visitors, who might have been in those halls were, instead, standing in line for the lavatories…
“Will you hurry, Gerhardt,” Doubry Furkins complained, “I have large trousers – and I don’t want to fill them!”
In some places the vast strain upon the planet’s surface caused more magma to erupt through the weak points created by the rocket attack. Fire storms swept across the land…
Inside the museum one particularly brave visitor watched as one approached…
His resulting alarm caused the passing Tangerine to say: “Do not concern yourself, Visitor: this museum is equipped with a futuristic sprinkler system that pre-empts any fire and extinguishes it before it gets here. But, whatever you do, don’t open that door: you’ll confuse the sensors.”
Crevice McNally, Treacle Fagging, Clifton Wedge, and Glen Watkins were doing much the same on the opposite side of the building…
“Don’t worry, Glen,” Clifton mouthed-off like he was an expert on the subject of fire storms, “you wanna be more like me. I don’t let silly little things like fire storms concern me. No, what you want…”
But when he spotted the sheer size of the approaching holocaust…
…his mouth stopped working, and his backside took over with a series of terrified staccato barks that were almost as offensive as the view outside. Not that it affected Crevice McNally: he was too far into denial to notice them. But just as everyone thought that destruction was unavoidable, the gravitonic beam struck bedrock…
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021