So this is it – unlucky number 13. The thirteenth and final episode of the first earplug short story. It’s been quite nice, hasn’t it?
It was Fanny’s good fortune that she had been blessed with substantial hip padding – or ‘fat’ as it is more commonly known. Consequently she suffered no more than a bruised ego and a grazed knee. Muttering to herself she exited the maintenance tunnel and proceeded past two comatose earplugs and across the disused roller skate parking area…
“There she goes.” The fourth member of the security suite cried out. “What is that in her back pocket – a packet of gobstoppers?”
Of course, what the junior RoboSecGua couldn’t possibly have known was that Fanny’s pockets bulged with antidote packages, which, once she had gained access to the main thoroughfare, she proceeded to cast to the floor, where they burst spectacularly…
“Look at the smile on her face,” EvilRoboSecGua called out as it rushed for a close-up of the main viewer, “it can mean only one thing: she has a potion that counteracts the Northern Mist. I’m so excited I could slip my differential!”
“Quickly,” RoboSecGua snapped at the machine intelligence that operated the communications panel, “inform the maintenance operatives in the nul-space generator control room. Tell them to start the ventilation system and begin pumping whatever that gaseous material is around the museum.”
Shortly, the aforementioned maintenance operatives, cocooned as they were in their control room, did just that…
“Looking good.” Rikki said. “A few more packets of that magic dust, and were home and dry!”
Well Fanny was perfectly capable of delivering those ‘packets of magic dust’, so before long customers of the nearest Café Puke…
…found themselves reviving; clambering to their feet; and wondering why their coffees were stone cold with a nasty skin on top.
Further, two trainee baristas in the neighbouring Skanki Kaffe fired up their Vomitino machine for the first time, and treated all the second-fix construction workers to an inaugural cup of vile brown muck and a stale croissant…
Of course once everyone was made aware of the situation, earplugs from every quarter of the museum raced to thank their saviour…
Equally of course, many were surprised by her identity. They had expected an Earplug Brother, or failing that Hair-Trigger. As the Angel with a Huge Nose went to show her gratitude by enfolding Fanny in her huge angelic wings, the intended recipient couldn’t help but recall her vision of the sun shining from the angel’s rear end. But her smile was quickly erased when, from the opposite direction, a swarm of zombies slithered…
“Fanny,” their spokes-zombie, former TV cricket commentator Brian Trouserflap, belched, “and you too, RoboSecGua: we’ve just detected Mister Zinc and that blue tart entering the museum. If you hurry, you’ll head them off at the pass. Or, in museum parlance, the Grand Hall.”
Meanwhile, the main door to the Grand Hall had opened upon well-oiled hinges to allow ingress to the would-be conqueror and first lady…
“It’s a little Spartan.” Blue observed. “And dark too.”
“I’ll take anything after a year or so in that damned watchtower.” Zinc replied bitterly. “Hmmm, I do believe this would make an excellent throne room. High ceilings: I like it. My stentorian tones would echo nicely off the walls in here. All the serfs and peasants could gather to hear my latest edicts. And all of their body heat and personal stench would be carried up to the extractor units above. I just wish I could see the whole room. Don’t tell me the electrics are on the blink.”
Blue had an idea. She shouted, “Lights!”
Instantly both interlopers were bathed in a bright, but warm light…
…which made them aware that they were surrounded by security forces.
Initially they said nothing, especially when they realised that Rupert Piles was transmitting their arrest ‘live’ on his huge Three-Dee TV camera. Of course they failed utterly to recognise Fanny as their nemesis, or even acknowledge her presence. Fanny didn’t mind, of course; anonymity had its advantages, especially when the ‘bad guy’ was prone to thoughts of revenge.
“Oh dear,” Blue finally said as the nearest RoboSecGua prepared to deploy it’s lasso ‘tongue’, “Do you have a Plan B, Zinkipoo?”
“No,” the artificially silvered earplug replied, “but if I did, it would be a lobotomy. I assure you it’s no fun being a failed megalomaniac.”
So, following a day of celebrations, and as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, those inside the Museum of Future Technology could look out of their windows and watch Fanny’s antidote coruscate delightfully in the air above that fabulous edifice…
The End
©Paul Trevor Nolan 2023