Now That ‘Northern Mist’ Has Reached It’s Climax…

…it’s time to remind you that by clicking on

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Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part thirteen)

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

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part twelve)

Before you indulge in Part Twelve, here’s a reminder of what the finished product will look like…

Now on with the show…

Following a quick bowl of cornflakes and an energy drink, Fanny set about mass-producing the antidote. Within the hour she was certain that she had made enough of the substance to pack it into small paper bags; tie them tightly closed; go out into the street, and hurl them – one by one – to the unyielding stone path upon which she strode…

 

Each bag burst with a silent flash – releasing the antidote into the air.

“Looking good, girl.” She whispered to herself. “Of course the proof of the pudding is in the eating.”

The ‘eating’ it soon transpired, was very good indeed. Wherever the sparkling motes of antidote drifted, the closest earplugs revived; looked about themselves; regained their sentience; and made exclamations of relief and joy…

“Whooo,” some would call out appreciatively, “pretty!”

Meanwhile, in the most northerly watchtower, Mister Zinc and Blue had utilized the silver earplug’s remarkable technical abilities to hack into the Museum of Future Technology’s CCTV system…

“So,” he said, “everyone in the museum have been rendered inert.”

“There are the maintenance crew.” Blue pointed out one glaring error in her boyfriend’s summation, “They’ve locked themselves away in their control room.”

“It matters not.” Zinc replied, “They number only three: I can use one of my innate talents to mesmerize them.”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Blue informed him, “I’ve bottled some of the Northern Mist: I can squirt it in their faces.”

Zinc appeared impressed. “Now you see why I chose you as my life partner.” He said. “Clearly my genius has rubbed off on you.”

Time was of the essence: Fanny was eager to get to the museum and administer her antidote. However, for a brief moment, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. She paused to lean against a door jamb…

With breath regained, she set off once more – only to be confronted by Dumper Collins…

Clearly he’d seen what she had been doing and recognised her physical condition for what it was:

“You’re done in, gal.” He said. “Knackered. You’ve done enough: let me carry them little bags of magic down to the museum for ya. I can chuck ‘em at the ground as well as anyone. I’ll stamp on ‘em if I have to. If you was an athlete, they’d be administering oxygen and slapping the cramp out of your thighs. You gotta let me carry the load for ya.”

It was a kind offer gratefully received but not accepted. Fanny recalled how far and quickly Dumper had fallen behind her when they had rushed to tell the authorities about the Northern Mist:

“Thank you, Dumper,” she replied, “but if we had to wait for you to find your way to the Museum of Future Technology, Mister Zinc would be settling into his throne room with a cup of tea and a slice of drizzle cake – probably served to him by Magnuss Earplug in shackles. So I reject your kind offer and offer you this advice: get yourself an exercise bicycle; you’re a couch potato in danger of an early demise through arterial clogging.”

Before Dumper could summon a counter-argument, she was gone.

The Town Cryer witnessed her departure, and so, from his high vantage point in the Town Cryer’s Cupola he shouted a narration of Fanny’s progress to those less well advantaged in the streets below…   

“She’s made it to the river.” He bellowed. “She appears to be about to chuck one of her antidote bags into the gently tumbling waters. Yes, there it goes…”

Aware that Mister Zinc intended to enter the Museum of Future Technology in silent triumph, Fanny realised that it was of utmost importance that she get there first with her antidote. But just to make sure, she cast another of her diminishing supply of bags into the stream that led to the coolant intakes of the museum’s nul-space power generator. As the concoction reacted violently with the cool mountain waters…

…she realised that no matter how quickly Mister Zinc transported his vile self to the museum, there was a good chance that by the time he arrived, the potion would evaporate out of the coolant tanks, become an aerosol and allow some of the defenders to revive.

“But I have to be certain,” she said as she drew in a deep lung full of pristine mountain air, “I have to get there and wake everybody up. It’s my only option.”

The first sign of Fanny’s imminent arrival was witnessed by the Council of Zombies upon their three-dee projector…

“Kevin,” the council leader, Raj commanded his undead chum, “put a call through to those Robot Security Guards. Tell them Fanny’s on the veldt outside the museum.”

“Can someone else do it?” Kevin complained, “I’ve been sitting here so long that my legs have stopped working. Whatever circulation I had down there, isn’t anymore.”

Fellow zombie and third member of the ruling triumvirate, Mary had just returned from a little light exercise in the cemetery. “I’m feeling as fresh as a daisy,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

Raj was surprised. “You are?” He enquired with a slightly disbelieving tone in his croak.

Mary considered the question. “I might be over-stating my health a smidgen.” She replied. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to compare my sprightliness with a week-old plugmutt turd. But I can still call the security suite: it’s really no trouble. Give me half an hour and I could probably shuffle ‘round there, if the coms aren’t working.” 

Fortunately the situation wasn’t that desperate. Mary called through successfully, and ten minutes later a junior RoboSecGua spotted Fanny upon the secondary view screen…

The senior RoboSecGua turned to EvilRoboSecGua and said:

“You’ve been about a bit – like across the gulfs of space to distant worlds in a stolen UFO:  did you ever learn to lip read?”

“I did, Boss.” EvilRoboSecGua replied. “Do you want me to translate what Fanny Gander is mouthing silently to our CCTV camera?”

Of course RoboSecGua replied in the affirmative, and then waited for the translation.

“I have become disorientated – bordering on hysterical.” EvilRoboSecGua spoke Fanny’s words for her. “I have also been holding my breath quite a lot too. I didn’t want to walk all the way from Lemon Stone in my personal deflector bubble; it’s too cumbersome. Sorry, but I appear to have forgotten the way in. Can someone allow me ingress?”

RoboSecGua addressed its junior operative. “Can we?” It inquired.

“The female earplug is standing upon a maintenance hatch.” The subordinate replied. “Should I open it?”

“Affirmative.” RoboSecGua answered. “Do it this instant.”

A split second later, Fanny found herself inside the Museum of Future Technology…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

 

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part eleven)

Without further ado, it’s on with the tale…

It was Fanny’s good fortune that the sleet only fell at higher elevations. By the time that she reached the access tunnel that led from the old quarter to the region of Lemon Stone that contained the artisan quarter, her personal deflector bubble had shed its fine mantle of moisture..

So it was with great relief, shortly after exiting the tunnel, that Fanny could shuck off her protection at the front door of her hovel and enter the sanctuary of her kitchen… 

However, despite a thorough rummage through the cupboard under the sink and a good old delve into the odds ‘n’ sods she kept in an old suitcase beneath the stairs, she could find nothing with which to create a potion that would counteract Zinc’s futuristic fog.

“Oh bum!” she yelled despairingly.

However Fanny was not the type to accept defeat so easily. Her mind wandered – or perhaps ‘raced’ – back to her most recent visit to the Museum of Future Technology – in particular the drop-in to the proto-Skanki Kaffe.

“Ooh,” she sighed as her thoughts began to coalesce into a plan. “Those baristas have access to all sorts of concoctions and coffee machines: surely I can put those to good use. Ah-ha, and there’s a branch of the Café Puke on the Rincon del Excremento – not more than ten minutes from here!”

Ten minutes later Fanny let herself into the darkened café…

She was grateful that Lemon Stoners were lazy sods and didn’t get up until after half-past ten in the morning: it meant that the mist had struck before the café had opened. There would be no inert earplugs littering the place with sightless stares that would inevitably break Fanny’s concentration upon her monumental task.

Flicking on the lights also activated the air-conditioning. Soon the wisps of poison that had penetrated the worn door seals were extracted and Fanny could set about finding the items she required…

However, having completed her search, she felt no confidence in her ability to conjure up the necessary antidote. There were still one or two ingredients that would make success more certain. Then, once again she recalled her thoughts concerning the rival cafes inside the Museum of Future Technology. More specifically she recalled the different ways in which the Café Puke and Skanki Kaffe remove the caffeine from their respective coffee granules. For the briefest of moments despair almost overwhelmed the artistic earplug. Would she really have to trudge all the way back down to the partially-completed Skanki Kaffe inside the museum – in the forlorn hope that the barista’s equipment and ingredients had been stocked in the storeroom prematurely? Surely not! However, as her eyes swung from the customer area to the front door, she noticed the day’s mail that had fallen from the letter box and had been casually kicked to one side. Amongst the confetti of communications lay several flyers and advertisements. One of them featured the Skanki Kaffe. This was the breakthrough that Fanny had been unconsciously praying for. The flyer included an address: Plaza de Aromas.

Within a mere five minutes the green female earplug stood inside the soon-to-open Skanki Kaffe…

Because the doors were new and had opened and shut a mere handful of times, the Northern Mist had made no encroachment into the establishment.

“Oh goodie,” Fanny said as she cast off her personal deflection bubble, “I can now operate without impediment and restraint. Where’s the storeroom?”  

Chapter Four

In the time-honoured way for heroic earplugs, the Skanki Kaffe had supplied the very ingredients Fanny needed most desperately. No sooner had her eyes alighted upon them, as they nestled cosily upon the storeroom shelf, when she snatched them up; dashed from the building; and raced to the artisan quarter…

Following the briefest of tinkles in her rudimentary downstairs loo, Fanny set to work at her bench with a mortar and pestle…

The work, though not particularly demanding in a physical sense, was long and mentally arduous. Trial and error was Fanny’s greatest ally. As the hours passed by inexorably, Fanny grew weary; but she would not break from her task. She would either discover the cure, or collapse trying. However, as daylight returned to the mountaintop citadel, the zillionth test in her crucible proved the value of the time and effort she had put into the task. The concoction sparked and flamed…

“Flipping heck,” she exclaimed with delight, “I’ve only gone and bloody done it!”

©Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part ten)

Part Nine went down like a lead balloon, so let’s not waste any more time with that literary pile of junk and forget all about it by going straight to Part Ten, which, I should mention is much better…

Fanny continued to follow the route supplied by her RoboSecGua device for several minutes until she paused to regard the view and take stock. With the citadel behind her, the only building visible to her in the darkening air was the Northern Watchtower. So she screwed up her eyes and squinted at it. Was that smoke emerging from the viewing platform?

Or was it the fake Northern Mist? Her device suggested she get closer. So she endeavoured to do just that. However, as she picked her way carefully along a narrow path, she discovered a Precipitous Ledge Walker, who had been indulging in a morning bowl of muesli when she was overcome and rendered inert…

Fanny had forgotten how hungry she felt, having missed her tea. She was almost tempted to consume the rapidly coagulating cereal / milk amalgam; but quickly reasoned that it had spent several hours open to the effects of the mist, and would probably be heavily contaminated. She didn’t like sultanas either; so, despite her rumbling stomach, she passed on by.

A while later – Fanny couldn’t calculate how long precisely because of fatigue and boredom – the green-faced earplug arrived beside the watch tower…

She wasn’t sure, but it appeared to her that the quantity of smoke / mist that climbed into the surrounding air from the viewing platform seemed to be lessening. Then she spotted an alleyway that would lead her to the outpost’s living quarters. Naturally she followed it…

Aware that she might be detected, she crept slowly and silently to the nearest window. Taking a chance, she sucked in a huge lung full of air, and removed her personal deflector bubble. Having done so she pressed her face to the glass…

What she saw shouldn’t have surprised her: everyone knew that Mister Zinc and his biological android Blue had been banished to this lonely spot where they were tasked to keep watch for travellers on their way to Lemon Stone from the wild lands beyond the mountains. As a result she wasn’t even slightly surprised. However she was startled that they should have a table from the Café Puke as furniture. Even more so by the glasses of Bilge White that rested daintily upon the cheap melamine table top. But what caused most concern was the conversation that took place between the megalomaniac and his partner:

“Oh Zinkipoo,” Blue said as she eyed the coffee before her, “I’ve just prodded the goo upstairs: I think the last few grams of poison stuff have pretty much been exhausted.”

“That’s fine,” Mister Zinc replied in his emotionless tone, “I anticipate that it has succeeded in its task. By now everyone inside the Museum of Future Technology will have been neutralized: tomorrow, just after breakfast, we’ll wander down there and assume control. I’m really looking forward to kicking Cushions Smethwyke and her gang of curators out through the sewage outlet. And as regards to any Earplug Brothers still at home…well I wouldn’t want to be one of them when I’ve finished with them.”

“It was a lovely plan you had, Zinky.” Blue replied. “How did you ever find that disaffected barista who had stolen those plans from the future?”

“I was collecting used cigarette butts in the marketplace.” Zinc answered without a qualm or shame over his loss of status in earplug society, “I encountered a ‘new’ earplug in town whom I considered was acting furtively. I asked what he was doing in Lemon Stone. He told me he was looking for a buyer for something really illicit. I took an interest. He told me what he had. I also took an instant dislike to him; so rather than pay him with money I didn’t have, I punched him in the head and stole it from his satchel.”

“Inspired,” Blue gushed. “And to think; we had all the primary ingredients we required in that delivery to the Café Puke that mysteriously disappeared from their storeroom last week.”

Mr Zinc almost chuckled at this. “Indeed,” he said, “who would have imagined that Stasis Melons, suspended in Parma Violet Glycerine, set on an insulating layer of Pistachio Custard…

…and heated by a halogen bulb could wreak such havoc amongst our enemies?”

Outside Fanny almost stood aghast. Fortunately, in order to follow the conversation further she recovered her decorum and quickly dashed to the next window…

…where Mr Zinc now regarded his own cup of coffee.

“To think,” he said to Blue, as she joined him, “this time tomorrow I will rule the Museum of Future Technology. And when I do, the whole Galaxy is gonna find out!”

Fanny need not hear another word. She quickly stole away; replaced her personal deflector bubble upon her head; and made best speed down the alleyway…

Shortly, having consumed their Bilge Whites, Mr Zinc and Blue resumed their duties in the watchtower…

“Ah, drizzle,” Mr Zinc said with a sigh. “You can always tell its Summer time up here: gentle precipitation accompanied by low clouds and thunderstorms.”

But Blue wasn’t so sure: Zinc’s ‘drizzle’ looked rather more like sleet to her. “Hmmm.” She said in a non-committal tone.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part nine)

In Part Nine we watch as Fanny Gander goes forth upon her mission to save the Museum of Future Technology. Yet another name is about to be added to the pantheon of heroic earplugs. Well we hope so anyway…

However, when she calculated the sheer distance involved, that resolve waned slightly…

“Oh flipping heck.” She said, “I can’t even see the mountains. Oh, but wait a minute: it’s that bloody fake Northern Mist: it’s hiding them from view. Maybe it’s not so far after all.”

But all too quickly Fanny realised that the return journey to Lemon Stone would require that she walk up the mountain. Up being the significant word. Whereas she had walked down from Lemon Stone with relative ease, the reverse course would be quite the…er…reverse. And so it proved to be…

“At least I can breathe on the way back up.” She gasped. “All I need to take into account is the reduced oxygen levels at higher altitude.”

Soon any potential cameras that tried to follow her journey watched as she traversed a high ledge through a thickening fog. Had anyone watching been conscious they would have sucked in their breath, clutched their buttocks and whimpered:

“Oh Fanny – take care. One misstep…”

Night was having a bloody good go at falling when Fanny finally reached the plateau from where she could see the distant citadel standing proud before her…

“Fifteen minutes ought to do it.” She said confidently. “I’m so glad I found that small vial of my strength and endurance potion in my back pocket. These last few steps would have killed me otherwise. Moreover, all this exertion, and the resultant sweatiness has entirely dried up my bladder. It’s great; not taking clandestine tinkles beside the mountain path every five minutes.”

She didn’t know it, of course, but Fanny had another reason to be grateful that her bladder made no demands upon her modesty. She was being followed by the Council of Zombies in the Museum of Future Technology on a futuristic three-dee projector…

Zombies, not really being strictly ‘alive’ were naturally immune to the fake Northern Mist. They weren’t aware of the fact, so they had locked themselves off from the rest of the museum by sequestering the meeting room of the Sewage Workers Union, the doors of which came, of course hermetically sealed.

“Go for it, Fanny!” One of them would have yelled. But because he didn’t breathe, the best he could do was a torpid croak. “Kick ass.”

Chapter Three

Fanny’s estimate of fifteen minutes proved extremely accurate as finally she climbed the shallow ramp that led to the outer wall of the citadel…

As she looked along the length of the dark stone construction, she said:

“What dim-wit architect decided to build the gate almost a hundred metres from the access ramp? Am I ever gonna get where I need to be?”

Worse still, when she finally reached the gate, she found it too low to fit her overly-tall personal deflector bubble under…

So she felt compelled to travel farther to a freight entrance, inside which she discovered several fallen and non-responsive earplugs…

Her breath caught in her throat. “By the Saint of All Earplugs, in a pathetic attempt to negate the Northern Mist, these two desperate chefs were forced to breathe sewer gas – for all the good it did them. Stupid chefs; they would have been better off breathing oven gas!”

Farther inside the citadel, the situation appeared no better…

“Oh,” Fanny wailed, “I feel like I’m the last girl in the world. This is so depressing. Really, I’m not sure I’m suited to this sort of malarkey – not psychologically anyway. Physically I’m nice and fit and loaded with potions; but my ego and self-confidence could do with a boost.”

Then, as if on cue the detector that the RoboSecGuas had given her chimed pleasantly.

“Ooh,” she said – her mood brightening, “that sounds rather more interesting.” To the voice-controlled device, she said: “Give me a heading. Which way do I go?”

To which the hastily-designed gizmo replied: “proceed one hundred and fifteen metres in a westerly direction.”

Naturally the female artisan knew next to nothing about compass headings; so she tried a random direction. The device responded with:

“Please turn around and retrace your steps two and three-quarter metres; turn through sixty-seven degrees and proceed one hundred and fifteen metres in a westerly direction.”

Fanny was impressed. “Very intuitive.” She said admiringly. “Those security robots sure know their stuff.

By chance Fanny’s route took her past several competing artisan outlets…

“Emily Dumbleton,” she scoffed, “Emily Dumbass more like. She calls herself an artisan; huh. Specialisation: Brussels Sprouts. More like a fartisan to me!”

Any further denigration of her fellow artisans was cut short when Fanny entered a long tunnel she recognised would take her out of the citadel at its northern end…

“The only problem I have with the oldest quarter of Lemon Stone,” her voice echoed off the cold stone walls, “is that it’s a bit…um…up-and-downy.”

Very few of her friends and colleagues were aware that Fanny had a dislike for uneven surfaces. She particularly loathed stairs. And even more particularly stone staircases. So it was very unfortunate indeed that shortly after exiting the link tunnel she found herself going arse-over-head down them…

More fortunately she was protected, to a certain extent by her personal deflector bubble, although the final landing could have been better…

For a few moments Fanny and her device became separated. Whether it was the effects of the gas, or the knock on her noggin, she began to hallucinate. She could have sworn she saw Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug performing a popular mariachi number in an alcove, whilst fabulously lit from above by a diffuse glow that shone brightly from the Angel with a Huge Nose’s angelic bottom…

“Magnuss,” she croaked, “I’m one of your greatest fans. Hair-Trigger; you’re an inspiration to all females who long to become bounty hunters.”

Then good sense regained control of her tongue:

“Oh, you silly artisan,” she said in her best chastising voice, “Magnuss and Hair-Trigger are piloting the Tankerville Norris upon some distant uncharted world, where, more than likely they’re coming under heavy fire from a superior alien attack craft…

With that she reattached her personal deflector bubble, and made off in a direction that took her away from Lemon Stone…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

If you would like to read a complete Earplug Adventure, please click here. https://hamsterbritain.wordpress.com/all-earplug-adventures-in-pdf-format-unexpurgated-free/

Sorry To See You Go ‘Triple Threat’.

Sad to say, this fabulous e-book…

…is no longer available in serial form on this blog. Boo! Lack of space, I’m afraid. BUT it remains available as a complete story (in PDF form) right HERE. So if you fancy  owning your own copy, or just want to read it now, click away.

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part eight)

 In this episode,  a seemingly insignificant scene appears that could easily be missed. It will become significant later in this briefer-than-usual story. See if you can spot it. 

As she went about the museum, Fanny couldn’t help but feel sad…

…Only hours previous the huge building had been a cauldron of silicon activity. How quickly the mighty edifice and its multifarious defences had been brought to its knees.

“I was going to come here shopping at the week-end too.” She said in a dejected tone. “By kite.”

The word ‘kite’ when she spoke it, reminded her of a similar word – ‘bite’. This in turn caused her to think of the museum’s best-known primitive silicon life-form, that being Nature Beast. “Heck,” she roared inside her tiny insulated world, “if anyone can fight off the Northern Mist, it’ll be Nature Beast: he resists technology like similar magnetic poles reject each other!” So, turning on her heel, she made straight for the control room of TWIT…

However, upon entering, all thoughts of Nature Beast’s heroic resistance to the mist were cast aside. His commanding officer, Major Flaccid seemed to be staring straight at her from inside a personal deflector bubble of his own…

But when she spoke to him, all she received in response was his usual intense stare. Then she realised that the bubble was full of mist.

“Oh, you silly sod,” she said to the still form before her, “you’re supposed to get inside the bubble before the mist gets you. You were too slow, you dull-witted oik!”

Then she spotted Nature Beast’s lower half. His upper half was hidden by the control room lavatory. Obviously he’d fallen into it – probably trying to escape into the sewer via the u-bend.

“There’s no helping the truly stupid.” She said with a sigh.

Thereafter she went straight to the security suite and presented the RoboSecGuas with the samples they required…

The tests were begun with alacrity. The results came thick and fast.

“Well we’ve traced the chemical composition of the mist to a region in the mountains very close to Lemon Stone.” The senior RoboSecGua informed Fanny. “The combination of elements exactly matches that of a gas that will be developed in the not too distant future – the plans for which were sent back here from the future, for safe keeping. The self-same plans that were stolen from the museum, by a disaffected barista in the Café Puke organisation, not more than two weeks ago. The barista was arrested and threatened with a good kick up the arse; but he still refuses to give us the identity of the earplug to who he sold the aforementioned plans.”

“We’ve cobbled together a detector of sorts.” EvilRoboSecGua chimed in. “Your task – on your way home, I might add – is to use the detector to trace the origin of the erroneously-named ‘Northern Mist’. Once you’ve done that, just give us a call, and we’ll come running to capture the potential megalomaniac.”

Fanny was no security expert, but it sounded like a good plan to her. So, five minutes later, and with the detector in her pocket, and with a spring in her step, she set out once more…

Moreover, she was elated at the thought that she felt no desire to visit the adjacent lavatory too. But she tried to hide the fact by keeping a straight face in front of the RoboSecGua that saw her off.

During her brief passage through the museum towards her pedestrian exit of choice, Fanny dropped by the almost-complete Skanki Kaffe…

“How interesting.” She said to herself as she poked an inquisitive nose in through the foyer, “I’ve heard they use an entirely different way to make decaffeinated coffee. Their Desalinated is nothing like Café Puke’s Defecated: its pure coincidence that they just happen to taste alike. Oh, well nothing happening here: best be moving on.”

Thereafter she followed a route supplied by the RoboSecGuas that would cut at least an hour from her journey time…

It was a complicated route, and Fanny might have become lost at any juncture; but the members of the security suite were following her on CCTV, and called out to her via the public address system every time she took a wrong turn…

So, before too long Fanny found herself standing upon the verdant pastures that led from the museum to the foothills…

“Right,” she said resolutely, “the only way is up.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part seven)

Whilst Part Five made a remarkable recovery, Part Six appears to have foundered upon a literary and photographic reef. Oh dear. The obvious course of action is…er…obvious: post Part Seven!

Fanny was about to slink off towards the door when the first junior RoboSecGua spoke up:

“Oi-oi,” it said in a tone guaranteed to get everyone’s attention, “I’m receiving a plethora of garbled messages from all over the museum. Something really strange is occurring. It seems that earplugs are falling victim to something inexplicable. They are becoming inert and collapsing into a state of suspended animation!”

Fanny and the two senior RoboSecGuas turned immediately to the main view screen…

…which filled an entire wall and produced spectacular pictures in high definition…

EvilRoboSecGua found its voice first: “It appears that I owe you an apology, Miss…um…?”

“Gander.” Fanny replied as she gazed at the swirling fog outside. “Fanny Gander.”

The senior RoboSecGua finally spoke:

“Tell us what you know of the Northern Mist, Fanny. I have a ghastly cyber-feeling that the Museum of Future Technology faces the most grave danger in its entire history.”

Chapter Two

It seemed, to Fanny at least that fate had interceded upon the Museum of Future Technology’s behalf. Of all the people, she reasoned, who might have made their way to the only place inside the vast emporium of doo-dahs and widgets from eras more advanced than the current day, it was she: Fanny Gander; a creator of potions, one of which had given her the ability to shrug off the effects of the Northern Mist…

“It helped that I can hold my breath really well too!” She concluded as she divested herself of her thoughts and ruminations to the listening RoboSecGua squad inside the security suite.

“For sure – for sure.” The senior RoboSecGua replied. “However it is certain that your breath will not hold out indefinitely. If you are to go outside and investigate the origins of this cursed fog, you will require a personal deflector bubble. Oh look, my subordinate has just dug one out of the cupboard for you.” 

Naturally, being an earplug of a simpler culture with an upbringing that placed greater importance upon mosses rather than superconductors: insect juices above microchips, Fanny didn’t have the first idea what a personal deflector bubble was; but she had an uncanny feeling  she was about to find out.

“You wear it like a hat.” The RoboSecGua explained.

“A very large hat.” EvilRoboSecGua added. “An ill-fitting one at that. Try it on.”

Moments later…

“Hmmm, I see what you mean.” Fanny said cautiously. “What does it do?”

“It protects you from your immediate environment.” RoboSecGua replied. “It allows you to perambulate, whilst keeping nasty stuff from affecting you. For example, it filters the air, so you won’t need to hold your breath. You can interact with the outside world, by drawing objects inside with you by means of…well I don’t really need to tell you all the technological stuff: you’re a comparative savage with little understanding of advanced machinery. Suffice to say, it will allow you to go about the Museum of Future Technology; take samples of the gas, and maybe some blood samples from its victims; then return them here for analysis.”

Fanny wasn’t entirely sure she liked being called a ‘savage’, but she allowed herself to be ushered towards the door…

“Okay,” she said as her eyes blinked at the relative brilliance of the brighter exterior lights, “I’ll get your samples for you.”

However, as the RoboSecGuas crowded in the door to wave farewell…

…she did wonder why one of them couldn’t perform the task: they didn’t breathe; surely the Northern Mist could have no effect on them. But she’d already agreed to act upon their behalf (and never went back on her word), so quickly moved to the one location that she was certain she would find both gas and blood samples: the Café Puke…

Little did she know, but the filtration system in her personal deflector bubble had already begun taking air samples. It continued to do so as she entered the café…

Her first reaction was one of horror: after all she had never seen so many earplugs in a state of suspended animation. In fact the only other time she could recall anything similar was when she visited an ethical circus in which the use of animals had been banned. The audience had grown so bored that some of them had self-induced a state of suspended animation. But this was far worse; and it would require a great deal more than a quick kick in the shins to awaken the earplugs that littered the polka dot floor here. However, she quickly pulled herself together and began extracting blood samples…

“Sorry,” she would say to the somnolent victims, “I don’t have any sticky plasters, and I can’t press on the wound, coz my hands are inside my personal deflector bubble.”

However, and despite her lack of dexterity as a phlebotomist, Fanny was quickly finished and gladly upon her way from the virtual mausoleum…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

“foundered upon a literary and photographic reef.” Honestly, to use another maritime  term, I do write some utter ‘bilge’ sometimes. However, if it wasn’t for the ‘bilge’, it wouldn’t really be me, would it? Long-live bilge!

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part six)

Part Five didn’t exactly grab the general populace by the throat and shake them until they appreciated its brilliance, which is a shame because it was fabulous in every way. So let’s hope part six does somewhat better…

Because all public places must be wired into the alert apparatus, the Café Pukes also initiated a serious alert status…

…only, in their case it was known as Alerta Roco.

“What the heck?” One aggrieved customer grumbled, “I’ve just put three sweeteners in this drink. I’m not running off now; I’m gonna finish it.”

However he needn’t have worried. Alerta Roco always resulted in the same thing: the doors locked automatically, sealing everyone inside from any exterior threat…

But over in the yet-to-be-finished Skanki Kaffe emporium, horror reigned when everybody working on the fine details, like gurgly coffee dispensers, granite countertops and futuristic urinals, went completely wonky…

However, in comparison, they got off lightly. Margret Greenhorn and her famous Greenhorn Girls dancing troupe were overcome so quickly that they fell and accidentally showed their knickers to a museum Robot Guide…

Only Margret remained conscious long enough to gag in a most unladylike fashion.

Fortunately for Fanny Gander, who had made her way deeper into the museum, the mist had abated slightly. She could now draw breath and think intelligently. After a quick trip to the loo, she sought and found the Security Suite…

“Oh cripes,” she whispered unnecessarily, “this door is bound to have a combination lock. I don’t know what the number is.”

Meanwhile the Robot Guide was getting its own (metaphorical) knickers in a twist…

“Hey, guys,” it said in its customary cheerful manner, “what’s eatin’ ya? Talking of eating; you want me to show you the way to a nearby restaurant?”

Also meanwhile, the maintenance workers could only watch their screens in dismay as the great edifice emptied of customers…

“Where’d they go?” Rikki demanded. “Why is everything so inert?”

Rikki would have asked several more questions had he known that the seals on several Café Pukes had inexplicably failed, and now their occupants could also be considered inert…

Upon the walkway, the Robot Guide had similar cybernetic thoughts. It didn’t ‘do’ inert. So, as quickly as its caterpillar treads could carry it, the servomechanism raced off for help…

Fanny had no such concerns: she’d not seen nor heard a soul. Her particular problem was one of access to the Security Suite. Fortunately her younger brother had once been a professional ‘hacker’: so drawing upon the knowledge she gained from the few lessons he’d given her, she punched in 1234. In a second the door swung open…

…and she let herself in.

Once inside, darkness greeted Fanny’s eyes…

Naturally she fumbled for a light switch behind the door. She was rewarded by the sudden brightening of the surprisingly small room…

She was, however, somewhat disappointed to find it unoccupied.

“Hello?” She tried timidly. But when this elicited no response she increased her volume by seven hundred percent. “Oi, where the flipping heck are you? There’s a disaster in the making, don’t you know!

This had the desired effect. An interior door burst open, and three RoboSecGuas rolled in. Whilst the most junior Robot Security Guard drove straight to the com-panel, Fanny found herself addressed by the senior RoboSecGua, and its first officer, EvilRoboSecGua…

“I let myself in.” Fanny replied to the stereo question: “How the flip did you get in here?”

She answered the subsequent inquiry thus:

“I’m here with some important information. Your robot security guard on loan to Lemon Stone told me to come here and warn you. This fabulous establishment is being assailed by the legendary Northern Mist!”

“That’s silly, that is.” EvilRoboSecGua replied. “If it’s legendary, how can it exist here and now?

“Yeah,” the senior RoboSecGua took up the metaphorical reins. “Something that’s legendary is just that: of legend. It doesn’t actually exist in the modern era. Legends are all about old stuff set a long time ago. I thought everyone knew that.” 

The cool logic of the cybernetic devices gave Fanny reason to pause and question her rationality. Especially so when a fourth RoboSecGua entered the room;

…regarded a wall-mounted screen that displayed the mist; and said:

“Cor, that’s a right pea-souper out there. It fair gives me the collywobbles. That’ll keep people in their apartments for sure. I wonder what went wrong with the weather controller.”

“Um,” she finally replied to the senior RoboSecGua, “well it is behaving rather like the legendary Northern Mist. But, of course, that doesn’t mean that it actually is the Northern Mist. Come to think about it, I haven’t seen anyone rendered inert and sent into suspended animation with my own eyes. In fact I haven’t heard anyone scream that either. Oh dear, I do believe I’ve wasted a long and arduous journey here. Well if I haven’t broken any laws, perhaps I’d better be on my way: I haven’t had time for my tea yet.”

“You were sent on a fool’s errand.” EvilRoboSecGua replied. “It’s not your fault: you can be on your way without fear of receiving a nasty summons from the courts through your letter box. You do have letter boxes in Lemon Stone, I presume? I mean, you don’t live in caves or something? Thank you for your misguided and worthless assistance: now sod off.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part five)

This being my first earplug short story, I’m delighted with the progress. It has taken, quite literally less than half the effort a regular book takes. I think I’ll do this more often. And look – it already has a cover!

But for now  I think it best I don’t get over excited: on with part five…

Farther inside the museum, Rudi Earplug received a text message whilst waiting to be served by the baristas of a local Café Puke…

“Flipping heck, everyone,” he roared – startling twins, Desmond and Anthony Hedgewarbler by doing so, “I’ve just got a text. Something really weirdsville is going on outside. We’d better hang on in here until I get more info. You dig?” 

Of course what Rudi could not possibly have known was that the mist had enveloped the entire building…

Naturally the museum’s electro-magnetic defensive shields had been raised as a precaution. However, and much to the dismay of the maintenance department members on duty, the mist appeared to have multi-phasic properties that allowed it to alter its temporal location at a sub-atomic level, which meant it could move, fractionally, in time. This, in turn meant that it could bypass the mono-chronological screens with ease. In desperation the operative tried to combat this rare talent with additional power to the shield emitters.

“That’s it.” A yellow female End Cap engineer screeched from a com-panel screen. “If that doesn’t work, nothing will stop this mysterious gas from gaining access to the entire museum – including the ladies toilet on level thirteen!”

“What’s so special about the ladies toilet on level thirteen?” The yellow earplug inquired in the hope that it would divert his attention from the fears and trepidation he was feeling at that moment.

“My mother is an illegal immigrant.” The desperate End Cap replied. “She lives there – in a secret compartment behind the cistern.”

The orange maintenance worker shared much the same emotions as his yellow partner: “That’s terrible.” He yelled, “Who does her shopping and laundry?”

Meanwhile, in yet another Café Puke outlet…

…staff and customers wondered why the lights had dimmed.

“Sorry,” the pink barista said to his yellow customer, “but energy levels had dropped below those required to operate the Crappachino machine. I can do you an Iron Lungo. I’ll even throw in a complimentary sausage roll.”

At the precise moment that the yellow earplug responded in the negative, Fanny Gander had gained a pedestrian door that would allow her ingress to the museum. But, as she looked downward disconsolately, she wondered if there was any real point to her efforts: despite her speed and endurance, the mist had overtaken her: it was already too late…

And she might have been right too. Already the Age of Stone exhibit was enshrouded…

Worst still, so was the boating lake, where Gobby and Panta Lonez were enjoying a brisk hike across the undeveloped ‘bad lands’…

Now if Gobby had managed to recognise the threat he might have been able to utilise his minimal time-travelling capability and taken himself and Panta backwards fifteen minutes in time – giving them the opportunity to seek the sanctuary of an air raid shelter. But he didn’t, so this happened…

Poor old Gobby and his new friend.

Meanwhile, all across the museum, customers and staff alike remained ignorant of the ever-encroaching menace. Café Pukes carried on as normal…

But, like Rudi Earplug minutes earlier, some customers were receiving confusing texts from friends and family. It made them look about themselves furtively…

“Do I mention this to anyone?” They would ask themselves. “Or do I lock myself in the lavatory and adopt the brace position?”

Some of them went so far as to put on false smiles and pretend that nothing was wrong…

…which, because they lacked any tangible facts, might have been the actual truth. What would been gained from worrying anyone unnecessarily?

But elsewhere, like on unprotected walkways, earplugs were succumbing quickly…

“Ooh-ur,” this particular individual was heard to say, “I don’t half feel wonky. It’s almost as though…”

But all too quickly the scent of fear permeated the plasterboard walls of the local hostelries. Customers became alarmed…

“By the Saint of All Earplugs,” they would wail in an unpleasant discord, “that scent: its fear. I don’t like it: make it go away!”

No sooner had that occurred, when someone in the Curator’s Suite hit the Vermillion Alert button…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

My apologies for all the meaningless techno-babble during the maintenance control room scene. As my son pointed out, “That’s very Star Trek: Voyager shit from the nineties.”

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 4)

With exactly 150 photos processed for this first-ever earplug short-story, the photographic part of the job is complete. My mouse hand is feeling the strain, I can tell you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to operate my Yamaha’s throttle properly for the next couple of days. My eyes are kind of bleary too. And my bum is of the numb kind. Oh, how I suffer for my art. But that’s by-the-by: it comes with the territory: on with part 4 of Northern Mist!

Meanwhile Fanny raced through the stone corridors upon her self-imposed mission…

As she did so she gave thanks for her decision to test her potions upon herself. She was certain that no one else in Lemon Stone had the strength and endurance required to battle the effects of the mist whilst running like a looney.

Soon she found herself thundering from the citadel through one of several pedestrian gates…

Within moments she had placed a considerable distance between herself and the vast edifice…

However, as she paused to slake her terrible thirst in a mountainside stream…

…she noted the unusual colour.

“Oh flipping heck,” she wailed, “not only can I not drink from this contaminated stream, but these are the headwaters of the river that carries the coolant for the Museum of Future Technology’s Nul-Space power generator. Oh bugger!”

This new situation reminded Fanny of the wisdom she’d displayed when testing her potions upon herself. Now, more than any time before, she would need the strength and endurance her potions would afford her.

“Right then,” she said, “I’d better a get a bloody move on.”

With that she ran all the way down the seemingly endless flight of steps from Lemon Stone; across the valley below it; and up the other side. Moreover she needed to contend with the mist pursuing her all the way…

…which she did with aplomb, if not a little bitterness:

“Sodding mist,” she growled through mandibles pressed hard against each other and acting as a rudimentary air filter. “Thank the Saint of All Earplugs that the cold temperatures have made my nostrils get all bunged up with coagulated snot. But enough of my physical difficulties: onwards to the Museum of Future Technology!”

Meanwhile, deep within the unsuspecting museum, Rupert Piles busied himself filming two members of Las Chicas De La Playas as they demonstrated one of Anton Twerp’s latest works of art…

“Muy linda,” Carmen said to Belen who stood upon the opposite side of the painting, “but what is it supposed to be?”

“No lo se,” Belen replied, “a colon perhaps? Some liver maybe? No mi gusta!”

Of course the girls and the TV reporter weren’t the only earplugs out and about. In fact the corridors and places of interest were absolutely thronging…

However, as the inhabitants and visitors continued upon their merry way in blissful ignorance, poor little Fanny Gander struggled onwards through a thickening fog of Northern Mist…

By now the situation had worsened to the point where she must squeeze her eyes shut and, using her remaining senses – those being hearing, touch, and smell, guess her direction of travel.

In her semi-delirium she imagined herself seated in a Café Puke outlet beside her best friend, Bubbles Gloor…

But despite her low red blood count, she retained enough intelligence to realise that Bubbles was far away with her boyfriend, aboard the Prowler as they investigated an oceanic world many light years distant from Earth…

“Huh,” she grunted – almost dislodging a lump of bogey in the process, “can’t expect any help from her then.”

Meanwhile, the very thing that Fanny had most feared happened. The dissolved mist in the coolant river evaporated out as the water met the warmer air of the museum interior. The first earplugs to notice it were passengers waiting at the mag-lift train station nearest the intake valves…

“Ugh,” the blue-hootered Belinda Noseguard uttered a moment before she recognised the danger, “what a horrible smell. I’m absolutely dis…”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 3)

Once the first couple of episodes were posted, I kind of ‘got into the groove’ so-to-speak. My rate of photo production accelerated. As of this posting, there are now 130 completed scenes , which may not sound much, but this was only ever going to be a short story anyway, so 130 isn’t too far short of the number required to tell the tale. But that’s for the near future: for now let’s get on with the story…

Moments later they raced through the narrow walkways of the artisan quarter…

But all too quickly Dumper’s physical reserves depleted sufficiently to leave him far behind in Fanny’s wake. So it was Fanny alone who reported the news of the Northern Mist to a RoboSecGua that was on-loan to Lemon Stone from the Museum of Future Technology…

If it was possible for a servomechanism to be startled, Fanny felt confident that she witnessed it that feverish evening.

“Cripes,” it yelled through its tinny forward speaker grille as its cyber-eyes bulged, “I shall instigate an alert instantaneously. But first I must implore you to make your way immediately to the Museum of Future Technology. They too must be alerted: the wind is blowing in their direction!”

By now other earplugs were discovering the horrible truth. Already the first tendrils of the mysterious mist were beginning to make their presence known…

“Run, run,” some would yell, “but try to hold your breath at the same time!”

In their watchtower that overlooked the valley that led from the museum to Lemon Stone, four monks of the Order of the Holey Vest quaked in their sandals as the mist rolled by…

“Shut the window, Augustus,” one of them snapped, “and ram a periodical or some toilet paper into the gaps.”

Monks soon swarmed from the monastery dormitories…

“Honestly,” many would complain, “the order demands that we all go to bed at a ridiculously early hour; and now we’re turfed out by a sodding siren. Despite not being really tired, I was just nodding off too!”

Other, quicker-thinking monks went straight to their closest air filtration units…

“If we only breathe the air that’s coming out of this,” they reasoned, “we won’t be overcome and suffer whatever fate befalls those who encounter the Northern Mist.”

Fanny Gander meanwhile was trying to hold her breath as best she could…

George and Edie Peashuck, who had only recently moved to Lemon Stone, following a lifetime tilling the soil as mountain pea farmers, could only watch in bemusement as the green-faced earplug shuffled by, en route to the giant toad religious icon…

…where she quickly passed on some advice to the Father Superior and his retinue:

“Hide yourselves away in a sealed room.” She yelled. “And, for good measure stick a paper bag over your head too.”

Then she was gone – in the opposite direction to almost everyone else…

When questioned they answered that they were hoping to catch one of Lemon Stone’s emergency hot-air balloons and float above the scary mist.

Meanwhile the monks at the filtration units were beginning to have their doubts…

“Maybe if we sat on it,” one of them suggested, “and breathed through our bottoms. It’s only an idea, you understand: but I think it’s a good one.”

Meanwhile a group of visitors couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about…

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” The shorter of the two purple earplugs was heard to complain. “If everyone wore an atom-proof helmet like mine, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

By now the stairs to the highest towers were being scaled by the vanguard of fleeing earplugs….

Within moments the first emergency hot-air balloon lifted serenely from the ramparts…

“Well that’s us up and away,” the escapees would say to one another, “I don’t give a fiddle what happens to the dimwits who didn’t make it. It’s a plugmutt eat plugmutt world where only the strong survive. If they didn’t escape the Northern Mist it’s because they didn’t deserve to. In fact I bet it was one of them who brought it here – you know, like people bring germs home from holidays abroad and that sort of thing.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 2)

I must confess that (when I posted Part 1) I had no idea where the story was going. It is part of the reason that I’ve produced so few photos for the story. As usual I just trusted my imagination to come to the rescue. Well I guess that trust was warranted. Last night I awoke for a nocturnal tinkle – with the story complete in my dreamstate mind. All I had to do was remember it in the morning. Unusually that very thing occured. I now have the story in my conscious mind.  I even climbed into my attic studio and shot more pictures. The tale can continue. Welcome to Part 2…

Meanwhile, a strange sound momentarily wrenched Dumper Collins’ attention from his smelly gourde…

It seemed to him that it originated from an artisan’s workshop several doors along from his own…

Dumper was used to hearing the amber goo stirrer’s gyrations at the ladle; so when it fell silent suddenly, he grew concerned. So concerned that he closed the lid of his gourde and began to climb the ladder to his escape hatch…

He called out to his fellow artisan, but the frightened fellow raced by without acknowledging Dumper’s hail. Intrigued, Dumper dropped into the narrow alleyway…

“What’s come over Ferdie Crank?” He asked himself. “Has his amber goo gone critical and is about to explode? Or did he spot something unusual from his tiny workshop window?”

In order to answer these questions, Dumper dared enter the amber goo worker’s establishment. Darkness prevailed, so he felt his way to the shutter and opened the window…

But what he saw almost made him poop in his pants…

“Argh,” he bellowed, “it can’t be so. No-no-no: surely not. Surely it can’t be the legendary Northern Mist. If it ever existed, it would have been centuries past. No, you silly farting gourde maker; it can’t possibly be the Northern Mist: if it was, it would spell doom for each and every one of us!”

“I know,” he said as he raced to the exit in search of somebody with which to share the discovery…

…I’ll tell that Fanny Gander. She’s smarter than the average earplug: she’ll know what to do.”

During the moments it took for Dumper to successfully negotiate the exit the subject of his sudden interest had just wandered from her lavatory, into her kitchen…

“Honestly,” she muttered, “if I wasn’t a female, I’d swear I had an enlarged prostate gland: I’m always going for a wee – or so it seems.”

Any further thoughts upon the subject were interrupted by a hammering upon her front door. So, squeezing along the narrow corridor…

…Fanny was able to open the door to one of her neighbour artisans…

She was surprised. “Dumper Collins,” she complained loudly, “what the flipping heck are you doing battering down my door, you heavy-handed twerp?”

However surprise would turn to shock and horror when Dumper told her what he and Ferdie Crank had witnessed through the amber goo workshop window.

“Shoot!” she exclaimed, or a word that sounded rather similar to that. “This isn’t good. Come on, Dumper, we must raise the alarm!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

 

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Poolside

Like the Earplug Adventures wallpapers that immediately precede this one, Poolside appeared in a nasty, deservedly defunct blog that should never have seen the light of day.

The Earplug Brothers take some welcome time-off at the holiday home of their Auntie Doris. Naturally the Pong Sisters join them. From The Grand Tour Volume One. Fascinating factoids: The rippled ‘water’ effect was obtained by running a butane flame across a slab of industrial insulation material. Also, Chester appears to be sans important facial features. This is not an error by the creator of the story: it  simply reflects the fact that Chester doesn’t sleep with his mouth open.

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 1)

With so many subjects clamouring for Tooty’s attention, the great author/ photographer has been pressed for time regarding the Earplug Adventures. So pressed, in fact that he has managed to create a mere seventy-seven finished scenes for the next wondrous project – that being Northern Mist. However, despite this paucity of material, he thought it best that he share it with you. So, although there’s bugger-all story to date, please try to enjoy the opening barrage of literary and photographic glory. Ladies and Gentlemen…Northern Mist.

Earplug Adventures: Northern Mist

Tooty Nolan

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Prologue

It was another pleasant evening as the sun set upon the Museum of Future Technology…

A time for inhabitants of that revered emporium of technology from the…urr…future to open their evening news sheets and read an article concerning something dear to their hearts, if not their taste buds.

Details of a catering merger have emerged that could threaten the continued success of the purveyors of the most vile coffee inside the Museum of Future Technology – Cafe Puke. Secret photographs taken in the undeveloped region of the arboretum strongly suggest that construction of a new cafe is well underway…

Although including a distinctive foyer, the building appears to follow the design of the majority of Cafe Puke outlets. However, as this photograph clearly shows, the hoarding apparently makes mention of the rival cafe chain – Skanki Kaffe…

Despite the fact that leaked pictures of the interior do not support this assertion, workers on-site were tight lipped when quizzed about the new-build. Even Rupert Piles and his huge 3D TV camera, (despite trudging back and forth across the doorway all morning) could garner no information…

Nevertheless rumours continue to propagate, particularly when posters purporting that the endeavour is supported by the youngest of the Earplug Brothers – twins Chester and Miles…

…and the famous Ice World scientist Uda Spritzer…

…appeared inside the half-completed future place of business…

Despite denials from Skanki Kaffe that the company has designs on supplanting Cafe Puke as the cafe of choice within the much vaunted and hallowed walls of the Museum of Future Technology, photographic evidence of a conversation between a representative of Skanki Kaffe, and Mister Pong – owner of several Exotic Food restaurants within the museum and the neighbouring conurbation of La Ciudad de Droxford cannot be ignored…

Further evidence came when the museum’s Avatar and the Angel with a Huge Nose were seen blessing the almost complete catering outlet in the middle of the night…

Apparently only the installation of a whooshy, gurgly coffee machine and a futuristic urinal is required to transform the building from a potential cafe into a proper emporium for the celebration of the humble coffee bean – complete with labels such as Cafe au Belch, Vomitino, and Desalinated – all well-known labels belonging to Skanki Kaffe. When interviewed through the side window of a Cafe Puke concession, general manager, Cool-Dude Plantagenate…

…was quoted as saying: “Couldn’t give a plugmutt’s arse. Bring it on Skanki: your Vomitino aint got nothing on our Crappachino: it’s almost potable!”

We await developments.

Chapter One

As sunset turned to night, high within the distant snow-capped mountains, electric  lights began to flicker into incandescence. The mountaintop citadel of Lemon Stone was pushing back the darkness…

Inside his artisan’s workshop, Dumper Collins was busy developing his latest farting gourde. With his back to the sturdy wattle and daub wall, he pleaded with the gourde to display the ability to produce hitherto unimaginable amounts of noxious gases from its centrally located pseudo-bottom…

At the same time, a pair of Lemon Stone police officers became aware of Fanny Gander, as she exited the public lavatory in the Artisan’s quarter, on her way home for tea…

“Nice bum.” One of them said to the other.

“Best keep that to yourself,” the second officer whispered in reply, “Fanny absolutely hates any sexist talk. If she finds out you’ve been ogling her rear end, she’s likely to yank your helmet from your head and shove it up yours!”

“Oh,” the first officer responded nervously, “she’s that strong, is she?”

“She creates potions.” The reply came quietly. “They include potions for strength and endurance. She always tries them on herself before she places them on sale in the market square. So, yes she really is that strong.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

 

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Illicit Flight

This first appeared in a now defunct blog.

When Bubbles Gloor and Barclay Scrimmage stole the prototype Prowler from the Punting-Modesty Munitions Company, Bubbles couldn’t help showing it off to her mother, Millicent, and her ski coach boyfriend Wagontrain McCallister in their ski lodge at the end of a frozen fiord. From The Veil of Shytar. Fascinating factoid: The fiord is actually a hollow in the trunk of a fallen tree that has filled with water. Yes, I know it doesn’t look like it, but it is. Just goes to show what a photographic genius the creator of the Earplug Adventures really is!

 

Why Does A Guy Who Gives His Work Away Spend Real Money To Make It Better?

Answer: Because he’s stupid. Or Maybe because it’s a labour of love.

Although absolutely nothing has been done regarding the follow-up to The Veil of Shytar, Tooty hasn’t been entirely idle. He may have expended exactly no time whatsoever thinking about what path the next story might follow, but he has been reducing the size of his bank account by purchasing lighting equipment so that the non-existential sequel will be well-lit. Okay, it wasn’t a lot of money, but he had to earn it, which is more than his e-books will, coz he doesn’t sell them: he gives them away in PDF form. What a dope! But that’s by-the-by: let’s see what the dumbo’s been up to. Well firstly there’s this…

Look, nice, isn’t it?

At last Tooty can shoot without fear of the camera casting a bloody great shadow across the subjects. And regard…

…the same scene can be shot with differing shades and intensities…

Even a really warm glow…

What wonders might be performed with this light? But he was not content with a mere ring-light: he also bought a…

…head light, for close-up shooting in tight corners, where normally shadows are manifest. Of course the happy snapper couldn’t wait to shoot something fresh with his new ‘toys’, so he popped out to his local Sainsbury’s and snatched a yoghourt tray from the cooler shelf. I’m sure you’ll recognise it: it’s the one he uses to create the Cafe Puke outlets. And having done so, he created another…

Charming, don’t you think? Can you not imagine yourself standing beneath that blue light and soaking up the ambience? Here it is peopled…

And look at the bloody size of it: it’s massive!

“Why so big?” I hear you sub-vocalise.

Answer: So Tooty can get some depth of field in his micro-world shots. So characters can be emphasized better by placing the background out of focus…

It also allows him to remove some of the superstructure…

…which, in turn  facilitates the correct usage of the previously mentioned head-light…

All in all, money well spent – or so says he. Does it help create ideas for the next story? Er…no: but when he does think of something, it will look nice.

 

The Earplugs Come Home

The Earplug Adventures began life on this blog – right back in 2014. So I think it only right that (following their dismal showing in their own blog) they should return here: the home of earplug fiction. Henceforth all the stuff that appeared on the accursed failed blog will (as if like magic) reappear in these hallowed cyber-pages. Stuff like this…

Following uncounted millennia in suspended animation, a newly-formed ocean reanimates ancient aquatic earplugs upon Mars. Here Arthur and Millicent find their way to the surface for the first time. From Haunted Mars Volume Two. Fascinating factoid: The bubbly surface of the new ocean is actually semi-melted sound deadening material. The earplugs aren’t embedded in it; instead they have had their bottom halves excised – giving the impression that they are partially submerged. Well that’s the idea anyway. Did it work?

 

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Disappearing Act

The heroic Catering Assistant apparently ceases to exist moments before the destruction of the Drunkard’s Vomit.

From the fabulous 2022 story, Climatic Calamity…

…which (as everyone knows) is available as a free PDF by simply clicking on the cover art.

 

Complete ‘Veil of Shytar’ Absolutely Free!

Yes, it’s that time again. That time when I give away the latest e-book in PDF form for you to either read on-line or download for home consumption. And that e-book is (of course) The Veil of Shytar. So just click on the cover image and it’s all yours to enjoy and (possibly) pore over and discuss its intellectual merits and nice pictures. In fact, should you be a university student or similar, perhaps you could write thesis on the evolution and development of the Earplug Adventures from early stream-of-consciousness witterings to the literary genius you see today – or something along those lines. But I digress: if you know what’s good for you, click that cover now. Read something unique!

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 30)

So here we are – al final. We’ve made it through twelve chapters together. Another Earplug Adventure has been survived. All that remains is the epilogue. This is it: go for it!

Epilogue

As one might imagine, the voyage home along the hyper-space conduit was rapid and uneventful…

However, as the Prowler entered the atmosphere above Lemon Stone, the ship’s foul-weather sensors initiated an amber alert…

“Oh, I didn’t expect that.” Bubbles exclaimed. “After such an adventure I assumed it would all be plain sailing until we landed.”

“Nah,” Barclay replied as he cast a quick glance out of his side window, “it’s peeing down out there. Looks like a storm. Even worse than the one we can expect in the Star Chamber.”

He wasn’t wrong either…

High winds and sudden downdraughts tossed the small craft of space like a leaf as lightning lit up the sky all around.

Much to her surprise, the buffeting made Bubbles feel decidedly nauseous…

“Take the controls, will you darling.” She said before slipping off her safety belt and throwing up over the back of her pilot’s seat.

Barclay, unused to flying the craft in any conditions, quickly lost his way in the bad weather; reduced altitude; and soon found himself staring at the towers of Ciudad de Droxford…

“Oh, Sweetie,” he called, “Wipe the drool from your chin and take command, would you: we’re about to crash into a city.”

The threat of imminent death quickly rallied Bubbles’ mental and physical reserves. Throwing herself back into her seat, she re-took control…

“Honestly, Barclay,” she complained, “all you had to do is keep it flying straight and level!”

Barclay smiled at this. He knew that. He’d just lost control because he wanted Bubbles to think she was indispensible – which, of course she was.

“I know,” Bubbles then added as her stomach settled and her mood lightened, “Since we’re here, we might as well stop off for a coffee. Yes, that would be very nice: we can sit and watch the world go by…in the pouring rain.”

Meanwhile, below on an average city street…

…Miles Earplug was deep in conversation with Mister Pong.

“I don’t know why you were so fired up about opening a restaurant in Ciudad de Droxford.” He said in his best ‘annoyed’ voice. “When it isn’t being levelled by alien invaders, it rains like a monsoon! It doesn’t rain in the Museum of Future Technology: you can have an outdoor café there, and everyone is guaranteed to stay dry. You wouldn’t have to wear your stupid Evil Mister Pong hat either!”

By coincidence, some twenty minutes later, another group of earplugs had decided that talk of cafes should be translated into action.  Captain Cedric Mantequilla led the bridge crew of the Brian Talbot into the Avenida de Rueben Snook branch of the Café Puke…

…and failed utterly to notice the new galactic heroes enjoying the view through a large picture window…

“It’s lovely to be back in the city again, isn’t it Darling?” Bubbles inquired after sipping from her glass of crappachino, before placing it back on the table top.

“Too right, Sweetie.” Barclay replied, “After the aridness of Worstworld, this piddling rain and thunderstorm is almost welcome.”

“Talking of welcomes,” Bubbles said nervously, “I wonder what Sir Loftus is going to say tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t really matter.” Barclay mumbled. “We’re gonna lose our jobs whatever. But after our little escapade, we should get jobs at the Museum of Future Technology no problem: they’re crying out for heroic types like us.”

Bubbles lowered her voice to a whisper;

“At least that would mean we wouldn’t have to apply for jobs at the Café Puke. I enjoy their foul muck; but I wouldn’t want to serve it up.”

Bubbles and Barclay decided that it would probably be best if they waited until the next day before visiting the Star Chamber. So, shortly after dawn, they steadied their nerves and strode purposefully into the strangely-lit board room…

Barclay decided to be bold…

“Hi, everybody: I hope you slept well. We certainly did. It’s tiring work – saving entire worlds from utter devastation. I guess you’d like the Prowler back now – huh?”

The Chamber Pots were entirely wrong-footed by this approach. All they could do was either stare in stupefaction or look at each other for guidance. As was fitting for the Chairman of the Board, Sir Loftus Pupe recovered his wits quickest…

“Not necessarily.” He replied.

Bubbles leaned back in surprised. “No?” She queried.

“No.” Sir Loftus replied. “Until a few hours ago the situation would have looked very different. BINS would have most certainly been closed down and its senior staff laid off – permanently. The Punting-Modesty R and D department would have been poring over their prototype craft in an effort to see how much damage it had incurred. I personally would probably have been taking a blood pressure tablet. But none of this has come to be.”

“Ah…” Barclay politely raised a hand to interrupt, “but that’s good, isn’t it?”

“For all concerned.” Sir Loftus concurred. Then a smile spread across his normally austere visage. “It’s very good. Jolly good, even. Absolutely bloody smashing in fact. When your rescue of Worstworld appeared on the Galactic News Channel, the phone didn’t stop ringing. E-mails abounded. Our servers went down under the strain. Staff have been run ragged. Orders for the Prowler have been flooding in ever since. Bubbles Gloor and Barclay Scrimmage: if you never do another thing wrong again in your lives, you won’t make a better mistake than stealing the prototype Prowler. Not only did it lead to the salvation of a world and the civilisation that lived upon it; but, more importantly, that single act has saved the Punting-Modesty Munitions Company from bankruptcy. Overnight we’ve gone from minnows to whales!”

“Tadpoles to great white sharks.” Jasmine Greentea interjected.  

“Quite right, Jazzy.” Sir Loftus responded. Then, turning his attention to the youngsters once more, he said:

“As a result of this unqualified success, we’ve elected to refrain from punishing you in any way whatsoever. No punitive action will be taken. You will be charged with no crime. You will, however, be required to take ownership of the prototype Prowler. You will be required to return it to Punting-Modesty for its free first service. You will also need to insure it. Okay?”

Anyone with a feather at hand could have knocked over both Bubbles and Barclay with a single waft. “I…I…guess.” Barclay replied after looking into Bubbles’ laughing eyes. “We’ll…um…get it over to the workshop right away: it could use an oil change. And a rear-facing atomic cannon would be nice too.”

“Duly noted.” Sir Loftus replied. “Have fun.”

With that they were applauded out of the Star Chamber…

“Ready for another adventure, Bubs?” Barclay inquired.

“Any time, any place, anywhere – with you, Barkie.” Bubbles replied.

So, a few hours later, the Prowler’s oil change complete, and a new rear-facing atomic cannon slotted in beside the garbage hatch, the Museum of Future Technology was treated to a one-ship fly-past…

There was a galaxy waiting up there, beyond the sky: now they had the means, Bubbles and Barclay had every intention of experiencing as much of it as was earpluggishly possible!

The End

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Ah-ha, the suggestion of a future sequel. Well why not – we all like Bubbles and Barclay, don’t we? But that will do for 2022: it was a very productive year in the Earplug Adventure department. Already I have a title for the next tale. I have no idea what will happen, but the title came to me when I accidentally  misheard the lyrics to Roxy  Music’s ‘More Than This‘. The next tale will be titled ‘Northern Mist‘. Ooh, that’s a challenge.

 

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 29)

If the Earplug Adventures were the NFL, this would be the last regular season game. Only the  Playoffs to come… 

Meanwhile high above them, the remnants of the Veil of Shytar appeared to be dissipating…

“Would you look at that!” Augustus Pronk exclaimed as his mauve companion looked across at him with an expressionless…er…expression…

…“That would have been you – if we hadn’t dragged you away in an empty catering-sized tofu canister!”

“You have my gratitude, Augustus.” Mister Mauve replied. “But now that I exist outside of the artificial realm of the Veil of Shytar…what am I going to do?”

“I expect I’m officially decreed as deceased.” Pronk wagered. “The wife has probably re-married, and the kids have grown up. I still can’t stand the thought of living in a city again: so how about we live together in a cave somewhere? Failing that – a tent or beneath a tree or hedge – after they’ve grown some, of course. I look forward to seeing hedges: I’ve only ever read about them.” 

Mister Mauve might have replied to this kind offer of a life shared, but before he could, Bubbles yelled:

“Look: the veil: it’s faded away completely!”

And it had too!

Now only a brown dwarf star remained.

“Are you sure that’s bright enough to warm your planet?” Barclay asked Pronk doubtfully.

“Well if it isn’t,” Pronk replied, “we’d better get used to wearing snow shoes.”

“If that should happen,” Bubbles reminded Barclay, “the Goosewing Grey can always return with its gravitonic multiplicitor and move the planet formerly known as Worstworld to a closer orbit. I wonder what they’ll re-name it.”

“Don’t know: don’t care.” Pronk said to this. “What I am interested in is returning to my world: I’ve been gone a long time you know – and a male earplug can stand only so much gentle surf breaching upon sandy beaches.”

“You didn’t like it?” A surprised Mister Mauve asked.

“Not after Year Five.” Pronk replied. “If that cliff had been any higher, I swear I would have thrown myself from it. No, if I ever live beside water again, it will have to be very still – like a huge placid lake. Yes, that’d be nice.”

Pronk then addressed the earplug couple:

“Can you take me down there? I rather fancy to reconnoitre for somewhere to live. Maybe a cave. Maybe an old abandoned shack. Can we go?”

Well neither earplug at the controls could think of one good reason not to, so a few minutes later…

…the Prowler swept across the sandy desert upon which Fort Dunderhead stood. Already the Seventh Cavalry had begun their first patrol.

“I wonder what they expect to find.” Bubbles said.

“I imagine they’re just going through the motions.” Barclay opined. “You know, waiting to be told what to do by the central government – when it gets itself organised. It could take a while. Of course if they find any of that star material that made its way past the veil…well they could be in the money.”

Such was the vessel’s speed that by the time Barclay finished his lecture, it had carried them miles away…

“Barclay,” Bubbles chirruped excitedly, “that looks like open water. I’ve never seen it before. It must have been forced up by those huge impacts.”

“Didn’t you want a lake-side residence, Augustus?” Barclay inquired of the sole native present.

“As long as it isn’t brackish.” Pronk replied. “Can’t stand the taste of salt.”

Fortunately Bubbles had scanned through the user manual for the Prowler, so she was able to use the sensors to determine the salt content of the water below. “Looking good,” she said finally, “Wanna land?”

Shortly the Prowler’s engines cooled as the foursome disembarked and stood upon the unusually natural-coloured soil of Worstworld…

“This’ll do nicely.” Pronk said as he looked about him. “Yep. I noticed a small town as we flew over: it reminded me of Busted Gut. I know a few guys there: they should put me up for a while until I can find my feet, so-to-speak. You coming, Mister Mauve?”

Mister Mauve sniffed the air. “So this is reality, is it?” he said appreciatively, “Methinks I’ll sample a little of it. Yes, I will accompany you Mister Pronk. We can regale the citizens of Busted Gut with tales of the Veil of Shytar. That should pay for our supper – and breakfast too – just as long as it’s toast and not tofu.”

So Bubbles and Barclay made their farewells and promised to keep in touch, then blasted skyward again…

“Well you had your little adventure on Worstworld.” Barclay said as the Prowler gained altitude…

…”do you think it’s time to go home and face the music?”

In the name of clarity Bubbles asked:

“The Star Chamber, you mean?”

“Sir Loftus Pupe and all the other Chamber Pots.” Barclay said carelessly. “After what we’ve seen and done, I hardly think they are going to worry us any.”

“You’re right, Barclay,” Bubbles replied as the Prowler regained the freedom of outer space…

…”We’ll just say goodbye to Bonzer and the Goosewing Grey, and then be on our way.”

And that’s exactly what they did…

“Bye, Captain Dragonsrectum,” Bubbles called over the radio, “have a nice trip back to Scroton.”

“Safe journey, brave earplugs.” Bonzer replied. “May good fortune fill your sails.”

“Metaphorically speaking.” The Science Officer added in the background.

And they were gone – both ships disappearing into entirely different hyper-space conduits to entirely different destinations.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Next up will be the epilogue. But until then, shots of particular note are: 5, which began life as a sheet of insulation material that I burnt with a heatshrink gun, then placed upon a sheet of translucent plastic through which I shone a light. 6 is two slices of wood that I cut from an interesting length of 4×2, sandwiching a sheet of completely different insulation material. I’ve had the shot ready for at least three years; finally it gets its day in the spotlight. And 9: for this shot I needed something roughly spherical and with an interesting surface to represent the night side of Worstworld. Tooty the Chef came to the rescue by supplying a pleasant buttock.  As everyone knows, furry bums create convincing cloud patterns.

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 28)

So close to the end now. I always hate this part of the story. Still, we’re not there yet. Enjoy while you can. Proceed…

All the while, the Veil of Shytar stood unbending and resolute against the phenomenal onslaught of a dying star…

“I think it’s doing ever so well.” Bubbles opined. She then looked at Barclay when she realised how inadequate her choice of words had been…

“Well we’re still here.” He responded. “The cabin temperature hasn’t moved up a single notch.”

He then chose to eat those words when the fiery destructive power of the star began breaking through the veil…

“Would you like salt and pepper on those?” Bubbles said tartly.

Barclay chose not to reply, which was just as well because it might only have confused Mister Mauve and Augustus Pronk as they rushed into the cockpit for a better view of events outside the hull…

“It’s like a bloody sauna in the lounge.” Pronk explained.

“And if there was a lavatory bowl,” Mister Mauve added, “the water inside would be simmering nicely.”

Upon the planet, great bolts of stellar material began bombarding the sandy surface…

…tearing through the abandoned cities in their shallow sub-surface chasms…

Despite this, the creators of the Veil of Shytar had built their tool well. Though failing in hot-spots, most of it remained battered, bruised, but intact…

Moreover, as quickly as it had begun, the star’s powers diminished, and the veil could relax. It seemed to those watching that it appeared to flow languidly and coalesce in a most colourful and pleasing manner…

As the tension drained from his shoulders, Barclay said:

“Now that really is nice. And look; I can see the stars and darkness of space beyond it. Bubbles, it’s over. We’ve done it. Worstworld is saved!”

Inside Fort Dunderhead, the officers and troopers of the Seventh Cavalry rushed on to the parade ground to gaze in awe and wonder at a sky that held no ghastly blue pallor…

Naturally the Major led them in three rousing cheers for whatever had been responsible for freeing the planet of its blue tyranny.

“And look at us,” the pink-eyed female cavalry-plug announced, “don’t we look something in our fabulous olive green outfits!”

“That’s ‘uniforms’, darling.” R Swypes said out the side of his smile. “Not ‘outfits’. Outfits are for dancing girls: you’re a military type: maintain the correct parlance.”

Moreover, the Major felt compelled to dispel the doubts of Sergeant Ottershoe concerning their technical equipment. He leapt aboard the first vehicle he could find and sounded the hooter…

“Hurrah, it works,” he bellowed in tune with the discordant horn, “It’s a win-win situation!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Photos of note include the red veil shot, which is actually the sun shining through the rear light cluster of my Skoda Octavia. It was another one of those “Ooh that looks interesting, I think I’ll take a picture,” shots. The sub-surface city getting blasted was obtained in a relatively interesting manner. I had discovered that if I filmed movement against a dark background, but with a powerful light sourse pointing at the camera, then shot with (specifically) my Canon Ixus 180, and played on my laptop using VLC Player, I could get single-frame pixelation that created all sorts of amazing images. In this example, I then tarted up the resulting screen shot and coloured it red. All clever (or serendipidous) stuff.

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 27)

So this is it: the episode when the star finally does its thing…

What they saw from thirty-thousand feet horrified them both. Energy discharges were sparking off the metallic content in several mountain peaks…

“Back up.” Barclay yelled. “This is no place for a high-tech device. Back up!”

Bubbles heeded his warning, and seconds later the Prowler re-joined the Goosewing Grey – just as the Veil of Shytar made rendezvous with Worstworld…

“It doesn’t look big enough to shield the entire planet.” Bubbles remarked.

Captain Drangonsrectum must have harboured similar doubts. Despite the static created by the malcontent star, his voice crackled over the radio:

“This thing does get bigger, I hope. Like this it’ll only be good enough to protect the Goosewing and the Prowler!”

Barclay heard a muffled voice through the door that lead to the R&R lounge. It belonged to Augustus Pronk:

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Of course it will expand, you nincompoops.” Mister Mauve added.

Down on the surface of the planet – or, to be more precise, in the sandy wastelands beside Fort Dunderhead, several cavalry-plugs had taken themselves outside for a good view of the celestial event that would determine whether they would live or die…

“Oh-ur,” one of them said to another, “I don’t half feel exposed out here.”

“Hmmm, me too.” His comrade replied. “But if we took off all our clothes, we might get a really good over-all tan.”

Of course, from their vantage point they had no opportunity to see the Veil – as if on cue – expand and manoeuvre into a position that placed it directly between the star and its sole inhabited planet…

Then the moment arrived. The blue-giant gave no warning. It didn’t convulse or wobble or anything like that. It just went BLAM…

Aboard the Prowler, Bubbles and Barclay’s retinas were saved when the forward viewer darkened to protect them…

“Barclay,” Bubbles screamed, “I can’t believe this is happening. Hold me. Crush me to your breast!”

Barclay tried to inject some levity:

“Sounds good.” He said. “I’d invite you into the R&R lounge, but Augustus and Mister Mauve are watching events through the side windows: I wouldn’t want to offend them.”

Aboard the Goosewing Grey no one made such an attempt…

It was all professionalism.

“We are recording this, right?” Captain Dragonsrectum inquired.

“We are, Sir,” the Science Officer answered. ”We are also transmitting a live-stream to Scroton and the Galactic News Channel. This should be going out all over known space and possibly beyond – you never know.”

Upon Scroton, Nigel and Beatrix were leading a charge across a quiet plaza in Scroton Prime…

“If we miss this, I’m going to spit venom.” Beatrix gasped through tortured lungs. “I mean, having all those huge Three-Dee screens mounted in public places will have been a complete waste of time and money – not to mention ruined expectations!”

But she need not have worried. They arrived just in time to see the time-delayed explosion in its full, glorious blueness…

“Ooh…pretty.” Someone said from the back. “I wish I had a bathroom that colour.”

“Take that man’s name,” Nigel responded to the inadequacy of the statement, “We need a new lavatory cleaner in the parliamentary building.”

Surprisingly, and despite their proximity to the disaster, Fort Dunderhead could also receive the Galactic News footage…

“You did set the video cassette recorder to capture this moment, I hope?” Major Left-Foot Badger said to his adjutant. 

“We’ve moved on a bit since the VCR,” Lieutenant R Swypes replied. “We have a digital PVR now. And yes it is recording this for posterity.”

“Well let’s hope we don’t get an electro-magnetic pulse from that explosion that fries digital stuff.” Sergeant Lance Ottershoe said as he stood beside the officers, “I’m not expecting any of the armoured personnel carriers to function properly after this. Give me good old-fashioned analogue electronics: they’re so much more dependable.”

“Lousy TV picture though.” The Major replied.

Far away, upon Earth and the Museum of Future Technology, night held dominion over day…

As a Submarine Space Freighter launched upon one of many voyages to other worlds, inside visitors and inhabitants of the museum were being treated to scenes of the exploding blue-giant…

And they didn’t like what they saw. In fact they refused to look.

Further, in one of the multifarious Café Puke outlets, a customer who had been imbibing café cortados for over an hour, passed out with shock…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Notable shots in this segment must include 1, which is the reverse negative of one of Tooty the Chef’s creations. 5, which, if you’ve ever read/suffered the original earplug story – 2014’s The Museum of Future Technology – you might recognise this as a slight re-work of the proton torpedo one of the Earplug Brothers hoped to see upon ,entering the building for the very first time. It’s an out-of-focus Christmas light, by the way. I had no SFX back then. And 12. It was only after I tried to shoehorn the giant wall screen into the picture that I realised that everyone would have their backs turned to it. So I went with the idea of their collective denial. Well its probably what they would have done anyway: most earplugs are not really the heroic types.

 

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 26)

As a continuance of the episode length experiment, I’ll keep this one brief as well. Continue to absorb the wondrous tale…

Chapter 12

Whilst Mister Mauve washed and dried the coffee glasses, Bubbles and Barclay learned a great deal about the Veil of Shytar. They learned, for example that it had been waiting millennia in silence and solitude for this event, but unfortunately had forgotten the fact when its attention shifted to the problem of keeping Augustus Pronk alive and well. As the strange, shadow-free being told them of the Veil’s mission to protect the planet, now known as Worstworld, from the blue-giant star’s pre-calculated and inevitable expansion, they came to realise that the Universe contained more wise ancient civilisations than they’d imagined. Those beneficent aliens that brought sentience and civilisation to Scroton were not unique. Altruism, it seemed, ran deep through this particular region of the Galaxy.

“So you always intended to protect Worstworld?” Bubbles said to Mister Mauve as Augustus Pronk presented himself to them in the old space suit he’d salvaged from the wreck of his space ship…

“Indeed this is so.” Mister Mauve replied as he failed utterly to appreciate the aesthetics of Pronk’s extra-vehicular apparel. “The Veil, and others like it, was designed specifically to defend planets from their own stars.  I have no idea how many fledgling civilisations the Veils have saved through the ages; but if it wasn’t for you two, Worstworld would not have been one of them.”

Barclay, unused to compliments replied:

“Well…you know…”

Bubbles did slightly better:

“Synchronicity.” She said. “It’s a funny old thing. If we hadn’t been sent to the Museum of Future Technology: if we hadn’t found the plans for the alien life-boat: if Punting-Modesty hadn’t built such a brilliant ship from those plans: if they hadn’t put us aboard to show it off to the public…”

“If we hadn’t then stolen it, and come to play silly-buggers on a doomed world…” Barclay interrupted.

“…None of this would have happened.” Pronk spoke from the table top. “And my petty concerns would have been responsible for destroying a whole world and everything that lives upon it. So, to salve my conscience, might I suggest we depart the Veil and let it do its job?”

“Yes, you must all leave immediately.” Mister Mauve said as they hurried along a corridor…

“Hey, what do you mean about ‘you all’?” Bubbles complained. “Surely it should be ‘we all’?”

“I can’t come.” Mister Mauve retorted. “I belong here.”

Augustus Pronk became an instant ally to Bubbles. “So what are you going to do here – without me to look after?” He said to Mister Mauve. “Without me you have no purpose.”

Mister Mauve didn’t reply. He didn’t lessen his pace either. “Hurry,” he said, “Bubbles’ estimate of six days before the star explodes is optimistic. It is going critical as we speak.”

Pronk was not to be put off. “Great,” he said, “so the Veil of Shytar – which I remind you I named first – races to the rescue. What becomes of it when the star explodes?” 

“Most probably it will be eroded by the fantastic energies thrown against it. Ultimately it will fail.” Mister Mauve informed them all, “Hopefully after the star has shrunk back to become a brown dwarf.”

“And you with it.” Pronk growled. “What would be the point of that? You punched me in the face once: if you don’t come with us, I’m gonna punch you right back.”

“And I’ll kick you right up the arse.” Barclay added. “You do have an arse, I suppose?”

Mister Mauve sighed. “Oh, very well.” He grumbled. “If you can find a means of transporting me to the Prowler, I’ll come along for the ride. But I don’t think you’ll be able to find that means, so it’s a moot point really.”

Five minutes later Augustus Pronk was pushing a large restaurant-specification tofu container before him as he approached the rend he’d cut in the fabric of the veil all those years previously…

Naturally Bubbles and Barclay followed in their…er…bubbles.

Well it was easy after that, and soon Mister Mauve and Pronk regarded the tofu container in the Prowler’s R&R lounge…

Mister Mauve still had a smear of tofu on his head. “I never understood why you saved up all those food containers.” He said. “It wasn’t like they could be re-cycled or anything. Strictly speaking they’re not really real: the Veil constructed them by converting energy into matter. They weren’t worth the effort to convert them back.”

“Bet you’re glad I did though, huh?” Pronk replied cheerfully. “Now let’s go see if we can find a wash basin aboard this technological wonder.”

Meanwhile, the pilot and her pseudo-navigator had resumed the cockpit…

A planet proximity alarm drew their attention to the view of Worstworld through Barclay’s side window…

“Oh Barclay,” Bubbles whimpered, “it looks like a big blue billiard ball!”

“Yeah,” Barclay agreed, “try saying that after seven or eight rum and colas.”

“I don’t like the look of it.” Bubbles continued. “I don’t know if the Worstworld upgrades are up to the task of protecting this ship’s inner workings; but I gotta take a closer look. Hold tight: I’m dipping into the atmosphere.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Shorter? Longer? About right?

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 24)

Well that’s enough of whooshing about in space ships for the moment. This is where some proper sci-fi sticks its head around the corner and beckons to us. Respond accordingly: read on…

Chapter 11

Because the Veil of Shytar was oncoming, the distance between it and the Prowler closed quickly…

In fact Bubbles almost overshot her target and was forced to back-track slightly. Quickly matching velocity with the vast space anomaly, Bubbles unstrapped herself; pulled on some knickers; and proceeded from the cockpit into the lounge. Of course Barclay was in close attendance…

“The only way we are going to speak with that thing,” Bubbles said as she headed for the stairwell, “is by making physical contact. If we get up close and pseudo-personal, it won’t be able to ignore us.”

“Fine,” Barclay replied, “at least in theory. But what if it doesn’t want to talk? It could swat us like mosquitos. Moreover, have you considered the possibility that it can’t talk?”

“I have,” Bubbles snapped, “and I don’t like to think about it. If we can’t persuade it to protect Worstworld….then we’ve failed utterly. That is not an option.”

Once upon the lower deck, and despite her secret misgivings, Bubbles continued to march along resolutely…

“Getting across to the Veil shouldn’t be a problem,” She assured her partner. “Every Punting-Modesty vessel comes equipped with pressurised environmental bubbles for Extra-Vehicular Activities.”

“Oh goodie,” Barclay said only semi-sarcastically, “I’ve always wanted to do an EVA in the vacuum of space.”

Well, assuming that his statement was based upon a childhood ambition, Barclay got his wish. Sooner, rather than later, he and Bubbles vacated the Prowler…

…and went scooting across the void to their destination.

Bubbles arrived first, though it was difficult for either of them to judge distance…

“I think I’m almost close enough to touch it.” She spoke upon her radio to Barclay. “No, wait a minute I think we’re passing through the strands into some other place that was hitherto hidden from us.”

Once beyond the strands, nothing they could see made sense to them.

“What the flipping heck is this thing?” Barclay said in his best complaining voice. “It doesn’t seem to have dimensions. There’s no up, down, width, height. I’m all bum-swizzled by it.”

However, moments after making the utterance, something tangible made its presence known…

“Bubs,” he cried out, “it’s an opening. A kind of hatch into somewhere else again!”

Well Bubbles couldn’t wait to investigate. Surely this was an invitation for them to proceed. “Stand aside,” she bellowed as she hit her thrusters, “coming through.”

A split second later…

…Barclay couldn’t help smiling as his chum raced ahead into another unknown situation. “That’s my girl.” He said proudly.

“Ooh, Barclay,” an unworried Bubbles called in a more ‘girly’ voice than was usual for her, “I think I’ve found something really interesting.”

“It’s not scary, then?” Barclay inquired hopefully.

“No, not at all.” Bubbles replied. “Ready yourself for touch down.”

Moments later both earplugs alighted upon, what appeared to be, a rough, natural surface. More significant though, was the crashed space ship that lay, half-buried in it…

“You know who this belongs to, don’t you?” Barclay said as he scrutenised the ruin from a safe distance. He answered his own question. “It’s that guy from Worstworld who first found the Veil of Shytar, and was lost when he came back to it.”

“Augustus Pronk.” Bubbles said. “His name was Augustus Pronk. I wonder if his body is still inside.”

“He might have survived.” Barclay suggested. “It’s not a long way down from that hole. The ship doesn’t look crumpled or anything. Let’s go see of we can find some evidense of him being here.”

Naturally both earplugs expected to find more of the same, So they were more than surprised that, having turned a corner, they found themselves in the open, upon a sandy beach with a blue sky above them…

“Now this I really didn’t expect.” Barclay said as he allowed his eyes to take in a view that clearly could not have been there.

“The air’s salty.” Bubbles informed him. I don’t know if that’s important.”

But before Barclay could reply, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a male earplug shouting something indecipherable at them.

Bubbles made a reasonable assumption: “I think we’ve found Augustus Pronk.”

Moments later they joined the pinky-orange earplug at the foot of a low sandy  cliff…

“Earplugs,” Augustus Pronk stated loudly. “You’re real, bone fide earplugs – made from silicon too!”

“We are indeed, Mister Pronk.” Bubbles replied with a giggle. “And we’re pleased to meet you too. Could you tell us something of this strange environment we find ourselves in?”

“Sure,” the smiling face of the long-lost earplug from Worstworld replied, “I can tell you all about it on the way to my personal clifftop hotel – the Augustus Pronk.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Photos of note in this episode include 6&8, which were taken as I lay beneath a parasol – looking straight up at the dazzling sun. The brightness gave me the idea of overlaying the characters and downed ship in silhouette. 7 was a filthy canvas pergola with a tear in it. And 9&10 were shot on my local Spanish beach a few years ago following a storm that dragged some of the sand away – leaving what you see. I thought it had possibilities then. Now I’ve finally gotten around to using the pictures in the way I had envisioned them. Talk about forward planning! The ‘cliff’ stood almost 15 centimetres high; and the building in 9 was pre-existing, but I added another floor and arch to make it look more like a hotel.

 

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 23)

So, this is it: the bit when they make contact with (in stentorian tones) The Veil of Shytar!

Meanwhile, aboard the Prowler which was standing off at a supposed safe distance…

…Barclay was wondering what the flipping heck was going on…

“Bubs, please tell me they are going to operate the Gravitonic Multiplicitor soon: I can’t stand the suspense.”

“I expect they have lots of calculations and stuff.” Bubbles replied. “They can’t be expected to swing into town and start firing from the hip straight away: they need to check things out first. But, gosh, I wish they’d get a bloody move on. Every second could be critical. I’ve worked out why the hyperspace conduit collapsed, by the way. It was Worstworld’s star: its convulsing and sending out powerful gravity waves that are impacting on nearby hyperspace.”

“Wow, impressive.” Barclay responded. “How do you know that?”

“The Goosewing Grey’s Science Officer sent me a text while Bonzer was pretending to visit the gravitonic multiplicitor.” Bubbles confessed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” A puzzled Barclay inquired.

“For a moment you thought I figured all that stuff out by myself.” Bubbles explained. “I could see how impressed you were.”

“I was.” Barclay replied. “And I still am. You are one seriously impressive female, Bubbles. It’s one of many attributes that make me proud that we’re here together – you and I.”

Bubbles would have responded to this, but just as she pursed her lips in consideration, something happened at the Veil of Shytar…

The Goosewing Grey had let rip with the gravitonic multiplicitor…

Any second now, Bubbles and Barclay expected to watch as the vast space anomaly began its long fall towards the blue-giant star. But, to their horror, as the gravitonic multiplicitor paused to recharge, the veil went mysteriously dark.

Aboard the ship of Scroton, a bridge crew member made a suggestion…

“Ah, might I suggest we go to Vermillion Alert and grab hold of something that’s bolted down? I have a disturbing feeling in my bowels about this.”

Bonzer didn’t require a seconder. He spun the ship about and hit the emergency boost button…

But quicker still the Veil of Shytar expanded exponentially – dwarfing the Goosewing Grey – and glowing brightly. The next second saw all of the gravitonic multiplicitor’s energy gathered up and flung back towards its point of origin…

The Scrotonic energy then grasped the Goosewing Grey and sent it spinning across thousands of miles of empty space…

Inside pandemonium reigned. With their spatial orientation in tatters, no one could begin to guess which way was up and whose nose poked in whose ear…

They simply hung on to their duty stations like interstellar limpets.

However, as the energy dissipated, the Goosewing Grey finally stopped shaking and simply tumbled gently, end over end, towards Worstworld’s distant primary star…

Naturally the Prowler went in pursuit: the ship of Scroton would need stabilising and brought to a halt.

The experience of being hurled across space by the energy of their own gravitonic multiplicitor wasn’t one that any of the crew of the Goosewing Grey expected or particularly enjoyed. In fact one of them failed to enjoy it so much that he or she left an aromatic item in the forward section of the bridge…

“Someone obviously isn’t suited to a life in space.” The Science Officer observed. “But I think we should place that subject on the back burner for the moment: the Prowler has matched velocity with us and is attempting to slow our uncontrolled rotation with a tractor beam.”

“Timely, S.O,” Bonzer commented, “Because, unless my eyes deceive me, the Veil of Shytar appears to be moving in our direction.”

“Oh yes, I do believe you’re right.” The Science Officer said as he looked up at the holographic viewer, “that can’t be good.”

“It could be an optical illusion.” A crewman suggested.

He was ignored.

“I’m going to make a suggestion, S.O,” Bonzer said gravely, “that might sound incredibly ridiculous. I pre-warn you because I don’t want the crew to think I’m going bonkers and take steps to have me removed from command.”

“Not sure I’m going to like it much myself, Captain.” The Science Officer replied. “Nevertheless I feel duty bound to hear it. Shoot.”

“We should instruct the Prowler to desist with their effort to regain the Goosewing Grey’s stability: we should do that for ourselves – probably by synchronised running from side to side and jumping up and down until the craft has settled into some form of equilibrium.”

“Sounds reasonable so far: continue.”

“Then the Prowler should move to intercept the space anomaly and attempt dialogue with it.”

For a moment the Science Officer stared straight ahead. He didn’t as much as blink.

“S.O,” a concerned Bonzer Dragonsrectum said sharply, “do you ail?”

The Science Officer reanimated. “Sorry, Sir,” he said, “I come from a long line of science officers. It’s a family trait to go into a fugue when thinking deeply. I concur with your suggestion. We can only pray that the brightly-coloured curtain thing possesses sentience. If it’s coming to kick us up the metaphysical arse, there’s not a sodding thing we can do about it.”

Moments later Bubbles and Barclay received a communication from the Goosewing Grey. It was brief and concise…

“I think that spinning is addling their brains.” Barclay opined.

“Could be,” Bubbles replied, “but Captain Dragonsrectum out-ranks us. If he tells us to do something, we really should. How do you talk to a space curtain?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Well that’s that out of the way: now on to the interesting stuff in part 24!

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 22)

Despite all those lovely SFX, Part 21 went down like a lead balloon. I’m rather hoping this one will do better. It’s also a bit SFX heavy, so I’m not hopeful. Obviously readers like the silly exchanges between characters more. I don’t blame them: those are more fun to write too! Anyway, read on…

Two hours later the Prowler and the Goosewing Grey departed Scroton…

Once free of Weird Space, the crew of the Goosewing Grey opened a hyperspace conduit…

…and, with the Prowler in hot pursuit, they plunged their vessel into it.

“Well that’s the tricky part sorted,” Barclay said as they watched the tail lights of the Goosewing Grey bob about in the unusually turbulent conduit. “Now all we need do is move the Veil of Shytar several billion kilometres – before the star explodes.” 

“Piece of cake.” Bubbles replied.

“Hardly a piece of cake.” Barclay scoffed. “More likely impossible.”

“No, a piece of cake.” Bubbles insisted. “I stole two slices of lemon drizzle from a buffet in the Hotel Guano. I knew we wouldn’t get a chance to eat. Fancy some?”

However, an hour or so into the flight Bubbles detected an anomaly…

“Do you feel buffeting?” She inquired of Barclay

Barclay had, but he assumed it was caused by Bubbles’ fidgeting as she tried to make her bottom comfortable upon the pilot’s chair / toilet. “Yes,” he replied, “are you saying it isn’t you?”

Bubbles first thought was, ‘How the heck could I cause the ship to shake? Even if I wiggled my bum from side to side and hopped up and down, I couldn’t create buffeting!’ Instead she moved on:

“Yes.” She answered Barclay’s question, “I am. Something outside is doing it.”

“But this is hyperspace.” Barclay argued. “There isn’t anything outside. Strictly speaking there isn’t anything at all. Hyperspace is the absence of space/time.”

“Okay,” Bubbles said, following a pause to think further, “something is making hyperspace shake – and that’s what’s buffeting the Prowler.”

By now the buffeting had worsened. “I’m inclined to agree.” Barclay said as he checked for any signs of the hull rupturing or bolts undoing themselves. “And, look: the Goosewing Grey is having a hard time keeping an even keel!”

It was at that moment that the Scrotonic ship contacted them. Two Cable Ends appeared on the front viewer…

“This is Captain Bonzer Dragonsrectum.” Bonzer introduced himself. “Are you having difficulties?”

Bubbles confessed that they were and that she was beginning to feel decidedly ‘icky’.

“That’s what I thought,” Bonzer replied to this. “It appears that the hyperspace conduit is becoming unstable. If we don’t depart it before it collapses, we may never re-enter normal space. Thought you ought to know.”

“What’s causing it?” Barclay asked.

“It would take a massive upheaval in regular space to affect a conduit.” The green-eyed cable end beside Bonzer answered. “That’s why, as science officer aboard the Goosewing Grey, I’m loathe to drop back into normal space willy-nilly. I have no idea what we’ll find there.”

Bubbles checked the Prowler’s chronometer. “It won’t be long before we have to exit anyway.” She said. “We’re coming up on the location of the Veil of Shytar.”

“It’s just as well.” Bonzer replied. “I don’t think this conduit can hang together much longer. Prepare for emergence into normal space.”

A few seconds later the two ships burst from the conduit – just as it began to collapse…

“Yikes, that was close.” Barclay shouted over the noise of cheering cable ends that erupted from the communicator. “Now let’s see where we are.”

Well he didn’t have to look far…

…dead ahead the strange cosmic curtain hung like a…um…curtain against a backdrop of stars.

Aboard the Goosewing Grey, its commander and crew received their first sight of the Veil of Shytar…

“Hmmm,” the Science Officer reacted calmly, “I can see how it got its name: my sphincter is already puckering.”

“No time for fear and trepidation.” Bonzer responded to this minor confession. “You have the con: I’m going to check out the Gravitonic Multiplicitor…”

However, as he emerged from the bridge into the back room in which the Tankerville Norris had always housed its Gravitonic Multiplicitor…

…he remembered that the class of vessels had undergone a refit and that the wondrous device now lay hidden in the forward sensor array.

“Blast and bugger it.” He hissed. “If I go back in now, they’re all going to know that I forgot about the refit. I’m gonna look like a real prat. I know, I’ll just hang around out here for a while; then pretend that I’ve been down to the forward sensor array. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

A few minutes later, having quickly grown bored inside the near featureless room, Captain Bonzer Dragonsrectum returned to the bridge and sat himself down…

The Science Officer couldn’t resist passing comment. “That was quick.”

“I’m a fast worker.” Bonzer replied.

“But its two and a half minutes there and two and a half minutes back.” The argument proceeded. “You’ve only been three and a half minutes total.”

“I ran all the way there and all the way back. Like I said: I’m a fast worker.”

“Yet you’re not out of breath and you don’t perspire freely.”

“I keep myself lithe and super-fit. A dash to the sensor array and back is like a stroll in the park to someone like me.”

“Indeed? Then how is that you allowed yourself into the sensor array, yet I have the key to the hatch in my pocket?”

Bonzer spent several panic-stricken nanoseconds considering his response. “Rank hath its privileges.” He snapped. “Now shut up and scan the space anomaly: I wanna know how much bulk we gotta push.”

“Already done, Captain,” The Science Officer replied. “No data. The Veil of Shytar repels all scans – remember?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Well that episode included fabulous SFX with entertaining silly exchanges between characters: how could you not like that!

P.S As I expect you noticed, both interior and exterior shots of the Goosewing Grey were actually the bridge set and model of the Tankerville Norris. Continuity is very important: but not as important as saving me time and effort making new sets and models!

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 21)

Familiar ground for Earpluggers coming up…

Chapter 10

Bubbles had programmed the ship’s navigation computer to emerge from hyperspace at a specific point. This it did with pinpoint accuracy…

The Prowler and its occupants now found themselves in the strange border area between regular space and Weird Space. Their close proximity to the oddly-coloured region of the Galaxy could mean only one thing…

“I’ve always wanted to visit Scroton,” Bubbles said as she studied the abnormal stars and cosmic dust of Weird Space. “I just never imagined I’d have a proper reason to, or the means of getting here.”

“Two birds with one stone.” Barclay replied.

Bubbles fluttered her eyelashes at this. “Three, if we count you.”

Barclay would have reacted to this compliment, but before he could say anything, the planet Scroton swam into view in his side window…

“Barclay,” Bubbles said urgently, “we’re getting a priority message from a way station. We’re to remain here until an escort vessel arrives from Scroton.”

“How very efficient.” Barclay responded. “Just as one would expect from the Scotonite Ethernet Cable Ends. I wonder how long they’ll be.”

Well, no sooner had the words left Barclay’s mouth, when a ship of the Tankerville Norris class duly arrived…

“Please follow us in.” A voice sounded from speakers and a sub-woofer set into the cockpit chairs. “Our sensors detect earplugs aboard. Your DNA suggests you originate upon the planet Earth. Your planet and ours are allies. Welcome to Scroton. A reservation has been made for you at the Hotel Guano. Please report there immediately upon landing at Scroton Prime.”

“Ah, roger that.” Bubbles replied semi-professionally.

“Wow,” an impressed Barclay breathed, “I wonder if they’ll roll out the red carpet too.”

Twenty-five minutes later the couple stood in their room at the Hotel Guano…

Whilst Barclay took in the view of Scroton Prime, Bubbles’ attention was upon the fabric of their room.

“It’s a little austere.” She said. “I suppose the furniture comes out of the walls or something. But they could have put some magazines in the magazine rack – which, I might add, is too high for me. Okay for a basketball player or a pole vaulter; but not for test pilots.”

To cheer Bubbles up, Barclay said:

“I noticed a coffee machine in the foyer: It isn’t café Puke, but it could be this planet’s equivalent. Fancy a brew?”

Two minutes later and fifteen floors lower…

“Café Blurgh,” Bubbles squealed with delight. “It sounds ghastly. I’ll try one of everything.”

From there, they decided that a brisk walk in the open air was called for…

“Will you look at that, Bubs,” Barclay said as they strolled across the central plaza of the industrial area, “it’s been less than three decades since this planet industrialized, and already their smoke stacks are museum pieces. Breathe in that air: not a particulate anywhere!”

Shortly, as evening fell, they moved into a quiet region of the city where few citizens roamed. It was there that they were accosted by three members of the military…

Bubbles Gloor and Barclay Scrimmage: you have arrived here in an armed vessel that could be described as a warship.” The camouflaged officer addressed them. “I am Captain Bonzer Drangonsrectum: you will explain to me the reason for your visit to our fabulous world, and the need for atomic cannons.”

Bubbles had expected some form of interview; she just hadn’t expected it to occur in the open with civilians out and about taking the air. “Well,” she began. Fifteen minutes later, her story told, she added:

“Well?”

“So you’ll be wanting to see Nigel – the Golden One, huh?” Bonzer suggested.

Barclay held out his hands before him. “Anyone who can give us what we desperately need that might save an entire world and everyone who lives on it.”

Bonzer dismissed his subordinates, and then made a call on his communication device. After stating his needs, he placed the device back in his pocket and said:

“Follow me.”

So they did…

Shortly they were ushered into the presence of the planetary leader, Nigel, and his wife, Beatrix…

“So, Nigel said following a pleasant greeting, “you need a Gravitonic Multiplicitor, eh?”

“You plan to move Worstworld to a safer orbit?” Beatrix inquired. “Like they did with Mars?

“Oh if only it were that simple.” Bubbles replied. “Yes, we do need to move something really large, but there’s nowhere safe for the planet. When the blue-giant star explodes, it will engulf everything in the system. It will then shrink back to become a brown dwarf star. Worstworld orbits close enough to benefit from the remnants of the blue-giant. Unfortunately it can’t survive the initial catastrophe.”

“That’s where the Veil of Shytar comes in.” Barclay interjected. “It has the power to repel energy. Our plan is to move the space anomaly to a position between Worstworld and the blue-giant.”

“If we’re right,” Bubbles took up the explanation again, “the Veil of Shytar will act like an impenetrable heat shield against the nova.”

“How certain are you that it will work?” Nigel asked.

“Oh,” Bubbles replied, “about fifty-fifty, I guess.”

“Those are Magnuss Earplug kind of odds.” Nigel said with a broad smile – well he would have, had he been able to smile. “You two and Mister and Missus Earplug are like peas in a pod. You will have your Gravitonic Multiplicitor – aboard one of my favourite ships – the Goosewing Grey.”

“Only it’s not grey anymore.” Beatrix added. “We had it painted blue – like the Tankerville Norris. It looks so much nicer.”

“When do we leave?” Barclay asked urgently.

Fate chose that moment to open the main door and reveal the building’s occupants to the lights of the media…

“Just as soon as we’ve informed the Galactic News Channel and everyone else with either a voice recorder or a camera, of your endeavour.” Nigel replied.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Hands up all of you who guessed they were going to Scroton. And they’re getting a Gravitonic Multiplicitor too!

Significant shots here include the industrialised area of Scroton Prime, which was shot originally for the very first Scroton story (in 2016), and has been used over and over ever since because the location (and materials) in which it was shot no longer exists. Ditto the quiet plaza shots, which feature an upturned plastic pallet, an empty cable reel, and a fire-proof asbestos wall.  Add some characters and they look like real places….don’t they?

P.S If anyone has ever read the classic 1960s comic tale The Trigan Empire, it is that imagery I tried to capture with the quiet plaza shots – including the distant ‘Atmosphere Craft’. Kind of modern Romanesque. See, I think about what I’m producing: it’s not just thrown together – even if sometimes it looks like it is.

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 20)

Prepare yourselves for a bit of character relationship development…

As the Major flickered out, and their vessel cleared the troublesome atmosphere, Barclay had sufficient time and presence of mind to notice something anomalous…

“Hey, Bubs; is it me, or is Worstworld looking a whole lot more blue since we arrived?”

Initially Bubbles thought that the increased ‘blueness’ was a result of Barclay’s over-eager imagination; but when she had placed a large distance between the Prowler and the retreating planet…

…she reconsidered the validity of her assumption.

“Oh flipping heck,” she said, “I think you’re right. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Barclay replied. “Um…what?”

“That the scientists have been a tad conservative with their estimate that the star will blow in six months. I’m no expert, but I wouldn’t gamble on it lasting more than six days!”

“Lummy,” Barclay, almost lost for words, replied. “We’d better a get a move on then. Floor it, Bubbles!”

So Bubbles did…

…right into hyper-space.

Naturally, following their almost panic-stricken departure from Worstworld, it became necessary to drop out of hyperspace and adjust their trajectory. Whilst doing so, the Prowler’s defensive sensors initiated a crimson alert…

“Uh-oh, what can this be?” Barclay uttered as his eyes scanned his read-outs for a clue.

Bubbles did likewise, but she also turned her attention to the forward screen. 

“Cancel crimson alert.” She said. “It’s only a hyperspace pirate mothership.” 

“Only a hyperspace pirate mothership?” Barclay exclaimed. “I can’t think of anything worse. Quick, Bubbles, do your course-change calculation, and let’s get the heck out of here!”

Bubbles wasn’t convinced that the mothership was a real threat: after all, hadn’t the hyperspace pirate End Caps had their arses kicked by earplugs time and time again? Surely they wouldn’t dare take on something as mean and moody-looking as the Prowler. However she felt compelled to adjust her opinion when the mothership launched three attack craft in her direction…

“Crimson alert,” she yelled as Barclay hit the Real Fast button that fired their vessel to supra-light speed…

“Okay, so what do we do now?” She inquired of her navigator and most important earplug in her personal universe. “Can we out-run them?”

“Aint got a sodding clue.” Barclay replied as his eyes turned from the special female in the seat beside him to peruse their defensive capability. “What?” He yelled with frustration, “No rearward facing atomic cannon? What wally at Punting-Modesty omitted that most important feature?”

“There’s the trash disposal hatch.” Bubbles suggested. “That faces backwards. I believe it also includes the contents of the cockpit lavatory sewage tank.”

“We might smear their windshields,” Barclay said with a mirthless chuckle, “but I don’t see it slowing them down any.”

Bubbles was about to sigh and say: “Well it was just a thought,” when she noticed something on her console screen.

“Hey,” she screamed with excitement, “when you said to Lieutenant R Swypes that he should use every weapon at his disposal to fight the inevitable doom, he took you literally. Those engineers left their equipment behind. With no other space available, they stowed it in the trash disposal.”

Barclay tried to make sense of what Bubbles was telling him. “I…I don’t see what you’re getting at.” He said.

“Like their redundant machine guns in the Major’s office,” Bubbles explained, “they included stuff for which they have no use – but we might. In this case it’s a whole bunch of sea mines. Barclay, they’re sitting in the trash disposal compartment – just waiting to be thrown out the back!”

Barclay didn’t bother responding verbally: he leaned over and kissed Bubbles, before hitting the trash disposal button on his console…

The pursuing hyper-space pirates either didn’t notice, or didn’t care: they just kept on coming…

Inside the Prowler, Bubbles and Barclay closed their eyes and prayed to the Saint of All Earplugs, the Supreme Being, former Father Superior at Lemon Stone monastery – Frank Tonsils, and Magnuss Earplug and his lovely former bounty-hunter wife, Hair-Trigger…

Their torture didn’t last long. Moments after releasing the mines, the first of the attack craft made a head-on collision with one. A chain reaction followed, which resulted in this…

…the utter destruction of the marauding flotilla, which left its constituent atoms spread across light-years of interstellar space.

Elation and relief filled the air of the Prowler’s cockpit…

“We did it!” Barclay yelled as he looked upwards, as though to a higher realm of existence.

“You kissed me!” Bubbles exclaimed.

“Yes I did, didn’t I?” Barclay replied. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” the incredulous female responded. “Of course I don’t mind. I will ‘mind’ of you don’t do it again though – repeatedly.”

So, as the Prowler re-entered hyper-space for the remainder of its journey…

…Barclay did what any self-respecting male earplug would do: he did his utmost to keep his favourite female earplug happy.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

There; it had to happen. How could it not?

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 19)

With other duties calling me away from both my camera and my laptop, I’m finding it  difficult to keep ahead of these posts. I hope I don’t run out of story before the final episode. The good thing is – because of it – I don ‘t get to watch much TV in the evening. Need the quieter hours to catch up on my Earplug Adventures. Speaking of which – here’s episode 19. Experience its uniqueness… 

Lance was as good as his word, and neither earplug needed to wait for long as they carelessly studied the functional military décor…

“Look, Barclay,” Bubbles said as she looked out through a smeared and sand-blasted window, “Fort Dunderhead is painted green. I would never have guessed. Isn’t it nice? I like the dappled effect. I wonder if they use a splatter gun, or the bristly end of a brush.”

However Barclay, disinterested in home improvements, was paying only scant attention to Bubbles’ words: he was too busy wondering where they kept the nearest lavatory.

“Pink.” He replied. “Pink lavatory paper. I really don’t mind: I’ll use anything.”

Meanwhile Major Leftfoot-Badger had taken himself to the Officers’ Mess, where he partook of a huge alcoholic beverage…

“Here’s to our terrestrial allies.” He said whilst toasting to an empty room that looked out upon a sandy wasteland. “May the Saint of All Earplugs bless them and keep them free from harm. They really are lovely little guys. Well Barclay is: Bubbles is just plain drop-dead gorgeous.”

Shortly after this outburst of drunken eloquence, Lance Ottershoe led two mini-armoured personnel carriers, burdened down with engineers inside their surprisingly cavernous bellies, across the aforementioned sandy wasteland…

Driving them was none other than Bubbles and Barclay.

“Don’t drive too quickly, Lance.” Bubbles called over the gentle whine of the gas turbine engines, “Barclay possesses the driving skills of an iceberg.”

This was true, but as the distance from Fort Dunderhead increased…

…so Barclay’s confidence at the steering sticks did likewise.

“Hey, slow-coaches,” he yelled from the rear of the short column, “I’d like to get out of first gear, thank you.”

Moreover, as they began the descent into the subterranean cavern, the former university graduate had pretty much decided that a career change was imminent. When they finally returned to Earth he planned to quit his job and become a tank driver.

Shortly after making this ill-considered decision, the three vehicles made their final approach to the grounded Prowler…

The repairs and upgrades required for the Prowler to fly properly in the dangerously energised atmosphere of Worstworld took many hours, buckets of sweat, and a multitude of components to replace those of Earth origin that had been well and truly fried on the way in. Moreover Barclay’s ardour with the idea of controlling powerful machines cooled and he thought twice about giving up his cosy job at Punting-Modesty. And any ideas he might have had concerning having a go at flying the Prowler simply evaporated. So, as they waved goodbye to Lance and the departing Cavalry-plugs…

…he handed the ignition key to Bubbles.

“There you go, Captain.” He said. “In you I place my trust.”

So, a couple of minutes later, the motor fired up…

As the fuelling cleared and the motor ran sweetly, the two occupants looked at each other…

“Ready, partner?” Bubbles asked.

“For anything.” Barclay replied. “The ship is yours: take it up.”

Moments later the Prowler was blasting upwards across the sandy wastelands…

Immediately Major Leftfoot-Badger appeared in their front viewer…

“Sorry to butt in on you folks,” he said, “but, just for the record, where are you actually going?”

“Somewhere far away.” Bubbles said cryptically.

“To the only place we can think of that might have what we need.” Barclay added.

“And if that doesn’t pan out,” Bubbles continued, “well we’ll just have to think of something else. Prowler, out.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

I’m sure any of you seasoned Earpluggers will have guessed where Bubbles and Barclay are headed. If not, you won’t have long to wait.

P.S Anyone notice the continuity gaff in this episode. Check out the drunken Major, then compare him to the guy on the Prowler’s viewscreen. Oops, wrong cavalryplug.

P.P.S Reference the drunken Major shot again. Notice the wall chart behind the character? It comprises individual photos of the mechanised cavalry’s machines. I knew I wouldn’t get to use the pictures in the story – and I didn’t want to waste them entirely – so I placed them upon the Officer’s Mess wall. Details, details…

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 18)

Lots of talky stuff in this episode. Heck, on a couple of occasions, they even get serious. Moreover –  no one visits the lavatory! Read on…

The conversation continued in much the same vein for a few minutes until it became clear to everyone that it had run its course. So as the two officers returned to their office, Lance took Bubbles and Barclay inside the building. In doing so they passed beside Silo Seven…

“What do you keep in these silos?” Bubbles inquired. “Nuclear missiles?”

“Grain.” The short-arsed soldier answered. He then expanded upon his reply, “Silos one through six are empty. We’ve not been able to get a decent harvest in years. Seven will be fully depleted by the end of the week.”

“Oh, Lance,” Bubbles wailed, “that’s terrible. Well at least I think it is. How many silos do you have?”

“Seven.” Lance replied. “The Catering Corps are looking into ways of roasting scorpions and cockroaches, and boiling sandworms; so we shouldn’t starve.”

“Talking of starving,” Barclay interrupted, “I haven’t eaten since breakfast-time yesterday – on Earth: how about some chow and a cup of coffee?”

Chapter 9

Bubbles had felt guilty about eating from the cavalry’s meagre supply; but having done so she felt much better physically. She even managed a smile as she stood beside Barclay and did her best to regard the view across the radiation-swept plain upon which Fort Dunderhead had been built…

Her smile was infectious, and as she came close to Barclay, he couldn’t help smiling himself.

“It’s been a funny old sort of day.” He said over his shoulder.

“Not the one I’d imagined.” Bubbles confessed. “And not better either.”

Then, as the exterior lights blazed and turned the dusk beyond the perimeter into night, both terrestrial earplugs turned their gaze away from the window…

…and looked at each other.

“Until we get the Prowler ship-shape,” Barclay said, “their problem is our problem.”

Bubbles opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden power-outage plunged the interior into semi-darkness…

Recovering, she spoke her intended words:

“If we could leave tonight, I wouldn’t. We have a super-advanced alien-based machine at our disposal, built by the Punting-Modesty Munitions Company: surely there’s something we can do.”

Barclay allowed his eyes to range along the compartment in which they stood:

“They have an advanced technological civilisation,” he replied, “and all they can do is either hide or flee. If someone can fix up the Prowler, I think that’s what we should do.” Then, following a pause of perhaps a heartbeat or two, he added: “Alternatively we could use it to good effect. I’ve been thinking about that strange curtain-like thing in space. Something tells me that it’s there for a reason. Or if it isn’t – well maybe we can give it a reason. Let’s go talk to the boss: maybe he knows something about it.”

Bubbles was thrilled by what she heard her subordinate say.

“Oh, Barclay,” she screamed as she cuddled up to him, “what a wonderful idea. Let’s go – right now.”

So, whilst electrical technicians elsewhere struggled to turn the lights back on, Bubbles wrapped an arm around Barclay’s, and together they strode off in search of the Commanding Officer’s quarters…  

Although Fort Dunderhead could be described as ‘big’, it didn’t take long for the determined earplugs to find Major Leftfoot-Badger’s office.  At first, though, they thought the room was empty. Only the presence of a pair of old-style cavalry hats informed them that anyone was home…

Of course, what neither Punting-Modesty employee could have known was that the Major wore contact lenses, and he and Lieutenant R Swypes were hidden from view as they searched the carpet beneath the Major’s desk for an errant lens. When they became aware that they were not alone, they quickly regained their feet and threw themselves into their chairs in time to greet their visitors…

“Ah, the terrestrials.” Leftfoot-Badger called out, despite the fact that he couldn’t actually see who stood before him. “I can smell the vacuum of space upon you.”

“Whadda ya want?” Swypes added.

As Barclay told the Worstworlders about their encounter in space, both cavalry-plugs donned their hats and came around the desk…

“Lieutenant Swypes,” the Major said as Barclay finished his description, “this is more your area of expertise: how about you strut your funky stuff.”

Swypes turned his attention to the visitors. “I believe you speak of the Veil of Shytar.” He said. “So named by a solo adventurer, by the name of Augustus Pronk, who flew his tiny one-earplug vessel from our world, in search of another upon which he could live in splendid isolation from his overbearing wife and soul-crushing off-spring. He was seated upon his tiny vessel’s sole lavatory, when the veil swam into view and startled him mightily. He decided to name the apparition after the lavatory seat upon which he sat. But, being a prudish society we altered his original nomenclature for the space anomaly to Shytar. The difference in pronunciation is slight, but it makes all the difference when discussed during a dinner party, governmental general assembly, waiting in line at a check-out, or whatever.”

“Fascinating,” Barclay interrupted rudely, “but what the flipping heck is it?”

“We have no idea.” Swypes replied as he sniffed disdainfully. “Since Augustus Pronk embarked upon a second journey to rendezvous with it – and never returned – no one has dared go near it.”

“Oh,” Bubbles said in surprise, “so you have no idea that it rejects sensor scans and cannon fire?”

“Er, no.” Swypes replied. “Um…what of it?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Bubbles snapped, “instead of cowering in the shadows and accepting defeat, the people of Worstworld should be trying anything and everything to make sure this planet survives the coming holocaust. The Veil of Shytar can deflect energy. How much energy? Could it stand against a nova? Shouldn’t someone be looking into the idea?”

The Major felt it his duty to take control of the conversation:

“Perhaps it is, young female,” he said in a not altogether stuffy or pompous manner, “but until this moment, no one has ever thought of it.”

Stepping from his desk he stood and spoke directly to Bubbles…

“We no longer have the capability to make this study.” He said. “Time is not on our side.”

Meanwhile Lieutenant Swypes was regarding a container of redundant machine guns. Barclay noticed this.  “You should use whatever weapons you can on such an implacable foe.” He said.

“Major,” Swypes addressed his superior, “might I suggest we do everything in our limited power to assist these wonderful earplugs in their efforts to utilise the Veil of Shytar against the coming nova?”

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?” Leftfoot-Badger responded hopefully.

“That we send a team of engineers to get their vessel fixed and fit to fly.” Swypes replied. “Bubbles and Barclay are our only weapons against the inevitable. We must send the willing conscripts into battle!”

These were rousing words spoken well in a surprisingly stentorian tone.

“Jeepers, R.” The major exploded, “you’re absolutely right. Enough of wasting our lives away sodding about in armoured vehicles: let’s give ‘em a fighting chance. Are you up for it, Bubbles?”

Bubbles, caught slightly off-guard, responded thus:

“Ugh, yeah…whatever. Let’s get down!”

The Major was thrilled by this reaction, so, only moments later, Lance Ottershoe arrived to escort their visitors from the office…

“You two hang around outside in the corridor.” He said as they headed for the door. “I’ll go rustle up some engineers and armoured personnel carriers.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

In the early Earplug Adventure stories all the photos were taken at random. Then, when I figured I had enough shots, I would arrange them so that they told a story of sorts. It was a bit Stream of Consciousness, but trammelled by the pictures available to me. Later I reversed the process – thinking up the story and shooting appropriate photos. But the picture in this episode that features the box of machine guns  in the Major’s office returned me to my roots. I had no plan to use the gun’s presence the story; but their mere existance gave Barclay the opportunity to make the Lieutenant reconsider his position. A significant and timely result of this appears later in the story – you’ll know it when you see it. If I hadn’t included that box (as window dressing) in the scene when I shot it in my attic ‘studio’, the tale might have taken another path entirely. Stream of Consciousness continues to have a place in my stories. I think it’s a good way to write – at least for me, who can’t abide rules and restrictions: it allows an alternative narrative to exist.  

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 17)

So Bubbles and Barclay have found their way to Worstworld. They’ve managed to crash the Prowler. What could possibly happen next? Read on…

Soon they lost all track of time. Minutes felt like hours. Hours seemed to last a lifetime. But eventually they sighted a large building which was pretty much in the middle of nowhere…

Barclay made an important observation: “It looks inhabited.”

“Do you think it might be a penitentiary?” Bubbles suggested. “That looks like a gun emplacement in the tall frontal façade.”

“I don’t really care.” Barclay replied. “Just as long as they have running water and somewhere comfy to sit.”

“And a lavatory, of course.” Bubbles added.

Barclay agreed wholeheartedly. “Absolutely a lavatory. If there’s no toilet there, I’m walking straight out again. I don’t care what they say or how insulted they feel. I’m hitting the road. First of all, though, we have to get there. Can you spot an obvious route?”

Fortunately Bubbles could, and before long they were marching resolutely along a well-worn path…

…which was long in the extreme and circumbendibus…

Like very long, but only slightly circumbendibus. However every road must have a beginning and an end, and as they approached the end of this particular road, both earplugs stepped off of the way to bathe in a roadside pond…

…the waters of which Barclay immediately broke wind into. This was fortuitous because in addition to washing off their accumulated filth, Bubbles was also highly entertained. 

“Oh I do like a good fart. And look,” she said as pockets of methane burst delicately above the pond’s surface, “my namesakes.”

But all good things must come to an end, and soon they found themselves standing at the front door of a famous (and completely refurbished and modernised) Fort Dunderhead…

Soon much shouting and kicking of the front door elicited a positive response. A cavalry-plug who introduced himself as Sergeant Lance Ottershoe invited them in and cheerfully conversed as they proceeded across the parade ground…

“I studied Worstworld as an emergency back-up subject at university.” Bubbles informed Lance. “I recall Fort Dunderhead being somewhat smaller and primitive in the text books. This is an entirely different edifice.”

“Yes, nice, isn’t it?” Lance replied. “I often wonder what it would look like beneath a normal yellow sun.”

“Less blue.” Barclay suggested.

“Hard to tell,” Lance responded, with a hint of sadness in his voice – or so thought Bubbles, “all paint looks pretty much the same colour these days. The only difference is the degree of shading.”

Then Bubbles received her second surprise…

“What in the name of the Saint of All Earplugs is that?” She screeched in disbelief.

“That’s my armoured reconnaissance vehicle.” Lance answered her shrill question. “It’s called Recon One. Do you like it? I think it might be yellow and green, but I’m not sure.”

“But you’re a cavalry-plug.” Barclay exclaimed. “Surely you ride around the arid wastes on Plugmutts?”

Lance shook his head whilst smiling mirthlessly. “Not anymore.” He replied. “Those that didn’t hide away aboard Ship Number Fifteen, when most of the Seventh Cavalry absconded to Earth, got old and lazy and went to live with some plugmutt re-homing charity in the nearest subterranean city.”

Bubbles felt a little disappointed at this news: she like Plugmutts and had hoped to cadge a ride on one. “What, so now you all have to share Recon One?”   

“Oh no,” Lance said proudly, “with the world doomed, military budget restraints were removed. The Seventh Cavalry is now entirely mechanized. We have a vast fleet of armoured vehicles at our command. We’ve also dispensed with the shiny blue uniforms and stupid hats: we now wear drab olive green and go cranially naked. Hey, wanna ride Recon One?”

It was a stupid question: of course Bubbles wanted to ride on an armoured vehicle, though Barclay was less keen. In fact he hated the idea, but he didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of Bubbles.

“Yeah, right on.” He said unenthusiastically.

Moments later…

“This is nice.” Bubbles observed. “Very smooth. Is it running a gas turbine engine?”

“Affirmative.” Lance…ah…affirmed. “Methane power. We all contribute to the fuel reserves with our bottoms. It beats bottled gas, or a potentially explosive tank of propane beneath the parade ground. Hey, wanna meet the guys?”

This question was less stupid. Although Bubbles was quite keen to meet a whole bunch of burly Cavalry-plugs, Barclay would sooner have visited the canteen for a cup of something wet and warm. But again he kept his council…

“Line up. Line up.” Sergeant Lance Ottershoe bellowed as he and his guests dismounted from Recon One. “Stand ready for an inspection.”

Cavalry-plugs from all over quickly recognised an attractive young female when they saw one, and rapidly complied with their sergeant’s instruction. In fact several of them had a hard time keeping their gaze from lingering upon Bubbles’ slightly curvaceous hindquarters…

“Lovely,” Bubbles said as she and Barclay made an amateur job of inspecting the troops, “very smart and tidy. Pleasant smelling too. Do I detect cologne?”

After that Bubbles spent several minutes chatting with the attentive troopers – when she learned that everyone could remain outside without atom-proof helmets because the fort possessed an electro-magnetic shield that protected everything beneath it from the hard radiation that scoured the surface for the majority of the day; but before long they were interrupted by the arrival of the fort’s commanding officer – Major Leftfoot-Badger and his adjutant, Lieutenant R Swypes…

“If you’re wondering why Lieutenant Swypes and I are wearing silly old cavalry-plug hats,” the Major said after introducing himself and his adjutant, it’s because we, as officers, believe in the old ways. Not for us these new-fangled drab olive green uniforms and naked bonces: we like to maintain tradition. They’re also atom-proof, so we don’t need to spend lots of time indoors or down in those ghastly cities with all that riff-raff…”

Lieutenant R Swypes then astonished the two visitors by adding:

“But we wouldn’t go down there now anyway – even if we didn’t have atom-proof hats…

…because Worstworld’s most eminent scientists have recently informed us that our Sun has reached a critical phase. It’s going to go ‘pop’ sooner than later.”

“Indeed,” Major Leftfoot-Badger confirmed these words, “they give us six months. Of course we’re getting as many people off-world as we can: but with only the K T Woo and the new ship – the Crash-Bong Blitz available to us, it’s a slow process…”

Bubbles hardly dared ask the obvious question:

“But what happens if the star goes nova before you get everybody off-world?”

“Oh that’s simple.” The Major replied. “Like the planet, they cease to exist.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Significant shots in this episode are two and three, which are re-works of originals from Worstworld Vols 1&2. The road featured therein was traversed by Hakking Chestikof aboard the very first hover chariot to appear in an Earplug Adventure. Picture 4 features the tree bark pool that appeared earlier in this tale as a snowy fiord. Most efficent, if I do say so myself.

 

Earplug Adventures: The Veil of Shytar (part 16)

In Episode 15 we saw (what might have been) the Veil of Shytar. But we can’t be certain – it might be just an insect curtain. Ooh, that rhymes. So, carry on with the tale; you never know where it is going to take you…

A day later the Prowler arrived at its originally intended destination…

“There you go.” Bubbles – now cheered up by the thought that their distant encounter with the space anomaly was just that: distant. “In all its blue-giant reflected glory: Worstworld.”

“I forgot to ask,” Barclay said as he peered at the unhealthy-looking planet below, “what was it about Worstworld that made you want to come here first, before any other world – known or unknown?”

“It’s unique.” Bubbles replied. “The surface is uninhabitable. Its star is irradiating the planet with deadly rays. The star itself is bound to go nova – and destroy this world completely. And the population now live underground. What’s not to like? And who knows, this time next week, it might not be here!”

“That’s all well and good,” Barclay argued, “but have you considered the possibility that the star might go nova while we’re here?”

“Mathematical improbability.” Bubbles replied as she slammed the Prowler into the planet’s atmosphere. But her confidence waned suddenly when she discovered that the star’s radiation played merry-hell with her controls…

“Aargh,” she cried out above the din of the air as it hammered upon the vessel’s hull, “we’re running out of altitude!”

“Quick, quick,” Barclay yelled, “head for one of those huge holes in the planetary crust: they might be really deep!”

Seconds after plunging into the nearest chasm, all sound and motion ceased…

“Ah, what just happened?” Barclay asked, though he expected no answer that would make any sense.

Bubbles chanced a glance through her side window. “I think we just landed.” She answered…

“More by luck than judgement.”

All Barclay could think of to say in reply was:

“Thank the Saint of All Earplugs for that.”

Chapter 8

Neither Bubbles nor Barclay were in a rush to disembark. Outside the ship looked too dark and foreboding for either of them. Eventually, though, they came to realise that no one had witnessed their descent from space, therefore no one knew they were there. So, being sensible university graduate types they finally stepped from the sanctuary of the Prowler and set foot upon the surface of the doomed planet known as Worstworld…

“It smells funny.” Barclay observed.

“And this sand is very gritty.” Bubbles complained. “If it gets inside our space boots, we’ll suffer horribly. But whatever, the Prowler is clearly allergic to something in this planet’s atmosphere, so we can’t hang around: let’s go find someone.”

However, as they began (what they assumed was) their ascent towards the surface through which they had plunged, Bubbles made an astonishing discovery…

“Barclay,” she squealed, “look, it’s a whole town!”

Barclay joined Bubbles, and together they stared in wonderment at a wide street that led to a small plaza…

“This must be one of the cities that the population moved into when the blue-giant star started going bonkers.” Barclay said at the vista.

“But where is everyone?” Bubbles said with a tremulous voice. “Do you think they might all be dead? Are we too late? Has the end of the world arrived before we get a chance to gawp in awe?”

“Dunno,” Barclay replied, “let’s get a close-up.”

So they did – by entering the town…

“Do you think this might be Busted Gut?” Bubbles more suggested than inquired.

Barclay did inquire: “Busted Gut?”

“The town of which Captain Sinclair Brooch – of the star ship K T Woo – was the sheriff, before becoming a captain, that is.” Bubbles explained.

“Wasn’t that a surface town?” Barclay argued. “Sheriff Brooch never lived underground. He went searching underground once I recall reading in his memoirs: but he never lived there. He’d left long before things got as bad as they are now. No, I reckon this was one of the first subterranean towns, but they had to move out when the radiation started leaking through. Look how blue the light is: it’s coming through all the holes in the crust.”

“And it’s very sandy too.” Bubbles noted. “I bet it blew in under the doors. I expect they were always sweeping it back out. That alone would have sent me deeper underground. I hate sand – especially when it gets into the gusset of my swimming costume.”

Clearly there was nothing worthwhile to learn in the ghost gown, so they continued their ascent…

…which was dull and arduous. However, when they finally reached level ground, they wished they’d never bothered. Hills and an undulating landscape stretched out before them…

…for such a vast distance that their hearts sank at the thought of traversing it.

“What a bummer.” Barclay said as his gaze surveyed the seemingly endless lands that reached for infinity. “Oh yeah, and the radiation is much worst out here: we’d better put on our silly hats: they’re not atom proof, but they’re probably better than nothing at all.”

So they did…

…and Barclay couldn’t help smiling at Bubbles: she looked daft, but kind of cute.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

P.S Significant shots in this episode are Number Two, which is the picture that inspired the story.  Number Three is the remains of an old grave that had succumbed to nature and had partially collapsed, creating  mini sink holes. And Number Eleven, which was originally a photo of a gentle wave destroying a child’s sandcastle on a Costa Blanca beach, Spain. Like I always say: inspiration can be found anywhere.

P.P.S I believe in using stock footage whenever possible; it saves a lot of time. The shots of the abandoned town originally appeared as the thriving mountain top kingdom of Ka-Ki-Pu, in Worstworld Vol 1 & 2.

You can find both of these volumes (utterly free and in PDF format) by clicking HERE.

They are early stories in the Earplug Adventure saga: don’t expect too much in the SFX department.