Last Chapter Chapter Fifty-Nine “Strings” Mrs. Choptwigs plonked a duelling pistol in TP’s paw and scurried behind the pizza delivery guy, who’d quite forgotten he was a pizza delivery guy: ‘NOW THEN, YOU INSOLENT WHIPPERSNAPPER! MARCH 30 PACES FROM HENCE, TURN, AND GIVE ME YOUR BEST SHOT! BE WARNED..I WAS REGIONAL TIDDLYWINKS CHAMPION OF ’66!’ Shouted 3 foot Mr. Choptwigs, twitching agitatedly in his chair. TP raised the antique flintlock, took aim, and fired. The musket ball pinged Junglerapp’s gold earring, bringing a ripple of applause from the crowd, marvelling at his marksmanship: ‘Damn..’ thought TP,’6 inches away from the centre of his forehead.’ ‘GET HIM, Junglerapp! The hairy swine’s been bleeding us dry for years!!’ Screeched Satania, her eyes bulging with excitement. Junglerapp took careful aim but the moment he fired, the ground began to vibrate violently. No-one knew what was going on…Soddem glanced down to his chest and picked off the flattened musket ball. He looked over to Mrs. Choptwigs who had fallen to the vibrating ground and was sitting with a bizarre grin on her face. TP suddenly noticed that the coal bunker was being sucked up the sewer pipes. Realising that the vaccum of deep space had turned the pipes into a gigantic hoover, he rushed into the Manor, took down the monster truck hubcap he’d pinched whilst on a drunken spree in Crapston one night, and stuck it over the pipe before it could suck anything else up. The ground was still vibrating and showed no signs of abating: Nipping into the study, the perplexed pussanoid switched on the news feed and noted that evry part of the Earth was vibrating…liquefaction of soil was occurring worldwide and countless millions of folks were being buried or drowned by tsunamis. Going back outside, TP stood, staring vacantly at the lawn: ‘I think I know what’s going on.’ Said a little voice by his side.’The spirit beings that you diverted into the black hole have altered the frequency of the note that the hole emits…instead of being a ‘B’ flat, it’s transmuted into a ‘C’ note, thereby throwing the whole Universe out of kilter. That’s brilliant, Dad…you’ve affected the entire cosmos!!’ Newton shook his pater by the paw. ‘Well, yes…I suppose I AM rather awesome for having done such damage. We’d best put it right, though…we can’t just go around vibrating for the rest of our lives – it’ll very likely put the pilchards off their breeding cycle…any ideas, young fellow?’ He looked in dismay as the oil paint on his portrait of Plastina in Mrs. Choptwigs’s garden slid down and dripped off the canvas onto a yam plant. ‘If the note’s changed from ‘B’ flat to ‘C’, then the bestest way to correct it would probaaaaabbbbly be to go back 2 notes to ‘G’ sharp theeeeennn…bombard the black hole with it until it reverts back to ‘B’ flat again – Can I go and get a frozen mouse out the freezer, Dad?...I’m still hungry.’ ‘Yes, yes, run along.’ TP muttered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Looking round, he noticed only little Beraxa had been listening to her brother’s hypothesis. He glowered at her sternly: ‘Why don’t you go after your brother and get a frozen mouse, hmmm?’ ‘NnnnNO!! Don’t want to..I want to watch you fix the Universe the way Newty SAID to!’ ‘Alright, alright!...Oh nooo…I just saw Gob running past with your favourite waspinoid doll in his mouth…he’ll chew it to bits for sure!’ ‘WHAAAAAT?? NOOOO!!’ Beraxa scampered off towards the rear of the Manor to where Gob’s kennel was. TP put on his ‘exceptionally important’ pair of specs and turned to the very worried-looking mini throng: ‘Right. Listen up, peoploids. We have a rather acute emergency on our paws, claws and hands…drawing on my vast knowledge, gained whilst taking my PhD in Astrophysics, I have deduced that the Universe has somehow been thrown out of sync…very possibly due to Luca’s foolhardy deployment of that dopping of Sheldrake which have more than likely disturbed the sonic emittance of the black hole at the centre of things. After some consideration and deliberation, I have determined that the best solution will be to counter the change in note with a very loud ‘G’ sharp blast. I’ll nip over to the amplifier factory and round up some million watt stacks whilst the band all play a continuous ‘G’ sharp and records it on Plastina’s runman…..Aaaaannny questions?’ Newton had trotted back and was staring up at TP: ‘Daaaad…I forgot to tell you that it’s not a normal ‘B’ flat…it’s actually 57 octaves below a standard..it’s so low that the human ear can’t hear it.’ ‘Eh? Oh yes…well done, well done, little chap…you’ve obviously been listening.’ TP patted Newton on the head. ‘Haaa!!’ Snorted Jesta ‘….Dummy!’ TP grinned sheepishly and clapped his paws:’RIGHT! Let’s get organised then. Would the members of the band please play a sustained ‘G’ sharp 57 octaves lower than a standard.’ The band all looked at one another: ‘That’s impossible, mate.’ Said the trumpeter. ‘I know a way,’ piped up Jasper,’I can modify my music software to do it…give me a few minutes and I’ll write some code.’ In 2 shakes of a stubby tail, TP had catapulted over to the amp factory, marshalled together 1 billion watts of power, carried them back to the Manor, and stacked them next to the sewer pipe tube. It hadn’t taken long for the recording to be carried out and looped into 4 hours worth of playing time on Plastina’s runman. It was child’s play to feed the amps up the vacuum pipe to the wormhole entrance. TP followed them up, fed them into the wormhole, and dived in after them. Once he was at the event horizon point of the black hole, he set up the amps and wired them all to the runman. Switching the amps on, he came across a slight snag…there was no power. He had no option but to go back to Earth and figure out a way of getting power up to the amps. 2 days later, he’d speed reared a million genetically adapted spiders which spun out copper wire instead of silk. Placing them in a box, he got hold of the ends of the copper wires protruding from the arachnoid abdomens and made his way back to the amps. He instructed Soddem to wait for him to tug 3 times on the wires once he was ready, signalling the time to chop the wires off the spinning abdomens, bunch them up, then jam them into the Manor’s main junction box. Everything in place, TP switched on the runman and sat down on a stray space rock for a rest. He dozed off. The sudden click of the runman turning off as the recording completed its 4 hours jerked him back to awakeness. Looking round at the Universe, he was pleased to observe that the plan had worked and the strings of the Cosmos were once again humming along gently to a continuous ‘B’ flat at minus 57 octaves. Feeling rather pleased with himself, he hopped into the wormhole and careered back down to Earth…except there was no Earth – it had vanished along with the rest of the solar system. No QT, no Cleb, no wacky folks, no Manor, no NOTHING. ‘Bings!’ Thought the flummoxed felanoid,’what the blazes is occurring? I’ll have to find the nearest habitable planet, get my breath back, and figure out what the deuce to do.’ THE END
Posted on: Fri, 07 Jun 2013 18:49:06 +0000
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