Accidentally Skyward - Chapter 5 - Even a little bit later on in the day before the end of the world

Accidentally Skyward (Space Soup Book 1). New text, audiobook and movie chapter every Monday

Chapter 5 audiobook:

Chapter 5 movie:

‘Flarping heck, Quimly!’ Accidentally said. ‘What is... that?’ He pointed out through the trudgeworthy5 windscreen toward the most bizarre sight he had seen in all his twenty-seven years on planet Earth2. The angular Nemesis’s front end had gaped open among its throbbing weapons, and what looked like a stream of quarfs dressed in colourful tutus were dancing up the gangway.

‘What is what, Master Skyward?’ Quimly asked. ‘Quimly just sees normal people and peoply things doing normal unpleasant things to other normal people and peoply things like normal and also a stream of fluffy quarfs dressed in colourful tutus dancing normally up the gangway of the angular starblaster with the ominous weapons array.’

‘That last part. That’s the part that caught my eye. What’s all that tutu gangway dancing?’

‘Oh, Quimly sees, Master Skyward. That is just a normal thing.’ Quimly picked at something in his teeth, probably something disgusting.

‘No, Quimly. It is not normal at all. Stop avoiding my question.’

‘Oh, does Master Skyward mean Master Skyward’s stupid question about lovely quarfs in tutus dancing up the gangway?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Quimly sees now. That is just fluffy, and also loveable, quarfs embracing their new overlords.’

‘See...’

Quimly scrunched up his face in a manner that indicated he did not, in fact, see.

‘The whole planet is saying DOOM,’ Accidentally explained, ‘and quarfs are embracing their overlords, and people and peoply things wonder why I hate Tuesdays.’

Quimly held his hands up questioningly. ‘But no one wonders anything Master Skyward hates… or likes… or the other one.’

‘Stop looking so happy...’ Accidentally grumbled, waving the manky hovercar-cabin air. The interior of the trudgeworthy5 smelled of synthetic leather and Quimly’s distinctive musk. A disturbing blend of wet fur and caramel left out in the sun.

Quimly crinkled up his face as though fighting back tears. ‘Master Skyward is sometimes a little bit mean,’ he sniffled.

‘Stop that. You can’t blame me for not wanting a happy quarf. Quarfs are only happy when people and peoply things are in mortal jeopardy. Death is LITERALLY what you live for. That’s what makes you so darn confusing.’

‘And loveable?’ Quimly asked, flipping his face upside down.

‘No. Just confusing.’

‘So, if living for death is not the reason Quimly is so loveable, then what is the very reason much?’

‘Sigh,’ Accidentally sighed. ‘You can’t argue that you seem far too excited about this whole potential end-of-the-world scenario.’

‘Can’t Quimly?’

‘No.’

‘That seems unfair.’

‘Alright, go on then.’

‘Quimly is not excited about this whole potential end-of-the-world scenario,’ Quimly said excitedly, his fur bristling.

Accidentally shook his head as the MANDATE button-factory loomed into view. The building put the brutal back into neo-brutalist architecture, a jagged wound against the smog-choked sky, even if it WAS largely painted a faded pastel pink.

‘We’re nearly at the button factory. Stop mucking about and tell me what’s going on.’

‘Oh,’ Quimly said quietly, pulling his silver cape tightly around him and glancing about as though someone might be listening in. ‘What’s going on is very bad. People and peoply things work here like Brianless zombies, whittling away their days in cramped spaces without even a dainty clue what they are really doing... or even why.’

‘What? No. I don’t mean what’s going on at the factory where I work all the time. And did you say, Brianless? Don’t answer that. Tell me about the DOOM sound and that angular starblaster with the ominous weapons array… preferably without mentioning anything else galactophobia triggering about space.’ Accidentally’s fingers found their way to his breast pocket, where the worn realograph lay safely tucked away. He didn’t remove it. He didn’t even need to look at it. The lightest touch somehow steadied his ragged breathing.

‘Oh! Quimly thought Master Skyward was recallasking about the MANDATE button factory where Master Skyward has worked like a Brianless zombie for ten years without even knowing if what Master Skyward was doing there was useful or the other one. Silly Quimly. Silly, silly Quimly.’

Accidentally waited, fighting the urge to ask what RECALLASKING meant. And possibly checking in again on whether Quimly had said Brianless again.

‘Silly Quimly. Silly, silly Quimly.’

Accidentally waited some more.

‘Silly, silly, silly, silly Quimly.’ Quimly casually flicked a speck of dirt off his silver cape.

‘Just tell me,’ Accidentally unwaited.

Quimly examined his knuckles, then rubbed them against his chest.

‘Back off, you floody quarf,’ Accidentally said, shooing Quimly away.

Quimly slid back across to his own seat and examined his own knuckles and rubbed them against his own chest instead.

On a nearby street outside, Accidentally thought he heard someone say, ‘Would you just think at the… the thinkprice of filamanchees this week. There is no way a family from Snerch can make their flimflams stretch to cover the price of living in Smogington now that that starblaster with all the guns has loomed out of the smog… and the dooming sound has started… despite the surprisingly reasonable property prices. Assuming that sentences with THAT THAT in them are allowed, which I can’t be bothered thinking up about at the moment. Now, where did I put my hair? Oh, here it is... growing out of the top of my head up there like that. I’m sorry kids... it’s all we can afford this week. Eat up!’

Farther afield, the sort of thing that Earth2 travel thinkbrochures tended to gloss over with phrases like VIBRANT STREET CULTURE was unfolding. The streets had descended into chaos. People and peoply things were breaking windows and setting fire to things with casual expertise. Children had erected a crude shrine to the DOOM sound, offering sacrifices of broken electronics and half-eaten sandwiches.

‘Oh no. People and peoply things are breaking things and setting fire to those broken things. How worried should I be, Quimly?’

Quimly chuckled. ‘Oh, the great impending DOOM sound and the great many breakings and burnings are nothing for Master Skyward to worry about.’

‘Aren’t they? Oh. Good. I mean, quarfs can’t lie, after all. Forget I even mentioned it, I suppose.’

‘Quimly should forget Master Skyward even mentioned what?’ The doors to the carpark yawned open ahead of the trudgeworthy5.

‘That’s good, Quimly. You’re pretending you’ve already forgotten.’

‘Already forgotten what?’

‘Clever.’

‘Quimly is not being clever. Quimly knows that if Quimly bees any sort of clever that Master Skyward won’t bees able to follow along.’

The public address system crackled to life again outside, ‘Just a quick update on the... ah... ominous starblaster situation. There is still no reason to be alarmed. Unless you’re... like... alive and sentient and were hoping to stay that way. Set realistic expectations, my mother always used to say. I just wanted to be a tin can at one end of a piece of string, and look at me now. What... you can’t see me at all? Well, that’s disappointing. You can see a tin can. I guess I should have been more realistic. Anyway... there was something I needed... oh yes... please stop setting fire to things and breaking things. It really isn’t helping. Ah... yes... that should do it... as you were... well not you looters... honestly who raised you people and peoply things. It’s like you’ve descended from monkeys or something... no don’t throw that... I give up. Or at least I would if I was a tin can. Follow your dreams... or don’t... I honestly don’t care anymore. I mean that figuratively. I will always care. It’s my curse. My burden. Don’t feel sorry for me... unless... you know... you can squeeze it in... between the breaking and the setting fires and what not. I wonder if tin cans care. Jesus9. What a life...’

The public address system trailed off to an awkward silence broken only by the rampant sounds of mass destruction of Smogington.

Accidentally felt another of the odd doubling of consciousness sensations he’d been experiencing lately. As if someone else were temporarily seeing through his eyes, assessing the situation with tactical precision. The sensation brought with it a flash of knowledge. The chaos outside was following a predictable pattern he could navigate if he could determine the source. Then the sensation was gone, leaving him feeling even more disoriented and strangely nostalgic for extensive military training and alien-meat-lovers pizza he’d never knowingly had.

‘Jesus9,’ Accidentally said dizzily. ‘I think you really might be driving me crazy, Quimly. Just tell me straight. If you’re not trying to be clever, why are you saying you can’t remember that thing I don’t need to worry about from earlier?’

Quimly made the goggled eyes of quarfish avoiding direct questions from stupid master skyward. ‘Oh, Quimly sees where Master Skyward must have become confused.’

Quimly thinked the hovercar into the carpark, thinked it to a stop and thinked the doors open with a... kerchunk.

Then Accidentally smelled something that terrified him even more than the smell of Quimly. He squeezed his nostrils shut with his knobbly fingers.

But it was too late.

Some of the stink had already gotten in a little bit. And it had already started fluffing about with his Brian in a pretty disturbing way.

That smell... that smell... Jesus9... what was that smell? It smelled like the final nail in his coffin... if nails had smells... and if his coffin was... his having a slightly worse Tuesday than normal... and if his death was... well... his actual death... which was looking more and more likely with every snortling sniff of his half-squeezed nose to be sometime between the morning tea break and another time not too much later on from that last time, maybe sooner. Tuesdays. Honestly. What was that SMELL?

If Accidentally made you smile, tell someone. See you next Monday. Thanks!!