As fate has it, this universe gives them a plain tit for tat answer: a crack, not unlike that of lightning but with thunder resembling a zip unzipping, one that amplifies as they witness the apparition of a criss-cross pattern of bright zigzag lines, extending all around them.
“Thieves and liars!” Captain Sunblast insists, oblivious to the disintegrating surroundings, “I should have known better. Why did you steal the time capsules? Who gave you permission to even look at them?” he bellows.
More cracks appear in what was dark space matter.
“INSIDE NOW!” Captain Sunblast yells.
And, as the past, bleak coloured universe around them begins to collapse, shattering bit by bit, all seek cover inside the relative safety of the shuttle’s metallic walls.
“All the same,” Captain Traumatic says as he scampers inside the shuttle, “what’s done is done.” And before he knows it, he and his crew are seated on, you guessed it, a grey sofa with automatic belts that sprout and strap around their shoulders and waists.
This is when Captain Traumatic notices the clinical, metallic, and instrumental nature of the shuttle’s insides. All this grey, this white and more greys.
“Why have you no wood? Where are your sheepskins?” he asks as perfectly designed helmets form out of large bubbles popping out of the helmet emergency distributor – a mere 3 x 7 centimetres copper and nickel-diamond combination pipe – and float a while before finding their owner and settling around their head and neck, securing a supply of oxygen and protecting them from the harmful glare of invisible universal rays.
“I won’t be framed” Labaguette says, “least of all by bubbles!” as he struggles to free himself from the helmet.
To be continued…