“We’ve experienced a technical glitch,” Captain Sunblast says.
“Already?” Captain Traumatic asks, in a daze.
“Our instruments display time zone -2,417,498,557,393,619”
“There were no zeroes then, right?” the King-Fool snarls.
“The instruments are unlikely to be wrong but, to be sure, we’re simply going to reset the clock and refresh the Wi-Fi, that should do it. But for this, you must all come inside and this includes you Captain Anectodick. We’ve no choice. Such time travelling will leave your bodies’ particles disintegrated and hanging in space. Reconstitution will become impossible.”
“Some science, huh?” Labaguette remarks, “It can only be your instruments’ mistake. How would you explain us four to be alive otherwise?”
“For safety’s sake, you’ve no choice but to come inside.”
“Suppose we did get back all that time and we made it as you see us?” the King-Fool suggests.
“We’re heroes,” Birdseye says, “our particles are malleable, flexible, transformable and transformed. We can sustain—”
“—Gobbledygook. You’re artists, the whole lot of you.”
“We’re in the past as per your instruments point out,” Captain Traumatic insists, “I know and that is all there is to it.”
A single but heavy pearl of sweat finds its way down a line on the side of the Captain’s Sunblast nose as he walks, exasperated, towards Labaguette, determined to lead by example. If the crew isn’t coming, the crew shall come to me,” Captain Sunblast thinks, adamant he should get hold of that stupid parrot and strangle it if circumstances allow it.
As it is, Labaguette stands awkwardly, as if in a balancing act, switching his weight from one leg to the other.
To be continued…