Monday, January 08, 2007

When You Wish Upon A Star

"Blessings of Shitler!" yelled Basil. "Be careful with that thing! You don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention". The small zeppelin swayed alarmingly as Smuglon cranked the flux-capacitor up three more points and swung the refracting crystal over their heads. Now, the blinding light from the laser searchlight mounted in the middle of the balloon's basket struck and was refracted, spilling twinkling light for miles around. Beneath them, the light revealed the stretching desert, sand like chalk dust in the clean light from the argon-krypton laser, marred only by camel tracks. The silence was ghostly and short-lived.

"Here they come again!" cried little Jones, perched on top of the zep's carapace. Basil looked around, then focused on the west. White specks on the horizon resolved themselves into sweeping dove-coloured wings, dangling candyfloss-coated gyrocopters, all peaceful and white and pure, save for the menacing underslung cannons, all black pig-iron and flaming tar. "Joseph H. Stalin!" said Basil. "Can't we go faster?" Smuglon didn't even bother to respond. The popping noises from the solid/liquid transmuting engine were obviously starting to get to him.

As they zeroed in, the copter pilots wailed and shook in the dry night air, the doppler effect producing a chorus of Ave Marias. The wordless cries drifted across the rapidly-diminishing gap. "...Power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise..." they sang. "And they call themselves religious!" said Jones. A flaming heavenly bolt took off the flags above him and he fell silent.

Suddenly, a stream of detritus shot from the back of the engine, through the basket and into the path of the oncoming angelcopters. One, covered in gunk, plummeted to the desert's floor, skimming the heads of a startled caravan. "Mao sodding!" said Basil "Is it meant to do that?". Smuglon shook his head, worryingly, and crammed closer to the others in the basket. The intermittent blasts of vapour and junk put paid to two more swarming winged holies, before the rest dropped back, taking pot-shots as they went.

go to bethlehem, act as star for magi. etc, yawn.


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