The Chronicles of Smith & Jones

Chapter Twenty-Seven - AtomPunk

"Well that was a close call," Smith was saying to Jones as they stood up and brushed themselves off. Each was wearing a plain dark grey suit, jacket, waistcoat and trousers—which looked fairly normal apart from the high waistbands on the trousers—and a hat. "A particularly nasty sub-genre. Frightening. I really thought everyone had died, along with the planet. I don't know who-"

"Did I hit my head when I landed?" interrupted Jones. He raised his hat and ran his hands gingerly over the back of his skull, feeling for lumps.

"No. At least I don't think so. Why? What's the matter?"

"Does anything look strange to you?" asked Jones, sounding anxious and rubbing his eyes.

"Haha," laughed Smith. "What hasn't looked strange since we left home all those years, times, and dimensions ago?"

"Stop talking for a moment and use your eyes, drat it!" said Jones rather crossly.

Smith frowned but then turned slowly around, scanning the horizon. They appeared to be standing on a plaza, surrounded by shiny metal and glass buildings with lots of curves and parabolas giving them a very futuristic look.

As he was looking for monsters, aliens, or potential exploding devices, it took Smith a while before he realised what Jones was talking about.

"You mean—that everything here is in black and white? And different shades of grey?"

Jones nodded. "And not only that, where are the others? Kris, H'ver and Boogaloo?"

Smith looked around at the empty plaza. "Kris? H'ver? Boogaloo?" he called. "Yoohoo! Where are you?"

H'ver trundled out of the nearest building, through a soundless, sliding, shiny metal and glass door. He looked depressed, at least as far as a robot could show expression on its metal face. "That building contains an interesting variety of semi-spherical chairs, on pedestals. Very stylish. For a moment, I thought this was going to be Decopunk again," he said sadly. "But it's not."

He sighed and looked around. "What's happening? Where's everyone else?"

Just then, a woman, dressed in a smart navy-blue frock with a small crisp white collar, wearing matching white elbow length gloves, elegant white shoes, and carrying a navy-blue handbag over one arm, came toward them. A tiny navy-blue fascinator was attached to one side of her head. It wasn't until she opened her mouth that they realised it was Kris. And even then, they couldn't quite believe what their eyes were telling them.

"Don't say a word!" she glared.

"You look... very nice..." ventured Jones, sounding surprised.

"I said, don't say a fucking word!" Kris drew back her fist, and knocked Jones to the ground. At least, that was what she had intended. Instead, she put one hand up to her lips, blushed and giggled. "Oh Mr Jones, you shouldn't! We hardly know each other."

Smith and Jones stared in amazement, both jaws dropping open, rather unattractively.

Kris shook her head, horrified at herself. "What the heck? I just giggled. I never giggle!"

Now wild-eyed, Kris realised where they were. "Fudge! This must be Atompunk, based on some loser's version of the 1950s. If I remember, no swearing was allowed and women were expected to be ladies, poor little bug- er... butterflies."

"That sounds rather a good thing, if you ask me," commented Jones, rashly. "Reminds me of the good old days, when Our Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria ruled, where-when I grew up, before we got sucked into this perpetual sci-fi loop. Where men were men and women were women and..."

"And life was extremely boring!" interrupted Kris. "Not to mention generally short, smelly and uncomfortable."

"Where's Boogaloo?" asked Smith again, having tuned out of the argument some time ago.

"If what Miss Kris says is correct about this sub-genre," said H'ver diffidently, "I suspect he didn't make it to this round, given his nature. I mean, he would hardly fit in, would he?"

Kris frowned for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "You could be right. After all, this is the era of twin beds and chaste kisses."

"This is a pretty boring sub-genre," grumbled Smith, gazing around at the still, black and white surroundings. He had secretly become rather addicted to a constant adrenaline rush. "I wish something would happen-"

He took a step back as Kris, Jones and H'ver raised their hands / metal appendages in open-mouthed horror, shouting at him not to tempt fate.

Too late.

A mushroom shaped cloud billowed up suddenly behind the curved building in front of them, just as a small cartoon-like space ship landed on the plaza, spilling forth little green men (even though they appeared grey, you could somehow tell they were actually green). They were waving rayguns and rushed toward the four companions, screaming and yelling unintelligible threats.

"Er- what?" said Smith, taken completely by surprise.

"Don't worry about them! That's an atom bomb!" shrieked H'ver at the top of his decibels. He was motoring toward the building he had recently exited as fast as he could. "This way! There's a fallout shelter in the basement."

Smith and Jones took to their heels, running after the small robot without a second thought, though neither of them had any idea what a 'fallout shelter' was. Surely one wanted to fall in to a shelter?

"Do you realise how hard it is to run in this outfit?" panted Kris, struggling to get moving, the hem of her frock was too tight around her knees for a fast run, not to mention the flimsy shoes which threatened to turn her ankles at every step.

H'ver reached the building door and extended a small probe to open the lock. As the door slid open, he turned to urge on his companions. "Hurry!" he called. "My microwave is starting to tingle. We are probably already in the radiation zone."

Smith and Jones were only a couple of metres behind but Kris was still a long way back. "Hurry, Kris!" shouted Jones.

He could see that the little green men were gaining on her, when she tripped and sprained her ankle.

"Fudge! Fudge! Fudge!" she screamed. "I hate this trope! Now one of you big strong men will have to come and rescue me. Move your donkeys, you two!"

Surreptitiously puffing out their chests and squaring their shoulders, Smith and Jones spun on their heels and ran toward Kris. "We're coming, little lady!" shouted Jones excitedly. Smith spared a moment to roll his eyes. Jones was going to be so dead when they reached the next loop.

But before they could help the fallen woman, Kris was surrounded by a circle of little green men, all pointing their rayguns at her.

"Stop, you dastardly curs!" cried Jones. "Pick on someone who can fight back!"

Two of the little green men turned, grinned, and fired their rayguns... but instead of the expected disintegrating rays, out came a bright white light...