To the bitterest cynic, every tragedy is a solemn comedy. But even for an extreme cynic like Dymo, this was depressing.
Dymo stopped trying to find a way out of the desert 15 minutes ago. He tried for 30 seconds.
Dymo wouldn't talk. His lips were moist, only because the lazy sun beat at Dymo to sweat. He could almost feel his innards shrinking into something the size of a pea.
The vast area of orange was cackling at his feet. Or so it felt like it. It was darn hot.
Dymo dropped on to his back, as there was no point in standing anyway. He gazed at the sky. The sky was moving. No, he was moving.
He imagined little scorpions carrying him to his death, just like in movies made 15 years back when CG wasn't so common and you could see the scorpions were actually a puppet. But Dymo didn't get such a treatment. He was just getting swept by the wind.
Gyro loved where he ended up. He was a god.
The Mayans called him the Sky Boulder, because he fell out of the sky. Pretty quickly. And he accidentally gave the village elder a concussion.
While the elder got some treatment, Gyro had to presume his role. Despite his muteness, Gyro was dishing out great advice like hot cakes. None of the Mayans knew how he was doing it, but ideas started popping into their minds as soon as they neared him.
For example, they invented the calendar. Gyro taught them how to plan ahead, and anticipate the growing of the crops.
Gyro taught them about ceramics, and how to hold things together. He told them how to hold more than two things at once by using bowls, and still have one hand free.
Gyro loved his life.
Trevor found no reason to talk. He wasn't one to talk to himself. He wasn't one to talk at all really. But this was just amazing.
It was like something straight out of a movie. Or a book. Or a game. Or any type of media actually. It was great.
The view that invaded his eyes was a cityscape completely composed of what looked like steampunk. Lots of bronze, joints, pipes, moving bits, lights, lasers, robots, suits, oddly shaped buildings, and just everything. It was fantastic.
Trevor, being the sort of predictable type, decided he'd like to visit a hardware store.
'Hup hup hup hup' went the marauding Vikings. They tied Archie to a very long stake, and carried the stake like it was something to be proud of.
Archie thought there were about 50, maybe 60 Vikings, just hungry for flesh, any flesh. They were moving quickly across the icy plains, with occasional grass poking here and there.
'Um, good sirs?' Archie asked the Viking carrying him. Or at least, he was carrying the stake. Archie himself got hit into things multiple times, while the stake incurred no damage.
'Hey, can I get off? I'm getting uncomfortable.' Archie declared.
The Viking glared and barked some incomprehensible words.
'Oh, sorry,' Archibald continued. 'Can I at least readjust my right arm? It's getting squished against my ribs and...'
The Viking barked some more. This was going to be a long trip.
'Hey!' Dymo exclaimed, and fell in with a splash.
Water! he thought. Water!
The wind had swept him into an oasis! Turbulent jubilation exploded in his chest. Water!
The sense of the cool water touching his skin was too much for him, and he started swimming despite him not liking the sport.
Dymo crawled out of the oasis to get dry, and readied himself for a drink, when he saw that the oasis was small. Just as small as about four inflatable swimming pools for babies.
'Yuk', Dymo said. 'I swam in that? I ain't drinking anything from that.'
Dymo continued to lie on his back.
Trevor walked into a building that vaguely resembled a hardware shop. It was hard to know, because everything looked quite bronze.
A steam pump went on and made a strange noise as the door shut behind Trevor. He saw a man wearing an odd 'armour' with lots of moving part and none of them self-serviceable.
'Gosir, what will you desant today?' the man asked.
Trevor was puzzled. 'Ah, a fine day to you too. Sir?'
The man answered, 'Ah! Findal! We possove many Findals. Which would you desant gosir?'
The language must have changed, Trevor thought. Uh oh.
'Um, what are Findals?' Trevor asked.
'Yes! We possove many Watar Findals. What quantumber dostu desant?'
'Thanci. That would be thirty-ban goncer and sidat-wou mokes. Cats or chuk?'
The Mayans were learning quickly. Very quickly. They got electricity working, and now they're trying to go wireless.
Gyro instructed them to do almost anything. The village walls were protected by automatic rocket turrets, crops were grown by a complicated, biological clockwork attached to one farmer, and animals were hunted down by mechanical snipers shooting bullets made of bio solute. The Mayans were currently the most advanced civilisation of past, present, and future.
The Vikings stopped. Archibald was let down. Or dropped. Something was in the air. Even Archie felt it. It was frightening, that sense of presence, only you can't grasp what it might be.
Something rustled in the snow. A Viking went and plunged his sword into it. He pulled the sword out.
A mechanical bird was pierced on the end. Change.
Dymo was in a city. A steampunk city by the looks of it. Very... cool.
Dymo didn't feel anything. It didn't feel weird at all. It was like being in a dream, and now Dymo readily accepted anything.
Dymo sat up. An oddly looking pipe with lots of smaller pipes sticking to it flashed some lights. Then it moved. It faced this way, and announced 'Target Identity: Intruder - Prepare to Combat'
That was never good.
When Trevor finally got it to the shop assistant that he couldn't pay, he started yelling wildly. Trevor hated it when foreigners were angry at you, because he didn't know what they were yelling about. But in this case, it was worse.
The shop assistant was yelling loads of strange words, but it was also yelling some words Trevor knew to be 'bad words', the one taught by his mother to never say in public.
Then the assistant stopped. He looked around. Trevor too, felt something going on, and it wasn't nice.
Panic spread like fire in the village. It was as if the whole village was covered in oil for panic and rumours. Sky Boulder is gone! He's disappeared! Where did He go?
Mayans were texting each other on the beautifully paved road, asking frantic questions about their newly acquired god. Then something happened.
It was like a dream. Things kept on happening without Dymo really understanding anything. He dreamt he was back in the old terminator factory again. The familiar wires still dangled downwards from the ceiling, and the musty, cold, metal walls of the factory invited Dymo home, just like a cat would do to a small sparrow. Dymo looked around and saw everyone else looking befuddled.
'What happened?' Archie asked. 'I was caught by some Vikings. What happened to you guys?'
'I was in this awesome steampunk city,' Trevor said. 'They had a completely new language and the technology was... different.'
'Hey! I was in a steampunk city as well. Only I was in a desert first.'
Gyro transmitted the general idea of what happened to him.
'Ah!' Trevor started.
'Hey,' Dymo said. 'Whatever you're going to say, I'm going to say that I knew it. You're going to say something about Gyro creating the city from the past forward aren't you? And now because Gyro changed the world so much, that certain sections of time-space that concerned the four of us was segregated from the rest of time-space, and the for time to stop contradicting itself, it went on to a time before it started to contradict itself, which is now. Right?'
The rest of them dropped their jaws, except for Gyro who didn't have a jaw.
Archibald said, 'I didn't know you were so...'
'I was just going to say that I was a bit hungry, but yeah, I agree with you.' Trevor butted in.
'So now what?' Archie asked.
'Easy,' Trevor said. 'All we have to do is cause another explosion. See? The can is still there. What we have to do is to nominate someone to go around time, and if they're lucky, they'll eventually get somewhere where there's a time machine. If they don't, they can just cause another paradox; they'll come back, and try all over again. Only...'
Dymo knew there was a catch. 'Only what?'
'Only we can only have one person going at once, or else we'll be scattered across time again, and then if we get a machine, we won't know where we are. And the person who goes would be suffering extreme repetitiveness and boredom without growing old, which would be terrible. It's like being immortal without a purpose.'
Everyone was silent except Gyro. He was jumping up and down wildly.
‘Gyro, you don’t mind being bored for, I don’t know, a coupl’a million years do ya?’ Dymo asked. Gyro nodded affirmative.
‘Great, then it’s settled.’ Trevor said. ‘As Gyro goes off to start an explosion, we run off wildly very quickly. Great.’
The others weren’t listening, because they were already running off wildly very quickly.
The three gazed at the fantastic explosion from miles and miles away.
‘Now what?’ Archie asked.
‘We wait, Arch.’ Trevor asked.
Dymo said, ‘How long?’
Trevor shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Depends on whether Gyro actually got where a time machine is, and how accurate he is with the controls.’
They waited for another 3 minutes, and sure enough, a blue motorbike came into view.
‘So,’ Archie started. ‘I guess I’m stuck with you ay?’
‘Nope.’ Dymo answered. ‘I can hardly support myself on my income. I’m sorry you’ll have to go to Trevor’s.’
‘Hey! I never agreed to that.’ Trevor exclaimed. ‘Anyway, I’m dead.’
Dymo smirked. ‘We always have your machine.’