Friday, 7 February 2014

Om Mani Padme Amidala (Choose Your Own Adventure variant)

You find yourself in space.  It's cold and starry.

A sudden voice startles you.  (Test your luck to see if your armour becomes soiled.)

The voice is deep, authoritative and not at all giggly or excitable.  

"Furbies.  Remember them?  The twitchy missing link between tamagotchi and kill-bot?  Yeah, those.  They seem to be having some sort of resurgence now, which makes me think that there weren't enough hammers at the turn of the century.

"For a few months after Kairos the Millennium Bug failed to make his face-chewing appointments, there was an interesting off-shoot of Furby evolution waddling about.  Somehow these abominations - these crimes-against-nature - made their way onto the shelves of unwitting toy shops.  Like the really cool Jurassic Park dinosaurs that were too expensive to appear in the films, these mutants were able to camouflage themselves to match their surroundings.  I got presented with one for a birthday or something.  It was disguised as Yoda.

"This 'Yoda' was able to identify movements using rudimentary photo-receptors and would mimic phrases it had learned in order to 'train' you in the 'ways' of the 'Jedi'.  Basically, as long as there was a light on, it would wobble alarmingly and bark out observations in a weird impression of Frank Oz after a head injury.  It was possible to send it to 'sleep' by placing it in a darkened room but this was only a temporary solution.  Any stimulus - any - would waken it and you were back to attempting to placate an inanimate object; the slightest nudge, the quietest squeak of a mouse fart, anything could set it off.  For hours.

"It's a long way from the Arctic to Wales on a train.  I had the 'sleeping' 'Yoda' thoroughly wrapped up in my hand luggage.  I'd been pretty good at the egg and spoon race in school - after long jump, reading and pestering science teachers for apocryphal biographical information about ex-punks, it was my favourite thing in the whole world - so I managed to get the bag loaded into the luggage rack of the Quiet Coach without any alarming consequences.  I settled into the seat and tried to nod off.

"Halfway to Carlisle, the train juddered slightly.  I snapped awake - listening intently.  The carriage was packed, the windows were smeared with condensation and above the silence I could hear a chilling rustling.

"Looking up slowly, I could see my bag begin to ripple.  At first it was a hint - easy to miss - but then the struggling from within grew more frantic.  The warm, slightly-moist, silence of the Quiet Coach was shattered by a panicked: 


"It's a very long way from the Arctic to Wales on a train."

The voice fades away.  In front of you, the starscape shimmers slightly.  Something begins coalescing, totally trashing the void's USP.

It's nearly, but not quite, Yoda.  He doesn't have any cake.

Do you:

   Listen to what he's got to say?  Click here.

   Ask where the box is?  Click here.

   Ask where the hairy fellow is?  Click here.

   Believe that RTD's opinion of Robert Holmes was wrong?  Click here.

   Believe Steven Moffat most resembles Terry Nation?  Click here.

   Slay him and claim victory?  Click here.

   Ignore him and go on your way?  Click here.

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