The vinyl record is currently winning the vote, so we’re headed to—
Chapter Eight - Wish You Were Here
Abbey Road
A quiet London street with low brick walls and a zebra crossing: from time to time people stroll by in Sixties clothes. A tiled road-name spells out “Abbey Road”.
Not far from where you stand, a window of one of the buildings is slightly ajar.
Black leans against a wall beside the window, obviously waiting for something.
Black looks embarrassed for a moment, then whispers brief thanks for sorting out the snowscape debacle.
“Think nothing of it,” you are about to say, but the matter seems to be closed.
[Your score has just gone up by one point.]
Oh, I’m learning something new here! I didn’t realize Black’s dialogue changes depending on what other pieces you’ve completed—here is the dialogue I was expecting.
“Feeling better?” Black asks breezily. “Any hangover?”
You stammer some kind of hopeless excuse for your shameful behaviour on the dance floor, though it’s obvious that Black is amused rather than offended.
This indicates that Black is dealing with these things in the same order that we are—so the nuclear missile came between Paris and here.
The more important question, though, is: what’s going on here? Is Black going to assassinate the Beatles to prevent the British Invasion?
“I expect you’re wondering what we’re doing here,” Black says coyly.
Yes, actually!
> black, yes
“So am I, really. But Grad Kaldecki was a big fan of - Well, you’ll see.”
Let’s see for ourselves!
> look through window
Inside, four dissheveled young men with brushed-forward hair and no ties are picking away at their instruments - guitars and drums - and having a frustratingly uncreative time of it, for once. They are clearly beginning to annoy each other.
Black consults an elegant pocket watch. “August ‘67, I make it.”
Presumably the Beatles, though the title of this section is Pink Floyd, right? I don’t know much about classic rock. Were they working on something especially important in August? Sgt Pepper’s was May, according to Google.
“No time for that now!”
Black begins vigorously humming the tune of an old 70s classic, Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”.
Ah, so Black’s evil plan is to give Pink Floys to the Beatles?
Black continues to hum in the most persistent way.
We can’t do that! That’s plagiarism!
> black, stop
“Shh! They might hear.”
That’s the point!
Black’s humming is annoyingly loud now.
Uh oh…
“Hey, quiet you folk!” says someone inside the building in a Merseyside accent. “Something’s… coming through to me…”
Black, what are you doing?!
Violence is not the answer, but maybe it’s necessary to preserve the course of history:
> hit black
Black looks simply too heart-melting there.
“How does that go again?” the voice continues.
Agh!
“Got it!” And the Beatles begin rehearsing their new hit single, sure to be number 1 by next month.
“Piece of cake!” says Black complacently, gently closing the window and then (in a mysterious fashion) vanishing clean away.
What have you done?!
You shake your head, confused. But at least the crowd outside are singing along to Herbie von Karajan and the Comets’ immortal “Hug Me Do”, and even if you do prefer Robert Dylan’s late string quartets it must be time now to go out, sing along and toast a brand new millennium.
*** You have wrecked the course of history ***
Herbert von Karajan was a famous conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, and Bob Dylan is (of course) a famous counterculture musician, so it sounds like music genres have gotten well and truly mixed up.
So we need some way to silence Black. Any ideas?
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