The bells sang, sang, sang in the attics and the steeples and the courtyards, and they could barely be heard for the cheering. Terrum rejoiced, and even the very oldest said they’d never heard tell of any time more gleeful – remarkable if true, for the people of Terrum were great tellers of stories, and their expertise grew with age. The war was over, all men and women and children could walk without fear and know that all others were their friends. At last the world was united, at last it was one and peaceful. The people of Terrum danced in the streets, in their houses, at their workplaces, and nobody stopped to make fun of anyone’s footwork their joy was so great.
Particular joy surrounded the great bonfire of wicker-and-wire cages in which all of the anti-citizens of un-Terrum were heaped, screaming in agony and pleading for mercy. This inspired extra mirth among the citizens, for it was well known that all outside of Terrum were mere homunculi in the shape of people and had no souls minds or actual bodies, being merely composed of cunningly arranged twigs and dirt that lived to plot against all the free beings of the world.
The people of Terrum were indeed great tellers of stories, and better still at believing in them.
***
With the whole of the world (now safely renamed Terrum, for Terrum was indeed all that remained in it) now attended to, the attention of the great minds of Terrum now turned to corners that until now had remained unexplored.
The far jungles and deserts of places that had once been various un-Terrums were explored, and found to contain somewhat exotic but not particularly imaginative creatures that acted much as beasts of that size would, rather than the unicorns, dragons, and men with heads in their torsos that had long been sought after.
The deep sea was plumbed with bathyscaphes and ROVs, but alas, not one kraken or sea serpent was found, merely pretty large squids and some fossilized (long-extinct) shark teeth.
Under the ice sheets at the very ends of the earth were found great sleeping submerged lakes, absolutely none of which housed any life forms more malevolent or alien than novel strains of bacteria.
In desperation the many explorers and discoverers of Terrum turned to the skies, only to report that the heavens appeared to be populated primarily by nothing and secondarily (FAR secondarily) by big fat balls of burning gas with some scattered chunks of rock.
A citizen with the appropriately heroic name of Roff Yelter was promptly launched into orbit to personally examine the nearest of these chunks of rock, in hopes of extracting something more expectedly exciting.
“This is the farthest any citizen of Terrum has ever been from Terrum,” he announced heroically as he exited his ship of space, “and proof that it can extend its reach to cover the whole of this abyssal void.”
Unfortunately the rock was featureless and dull. Roff took some bits of it aboard for souvenirs, but a tiny and immeasurable fault in the ship of space’s engine exploded while he was heading home, sending him spiralling out into absolutely nothing interesting for the rest of eternity.
It was duly announced to all of Terrum that Roff had discovered and befriended a space-puppy before heroically sacrificing his life returning it to its parents, but there wasn’t much heart put into believing it, even from the Editors.
***
It was beginning to appear to the citizens of Terrum that the universe was a singularly poor environment for narrative to grow in. This displeased them, and it was decided that this should be rectified as immediately and forcefully as possible.
The task of finding a means of this correction was given to their greatest and most powerful scientist, Queltel Binmarc, who was absent-minded, smoked a pipe, AND possessed outrageous hair. He stayed up the requisite all day and all night and at precisely and exactly the wee hours of the morning he came up with a theory based on a careless and passing observation that he almost didn’t write down, which was duly announced the next day to the Grand High Editor.
“We will build a giant and bizarre machine that will rebuild the universe to be more satisfying to our personal desires. It’s a risky and daring and bold plan, but it’s the only one we’ve got,” he informed him.
The Editor licked his lips; this was better than he’d ever dreamed. “And what are the odds of it working?” he asked.
“A million to one,” said Queltel, with tremendous satisfaction.
The Audience that followed the Grand High Editor about constantly to record and witness the living story of Terrum gasped.
The project was announced the following morning, and every man, woman and child of Terrum rejoiced at the news of completely certain success.
***
Building the great device was a labour of years, and one whose every step was conducted according to the most exacting requirements.
Blood and sweat and tears were duly extracted from the few un-Terrum anti-citizens that existed and mixed into its foundations to meet all safety standards.
Top men laboured day and night in specially designed airplanes that kept them on the cusp of twilight twenty-four hours a day.
Every factory in Terrum burned with furious energy, often forging and reforging the same parts over and over again so that it could be so.
And the Terrum Children’s League went door to door selling apples to raise funds for the production of parts, thereby keeping thousands of doctors away for months and resulting in several deaths from chronic illnesses.
***
When the day came, half of all of Terrum watched it live from their television sets, half of it listened to it from their radios, and a tiny and unmeasurable quantity of them were about to turn on the machine.
“Ready?” asked the head foreman, a specially-grizzled and majestic sort of man who hadn’t spent a moment in his adult life without a cigarette chewed in one corner of his mouth.
“As ready as it’ll get,” said Queltel. “It’s a million to one chance. Here goes nothing.”
The whole thing could’ve been designed to boot with a button, but a lever had been chosen for gravitas, one with just enough resistance and heft to it to make the scientist’s spindly arm flex as he heaved against it mightily. A shove, a click, and a satisfying thunk emerged, and the machine roared like a farting titan.
“It’s working!” screamed the Audience in perfect harmony.
The machine belched, grunted, and then every light in the building dramatically flickered as it sputtered and died exactly as planned.
“Damnit. DAMNIT!” shouted Queltel with precise timing, and then, trembling with a carefully-chosen degree of rage and grief, he thumped a particular spot on its side with his fist.
The machine turned on.
***
The machine turned off.
“Did it work?” asked the Grand High Editor. The words were expected of him, but something about them felt… odd. Greasy in his mouth. Even the ellipses of his internal monologue seemed reluctant to flow.
“How should I know?” asked Queltel Binmarc. “I don’t know a damned thing about machinery. I’m just a man with funny hair and a pipe.”
“But…but…” said the Grand High Editor, and he felt the words die in his mouth. “Yes, of course, that makes sense. Why WOULD having funny hair and a pipe make you good at machinery?”
“No idea,” said Queltel. “I’m not a scientist, and even if I was, a scientist isn’t an engineer. Why am I in charge of anything in this room?”
“Don’t ask me,” said the head foreman. “I’ve got two left thumbs. Hell, I’ve almost put my eye out six times just replacing this cigarette – which is plastic, by the way. I’ve never smoked. Why am I in charge of putting together complicated machinery?”
“Why am I in charge of anything at all?” asked the Grand High Editor aloud. “I have a soothing rich voice and good posture, but I don’t understand the first thing about people. I should be a singer or something.”
“Sing WHERE?” demanded a member of the Audience, suddenly making herself known as a distinct individual. “All the good choirs are in the cathedrals to the glory of Terrum Forever, and we know that’s bunk now. What the hell IS Terrum anyways?”
“A fabricated identity designed to unite a broad spectrum of enserfed and assimilated peoples across the greater Terrum seaboard that then embarked upon a genocidal spree of conquest across first Terrum proper and then the world at large, spurred on by a series of obviously self-serving beliefs and myths about their own rightfulness and power and the wicked and malevolent nature of all foreigners, most of whom shared more in common with the citizens of Terrum than those citizens did with their own leaders,” said another suddenly-distinct member of the Audience, all in one breath.
“Oh,” said the former Grand High Editor.
“Seems right,” said the first member of what had been the Audience.
There was a long and decidedly unrehearsed silence. Then all present and viewing committed suicide in a series of awkward and fumbling ways.
***
And soon all was quiet all across the whole world that had been Terrum, save for the cheerful hail-and-well-mets exchanged in the streets by the roving packs of depressives who had left their rooms for the first time in years.