Chapter 1: The Glitch in the Firewall
The ominous purple glow pulsed brighter, casting weird, wavy shadows on the garage walls. Nia squinted at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Dad, is it supposed to do… that?”
“Of course!” Arlo said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a state-of-the-art system. Cutting-edge security is always a little dramatic.”
Theo slid off the workbench, his tinfoil-hat energy on full display. “Or it’s summoning ancient spirits to steal our shiny shells. Did anyone think of that?”
Nia rolled her eyes. “It’s a firewall, Theo, not a séance.”
The holographic displays shifted, and strange symbols started scrolling across the screen. Lina crossed her arms.
“Arlo, I know you love a good gadget, but why does it look like it’s about to beam us all into the Twilight Zone?”
“Ah,” Arlo said confidently, “that’s just the system calibrating. Perfectly normal.”
He paused, then added, “Probably.”
“Probably?” Nia’s voice hit a new octave. “Dad, systems like this don’t just turn purple for fun. What did you program it to do?”
“Nothing too extreme,” Arlo said, clearly stalling. “Just a… a tiny enhancement to protect against quantum breaches.”
“Define ‘tiny,’” Lina said, her eyebrow raised to Olympic levels.
Before Arlo could answer, the displays blinked off, and the garage fell silent. Then, with a dramatic WHUMPH, a vortex of light burst into existence in the middle of the room.
Nia took a step back, shielding her face. “WHAT IS THAT?”
Theo, surprisingly calm, grabbed a mug of tea and took a sip. “Oh, cool. It’s a wormhole. Knew it.”
Arlo’s jaw dropped. “A wormhole? Impossible! It’s clearly a space-time firewall resonance ripple. Completely different!”
“Sure, Dad,” Nia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that makes this totally fine.”
The vortex began pulling objects into its spinning maw. First, the hover-tools. Then Theo’s half-eaten bag of cosmic potato chips. He let out a wail of despair.
“NOT THE CHIPS!”
Lina grabbed onto a workbench as the suction grew stronger. “Arlo, if this thing eats my tea, you’re sleeping in the garage for a month!”
Nia’s eyes darted around the room. “Dad, how do we shut it down?”
Arlo blinked, clearly processing a thousand things at once. “Ah, well, you see, it’s not exactly… designed to shut down. More like… manage itself over time.”
“Manage itself?” Lina snapped. “You built a system that opens wormholes and has no off switch?!”
“Technically, they’re resonance ripples,” Arlo muttered under his breath.
Nia grabbed his sleeve. “Dad. FOCUS.”
Arlo snapped his fingers. “The emergency override! Of course!” He lunged for the console, only to trip over Theo’s abandoned hoverboard.
“Great,” Lina said, still clutching her mug. “We’re about to be sucked into another dimension, and your father’s doing slapstick comedy.”
Before anyone could react, the vortex let out a deep, ominous WHOOSH, and a bright flash filled the room.
When the light faded, the garage was gone. So were they.
Instead, they found themselves standing in a wide, open field dotted with primitive huts. The air smelled faintly of something… burning.
Nia blinked at the scene in front of her. “Where are we?”
Theo pointed toward a group of very hairy men in loincloths. One of them was holding a rock over his head, preparing to smack himself with it.
“Uh,” Theo said, tilting his head. “Judging by that guy, I’m gonna say… the Goo Age?”
The caveman swung the rock down with a dramatic grunt, then let out a triumphant cheer.
Arlo straightened his jacket, brushing dust off his shoulders. “Well, this is unexpected. But think of the possibilities! We could be witnessing the dawn of civilization!”
“Or the dawn of bad decisions,” Lina said, watching another caveman attempt to trade a shiny shell for the rock. “Let me guess. One of these guys is about to invent the first tax, and we’re stuck watching history’s worst idea in action.”
Theo’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Are those shiny shells? Like, our shiny shells?”
Nia crossed her arms. “Dad, I hope you’re happy. Your firewall just time-warped us into the origin story of capitalism.”
Arlo grinned sheepishly. “In my defense, I never imagined this would happen.”
Lina sighed. “You never imagined? Arlo, you literally built a quantum firewall in a hover-garage. What else were we expecting?!”
From across the field, one of the cavemen noticed them. He pointed, yelling something unintelligible to his companions.
“Uh,” Theo said, taking a step back. “I think they’ve spotted us.”
“Excellent!” Arlo said, clapping his hands. “Let’s introduce ourselves. Maybe we can learn something!”
Nia groaned. “Or maybe they’ll just throw rocks at us. You know, for science.”
The cavemen began approaching, carrying shiny shells and rudimentary tools.
Lina sighed again, long and slow. “Arlo, if they start trading us for shiny shells, I’m throwing you to the wormhole.”
The prehistoric scene came into sharper focus. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something vaguely resembling burning toast. Around them, primitive humans huddled in curiosity—or possibly confusion—at the sudden appearance of the family and their sleek, glowing hover-garage.
Nia groaned, brushing dirt off her jacket. “Great. We’re stuck in history’s low-resolution beta version.”
Theo’s eyes lit up as he pointed to a nearby ridge where something massive with a long neck and an impressive appetite was munching on a tree.
“Guys, is that a dinosaur? Like an actual dinosaur?”
Lina gave Theo a look. “Focus, Theo. We have bigger problems—like where we are, how we got here, and how on Earth your father plans to fix this.”
Arlo, who had been inspecting the hover-garage for damage, turned with his best attempt at confidence. “Well, family, the good news is the garage is still operational. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Nia asked, raising an eyebrow. “Does ‘mostly’ include the glowing vortex that just yeeted us out of the 22nd century?”
Arlo scratched his head. “Minor calibration issue, I’m sure. It’s all part of the learning process! I’d say we’re pioneers—time tourists, if you will.”
One of the primitive humans, the burly man with the pronounced brow, grunted loudly, waving a shiny shell in front of them. He seemed both impressed and mildly concerned about the glowing contraption before him.
Nia squinted. “Uh, is that… a shiny shell? Like the ones in Dad’s history rants?”
The man grunted again, gesturing between the shell and the garage, as if suggesting a trade.
Arlo’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah! This must be the legendary first bartering system! Fascinating! He’s offering us primitive currency in exchange for… well, probably the garage.”
Lina folded her arms. “Arlo, tell me you’re not seriously considering trading away the only thing that can possibly get us back home.”
The man thumped his chest, holding up a second shiny shell for emphasis.
Nia groaned. “Oh no. He’s haggling.”
Theo, completely unfazed, turned to Arlo. “So, if we’re here, does this mean we’re about to witness the invention of taxes? Because I have several questions about who thought that was a good idea.”
Arlo’s face lit up. “Actually, son, this could be a historic moment! The birth of economics! The dawn of shiny-shell-based transactions!”
Nia rolled her eyes. “More like the dawn of bad decisions.”
Suddenly, another primitive human—a lanky figure with wild hair—stepped forward, holding a rock. He raised it high above his head, then, with a dramatic grunt, bonked himself squarely on the noggin.
They froze, unsure of what to make of the display.
“Did he just… hit himself with a rock?” Theo asked, his voice filled with awe.
The burly man pointed at the dazed, now oddly delighted figure, then grunted toward them.
Arlo clapped his hands in delight. “Incredible! We’re witnessing the first trade demonstration! Rock for shiny shell! This is anthropological gold!”
Nia shook her head. “No, Dad. This is prehistoric chaos. He just invented the headache cure.”
The lanky figure groggily handed the rock to the burly man, who in turn dropped a shiny shell into his hand. The crowd erupted in cheers—or perhaps guttural noises of vague enthusiasm.
Lina pinched the bridge of her nose. “Arlo, I think we need to leave before this turns into a TED Talk for cavemen.”
But before Arlo could respond, a younger caveman with an opportunistic gleam in his eye stepped forward. Holding up a shiny shell, he jabbed his finger toward the lanky figure and grunted something that sounded suspiciously like “One shell for every rock.”
Theo’s jaw dropped. “Oh no. He just invented tariffs.”
The crowd turned to the younger caveman, murmuring excitedly—or at least grunting in his direction. Within seconds, several of them were gesturing toward the lanky figure, holding up shiny shells as if waiting their turn to be bonked.
Arlo adjusted his glasses, grinning. “Remarkable! We’re witnessing the first shiny-shell market in action. Supply and demand, folks!”
Nia jabbed a finger toward the vortex generator on the garage. “Dad, we have to shut this down before these people start charging interest on shiny-shell loans.”
Lina grabbed Theo by the arm, pulling him back toward the garage. “Arlo, fix the vortex. Nia, figure out how to reset this thing. Theo, stop encouraging the cavemen!”
The lanky figure raised his rock triumphantly, his business booming. The younger caveman—now clearly the self-proclaimed shiny-shell tax collector—stood off to the side, counting shells with a smug expression.
INSERT: SHELL-SPEAKER PODCAST ACTIVATES HERE
Suddenly, the younger caveman’s shell began to vibrate.
Soft at first.
Then harder.
WHUMMM… WHUMMM… WHUMMMMMMMM.
Nia stepped back. “Dad… that shell is shaking.”
The shell glowed—then blasted open with the volume of a prehistoric megaphone:
🎧 **“WELCOME BACK TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ PREHISTORIC PODCAST!
THE ONLY SHOW EXPLAINING ECONOMICS BEFORE ECONOMICS EXISTS!”**
Every caveman froze mid-grunt.
A dinosaur paused mid-bite.
Theo’s mug trembled in his hand.
Professor Big Yields boomed on:
🎙️ “TODAY’S EPISODE: HOW SHINY SHELLS BECOME REAL MONEY!”
The cavemen gasped.
⭐ “Step 1: People WANT the object.”
“Desire creates value! Shiny shells? Caveman-approved!”
⭐ “Step 2: Everyone AGREES to trade with it.”
“That transforms the shell into a medium of exchange!”
⭐ “Step 3: The object must HOLD value.”
“Shells don’t rot, melt, squish, or explode!
That makes them a store of value!”
⭐ “And when shells measure prices… they become a UNIT OF ACCOUNT!”
Theo whispered, amazed, “Dad… that shell is teaching economics.”
Nia nodded. “Accurately.”
Professor Big Yields thundered:
🎙️ **“REMEMBER! MONEY IS NOT THE OBJECT.
MONEY IS THE AGREEMENT BEHIND IT!”**
A mammoth trumpet blasted.
The shell pinged itself off and fell silent.
As they scrambled to get the vortex system back online, Nia glanced over her shoulder at the scene unfolding before them.
“Great. We’ve invented capitalism, Dad. Hope you’re happy.”
Arlo beamed. “It’s not capitalism, Nia. It’s history! A live lesson in human ingenuity!”
The vortex generator began to hum ominously again, purple light flickering to life. Lina narrowed her eyes at Arlo. “If this thing flings us into another timeline, you’re officially banned from family projects.”
“Noted,” Arlo said, flipping switches with gusto.
As the swirling purple vortex expanded once more, the cavemen stopped their shiny-shell transactions to stare.
Theo grabbed the nearest railing as the garage began to shake. “Uh, does anyone else feel like this thing is spinning faster?”
The vortex roared, pulling the family—and their garage—into the unknown once more
As the swirling purple vortex expanded once more, the cavemen stopped their shiny-shell transactions to stare. Theo grabbed the nearest railing as the garage began to shake. The family—and their garage—were pulled into the unknown once more. They left the Goo Age on the cusp of its first great discovery: Money. Thanks to the professor’s timely (and loud) lecture, the cave dwellers now understood that money is not just a shiny object, but a societal agreement —a medium of exchange, a unit of account, and a store of value. The economic foundation had been laid. The next question was, who would try to own the idea?
Chapter 2: First Contact and Patent Pending
The family trudged cautiously through the prehistoric jungle, their modern shoes sinking into mud as they adjusted to the untamed chaos of the Goo Age.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Theo muttered, swatting at oversized mosquitoes. “The giant bugs or the fact that we’re surrounded by creatures that think ‘goo’ is a currency.”
“Focus,” Lina said, brushing a leaf off her shoulder. “We need to figure out where we are—and who’s in charge.”
Before she could finish, a loud THWACK! echoed through the jungle, followed by a voice shouting, “Blug no agree to this! Blug want refund!”
The family exchanged wary glances and moved toward the sound, peeking out from behind a massive fern. There, in a clearing, stood a burly caveman holding a rock aloft, his chest puffed out with pride.
“Behold!” the caveman bellowed. “Grog cure headache! Grog genius!”
Beside him, a smaller, scowling caveman rubbed his head and winced. “Blug not volunteer for this. Blug still have headache.”
“Grog genius!” the larger caveman repeated, ignoring the protest. He struck a triumphant pose, as if expecting applause.
The family stepped into the clearing, prompting Grog to whirl around. His eyes widened, and he brandished his rock. “Who you? Sky people here to steal Grog’s shiny ideas?”
Nia snorted. “Shiny ideas? What are you, a prehistoric influencer?”
Lina elbowed her. “Be polite.” She turned to Grog. “We’re not here to steal anything. We’re just… visitors. I’m Lina, and this is my family: Arlo, Nia, and Theo.”
Grog eyed them suspiciously but lowered his rock. “Visitors? From where?”
“Uh… far away,” Lina said quickly. “We’re just passing through.”
Arlo, ever the pun enthusiast, stepped forward. “Nice to meet you, Grog. I see you’ve got a knack for cracking problems—literally!” He gestured to the rock in Grog’s hand with a grin.
Grog frowned. “Future dad speak in riddles. Grog not impressed.”
“Join the club,” Theo muttered under his breath.
As the tension eased, the family learned that Grog had declared himself the Goo Age’s first healer, touting his “rock-on-the-head headache cure” as a revolutionary discovery.
“It simple,” Grog explained. “When head hurt, Grog hit head with rock. Pain gone! Grog call it… ‘science.’”
Blug, rubbing his still-aching head, muttered, “Pain not gone. Pain move to other spot.”
“Details!” Grog waved dismissively. “Grog solve problem. Blug just ungrateful.”
Nia folded her arms. “Sounds like your ‘science’ could use some work.”
She examined the goo vat bubbling nearby and quickly whipped up a gel-like formula to enhance Grog’s crude method. The gel, when applied to Blug’s forehead, actually eased his headache.
“Grog genius again!” Grog declared, pointing to the goo. “Grog invent goo cure, too!”
“Excuse me?” Nia said, incredulous. “I literally just made that!”
But Grog wasn’t listening. He had already climbed onto a rock to announce his latest breakthrough to the gathering crowd of cave dwellers. “Grog call it… Goo Health Revolution!”
The excitement was interrupted by the arrival of a wiry caveman with a sly grin. “Hold on!” he shouted, stepping into the clearing. “Grog not inventor. Sneaky invent headache cure first!”
The crowd gasped. Grog scowled. “Sneaky lie! Grog inventor!”
Sneaky pointed dramatically at Grog. “Sneaky throw rock at Grog long ago during mammoth hunt. Grog steal idea! Sneaky want credit!”
The family watched the escalating argument with a mix of amusement and alarm.
“Mom,” Nia whispered, “this is starting to feel like a prehistoric soap opera.”
Lina sighed. “We need to get ahead of this before it turns into full-blown chaos.”
She stepped forward, raising her hands to quiet the crowd. “Everyone, listen! This kind of dispute needs to be settled fairly. I propose we establish a system to protect inventions and ideas—a patent system!”
The cave dwellers exchanged confused looks. “What… patent?” Grog asked, scratching his head.
“It’s like claiming ownership of an idea,” Lina explained. “It ensures no one else can take credit for your work without your permission.”
Grog’s eyes lit up. “Grog like patent! Grog patent rock cure! Grog patent goo! Grog patent Grog!”
As Lina explained the basics of patents, the crowd erupted into a frenzy, each caveman trying to patent random objects. Blug waved a stick covered in goo. “Blug patent sticky stick!” Another caveman held up a shiny rock. “I patent shiny thing!”
PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS PODCAST – EPISODE: “WHO OWNS THE IDEA?”
Blug’s goo-covered stick began to tremble. The shiny rock shook too.
Several shells on the ground started to hum.
Theo stepped back. “Uh… is anyone else hearing that?”
The nearest shell suddenly blared to life like a prehistoric speaker:
“WELCOME BACK TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ PREHISTORIC PODCAST!”
“TODAY’S EPISODE: WHO OWNS THE IDEA? PATENTS IN THE GOO AGE!”
Every caveman froze. Grog clutched his rock. Sneaky clutched his pride.
Professor Big Yields boomed:
“LISTEN UP, INVENTORS AND COPYCATS!
A patent is a promise:
‘This person came up with the idea first.
You cannot copy it and pretend it is yours.’”
Nia glanced at Lina. “Okay, that’s… actually accurate.”
“BUT!” the shell continued.
“Improving someone else’s bad idea is not the same as inventing it.”
“If Sneaky first threw the rock and Grog only polished the method, then Sneaky owns the original idea, and Grog owns an improvement.”
The crowd of cave dwellers murmured, trying to process the concept.
“A healthy economy needs both:
Inventors who create new things.
Improvers who make them better.
But neither gets to steal credit from the other.”
Theo whispered, “This is like a legal drama with sound effects.”
Professor Big Yields wrapped up:
“REMEMBER, GOO AGE LISTENERS:
Patents protect ideas so people keep inventing…
instead of just bonking each other and yelling ‘MINE!’”
The shell pinged and went silent.
Grog blinked slowly. “So… Grog inventor and Sneaky… kind of inventor?”
Sneaky squinted. “Sneaky no like sharing… but Sneaky like credit.”
Lina sighed, but smiled slightly. “That’s… actually the beginning of a functional patent system.”
Amid the chaos, Sneaky stepped forward again, pointing an accusatory finger at Grog. “Sneaky still sue Grog for stealing rock cure idea!”
“Grog not thief!” Grog shouted back. “Grog just… improve Sneaky’s bad idea!”
Lina pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, fine. We’ll settle this in a tribunal.”
“What’s tribunal?” Grog asked.
“It’s like a trial,” Lina said, “where both sides present their case, and someone decides who’s right.”
Grog grinned. “Good! Grog win! Sneaky lose!”
Sneaky smirked. “We see about that.”
The family trudged cautiously through the jungle, their shoes squelching in thick mud. The prehistoric landscape buzzed with unfamiliar sounds—birdlike creatures that seemed part-reptile screeched overhead, and the occasional rustle of bushes made everyone flinch.
“Mom, are we sure we’re not just walking into the mouth of something that wants to eat us?” Theo whispered, his voice low and wary.
Before Lina could respond, a loud THUNK echoed through the jungle.
“Blug say headache cure not work!” came a booming voice, followed by another THUNK.
The family exchanged glances and pushed through the dense underbrush toward the sound. They emerged into a clearing where a hulking caveman stood proudly, brandishing a rock over his head. A smaller, disgruntled caveman, nursing a bump on his forehead, sat on a nearby log.
“See?” the hulking figure proclaimed, gesturing to the smaller caveman. “Blug no longer complain about headache! Rock cure is perfect!”
“Blug still have headache,” the smaller caveman grumbled, rubbing his temple.
Arlo blinked at the scene, a grin spreading across his face. “Wow. Primitive medicine at its finest.”
The larger caveman spun toward them, his eyes narrowing as he saw the family. He raised his rock defensively. “Who are sky people? You here to steal Grog’s genius rock cure?”
Lina stepped forward cautiously, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. “We’re not here to steal anything. I’m Lina, and this is my family. We’re… travelers. From far away.”
Grog lowered his rock slightly but didn’t let his guard down. “Travelers? What you travel with? Sky chariot?”
Nia pointed toward the jungle where their hover-garage was hidden. “Something like that.”
Blug snorted. “Grog think rock cure makes him genius, but maybe sky people here to teach real genius.”
“Blug jealous!” Grog snapped, glaring at him. “Blug wish he think of rock cure first.”
Theo chuckled, leaning toward Nia. “This guy’s ego could use a prehistoric shrink.”
Lina sighed, rubbing her temples. “Alright, fine. We’ll settle this later with the tribunal. But first, we need to understand what’s really happening here.”
Grog crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Grog no need tribunal. Grog and Sneaky settle like true Goo Age warriors.”
Sneaky stepped forward, squinting warily. “What Grog mean? Sneaky no trust rock thief.”
Grog extended a massive hand, his fingers curled into a fist. “We bump fists. Fist bump means peace. Grog share credit—Sneaky no sue.”
Sneaky hesitated, then slowly raised his own fist. The crowd of cave dwellers held their breath as the two cavemen clumsily bumped fists, their movements awkward but sincere.
The crowd erupted into cheers. “Fist bump! Fist bump!” they chanted, raising their own fists in solidarity.
Lina raised an eyebrow at the display. “Well, that’s… one way to resolve a legal dispute.”
Nia smirked. “Prehistoric diplomacy at its finest.”
Theo nudged his sister. “Think we just witnessed the birth of handshake deals?”
Grog turned back to the family, looking smug. “See? Grog make peace. No need tribunal. Now, sky people, come—Grog show why Goo Age in trouble.”
With that, he gestured for them to follow, leading the family toward a crude painting etched onto a nearby boulder. Arlo squinted at the image, tilting his head as if it would make the chaotic scrawl less terrifying.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You’ve got a half-dinosaur, half-machine villain running a prehistoric Ponzi scheme?”
Grog nodded solemnly. “Indeed, sky person. Rex-a-tron controls the flow of purple goo. Without it, our economy—and our way of life—crumbles.”
Nia raised a hand, her brain clearly in overdrive. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me this Rex-a-tron guy is cornering the goo market and charging you interest on loans made of literal slime?”
Grog looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that sums it up. Goo is life, and Rex-a-tron knows this. He even charges us a ‘goo maintenance fee.’ The audacity!”
Theo threw his hands up in exasperation. “Of course! Classic lizard-robot overlord behavior. This is why I don’t trust anything with a ‘tron’ in its name.”
Lina rubbed her temples. “Okay, let’s not panic. We need to focus. Grog, is there any way to stop Rex-a-tron? A weakness? A flaw?”
The cave dwellers exchanged nervous glances. One finally spoke up—a wiry figure holding a dripping goo ladle. “Rex-a-tron is unstoppable. His lair is guarded by laser raptors, and his goo reserves are protected by… the Algorithm.”
“The Algorithm?” Arlo’s face lit up with fascination. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see a prehistoric Algorithm in action! How advanced are we talking? Linear regression or full-blown neural networks?”
Nia shot her dad a look. “Dad, focus. The guy’s running an entire economy like it’s a multiplayer pay-to-win game, and you’re geeking out about algorithms?”
Arlo shrugged. “Hey, you don’t get opportunities like this every day.”
PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS PODCAST – EPISODE: “MONOPOLY & GOO POWER”
A nearby shell, half-buried in goo, started to thrum.
The goo ladle rattled.
Theo winced. “Oh no. Here we go again.”
The shell blasted open with familiar dramatic flair:
“WELCOME BACK TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ PREHISTORIC PODCAST!”
“TODAY’S MINI-EPISODE: MONOPOLY—WHEN ONE LIZARD-BOT OWNS EVERYTHING.”
The cave dwellers crowded around.
“A monopoly happens when ONE seller controls almost ALL of a resource.”
“In Goo Age terms: Rex-a-tron owns the goo, sets the rules, and everyone else just… suffers.”
Nia muttered, “Yep, that tracks.”
“WHY IS THAT A PROBLEM?” Professor Big Yields boomed.
“Because when only one player controls the game, they can:
– Raise prices,
– Add ridiculous ‘maintenance fees,’
– Trap people in debt,
– And crush competition before it even starts.”
Grog frowned deeply. “So Rex-a-tron… bad for goo business?”
“EXACTLY, GROG!” the shell roared.
“A healthy economy works best when there is CHOICE and COMPETITION, not just one shiny metal dinosaur yelling ‘PAY ME.’”
The shell gave a final flourish:
“THIS HAS BEEN PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS.
REMEMBER: IF ONE CREATURE OWNS ALL THE GOO…
YOUR FREEDOM IS ALREADY STUCK.”
The shell pinged and went quiet again.
Theo shuddered. “That was… uncomfortably real.”
Lina nodded. “At least now we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Grog held up a hand to quiet the chatter. “There is one way to defeat Rex-a-tron, but it is dangerous. Foolhardy, even.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You must steal the Prime Goo from his fortress.”
Theo perked up. “Prime Goo? Is that like, the original goo? The goo that started it all?”
Grog nodded gravely. “Yes. The Prime Goo is the source of all our power. With it, we can destabilize Rex-a-tron’s Algorithm and return balance to our economy.”
Lina frowned, her practical instincts kicking in. “And how exactly are we supposed to get past these laser raptors and into the fortress?”
Nia smirked, already formulating a plan. “Well, if Rex-a-tron’s running an Algorithm, that means it’s based on patterns, right? All we have to do is… break the pattern.”
Theo blinked. “Break the pattern? What does that even mean?”
Nia tapped her neural-linked phone, her eyes lighting up as she pulled up a holographic interface. “It means we hack it, Theo. If this thing’s anything like Dad’s firewall, I’m betting it’s all style, no substance.”
Arlo gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Excuse me! My firewall was very substantive!”
“Sure, Dad,” Nia said dryly. “That’s why it yeeted us into the Goo Age.”
Before Arlo could retort, Grog clapped his hands together, silencing the group. “Sky people, if you truly mean to help us, we will guide you to the edge of Rex-a-tron’s territory. But be warned: few who enter return.”
Theo grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Sounds like a challenge. Let’s goo.”
Lina groaned audibly. “Theo, if you start making goo puns, I’m leaving you here.”
“Aw, come on, Mom,” Theo replied, grinning. “You know you’re stuck with me.”
As the family followed Grog and his tribe toward Rex-a-tron’s domain, Nia glanced back at their hover-garage, now surrounded by curious cave dwellers poking at its glowing panels.
“Think it’ll be okay there?” she asked.
Arlo waved dismissively. “It’s fine. What’s the worst they could do—invent garage tariffs?”
The cave dwellers exchanged sly glances, already sketching primitive tax charts on nearby rocks.
The ground trembled beneath them, each mechanical stomp sending ripples through the glowing purple goo scattered across the valley. The family exchanged wide-eyed glances as Rex-a-tron’s shadow stretched toward them, a hulking fusion of prehistoric menace and futuristic flair.
“Is that… a T-Rex with rocket boosters?” Nia asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“Not just any T-Rex,” Theo whispered in awe. “That’s a cybernetic overlord. I take back every conspiracy I doubted.”
The enormous figure stepped into the firelight, revealing its full glory—or horror, depending on your perspective. Rex-a-tron’s massive dinosaur frame gleamed with metallic plating, his glowing red eyes scanning the scene like high-tech lasers. His arms, absurdly small for his body, were outfitted with pincers that whirred ominously. On his chest, a glowing logo read: Goo-gle: Innovating Goo for a Better Tomorrow.
“Greetings, insignificant organisms,” Rex-a-tron bellowed, his voice amplified by an impressive surround-sound speaker system built into his tail. “You are in the presence of greatness. I am Rex-a-tron: visionary, entrepreneur, and the sole proprietor of Goo-gle, the universe’s first and only supplier of premium purple goo products!”
Arlo adjusted his glasses, peering at the cyber-dino like he was trying to solve a fascinating riddle. “Fascinating! He’s branding himself as a tech CEO and a prehistoric overlord. Talk about ambition.”
Lina grabbed his arm, her tone sharp. “Arlo, now is not the time to admire his marketing strategy.”
Nia, still clutching her phone, muttered, “I can’t believe we’re about to get stomped by a walking IPO.”
Rex-a-tron’s red eyes zeroed in on the family. “Ah, more sky people. Have you come to pledge allegiance to the Goo Age’s most successful entrepreneur, or are you here to engage in… competition?”
Theo, clearly unable to resist, shouted back, “We’re here to stop you from exploiting these people with your predatory goo lending practices!”
“Theo!” Lina hissed, glaring at him.
But Rex-a-tron tilted his head, the whirring of his mechanical joints eerily loud. “Exploitation? I call it progress. Without me, these primitives would still be trading rocks for shiny shells. Thanks to my leadership, they have loans, investments, and—” He leaned closer, his massive teeth gleaming in the firelight. “—debt.”
Arlo stepped forward, raising a placating hand. “Now, now, Mr. Tron—may I call you Rex?—I’m sure there’s a more collaborative way to run your operation. Surely you don’t need to terrorize the locals to maintain a thriving goo economy.”
Rex-a-tron’s tail thudded against the ground, making the flames flicker. “Terrorize? I prefer to think of it as… incentivizing compliance. And what, pray tell, do you suggest, puny sky person?”
Arlo opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Nia, who had been frantically analyzing the purple goo on her phone. “Actually, I have a better question,” she said, stepping forward boldly. “If you’re so innovative, why haven’t you figured out how to optimize the goo’s quantum potential? You’re sitting on a goldmine, and you’re too busy hoarding it to realize its full power.”
The cave dwellers peeking from behind boulders gasped collectively, their wide-eyed stares shifting between Nia and Rex-a-tron.
For the first time, Rex-a-tron hesitated, his glowing eyes dimming slightly. “Quantum potential? What nonsense are you spewing, child?”
Nia smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Rexy. You’re afraid to unlock the goo’s true power because then you wouldn’t be the only one controlling it. Right now, it’s just a shiny toy for you to sell. But in the right hands—” She glanced meaningfully at her family. “—it could change everything.”
Theo whispered to Lina, “Is she bluffing?”
Lina crossed her arms. “Probably. But it’s a good bluff.”
Rex-a-tron let out a metallic growl, his pincers twitching. “You dare challenge the Goo-gle empire? Foolish sky people! You will regret this insult.”
Before anyone could react, Rex-a-tron’s tail swung forward, revealing a hidden compartment that launched a barrage of goo grenades. The family scrambled, diving behind the fire pit as the grenades exploded with sticky, glowing splats.
“Sticky grenades?” Theo yelped, pulling a glob of goo from his hair. “This guy’s not messing around!”
Arlo peeked over the fire pit, his face lit with determination. “Family, it’s time to show Rex-a-tron that we’re not just sky people—we’re sky innovators. Nia, what’s the plan?”
Nia grinned, her fingers flying across her phone’s interface. “I’ve got a few ideas. But first, we need to stall him.”
Lina nodded, stepping out from behind the fire pit with her hands raised. “Rex-a-tron, let’s be reasonable. Surely a visionary like yourself wouldn’t waste time on petty revenge when you could be focusing on… market expansion.”
Rex-a-tron paused, his red eyes narrowing. “Market expansion, you say?”
Arlo leaned in toward Nia, whispering, “What are you doing?”
“Buying us time,” she whispered back. “Now let me work before your puns make things worse.”
As Rex-a-tron began monologuing about his plans for galactic goo domination, Nia’s screen lit up with a schematic of the fortress Grog had described. Her grin widened.
“Got it,” she whispered. “If we can hack his central processing unit, we might just turn the tide in this goo war.”
Theo peered over her shoulder. “And by ‘we,’ you mean…?”
Nia glanced up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean me. But you guys can help distract him while I work.”
Lina sighed. “Of course. Distraction duty. Our family specialty.”
Arlo cracked his knuckles. “Well, family, it’s time to put our skills to the test. Let’s show this dino who’s really in charge of the Goo Age.”
As Rex-a-tron’s shadow loomed over them once again, the family sprang into action, their unique blend of chaos and ingenuity ready to take on the prehistoric overlord
Amid the chaos, Sneaky stepped forward again, pointing an accusatory finger at Grog. Lina, exhausted, opted for a simple solution. “We bump fists. Fist bump means peace. Grog share credit—Sneaky no sue,” Grog declared. They had settled the first dispute over patents and ideas , learning that credit must be given, whether for a new invention or an improvement. But their victory was short-lived. Grog soon pointed them toward a far greater problem: the looming shadow of Rex-a-tron, who controlled the very flow of goo , establishing the first-ever Goo Age monopoly. The family prepared for a hostile takeover.
Chapter 3: Grog’s Headache Solution
The family barely had a moment to rest before Grog burst into their cave, clutching a handful of shimmering seashells like they were the keys to the universe.
“Future friends!” Grog announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Grog have big idea!”
Lina sat up, groaning. “Grog, if this idea involves more goo, I swear—”
“No goo!” Grog exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. “This better! Grog find shiny shells. Pretty, yes? But also powerful!”
He dropped the shells in front of them with a dramatic flourish. They glinted in the flickering firelight, catching Nia’s attention immediately.
“Oh. My. Quantum. Grog!” Nia said, her voice filled with awe. “You’ve just invented money! This is, like, prehistoric capitalism! It’s shiny! It’s simple! It’s… kind of genius?”
Arlo leaned over the shells, stroking his chin like an ancient philosopher. “Shells as currency… Hmm. You could say Grog is about to ‘shell out’ a whole new economic system.” He paused, waiting for laughter.
Theo groaned from the corner. “Dad, please stop. These people just discovered fire. Let’s not subject them to your comedy too.”
Undeterred, Arlo grabbed a chunk of charcoal. “No time for critiques, son. Grog, let me show you how your shiny shells could revolutionize prehistoric trade.”
He started sketching on the cave wall, creating a chaotic diagram that somehow included stick-figure traders, piles of shells, and a dinosaur holding a briefcase. “Now, imagine this,” he said, pointing to one particularly confusing part. “Supply and demand. If you have more shells, you—”
Lina interrupted, waving at the confused cave dwellers peeking in from outside. “Arlo, honey, they’re nodding politely, but I’m pretty sure you lost them at ‘supply.’”
Nia stepped in, already pulling out her still-functioning neural-linked phone. “Hold on. I can make this work. We’ll create a ledger—like a blockchain—but instead of Bitcoin, it’s, uh… Shellcoin. We’ll use stone tablets as nodes. It’s totally low-tech and high-tech at the same time!”
As Nia got to work, Grog watched her with wide-eyed wonder. “Sky girl make magic with rocks! Grog approve!”
Theo began stacking shells into neat piles. “This is literally primitive crypto. Except instead of computer mining, we’re, like, digging stuff up from the beach. Honestly? I respect it.”
Lina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. “At least shells don’t explode into goo every time you touch them. This might actually work.”
Word of the shiny shell currency spread faster than the family expected. By the time Nia finished carving the first transactions into stone tablets, dozens of cave dwellers had gathered, eager to trade their goods for the new currency.
Grog stood proudly in the middle of the chaos, clutching a handful of shells like a benevolent overlord. “Grog say trade fair! No cheat! No extra goo fees!”
SHELL PODCAST #1 – “LEDGERS: HOW MONEY REMEMBERS”
One of the shells in Grog’s hand began to vibrate.
Then a second.
Then the whole pile.
They rattled against each other, humming like a tiny chorus.
Theo squinted. “Uh… is that normal shell behavior?”
The biggest shell flashed bright purple and suddenly BOOMED:
“WELCOME BACK TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ PREHISTORIC PODCAST!”
“TODAY’S EPISODE: HOW A LEDGER MAKES YOUR MONEY SMART.”
The cave dwellers froze, mid-trade. Even the fire seemed to listen.
Professor Big Yields continued:
“LISTEN UP, GOO AGE TRADERS!
When you start using shells as money, you need more than trust and shiny things.
You need MEMORY.”
The shell projected a crude glowing image on the cave wall: stick figures swapping shells.
“A ledger is a record.
It tells you:
– Who paid whom,
– How much they paid,
– And when it happened.”
Nia glanced at her carved stone tablets and whispered, “Okay, that’s spot on.”
“WITHOUT A LEDGER,” the shell boomed,
“people can:
– Forget debts,
– Lie about what they paid,
– Or pretend shells came from nowhere.”
The projection flickered to a messy pile of shells with question marks everywhere.
“WITH A LEDGER,
every shell has a story.
That story builds trust.
And trust is what keeps your money system from collapsing like a badly stacked rock pile.”
Grog pointed at the glowing wall. “So stone tablet… is money memory?”
“EXACTLY, GROG!” Professor Big Yields thundered.
“The shells are the money.
The ledger is the brain that remembers what the money did.”
The shell gave a final echo:
“THIS HAS BEEN PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS.
GOO AGE TIP OF THE DAY:
NEVER TRUST A SYSTEM WHERE NOBODY WRITES ANYTHING DOWN.”
The glow faded. The shell dropped back into Grog’s hands with a soft clink.
Theo exhaled. “Okay, I love that shell. It’s terrifying, but I love it.”
Lina nodded. “At least the cave people got the short version of what Nia was trying to explain.
Arlo couldn’t resist jumping in. “And let me explain interest! If you give me your shells now, I’ll give you more shells later. It’s like magic, but with math!”
The crowd stared at him blankly, clearly more interested in the shiny shells than his financial insights.
Nia smirked. “Dad, you might want to ease up on the advanced economics. These people just mastered ‘shiny equals valuable.’”
Lina organized the transactions, ensuring no one got shortchanged. “This is fascinating,” she said as she handed out shells. “It’s like we’re witnessing the dawn of a barter-free society. Though I’m not sure I trust Grog with the concept of fiscal responsibility.”
Theo gestured to the growing crowd. “Hey, Grog seems to be doing fine! I mean, no one’s started a shell tax yet, right?”
A hush fell over the group as one of the cave dwellers—a wiry figure with a suspicious glint in his eye—stepped forward. He cleared his throat dramatically and held up a shiny shell.
“Hear me! For every trade, one shell goes to Grog’s… uh… community fund!”
Arlo clapped his hands together. “Oh, fantastic! You’ve invented taxes!”
Nia groaned. “Great. And here comes the downfall of shell-based utopia.”
SHELL PODCAST #2 – “TAXES: BAD GREED OR SHARED GOOD?”
The wiry caveman’s “community fund” shell started to buzz in his hand.
Then it glowed so brightly he almost dropped it.
The shell bellowed:
“WELCOME AGAIN TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ PREHISTORIC PODCAST!”
“MINI-EPISODE: WHEN A ‘COMMUNITY FUND’ BECOMES A TAX.”
The crowd, already tense, leaned in.
“A tax is when part of every trade is taken and put into a shared pile.”
“This is not automatically evil. It depends on what happens next.”
The projection on the cave wall showed a pile of shells labeled COMMUNITY FUND.
Then it split into two paths:
- Path A: Shared Good – shells turning into fire pits, bridges, and dino-defense fences.
- Path B: Greedy Caveman – one stick figure getting bigger and fatter while everyone else shrank.
“IF THE COMMUNITY FUND PAYS FOR:
– Safety,
– Shared tools,
– Health,
– And things everyone uses…
then taxes are a way to share costs fairly.”
The crowd murmured approvingly.
“BUT IF ONE CAVEMAN SAYS ‘COMMUNITY FUND’
and secretly uses it to buy more hats, more rocks, and more shiny things just for himself…
then that’s not taxation.
That’s theft wearing a costume.”
Theo snorted. “We literally have that in our century.”
“Goo Age rule of thumb,” Professor Big Yields declared,
“If you pay a shell, you should be able to point at something real and say:
‘My shell helped build that.’
If you cannot… ask more questions.”
The shell buzzed one last time:
“THIS HAS BEEN PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS.
REMEMBER: A GOOD TAX BUILDS.
A BAD TAX JUST EMPTIES YOUR POCKETS.”
The shell dimmed and went quiet.
The wiry caveman swallowed. “Uh… maybe we make community fund rules. Very clear rules.”
Lina gave a small smile. “That’s… surprisingly mature.”
Grog frowned. “Grog like fire pits. Grog not like greedy hats.”
Before anyone could protest, the ground rumbled beneath them, and a distant roar cut through the air. The cave dwellers froze, their wide eyes darting toward the sound.
“Rex-a-tron,” Grog whispered, clutching his shells to his chest. “He come. He angry. He hate shiny shells!”
The family exchanged nervous glances as the rumbling grew louder. Nia glanced at her half-finished blockchain. “Uh, Mom? Dad? I think our prehistoric fintech startup might’ve just attracted the wrong kind of attention.”
Arlo grinned nervously. “Well, family, looks like we’re about to meet the prehistoric version of a hostile takeover.”
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Lina’s sharp eyes caught something troubling. She leaned toward Nia, lowering her voice. “Is it just me, or are there fewer shells in circulation than there were this morning?”
Nia frowned, swiping through her digital ledger. “You’re right. According to this, we’re down 20% of the total shell supply. That’s… not normal.”
Before they could investigate, a commotion erupted at the edge of the clearing. A group of cave dwellers sprinted toward them, waving their arms and grunting in alarm. Leading the charge was Blug, Grog’s notoriously greedy neighbor.
“Shell-stealers!” Blug bellowed, his vocabulary miraculously expanding under economic distress. “Big lizard-machine take shells!”
The family exchanged a collective glance. One word escaped their lips in unison: “Rex-a-tron.”
The ground began to quake, and a guttural roar echoed through the valley, accompanied by the unmistakable grinding of gears. From behind a hill, Rex-a-tron’s hulking form appeared, his mechanical jaws clenched around a net bulging with shimmering shells.
“Greetings, architects of primitive liquidity,” Rex-a-tron snarled, his voice an unsettling fusion of guttural growls and corporate buzzwords. “While your efforts to stabilize this rudimentary economy are commendable, I must regretfully initiate a hostile takeover. Consider your shell market… liquidated.”
Nia stepped forward, phone in hand and fire in her eyes. “Not so fast, you overgrown ATM! We’ve got blockchain backing our system!”
Rex-a-tron’s glowing red eyes narrowed as smoke hissed from his vents. “Blockchain? In the Stone Age? Impressive. But irrelevant. My superior algorithms have already rendered your efforts obsolete!”
As Rex-a-tron lumbered closer, Arlo noticed something unusual. The towering hybrid seemed to twitch and stutter whenever he muttered one of his infamous puns. A mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Hey, Rex-a-tron!” Arlo called out. “Why did the prehistoric banker fail? Because he kept putting all his eggs in one basket of shells!”
Rex-a-tron froze mid-step. His circuits buzzed and popped, smoke curling from his metallic frame. “Error… error… humor incompatible with evil algorithm…”
Arlo grinned, emboldened. “Oh, I’ve got more! What do you call a dinosaur with bad credit? Tyrannosaurus Wrecks!”
Rex-a-tron convulsed, sparks flying from his joints. “Overload… incompatible data…”
Sensing their chance, Lina turned to the gathered cave dwellers. “Now’s the time! Reclaim your shells!”
With an eruption of battle cries and improvised weapons, the cave people charged. Sticks and rocks flew, shells rained down like meteors, and in the chaos, Rex-a-tron’s net of stolen shells ripped open, scattering the shiny treasures across the clearing.
The hybrid tyrant staggered, his speakers sputtering, “Liquidation… incomplete… retreat… initiated.” With a final sputtering roar, Rex-a-tron turned tail, smoke trailing from his damaged circuits as he disappeared into the jungle.
The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of cave dwellers collecting their scattered shells. Grog approached the family, his wide grin showing unabashed admiration. “Future friends save day! Save shells! Grog thank you.”
Nia smirked, high-fiving Theo. “All in a day’s work, Grog. Just remember, diversify your assets. No more putting all your goo in one basket!”
The cave dwellers cheered, even if most of them didn’t understand a word.
Theo nudged his sister, lowering his voice. “You know, we might’ve just invented the prehistoric version of SeaShellCoin. Think about what we’ve done to the timeline.”
Lina overheard, shaking her head. “If I see ‘shell-based crypto’ trending when we get back, we’re pinning it on Dad.”
Arlo grinned. “Come on, honey. At least I’ve proven that humor really is a powerful tool.”
Nia rolled her eyes. “Sure, Dad. You defeated an evil algorithm with dad jokes. Let’s call it a win and move on.”
As the sun set on the Goo Age, the family retreated to their cave. But their respite was short-lived. The distant glow of purple goo in the night hinted that Rex-a-tron wasn’t their only problem—and the mystery of the goo was just beginning
With a final sputtering roar, Rex-a-tron turned tail, smoke trailing from his damaged circuits as he disappeared into the jungle. The family had saved the shiny shells, reinforcing the nascent shell economy and the idea that shared ledgers build trust. They also taught the cavemen that a tax can be a tool for shared good, not just greedy theft. The family was riding a wave of victory. But as the sun set on the Goo Age, the distant glow of purple goo in the night hinted that Rex-a-tron wasn’t their only problem —and their success would surely attract a more dangerous corporate counter-attack.
Chapter 4: The Birth of Economics
Arlo stood proudly, holding a crudely drawn chart on a slab of rock. “Interest rates! It’s simple. You give me a shell today, and I’ll give you two shells next week. It’s like magic, but with numbers!”
The family exchanged exasperated looks.
“Arlo,” Lina said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you’ve just invented debt. In the Goo Age. Do you really think that’s what these people need right now?”
Several nearby cave dwellers, who had no idea what “interest rates” were but absolutely understood “two shells later,” leaned in with wide eyes.
Before Arlo could defend his groundbreaking idea, the conch shell he was using as a pointer vibrated in his hand.
It glowed purple.
Then it BOOMED:
“WELCOME BACK TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ GOO AGE PODCAST!”
“TODAY’S TOPIC: WHAT IS DEBT… AND WHY YOUR FUTURE SELF CARES.”
The cave dwellers gasped and dropped three other shells on the ground. Even Grog flinched.
The conch projected a glowing picture on the nearest rock wall: a stick figure with one shell now, and a future version of the same figure handing back more shells later.
“LISTEN UP, GOO AGE LISTENERS!” Professor Big Yields thundered.
“DEBT MEANS:
– You take something now—like shells, food, or goo—
– And you promise to give it back later…
– PLUS something extra. That extra is called interest.”
The image shifted: PRESENT Grog holding 3 shells from someone else; FUTURE Grog sweating as he hands back 4.
“INTEREST IS THE PRICE YOU PAY FOR NOT WAITING.”
“If you borrow 3 shells today and agree to pay back 4 shells later, that 1 extra shell is the interest. It is the cost of time.”
Theo whispered, “Okay, that’s actually perfect.”
“DEBT CAN HELP,” the shell continued,
“if you:
– Borrow to build something useful,
– Have a plan to pay it back,
– And do not borrow more than future-you can handle.”
The image flickered to two paths:
- On one side: a cave town with better tools, a bridge, and happy stick figures returning shells calmly.
- On the other: a tiny Grog buried under a mountain of shells labeled DEBT, with a big toothy Rex-a-tron looming above.
“BUT IF YOU BORROW TOO MUCH,” Professor Big Yields boomed,
“you trap your future self.
Future-you has to work, trade, and worry just to repay past-you’s choices.”
The shell hummed more softly now:
“Goo Age rule of thumb:
– If you do not know how you will repay,
– Or when,
– Or with what…
do not borrow.
That is not a plan. That is a nap in a tar pit.”
The glow faded. The shell cooled and went quiet.
Grog slowly lowered his hand. “So… debt is like making promise for future Grog to work extra?”
Lina nodded. “Exactly, Grog. Present you borrows. Future you pays.”
“Grog not sure future Grog will be happy,” Grog muttered.
“Welcome to economics,” Theo said.
Before Arlo could say, “But think of the possibilities,” a low rumble shook the ground. All eyes turned toward the source: Rex-a-tron, advancing with all the subtlety of a meteor strike.
“New economy… unsustainable,” Rex-a-tron roared, his glowing eyes scanning the bustling shell market. “Goo-based monopoly… must prevail. Initiating… hostile takeover.”
“That can’t be good,” Theo muttered, backing up as Rex-a-tron’s metallic claws snapped threateningly.
Nia grabbed her phone, frantically typing. “Okay, okay, think. If he’s driven by some kind of corporate AI logic, maybe we can crash his system.”
Arlo perked up. “You mean, like… confuse him with a logical paradox?”
Nia nodded. “Exactly. But we’ll need a distraction first. Something big, something…”
She trailed off, staring at Grog, who was inspecting a large pile of shiny shells with childlike glee.
“Grog!” Nia shouted, rushing over. “How would you like to be a hero?”
Grog blinked, clutching his shells protectively. “Hero? Grog not have cape. Grog have shells.”
“Even better,” Nia said, grinning. “You have lots of shells. And I need you to challenge Rex-a-tron to a trade-off.”
Grog’s eyes widened. “Trade… with lizard-machine? Grog not crazy.”
Lina stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Grog, if you don’t stand up to him, he’ll take all the shells. Do you really want Rex-a-tron controlling everything?”
After a moment of hesitation, Grog nodded. “Grog stand tall. Grog trade.”
The marketplace fell silent as Grog stepped forward, holding up a gleaming conch shell.
“Big lizard-machine!” Grog bellowed, his voice carrying across the clearing. “Grog trade shells. You trade goo. Fair deal!”
Rex-a-tron froze, his red eyes narrowing as he processed the challenge. “Trade? Illogical. Goo… superior resource. Shells… primitive.”
Arlo leaned toward Nia. “What now? He doesn’t seem interested.”
Nia grinned, still typing furiously. “Just wait. I’m about to hit him with the ultimate logic bomb.”
She tapped a final command into her phone and shouted, “Hey, Rex-a-tron! If goo is superior to shells, but you still need shells to buy things, doesn’t that make shells superior to goo?”
The hybrid dinosaur paused, his mechanical joints creaking as his head twitched to one side. “Error… conflicting data. Goo… superior. Shells… superior. Cannot… compute.”
Theo jumped in, emboldened. “And if you monopolize goo but everyone’s trading shells, doesn’t that mean you’ve already lost the market?”
Smoke began rising from Rex-a-tron’s vents. “Error… market share declining… profitability compromised… system crash imminent…”
Arlo, never one to miss an opportunity, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Rex-a-tron! Why don’t you go diversify your portfolio!”
With a final, furious roar, Rex-a-tron’s circuits overloaded, sparks flying from his frame. He stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the marketplace as he retreated into the jungle, trailing smoke and static.
The cave dwellers erupted in cheers, hoisting Grog onto their shoulders as their unlikely hero. “Grog save shells!” they chanted, parading him around the clearing.
Nia slumped against a rock, grinning. “We did it. We actually beat a robo-dino capitalist with bad jokes and basic logic. Go us.”
Lina wasn’t as convinced. She crossed her arms, surveying the celebrating crowd. “Sure, we won today. But what happens next? They’re building an entire economy around shells. What happens when the supply runs out?”
Arlo, still riding the high of victory, waved her off. “Lina, you’re overthinking it. This is history in the making! What could possibly go wrong?”
Theo raised a hand. “Uh, I can think of a few things. Inflation, shell theft, maybe even a prehistoric stock market crash…”
Nia’s phone beeped, drawing her attention. Her eyes widened as she read the results of her latest goo analysis. “Guys,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “We might have a bigger problem. The goo… it’s not just a resource. It’s alive.”
The family stared at her, the weight of her discovery sinking in as the celebration continued around them.
Arlo stood proudly by the fire, oblivious to the growing tension as he scribbled seashell-related equations into the dirt. “Compound interest! It’s like planting a tree and watching it grow into a forest of… shells!”
Grog, clutching his pouch of shells, stared blankly. “Grog not need forest. Grog need sleep.”
Lina rubbed her temples. “Arlo, I think you’ve officially confused a man who still thinks fire is a miracle. Maybe it’s time to stop… innovating.”
Before Arlo could answer, the shell he was using as a paperweight buzzed.
Purple light spilled over the dirt equations.
“YOU’RE LISTENING TO PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS’ NIGHT EDITION!”
“TOPIC: COMPOUND INTEREST – WHEN NUMBERS GROW LIKE JUNGLE VINES.”
Theo muttered, “Oh no. He’s back.”
The shell projected a tiny glowing sapling on the cave wall: one little shell at its base.
“SIMPLE INTEREST,” Professor Big Yields boomed,
“is when you earn the same amount every time.
Example: You get 1 extra shell every season on your pile of 5.
5… 6… 7… 8… It grows in a straight line.”
The picture showed shells stacking in neat, even steps.
“COMPOUND INTEREST,” he continued,
“is when your interest earns interest too.
The pile does not just grow.
It accelerates.”
The glow shifted: now each season, the shell pile grew faster and taller, curving upward like a vine spiraling around a tree.
“IF YOU ARE THE SAVER,” he said,
“compound interest is a superpower.
Time becomes your ally.
Waiting turns small shells into big ones.”
A tiny stick figure labeled Patient Saver watched their shells multiply almost on their own.
“BUT IF YOU ARE THE BORROWER,” the shell’s voice dropped,
“compound interest can become a trap.
When you owe shells, and the interest on your debt earns more interest,
your shell-mountain grows faster than you do.”
Now a stick figure labeled Sleepy Borrower was shown buried under a rapidly exploding pile of shells.
Grog’s eyes widened. “So… if Grog borrow many shells and forget… shells grow bigger? On Grog’s head?”
“EXACTLY, GROG!” Professor Big Yields thundered.
“GOOD RULE FOR GOO AGE:
– Let compound interest work for you when you save.
– Do not let it work against you when you borrow.”
The shell dimmed, leaving the forest-of-shells drawing still glowing faintly on the wall.
“Okay,” Theo said softly. “That one I’m definitely remembering.”
Nia looked at Grog. “See? Debt plus time can either grow you a forest… or bury you under it.”
“Grog choose… small forest,” Grog decided. “No bury Grog.”
Lina sighed, but a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “That’s probably the smartest thing anyone has said all day.”
Arlo pouted but didn’t argue. As the family huddled closer to the fire, the glow flickered ominously, matching the unease in their hearts.
Nia’s voice broke the silence. “Mom’s right. We’re playing with forces we don’t fully understand. This isn’t just about economics—it’s about the timeline. If we change too much, we could come back to a world that’s unrecognizable.”
Theo, wide-eyed and brimming with theories, added, “Or worse, what if we don’t come back at all? What if by inventing economics, we, like… accidentally delete ourselves?”
Arlo waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. That’s textbook sci-fi paranoia. Besides, if we’re erased, at least we won’t have to deal with tax season!”
“Not helping, Dad,” Nia said, shooting him a glare.
Before anyone could respond, a booming voice shattered the night.
“Attention… primitive… market participants!”
All heads turned toward the nearby hill, where Rex-a-tron stood silhouetted against the moonlight, his metallic frame gleaming and his eyes glowing a sinister red.
“Rex-a-tron… announce… hostile takeover!” he bellowed, his voice a mix of guttural grunts and corporate jargon. “Will… corner… goo… and… shell… markets!”
Nia’s jaw dropped. “Is he seriously trying to monopolize both currencies? That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”
“Brilliant?” Lina hissed. “That’s catastrophic!”
Arlo, ever the optimist, couldn’t resist. “Looks like we’re in for a bear market. Or should I say… a T-Rex market?”
The collective groan from his family was drowned out by Rex-a-tron’s heavy stomping as he descended the hill.
“Goo… superior currency!” Rex-a-tron continued, his voice echoing across the valley. “Shells… unstable. Must… eliminate competition.”
Theo leaned toward Nia, his voice barely a whisper. “What do we do? He’s got size, tech, and a really aggressive marketing strategy.”
Nia tapped furiously on her neural-linked phone. “We fight back. If he’s running on corporate logic, we just need to outsmart him. Maybe crash his algorithm with paradoxes or conflicting data.”
Arlo perked up. “Ooh, logic bombs! I love it!”
Lina shot him a look. “Great. You two brainstorm that. Theo and I will try to rally the cave dwellers. If Rex-a-tron wants a hostile takeover, we’re giving him a prehistoric rebellion.”
The family sprang into action, dividing their tasks with a surprising amount of efficiency given the circumstances.
Lina and Theo moved through the marketplace, gathering cave dwellers who looked ready to defend their newfound shell economy. Using exaggerated gestures and a combination of Arlo’s earlier cave paintings, they conveyed the stakes: fight back or lose everything.
Meanwhile, Nia and Arlo worked feverishly at the edge of the camp. Nia’s fingers flew across her holographic interface, building a crude simulation of Rex-a-tron’s algorithm. Arlo offered moral support, mostly in the form of terrible puns.
“Do you think he’s running on a freemium model?” he asked.
“Dad,” Nia muttered through gritted teeth, “if you keep talking, I’m charging you a shell for every bad joke.”
“Touché.”
Grog, ever loyal, stood guard with a club in one hand and a shiny shell in the other. “Grog ready! Grog smash!”
“That’s the spirit!” Arlo said, patting him on the shoulder.
By the time Rex-a-tron reached the marketplace, the family and their newfound allies were ready. The clearing was lit by fires, and cave dwellers lined up with improvised weapons: clubs, slings, and, in one case, a very angry goat.
“Market… must comply,” Rex-a-tron growled, his red eyes scanning the crowd. “Resistance… futile.”
Nia stepped forward, her phone held high. “Futile? We’ve got data on our side, Rexy. How’s your algorithm going to handle… this?”
She tapped a command, and a holographic display of conflicting financial data appeared in the air. Shells, goo, and nonsensical stock charts whirled together in a dizzying array.
“Shells… goo… priority conflict detected…” Rex-a-tron stuttered, his movements jerky as he tried to process the data.
Arlo, sensing an opening, stepped forward with a gleam in his eye. “Hey, Rex-a-tron! Why did the goo investor get cold feet? Because his assets were too liquid!”
Rex-a-tron twitched violently, sparks flying from his joints. “Error… humor incompatible… market destabilized…”
Lina rallied the cave dwellers. “Now! Take back your shells!”
The crowd surged forward, pelting Rex-a-tron with everything they could grab: rocks, shells, handfuls of goo. Grog led the charge, yelling, “Grog not let shiny shells go!”
Amid the chaos, Theo hurled a particularly large shell at Rex-a-tron’s chest, hitting what appeared to be a control panel. Sparks flew, and the robotic dinosaur let out one final, glitchy roar.
“Market… liquidation… imminent…”
With a resounding crash, Rex-a-tron toppled over, his glowing eyes flickering and dimming. The marketplace erupted in cheers as the cave dwellers celebrated their victory.
As the dust settled, the family gathered around the fallen Rex-a-tron. Nia inspected his remains, muttering, “That was too easy. Something’s not right.”
Lina frowned. “What do you mean?”
Nia held up a piece of glowing circuitry. “This. It’s not just a power source—it’s a transmitter. Someone—or something—was controlling him remotely.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “You mean there’s more of these things?”
Arlo clapped his hands. “Well, that’s a problem for future us! For now, let’s enjoy the victory.”
Lina sighed. “Arlo, future us might not exist if we don’t figure this out.”
The family exchanged uneasy glances as the cave dwellers resumed their trade. The birth of economics had been messy, chaotic—and it was far from over.
The cave dwellers erupted in cheers, hoisting Grog onto their shoulders. The family had defeated the robo-dino capitalist with a mix of logic and terrible jokes. They’d taught the critical lesson of debt and the exponential danger of compound interest. But Lina was still worried about the long-term future of the shell economy. Nia confirmed her fear: the goo was not just a resource; “it’s alive”. The triumph was cut short by the realization that they were battling not just bad economics, but a potentially destructive, living force.
Chapter 5: Rex-a-tron’s Master Plan
The purple goo simmered inside the colossal stone-tech vat, bubbling like an angry pot of pudding about to explode. Its glow painted the chamber in unsettling pulses, each one syncing disturbingly well with Rex-a-tron’s mechanical growls.
Arlo whispered, “That vat is humming in 4/4 time.”
Theo shuddered. “That’s not music, Dad. That’s doom.”
Before anyone could reply, a SHELL SPEAKER wedged between two stalagmites crackled to life. A booming voice erupted from it with the audio subtlety of an asteroid collision.
“THIS IS PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS—WELCOME BACK TO THE SHELLCAST! TODAY’S TOPIC: MARKET POWER AND HOW IT CAN CRUSH YOUR SOUL!”
Lina flinched. “Oh no. Not him again.”
The professor’s voice blared on, vibrating dust from the ceiling:
“REMEMBER, IF ONE ENTITY CONTROLS ALL GOO, ALL SHELLS, AND ALL ACCESS TO RESOURCES—CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’RE LIVING UNDER A MONOPOLY! DO NOT RECOMMEND!”
Nia covered her ears. “He’s so loud.”
Theo nodded. “Feels like my brain is being audited.”
The ShellCast cut out sharply as Rex-a-tron stomped into view, steam hissing from vents along his neck.
“Professor Big Yields,” he snarled, “is an outdated economist with inferior analytics. MY monopoly will be flawless.”
He spread his cybernetic arms wide. “Behold, humans! My Quantum-Goo Production System™—capable of controlling every timeline’s resources! I will dominate trade, ideas, and demand. I will be CEO… of all existence.”
Arlo blinked. “He’s basically trying to become the universe’s landlord.”
“LANDLORD SUPREMACY ACHIEVED,” Rex-a-tron boomed proudly.
Lina muttered, “Great. We’re being bossed around by a tyrannical real-estate-dinosaur-robot.”
The Distraction Plan
The Zhang—no, Zhang–Arlo family, as the Goo Age now called them—huddled beside a pile of glowing lexicons Rex-a-tron used as décor.
“Maya!—”
“Dad, it’s Nia.”
“Nia!—can you shut this thing down?”
Nia scanned the panel, her neural interface flickering. “Maybe. But I need a distraction. Something massive.”
Arlo turned to Theo.
Theo pointed at their father. “He means your jokes.”
Arlo gasped. “My puns are not a weapon.”
Lina sighed. “Honey. They absolutely are.”
Arlo puffed up his chest. “Fine. I shall unleash… the Dad-Joke Protocol.”
He stepped forward, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“HEY, REX-A-TRON! WHAT DO YOU CALL A DINOSAUR WITH AN MBA?
A TY-RANNO-SAURUS-REVENUE!”
Rex-a-tron froze. “Humor detected. Processing. Incompatibility warning.”
Nia’s eyes widened. “It’s working—Dad, fire again!”
Theo shoved Arlo forward. “Finish him, Dad! Use the forbidden ones!”
Arlo raised a triumphant finger.
“What’s a T-Rex’s least favorite market structure?
COMPETITION!”
Rex-a-tron twitched. “Error. Logic conflict. Monopoly narrative compromised.”
Lina joined in, shouting:
“HEY REXY—YOUR MARKET POWER IS SO OUTDATED IT STILL USES DIAL-UP!”
The robot-dino spasmed violently. “DIAL-UP—REFERENCE—UNAUTHORIZED—REBOOTING—NO—STOP—”
The Hack
Nia darted to the console.
“It’s locked behind a quantum timestamp,” she muttered. “He’s using an algorithm that adjusts to scarcity.”
Theo scratched his head. “Like surge pricing for dinosaur tyranny?”
“Exactly.”
She typed faster, her screen flickering. “If I overload his market logic—make shells AND goo surge AND collapse at the same time—it’ll trigger a recursive meltdown.”
Theo blinked. “Sounds safe.”
“It’s not.”
“Cool.”
Inside the vat, the goo began vibrating so violently the surface formed spikes—like it was trying to climb out.
Arlo glanced over. “Is the goo… angry?”
Nia shook her head. “Goo can’t get angry. It’s a resource.”
Theo whimpered. “Are you sure?”
No one answered.
The Monopolist Crashes
Rex-a-tron roared, smoke pouring from every panel.
“You cannot defeat me! I am market power immeasurable! I AM THE ECONOMY!”
Arlo shouted back, “You’re a dinosaur sized exploit in an economics textbook, that’s what you are!”
Theo yelled, “Hit him again, Dad! Use the pun you swore never to say!”
Lina’s eyes widened. “Arlo… not that one.”
Arlo nodded grimly. “It’s time.”
He stepped forward, voice solemn:
“HEY REX-A-TRON…
WHY DID THE MARKET CROSS THE ROAD?”
Rex-a-tron growled, “Do not.”
Arlo yelled:
“TO GET AWAY
FROM
PRICE-FIXING DINOSAURS!”
Rex-a-tron shrieked. Circuits burst. The goo vat cracked.
“ERROR—MARKET FAILURE—COMPLETE—SYSTEM—OVERRUN—MONOPOLY—DESTABILIZING—”
BOOM.
The vat exploded in a geyser of glowing purple. Goo coated the cavern. Rex-a-tron roared one last time before collapsing in a heap of glitching metal.
Aftermath
Grog rushed in, slip-sliding through goo. “Future people destroy metal tyrant! Goo-monopoly no more!”
Arlo wiped sludge off his face. “We did not destroy him. We caused… a hostile de-merger.”
Lina stared at him. “Please stop.”
Cave dwellers erupted in cheers.
Professor Big Yields’ shell speaker crackled again:
“REMEMBER, GOO AGE LISTENERS—MARKET POWER IS DANGEROUS! IF ONE ENTITY CONTROLS PRODUCTION, PRICES BECOME WHATEVER THEY SAY! STAY DIVERSIFIED!”
Theo looked at his siblings. “He’s intense, but he’s right.”
Nia stepped toward the remains of Rex-a-tron. “Guys… look.”
A glowing core pulsed inside the broken frame—still active.
She held up her device. “His data banks survived. If I can decode this… I might be able to reverse the time-warp effect.”
Arlo beamed. “We can finally go home?”
Nia hesitated. “Maybe. But this goo—it’s not just a resource. It has quantum behavior. If we use it wrong, we could tear the timeline apart.”
Lina sighed. “Wonderful. So we’re building a time machine with unstable pudding.”
Theo whispered, “I love this family… but also I’m terrified.”
The goo burbled ominously behind them.
Nia swallowed hard. “Okay. Let’s fix the timeline… before it fixes us.”
The vat exploded in a geyser of glowing purple. Rex-a-tron was defeated—a cautionary tale of what happens when one entity controls all market power. Nia held up the glowing core from the wreckage : “His data banks survived. If I can decode this… I might be able to reverse the time-warp effect”. But the goo’s quantum behavior meant using it incorrectly could “tear the timeline apart”. The family’s final mission was clear: neutralize the unstable power and stabilize the economy before attempting the final jump home.
Chapter 6: The Great Shell Heist
Nia stood at the entrance of the family’s makeshift cave headquarters, her neural-linked phone projecting a holographic map against the rugged stone.
“Alright, Team Future,” she announced, her voice brimming with determination. “Operation: Shell Shock is officially a go. Time to clean up the mess and make history.”
Lina, ever the voice of reason, raised an eyebrow. “Are we sure this won’t break the space-time continuum even more than it already is?”
“Relax, Mom,” Theo said, dangling upside-down from a low-hanging branch just outside the cave, his tone as casual as ever. “Rex-a-tron’s out of the picture. This is just about redistributing shells and stopping any leftover goo-fueled disasters.”
Arlo, now sporting a scruffy caveman beard and a belt made of woven vines, adjusted it with a flourish. “Well, I guess you could say we’re about to shell-abrate progress.”
The collective groan from his family was loud enough to scatter nearby birds.
Stabilising the Shell Economy
With Rex-a-tron’s demise, the cave dwellers found themselves suddenly independent—and completely confused. His goo monopoly had dissolved, but without guidance, the fragile shiny-shell economy teetered on the edge of chaos.
Nia, as usual, had a plan.
“We need to stabilise things before we leave,” she said, crouching near a large flat rock to sketch out her idea. She began carving interconnected pictographs that formed a rudimentary ledger. “This will help keep track of trades and make sure no one hoards all the shells again.”
Grog knelt beside her, tilting his head in confusion. “Future girl make magic pictures?”
Nia grinned. “Not magic, Grog. It’s a shell ledger—a record of who gives what and who gets what. Think of it as… rock-tablet receipts for shells.”
A nearby shell speaker crackled to life.
“THIS IS PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS,” boomed the familiar voice. “WELCOME BACK TO THE GOO AGE SHELLCAST!”
Grog jumped. Theo nearly fell out of the tree.
Professor Big Yields thundered on:
“LISTEN UP, SHINY-SHELL HOLDERS! WHEN YOU WRITE DOWN EVERY TRADE IN A SHARED LEDGER, YOU ARE DOING THREE THINGS:
ONE: TRACKING WHO OWNS WHAT.
TWO: MAKING CHEATING MUCH HARDER.
THREE: STOPPING ANY ONE GOO-BRAIN FROM SECRETLY TAKING ALL THE VALUE.”
The shell speaker fizzled and went quiet again.
Grog blinked at Nia. “Big Loud Shell Man say ledger good. Grog trust ledger.”
“That’s the spirit,” Nia said. “It’s like a baby version of a blockchain. Many rock-nodes, same story. No Rex-a-tron to change the numbers in secret.”
Meanwhile, Lina organised a coordinated shell redistribution, rallying the cave dwellers to deposit their excess shells into a communal reserve.
“Remember,” she explained, her tone calm but commanding, “if we all share resources, no one gets left behind—and no one turns into another Rex-a-tron.”
The burly caveman Blug, still holding a grudge from earlier, muttered, “But Blug like shiny shells.”
Lina gave him a look so sharp it could have sliced a mammoth bone.
“Blug also like eating, yes?” she asked evenly. “If Rex-a-tron comes back and takes everything, no shells, no food, no Goo Age. This way, the community is safer.”
Blug hesitated, then grudgingly dropped a handful of shells into the reserve. “Fine. Blug share. But Blug not like it.”
“Congratulations,” Theo whispered to Nia. “You just watched the birth of a social safety net.”
Interest, Growth, and Confusion
While Nia worked on the ledger, Arlo entertained the cave dwellers with his usual flair. He gestured dramatically to the gathered crowd.
“Alright, everyone, let’s talk about the magic of compound interest. You give me one shell today, and in a month, I’ll give you two shells back!”
The cave dwellers blinked in unison. One raised a hand. “Why not just keep shell?”
Arlo faltered. “Well… it’s about growth! Investment! You know, future shells!”
Lina, overhearing, sighed and stepped in.
“Interest means you lend your shell,” she explained. “Later you get more shells back. But if the wrong person is in charge, they can trap you in debt—always owing more shells than you have. That is how predators act like Rex-a-tron: they promise growth, but they take your freedom.”
The shell speaker crackled again.
“THIS IS PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS,” boomed the voice. “PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: INTEREST CAN HELP PEOPLE GROW THEIR WEALTH—BUT TOO MUCH INTEREST CAN TURN INTO A TRAP CALLED DEBT SLAVERY. ALWAYS ASK: WHO GAINS MORE—THE BORROWER OR THE LENDER?”
The shell clicked off with a pop.
Grog frowned. “So… small interest good, too much interest bad?”
“Exactly,” Nia said. “Like goo. A little bit can power a garage. Too much, and it explodes your timeline.”
“Grog understand,” he said slowly. “Shiny shells must not become shiny chains.”
Goo Neutralisation
As the family worked, Theo climbed to his usual treetop perch, keeping watch.
“No sign of any new threats,” he called down. “But the goo vat’s still glowing. That can’t be good.”
Nia, now done carving the first set of ledger stones, turned toward the bubbling purple goo.
“The goo’s quantum properties are still active,” she said, her brow furrowed. “If we leave it unchecked, it could destabilise this entire timeline.”
Lina frowned. “So what do we do? We can’t take it all with us.”
“We neutralise it,” Nia said firmly. “Rex-a-tron’s research showed how to suppress its energy. I just need time to implement the protocol.”
Arlo nodded. “Everyone else, goo-control and crowd-control. I’ll handle… morale.”
“Please don’t,” Theo murmured.
As the family worked to secure the goo and stabilise the economy, the cave dwellers gathered to express their gratitude.
Grog approached Nia, holding a crude tablet carved with symbols. “You take this. Show future. Tell story of Grog and shiny shells.”
Nia smiled, accepting the gift. The carving showed Grog, his tribe, the family, shells, goo vats, and a very exaggerated Rex-a-tron falling over.
“Thanks, Grog,” she said softly. “Don’t worry—your story won’t be forgotten.”
With the ledger network active, the goo neutralised, and the shell reserve organised, the family regrouped at their hover-garage. As the vehicle hummed to life, powered by the last controlled trickle of goo, Lina took one last look at the Goo Age valley.
“Let’s go home,” she said, her voice resolute.
Arlo grinned as the vehicle’s lights flared. “Well, I guess you could say we’re about to make history… again.”
Cleanup, Again
The air still crackled with residual energy from the battle, and the faint smell of burnt circuits lingered as the family regrouped outside Rex-a-tron’s ruined lair. The robo-dinosaur lay in a smoking heap of twisted metal, his glowing red eyes long extinguished. Around them, the cave dwellers celebrated wildly, dancing and tossing their reclaimed shells into the air.
“Alright,” Lina said, her voice cutting through the chaos. “We’ve stopped Rex-a-tron, but this timeline is still a mess. Let’s clean it up before we head home.”
Nia nodded, already inspecting the battered hover-garage. “I’ll start integrating the goo into the power systems. Theo, can you help Mom secure the vats so they don’t cause more trouble?”
Theo saluted dramatically. “Operation: Goo Patrol—activated!”
As Nia worked, the cave dwellers swarmed the Shell Reserve, hoisting their reclaimed treasures with triumphant cheers. Grog, leading the charge, bellowed, “No more goo taxes! Grog say shiny shells for all!”
Arlo stood nearby, a proud grin on his face. “Well, it seems the Goo Age just got its very own Independence Day. Or should I say… In-shell-pendence Day?”
Lina groaned. “Arlo, not now.”
Undeterred, Arlo turned to Grog. “You’ve done well, my prehistoric friend. Just remember, economics works best when everyone shares the load and nobody owns everything.”
Grog frowned, scratching his head. “Future dad speak confusing words again. Grog just want shiny shells and no giant metal lizard.”
“Close enough,” Arlo said with a shrug.
Risk & Responsibility
Inside Rex-a-tron’s lair, the eerie glow of the remaining purple goo reflected off jagged stone walls. Lina and Theo worked quickly, siphoning the goo into a makeshift container.
“This stuff is definitely unstable,” Lina said, carefully sealing the container. “If even a drop gets loose in the wrong way, it could cause serious problems.”
“Like… timeline-destroying problems?” Theo asked, wide-eyed.
Lina nodded grimly. “Exactly. Some resources are too powerful to leave lying around without rules.”
Outside, Nia finished rewiring the hover-garage’s circuits. She wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, stepping back as the vehicle hummed to life.
“Alright, it’s ready,” she said. “Let’s load up and get out of here before we accidentally invent another cryptocurrency.”
The family regrouped, and Grog approached with another stone tablet etched in crude but heartfelt detail. This one showed the family riding their glowing “sky cave” into the air.
“You take,” Grog said solemnly, handing the tablet to Nia. “Show future. Tell story of future friends who beat goo taxes.”
Nia smiled, placing the tablet inside the hover-garage. “Thanks, Grog. Your story’s definitely making history.”
As they prepared to leave, Arlo addressed the crowd.
“It’s been a pleasure, everyone! Stay shell-ficient, stay goo-riffic, and remember—never trust a robo-dino CEO!”
The groans from his family were drowned out by the cheering cave people.
With one final wave, the family climbed into the hover-garage. The vehicle’s lights flared as the purple goo powered its time-travel systems.
“Hold on tight!” Nia shouted. “This ride’s going to be bumpy!”
With a burst of light, the hover-garage vanished, leaving the Goo Age behind.
Back to the Future… With Economics
Moments later, the garage re-materialised in its rightful place, the hum of modern machinery replacing the prehistoric chaos. The family stumbled out, disoriented but relieved, only to find their house surrounded by a cheering crowd.
“Welcome back!” a holographic newscaster announced as news drones hovered nearby. Banners reading “FOUNDERS OF MODERN ECONOMICS!” and “THANK YOU, TIME-TRAVELLERS!” flapped in the breeze.
Inside, their home had been transformed into a museum. Stone tablets, shells, and even a chunk of inert purple goo were displayed in glass cases. At the centre of it all hung Grog’s original tablet, labelled as a priceless artifact.
The family exchanged bewildered looks before bursting into laughter.
“We just wanted to fix a prehistoric mess,” Lina said, shaking her head. “And now we’re apparently the founders of modern economics.”
Arlo couldn’t resist. “Well, I guess you could say we’ve left a shell-shocking legacy.”
Another collective groan.
A familiar voice boomed from a sleek modern shell-shaped speaker mounted on the wall.
“THIS IS PROFESSOR BIG YIELDS WITH YOUR FINAL GOO AGE RECAP!”
The family turned. Visitors in the museum hushed.
“In today’s episode of ‘Don’t Let a Robo-Dino Run Your Economy’, we learned:
- HOW MONEY STARTED: Shiny shells turning from pretty objects into a medium of exchange, a unit of account, and a store of value.
- WHY BARTER IS HARD: You cannot always find someone who wants your rock when you want their berries. Money solves the ‘double coincidence of wants.’
- WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE CONTROLS EVERYTHING: Rex-a-tron tried to build a monopoly over goo and shells—too much market power in one pair of tiny robot arms.
- HOW TAXES AND FEES CAN HELP OR HURT: A fair community fund can protect everyone. A sneaky ‘goo maintenance fee’ can trap everyone.
- WHY PATENTS AND IDEAS MATTER: Who invented the headache cure—Grog or Sneaky? Ideas need fair credit, or chaos follows.
- HOW INTEREST WORKS: One shell today can become two shells later—but if interest is too high, debt becomes a cage.
- WHY LEDGERS AND BLOCKCHAINS HELP: Shared records of trades make it harder for a Rex-a-tron to cheat the whole system. Many eyes, safer shells.
- AND FINALLY: WHY YOU SHOULD ALWAYS ASK, ‘WHO BENEFITS?’ WHENEVER SOMEONE SAYS, ‘TRUST ME, IT’S JUST BUSINESS.’”
The speaker clicked softly.
Professor Big Yields finished in a lower, almost warm tone:
“REMEMBER, GOO AGE STUDENTS: A HEALTHY ECONOMY IS NOT JUST ABOUT GROWTH. IT IS ABOUT FAIRNESS, TRUST, AND LIMITS ON POWER. EVEN WHEN THE POWER HAS ROCKET BOOSTERS AND TINY ARMS.”
Theo snorted. “Okay, that last line was pretty good.”
Nia smiled, looking up at Grog’s tablet. “We turned a time-travel disaster into a live economics lesson.”
Lina exhaled, half tired, half proud. “And we didn’t delete ourselves from existence. I’m calling that a win.”
Arlo slung his arms around them. “Because no matter the era, one thing is certain: where there’s chaos, there’s a chance to make things better—one pun, one shell, and one goo-powered time jump at a time.”
Outside, the banners fluttered. Inside, the purple goo sat safely sealed in glass.
And somewhere, far back in the Goo Age, Grog was probably still telling anyone who would listen:
“Future friends come. Teach shiny shells. Beat metal lizard. Best timeline ever.
With one final wave, the family climbed into the hover-garage. The vehicle’s lights flared as the purple goo powered its time-travel systems. They left behind an economy built on fairness, shared ledgers , and a healthy fear of unchecked interest, successfully averting a full-blown timeline disaster. The birth of economics had been messy and chaotic —but it was done. The question remained: what version of their own timeline would they return to?
