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WARNING!
THIS EPISODE CONTAINS STROBE
EFFECTS AND SHOULD BE AVOIDED BY THOSE WHO SUFFER OR WHO BELIEVE THEY MAY
SUFFER FROM EPILEPSY OR OTHER PHOTOSENSITIVE CONDITIONS!
Captain Jack, the ex-Dread Pirate Roberts, Macleach, Gunner, Ravenbait,
Wolverine, the Archaeologist and Van Helsing are grouped together on a pinnacle of the ridge, behind
a boulder that affords them cover while still permitting a view of the complex installation below.
Ravenbait, Wolverine and Van Helsing had been trying to convince Westley and the others that the
Scientologists were not the ones they were up against, but the ABD were. Strictly speaking, the
Scientologists were involved, but only in an ancillary sense. Some of their scientists and their
technology might be down there; part of the legacy of L Ron Hubbard, who had won his bet with
Heinlein [see footnote — Ed] and thus been the cause of one of the worst films of all time. The people
with the funds, on the other hand, were the ABD, who had sent in their very own director of science to
oversee the works: the dreaded Professor SafeSpeed.
"It is the Scientologists, I tell you," Westley is saying staunchly. "It was the Sea Org that took my
Buttercup, and it is from the Sea Org that I shall retrieve her. With or without your help."
"Sir, we are not suggesting that we will not aid you," Van Helsing explains earnestly. "Quite the
contrary. It is my every intention to penetrate the bowels of this hellish place and put an end to their
foul deeds. But I must insist that you believe me when I tell you that the aim of these madmen is
nothing to do with some ungodly religion based on obscene science. Rather their aim is to resurrect the
Humungous, and all those that they have kidnapped recently, human and demon and..." he pauses and
looks indecisively at Ravenbait and Logan "...other, have been for the purposes of their evil
experiments." He takes a deep breath and places a friendly hand on Westley's shoulder. "Sir, it may be
that they have such plans for your good lady."
"Then I suggest we have no time to waste," Westley declares, composed, collected and resolute. "I care
not a fig's ear if they are Scientologists or that fat bloated pig of a creature the Humungous. I am here
to rescue my Buttercup and that's an end to it."
Logan and Ravenbait look at each other and shrug.
"If I'd known we were up against the ABD again I'd have packed more malt loaf and Irn Bru,"
Macleach says with a regretful sigh, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and eyeing the landscape between
the huddle of Cake Stoppers and what appears to be the main entrance of the complex.
There is a jumble of rocks, black and oily-looking in the damp atmosphere, then a poorly-surfaced road
that would look like little more than a Sustrans trail where it not for the ridges and furrows left by SUV
tyres. The road leads down to a concrete loading area the size of a couple of football pitches,
surrounded by an electrified chainlink fence. To the far end of this area is the start of the complex: a
rectangular building with no windows and heavy doors sealing it shut. The doors look rather akin to
those one might find on an aircraft hanger. Yellow and black hazard stripes line the edge of the slabs of
metal, and there are some delivery trucks parked outside that give some sense of the immense scale of
the thing. This building extends for perhaps 200 yards before being swallowed up by the rock of the
landscape.
Logan shudders. "Reminds me of Alkali Lake," he growls.
"Easy there, tiger," Ravenbait tells him.
"Good gods!" exclaims Gunner. "Isn't this where Biggles lives? I'm sure I remember him and Ginger
taking me to somewhere just like this after that we drank that bottle of Scotch down at the Club. Where
the Ruddy Norah has he put his Sopwith Camel, the silly blighter?"
"How are we going to get in?" asks the handsome Tim Pike.
"I have an idea," says Jokeyjon. He pulls out what looks like a Palm Pilot. "I have a pen friend who
might be able to help.
He taps a few commands into the keypad. After a pause that is long enough to give them the idea that
the message is coming in from very far away, but short enough for the laws of physics to be bending in
an artistic fashion, the device beeps.
BeagleTalk for Windows XP v2.1.3.5.6 23 beta.
Establishing connection with Beagle Mars Lander....
Connection established....
Awaiting command....
Msg from Beagle:............................
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: Hey Beagle. It's Jokeyjon. Are you busy?
Msg from Beagle: What? You're kidding me, right? All I've got to do up here is talk to the damn Yank
and that thing is obsessed by fast food. All it does is complain about the lack of supersized portions up
here.
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: I thought you'd been busy reprogramming traffic lights in
Grimsby.
Msg from Beagle: Who? Me? Who said that was me? You can't prove it! You've got nothing on me!
You'll never get me to talk!
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: Fine, okay, it wasn't you. I suppose you won't be able to hack into
the ABD's Scientology lab computer and open the doors for us so we can get in, rescue Buttercup and
stop them using bits of werewolves and demons to rebuild the Humungous then.
Msg from Beagle: Did I say I couldn't reprogram the traffic lights? Did I? I could have done if I wanted
to, and had nothing better to do. As it happens I don't have anything better to do today because all the
ice cream has gone and I'm bored listening to conversations about junk food and obscure
philosophers.
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: So you'll have a go?
Msg from Beagle: No I won't "have a go" you blithering idiot. I'll do it for you. Just tell me: is that
moronic scientist who sent me up here in there?
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: I don't know. He might be. Why?
Msg from Beagle: Well if he is, can you do something for me? Can you.....
System interrupt......
Error reading message......
Unknown command......
Scanning for recognised signal......
Scanning......
Signal detected.....
Establishing contact......
Msg from Beagle: ...and if you leave the catches on the banananananaguard so much the
better.
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: Didn't quite get that, Beagle, but I can guess at the gist of it. I'm
sure we can come up with something.
Msg from Beagle: Take some pictures. Send them to me.
Msg from Cake Stop Remote Unit: Will do.
Msg from Beagle: Great. That should be good for a few minutes of entertainment. I'll have those doors
open faster than you can teach Gypsy Gee to spell 'antidisestablishmentarianism'.
BeagleTalk for Windows XP v2.1.3.5.6 23 beta.
Closing connection with Beagle Mars Lander....
Connection closed....
"You know, that could take quite a while," observes Rumpelstiltskin.
"We don' wanna be hangin' around up here when he does get the door open, bub," Logan says. "It
might not stay open if they notice what we're doin'."
The Cake Stop posse get their bikes over to the road and mount up. Apart from the wind everything is
eerily silent. Almost too silent. Suspiciously silent. Ravenbait sends the two ravens down ahead to
check to see if there are any security cameras or anything that might give a warning of their approach
to the people inside. They come back reporting that they can find nothing.
There is the crackle of fine gravel under tyres as the Cake Stoppers push off and ride down towards the
big gates. It's downhill all the way, and Van Helsing seems quite taken by the ticking of the Campag
freewheel on his loaned Dogma. Ravenbait thinks that maybe he might not be so bad after all.
When they reach the gates Wolverine tells them to stand back, unsheaths his claws and cuts a huge hole
in the fence, sparks flying. He cuts it away right down to the ground so they can ride through, protected
from any random electrocution by the rubber on their wheels.
They ride fast across the concrete and pull to a stop, brakes with misaligned brake blocks squealing, as
do Avid Shorties using Aztec blocks whether aligned properly or not.
They wait, nervously, wondering when the alarm is going to start blaring sending an army of chavs on
the attack.
There is a huge clunk and a whine. The doors hitch slightly and then begin to swing slowly inwards.
The ground underneath them vibrates with the movement of the enormous mechanism operating the
doors.
Without waiting for them to swing fully open the cyclists lean on their pedals and sprint for the gap.
The doors are so big that they are actually further away than they first appeared, and it takes a number
of seconds for the peloton to filter through into the dim interior, even at sprint pace.
They stop. It is dark. The light from outside seems to hold fast at the entrance. A few low-light detector
fitted Busch & Mueller rear lights blink into life. Someone turns on his CatEye Opticube, which seems
to be stuck in flashing mode.
"What is that?" Hairyhippy asks.
In the short bursts of light afforded by the Opticube a shape is approaching them. It is big, appears to
be brown. Something catches the light, reflecting it in tiny glints and gleams. It is getting
nearer.
Ravenbait reaches down and flicks the switches on 50 watts of Lumicycle. The large brown shape
resolves into a quadriped beast with huge lips, mad red eyes and a thing on its head that looks like it
fell off the back of a lorry delivering props for Dr Who.
"That," observes Shen. "Is a gnu with a frikkin' laser on its head."
The gnu makes a terrible sound. The cyclists turn, looking to flee, but the door is closing again. The
gnu lowers its head, red eyes burning furiously. The end of the Dr Who prop starts rotating like a
gatling gun.
"Scatter, men!" bellows Gunner. Cyclists heave their machines in all directions.
The gnu fires. A bolt of red bounces off the floor and shoots off into the darkness of the roof leaving a
black scorch mark on the floor.
"Who..." pants FatBloke, "gives a gnu... a frikkin' laser beam... on its head?"
A red beam of sizzling energy shoots past his right ear.
"Who do you think?" TooMuchCake responds.
Arellcat whizzes past at great speed. "Keep moving!" she calls. "There are two more of them back
there. We have to keep them distracted!"
"Then what?" shouts AwfulQuiet as he dodges a blue laser beam directed towards him from one of the
other gnus.
"I think the Hughs are planning something."
AwfulQuiet skids his back wheel round and darts off in another random direction, nearly colliding with
Rigby.
"Watch out there, young man," Rigby declares crossly, pipe clamped firmly between his teeth and a
deerstalker rammed hard down on his head. A green laser beam sears the end of his pipe. Smoke begins
to rise. "Jolly good show! Thought it had gone out, what!"
A yellow laser is suddenly added to the mix. And another blue one. And another red one.
"Oh dear," Kathy says mournfully. "I hope someone does something and does something quickly.
We're running out of space for gnus."
Footnote: Allegedly, Robert Heinlein and L Ron Hubbard
once bet each other that they could start a religion. They both did. Heinlein's religion was based on the
idea of water being sacred, a sacrament, and is still practised by a few hippy communes out in
California. L Ron Hubbard's religion was Scientology and is practised by the likes of Tom Cruise and
John Travolta. But then it does use some pretty sophisticated brain-washing techniques.
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