WHJC - October 1985
The End
(page 9/9)

psi phi soc

Out in the darkness the B-52 stood with the elastic bomb in its belly - pregnant with death. One of the ground crew, dwarfed beneath the bomber, lit a cigarette, patted the huge nose wheel and said,

'She's pregnant with death, this one.'

'So's the wife,' the companion answered and spat on the tar-mac in a gesture of defiance to the world.

Little did they notice the peculiar shape that darted from across the runway to the yawning bomb loading bay. Tentacle-like limbs grasped the cold metal and as silently as it had appeared, the rod-like shape disappeared into the plane.

Don't miss the last thrilling episode of The Ulitmate Elastic in the next issue of FELIX.

Lady Clea

The End?

The sonic screwdriver hummed quietly to itself in Avon's hand, wondering why it couldn't get into Dr. Who anymore and had to make do with a bit part as a neutron ram in Blake's 7. Gradually Orac was being dismantled. High order logic gate arrays lay all around, personality overlays rested on the table on top of array processing wafers, and coils of cosmetic effect flashing lights buried Villa where he lay in the corner, but still Avon could not find the fault in Orac.

The sounds of fighting came from the corridor, as Federation Stormtroopers and Mutoids fell to the ravening beams of destruction emanating from the Liberator crew's perspex rods. A group of red jumpered Federation security men were decimated before they realised they were dying in the wrong program, and still no fault was found.

Avon put his tools down and glanced around furtively, his immense powers of observation scrutinising the merest detail picked up by all his five highly developed senses. Something was wrong. He felt a strange atmosphere, a feeling of impending doom, a very misasma of evil pervading the air. Villa had dropped his guts. No, that wasn't it, Villa always did that in times of stress. Avon dived to the side, drew his gun and fired as the secret panel slipped aside. Two stormtroopers fell dead, but Servalan and her troops moved out and surrounded them.

The Treasurer meditates on the accounts

"Give me Orac", demanded Servalan, as usual, gesturing with the delicacy of a pregnant waterbison.

"I'm afraid I can't do that right now since I'm trying to repair it", replied Avon, wondering whether this was Servalan or a cunningly disguised waterbison.

"Well repair it", replied the waterbison, squeezing out of its somewhat uncomfortable costume. "Yes, the waterbison are taking over. We, the genetically superior bovine race, will spread over the cosmos, eradicating all inferior lifeforms and boring American documentary presenters. We will sweep all before us, we will rule, we will destroy, we will exterminate, we will exterminate, we will exterminate....". One of the nearby stormtroopers threw a bucket of water over the overexcited galactic emperor, who was showing the effects of playing a Dalek in Dr Who, and then calmed her down by scratching her between the horns.

The Editor goes back to hibernation

Avon had cracked it! He threw the bits of broken plastic over his shoulder and carried on work. There was the central core of Orac, a small black box, with a touch sensitive keyboard and connector unit on the back. Another small black box lay nearby. Clearly they should be connected. Avon slipped them together, and turned on.

Wurrr (goop goop) squelch flop. Orac powered up. "Well, what do you want? I'm busy", came the familiar dulcet tones of Avon's favourite video game.

"Teleport now!", replied Avon.

Sometime later the waterbison's spaceship exploded, ending a threat to the galaxy's safety. Or had it?