McMoo watched helplessly as the Ultra-Cow thrust its huge head towards him . . .
But then a dark shadowy shape suddenly appeared out of nowhere in front of the giant beast’s face.
“The Black Cow of Doom!” Pat cried.
McMoo nodded. “Fanny must’ve set off the brooch when she hit the cupboard. Right now it could be just what we need!”
The Ultra-Cow’s huge eyes followed the projection curiously as it danced and spun and spiralled. Her breathing grew deeper. She smiled sleepily.
“It’s hypnotizing her!” Bo declared.
“Keep watching a minute longer,” McMoo muttered, stirring in some fresh straw to his planty concoction. “Long enough for me to feed you . . . THIS!”
He hurled the batch of cow-feed into the drooling dairy-beast’s mouth. Still entranced by the spinning spectre, the Ultra-Cow chewed automatically.
Pat crossed his hooves. McMoo held his breath. Bo accidentally knocked down a tree with her tail.
And then, with the sound of a deflating balloon, the Ultra-Cow started to shrink. Broken from her trance, she looked around in confusion as her body sagged and billowed, growing smaller ever faster. Finally, with a contented moo, she returned to normal size, and wandered off innocently to munch some grass.
“You did it, Professor!” Pat cheered. “You made the antidote.”
“Now give some to me,” called Bo. “That stupid signal is giving me earache!”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Bo,” McMoo told her. “Not just yet. Because if T-1901’s giant cow doesn’t show up to destroy the Crystal Palace, he might just decide to try it himself.”
Pat frowned. “Of course! Disguised as Albert he could still ter-moo-nate Queen Victoria and the whole Royal Family – totally changing history!”
Bo groaned so loudly that the only stable wall still standing fell apart – revealing Albert, Sir Lawrence and Dicky Hart creeping cautiously back towards the lab – with Eliza Barmer.
“We did it, gents!” McMoo beamed. “And lady. Hello, Eliza, where’d you spring from?”
“That brutish bull locked me up in a cupboard before he left with the queen, but I managed to break free,” said Eliza. “Gracious!” she declared when she saw – and smelled – the mess in the stable. “You’ve dealt with my evil twin!”
Sir Lawrence looked up at Bo. “But while we’ve lost one Ultra-Cow, we’ve gained another . . .”
“This one is far friendlier,” McMoo assured them. “She’ll follow that signal straight to the Crystal Palace and take all of us with her.”
“But this new cow is a different colour,” Dicky pointed out. “The bull will know at once his plans have been thwarted, somehow.”
“And he will harm my precious Vicki!” Albert cried.
McMoo smiled. “Not if we’re very, very clever . . .”
“Forget it!” Fanny Barmer jumped back to her feet in a shower of milk and cow muck and raised her dented ray gun. “I aim to collect my cash from that bull, and I know how to put things right. So – bye-bye, Professor . . .”
And before anyone could react, she pointed the weapon at McMoo and opened fire . . .
* * *
In the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park – disguised as Prince Albert in splendid formal dress – T-1901 sat impatiently beside Queen Victoria. They had been given special thrones in the entrance hall, a man-made cavern of iron and glass. It was so vast that the enormous oak trees it housed barely brushed the ceiling.
T-1901 surveyed the scene coldly. V.I.P.s and ambassadors from all over the world crowded the platform around them. The flags of all nations waved cheerily. Someone was belting out hymns on a huge organ, as a massive choir sung along. The music and voices joyfully rang out to the 600,000 people gathered in the park for the Great Exhibition’s grand opening. Soon, these patriotic fools will be squashed by my Ultra-Cow, he thought happily.
Queen Victoria sniffed. “Have you been smoking, dearest?”
T-1901 quickly waved away the wisps of steam coming from his chimney-like horns. “Certainly not, my sweet. It’s just your imagination . . .” He looked at the queen’s golden crown and chuckled. The transmitter hidden inside it had been sending out his signal of doom for over an hour. Any minute now . . .
Suddenly, the ter-moo-nator grinned to hear a commotion from the crowd. Seconds later, screams and yells could be heard over the heavenly music.
Queen Victoria shifted uncomfortably. “Probably just some poor people being silly. Ignore them.”
But it was Victoria T-1901 chose to ignore. He jumped up in delight as a huge, dark shadow fell over the palace, blotting out the sunlight. The choir choked and gasped, the organist played all the wrong notes and the gathered crowds stared up in fear and bewilderment as a great black cow pressed its head against the glass roof, its slobbery breath clouding up the windows.
T-1901 jumped to his feet and laughed. “Yes, my Cow of Doom!” he boomed, much to the puzzlement of a nearby ambassador. “Complete your work. Destroy the Crystal Palace! DESTROY EVERYTHING!”
