by Steve Cole
It was cool and quiet inside the vegetable store, and Pat found it a welcome change after running in the heat. He paused beside a pile of peas to get his breath back.
But then he noticed something very strange.
There was a small mountain of marrows opposite him. And there was something unusual about the marrow on top. Metal horns were sticking out from either end …
“Uh-oh,” said Pat as he rose, ready to run. But then the marrows seemed to explode in all directions as T-117 the ter-moo-nator burst out of hiding! One of the big green missiles slammed into Pat’s stomach, and the other whapped into his head. Pat was knocked to the ground!
When he recovered, T-117 was standing over him, holding a ray gun.
“Subject confirmed as C.I.A. Agent Pat Vine,” he droned.
“You set an ambush,” Pat gasped. “How did you know I would come here?”
“I saw your Time Shed arrive,” said T-117. “And I was hiding beneath the Circus when the fire went out. I heard Agent McMoo instruct you to return.” The robo-bull smiled and its green eyes glowed brighter. “Agent McMoo helped us put out the fire. He will help us again.”
“Oh yeah?” said Pat. “And what about me?”
The ter-moo-nator aimed its gun at Pat’s nose. “You will help us too.”
The last thing Pat saw was a beam of bright white light as T-117 opened fire …
Chapter Five
ROMAN KNOWS
Little Bo was lying on a bed of hay in a cattle pen, trying to get her strength back.
After winning her fight, she had been led here by the two gladiator bulls. A gladiator’s outfit had been laid out for her on the hay, to go with her helmet. There was a breastplate, some kneepads and a skirt made of metal slats.
“Put on the shiny clothes,” said one of the gladiators in a slow, halting voice.
“No way!” said Bo. “Bronze is so not my colour. I wouldn’t be seen dead in an outfit like that!”
“Oh yeah?” said the other, with an evil sneer. “Just you wait.”
Bo picked up the breastplate. “I guess maybe I could make it work if I wore it with a pink crocodile-skin jacket and purple tights …”
“Put on the shiny clothes,” the first bull repeated. “Or else.”
Bo frowned. Why did cattle have to dress like human gladiators?
She puzzled over it as she finally got changed into the gladiator outfit. Then a loud gong sounded just outside her pen, making her jump. A minute later, tough bulls started filing past, all in the same direction.
The last of the bulls went by. And then that weird, white water buffalo, Lanista, walked up to Bo’s pen and opened the gate.
“You’ve rested long enough,” he said. “It’s time for stage two.”
“Whatever,” muttered Bo.
They walked through the maze of passageways until they reached a group of bull gladiators waiting outside a door. Lanista led them into a surprisingly modern classroom. There were thirty metal chairs and desks, and a large whiteboard at one end – technology from the future that the F.B.I. had brought back to the past.
“Now then, class,” said Lanista, standing beside the whiteboard. “Today we welcome a new student – her name is Umm.”
“What? Oh yeah.” Bo had almost forgotten about her undercover name. “Yep, I’m Umm. Hi.” She waved round the room and leaned back in her chair. The others just glared at her. One of them spat cud at her hooves, and Bo frowned. They looked a hard bunch.
“Now, this afternoon we are going to learn about directions,” said Lanista with a sigh. “Yet again …” He took out a kind of remote control. “You – Brutus.” The water buffalo pointed his huge horns at a mean-looking bull in the front row. “What is the opposite of down?”
Brutus shrugged. “Er … sideways?”
“NO!” snapped Lanista, and hit a button on the remote with his hoof. “It’s ‘up’!” With a loud BOING, Brutus went flying out of his seat and banged his head on the ceiling. He fell back down to the ground in a daze and snorted crossly.
“Hey!” Bo shouted. “What happened there?”
“Oh dear, did I forget to say?” Lanista chuckled nastily. “These chairs are not ordinary chairs. They are ejector seats! Whenever anyone gets a question wrong, they are sent flying into the ceiling.”
Bo scowled. “That’s mean!”
“Ooooh, that’s meeeean,” said one cow, doing an impression of Bo. The rest of the class laughed.
“Us not care about jumpy chairs,” said Brutus, giving her an evil look. “Us TOUGH.”
“My students must prove their strength in both the arena and the classroom,” said Lanista grandly. “It is all part of the gladiator training. So, Umm … Which way is left?”
Bo sighed. “This is my left,” she said. Then she pointed the other way. “And that’s your left – which is my right.”
Lanista smiled. “Very good.”
“She teacher’s pet!” rumbled a big bull at the back. He bashed his hooves together. “Us squash teacher’s pets.”
“That’s enough, Julius,” said Lanista. “Now then, Umm – what’s the difference between forwards and backwards?”
“Duh!” Bo cried. “Forwards is when you walk forward, like this” – she jumped up, shoving her desk over as she did so – “and backwards is when you go into reverse – like this.” She trotted back a few steps and whacked into her chair as hard as she could. With a loud SNAP it broke and landed with a clatter at Lanista’s hooves.
To her amazement, Lanista started to laugh. “Excellent, young Umm. Not only do you have strength and fighting spirit, you have brains too.” He looked at her, thoughtfully. “Yes, I think you can join the Elite.”
“Elite?” Bo looked at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”
“It means you have passed stage two,” said Lanista. “I am going to put you into the Elite training class at the Circus Maximus at once!”
“Us get you, teacher’s pet!” snarled Julius, and the whole class burst into angry mooing, sticking out their tongues and waggling their horns.
“Yeah,” sneered Brutus. “There thirty of us and only one of you.”
“Thirty to one?” Bo frowned. “Doesn’t sound very fair.”
“Us not fair,” said Julius. “Us fight to win – as nasty as we can!”
Bo did her best to ignore the gladiators’ guffaws as she followed the water buffalo from the room. “I don’t like the sound of this Elite class,” Bo muttered. “Oh, Pat, Professor – what have I gone and got myself into now?”
Chapter Six
THE EMPEROR’S MOO FRIEND
“Have more food, McMoo!” said Emperor Nero through a big mouthful of roast swan. He had been stuffing his face for two hours straight, throwing away bones and shells and spitting stuff out on to the marble dining-room floor for his servants to clear away. He lay down on a large cushion, surrounded by slave girls, and swigged deeply from a golden goblet. “And you must have some more wheat and honey wine!”
Professor McMoo wished longingly for a simple cup of tea. “No more for me, thanks!” he said as a slave girl took his plate away. While he wore his ringblender, of course, she and Nero saw him as a Roman nobleman. If they knew he was really a bull, they would understand why he hadn’t managed to eat much of the magnificent ten-course dinner. The stuffed dormouse and snails hadn’t really appealed, and neither had the main dish – a whole pig, stuffed with sausages and fruit, roasted and served standing up.
“What’s wrong, McMoo?” Nero looked at him sternly. “Is my company not to your liking?”
“It’s great,” McMoo said quickly. “I just can’t help worrying where my young friends have got to. Little Bo has been missing for ages – and Pat should have joined us here a long time ago.”
“I am sure they will both turn up soon,” said Nero. “But in the meantime …” He belched noisily. “You say you don’t believe that the nasty fire beneath the Circus Maximus was started by a dodgy heating pipe. In which c
ase – what did start it?”
McMoo leaned forward. “I’m afraid, great Nero, that the Roman Empire may have enemies hiding underground.”
Nero stared. “Whatever do you mean?”
McMoo hesitated. He couldn’t start talking about ter-moo-nators or bulls from the future – Nero would think he was a nutcase and throw him out. “I … I think I saw someone down there. Someone who may be taking advantage of the Circus being closed to do something that is bad news for Rome – maybe even the whole world.”
“Well, they’ll have to be quick!” said Nero, tossing his empty goblet over his shoulder. “I’m opening the Circus again this very night.”
“Oh yes,” McMoo remembered. “A special event to cheer everyone up.”
“That’s right,” said Nero. He glanced out of the window at a sundial. “Jumping Jupiter, is that the time? I must get to my private box in the Circus. I have to introduce the show. Why not come with me? You can look around afterwards. And if your young friends turn up here, my slaves will send them along to join you.”
The professor bowed. “Thank you, great Nero!” Though he was still worried, McMoo perked up at the thought of a night at the Circus Maximus. What a piece of history that would be!
Professor McMoo rode through the streets of Rome with Nero in the emperor’s personal chariot. It was only seven o’clock, and the skies were still blue and bright. Soon they were driving around the outside of the Circus Maximus to reach the private entrance. McMoo noticed Bessium Barmus in her stall beneath the archway, selling tickets.
He sighed. Bessium’s business seemed to be booming. He only hoped that with a ter-moo-nator on the loose, nothing else went “boom” tonight …
Once inside, McMoo found the Circus Maximus to be an incredible sight. The track was a massive, dusty oval, divided in the middle by a stone barrier that was hundreds of metres long. Stretching all around the track were rows upon rows of stands, filled with cheering, shouting Romans, excited at the thought of what sights the night might bring. The noise almost shook the professor’s horns loose as he followed Nero and his guards up some stone steps. They led to the emperor’s private box, a stone enclosure rising up from the stands directly opposite the finish line.
“Oh, I forgot to say!” Nero paused in the doorway to his private box and smiled at McMoo. “I’ve invited another guest. I wonder if you two know each other?”
Nero stepped aside – and McMoo gasped.
The emperor’s other guest was a toga-wearing ter-moo-nator. T-117!
“Welcome, Professor McMoo,” said the menacing robo-bull. “I have been waiting for you.”
“Have you indeed?” said McMoo. He saw that T-117 was wearing a ringblender like his own – so to human eyes, he appeared human. Only cows could see through each other’s disguises. “Who does Nero think you are?”
“I am Timon of Nator, a powerful nobleman from a far-off land,” said the ter-moo-nator, smiling. “Is it not obvious?”
“Timon is my best friend,” Nero declared. “I love him! Thanks to him, I am going to be Emperor of the World!”
“He’s tricking you! Don’t listen to him!” McMoo shouted. But the guards grabbed hold of him and forced him into the box. T-117’s green eyes glowed more brightly as he watched the professor struggle.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” said Nero excitedly. “McMoo, the clever one you told me about. I did well, didn’t I? Keeping him busy and then bringing him to you, I mean.”
“Yes, Nero,” said T-117. “You did well.”
Soon the professor found himself helpless in a chair, with half-a-dozen spears aimed at his head – and the ter-moo-nator looming over him …
“Thank you, Professor, for putting out the fire we started beneath the street,” said T-117. “A little project of ours has developed a problem. It might have taken me weeks to put it right.” He smiled. “But then I saw you had followed me to this time. And I knew that a genius like you would fix it double-quick.”
“Well, you were wrong,” snapped McMoo. “OK, apart from that bit about me being a genius – that was true.” He scowled. “And since I am a genius, I bet I could fix your experiment in a few hours. But I won’t!”
“Yes, you will,” said Nero. “I command it! I am Emperor of Rome!”
“I don’t care if you’re Queen of Sheba, I will never help a ter-moo-nator!” McMoo glared at the robo-bull. “Whatever he’s said, he doesn’t want to help you, Nero. He wants to help the Fed-up Bull Institute take control of the world!”
But Nero had spied another sundial and wasn’t listening. “Oooh, is that the time? I’d better introduce the evening’s first attraction …”
The crowd roared with delight as their emperor waved to them from the box’s balcony. “Hail, Nero!” they chanted, over and over again.
T-117 pressed his metal snout up against McMoo’s ear. “You will help me,” he hissed. “For if you do not … a terrible fate awaits your young friend Pat Vine.”
McMoo nearly choked. “What?”
“I don’t know where your girl assistant has got to,” the ter-moo-nator admitted, “but I found the boy and brought him here earlier while you dined with Nero …”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Nero shouted to the crowd, “let’s get the show rolling with some fabulous animal entertainment – lions against bulls!”
“Take a look, Professor,” said the ter-moo-nator mockingly. “And see if you won’t change your mind about helping us.”
Professor McMoo dived over to the balcony. Down in the arena he saw twelve huge, meaty lions prowling towards four bulls – a skinny one, a tall one and a short one … And a young bullock in a white toga – Pat!
Chapter Seven
THE SECRET BENEATH
McMoo stared in horror as the lions roared and the crowds roared louder. “Nero, stop this at once!”
“Shan’t!” said Nero. “They’re only cattle, McMoo, what’s your problem?”
The twelve angry lions stalked closer to the bulls, their huge jaws drooling …
“Help us, McMoo!” T-117 demanded. “Or else—”
“All right!” cried the professor helplessly. “Save the cattle and I’ll do anything you ask!”
The ter-moo-nator nodded at Nero, who crossed to the balcony and raised both arms. Suddenly, a gateway opened in the arena and four of Nero’s guards rushed out to bundle the bulls to safety. The crowd booed and hissed. Then some proper gladiators came in to fight the lions, and they started cheering again.
“You are both horrible and cruel,” said McMoo angrily. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come with me,” said T-117, “and I shall show you …”
Pat couldn’t believe his luck when the guards turned up from nowhere to whisk him away from the lions. If only they could have saved him from T-117 in the vegetable store. The robo-bull had blasted him with a stun ray, and when Pat woke up he found himself in a cold, stony cell in the heart of the Circus Maximus with his fellow prisoners. His ringblender had been taken away, but his gladiator helmet had a translator inside so he could still understand what people said. Or rather, what they shouted.
“Come on!” bellowed the guard leader. “If you don’t get a move on you’ll wish we had left you to the lions …”
Four guards had dragged them here – and now it seemed they were going to drag them back again. The guard leader pushed his prisoners forward at sword-point through the gloomy, torch-lit passageways.
But suddenly, a loud CLANG-CLANG-CLANG! echoed through the tunnel. Pat jumped and turned round – to find the three guards at the back slumping to the ground with crooked helmets and a dopey look on their faces.
The guard leader frowned. “Someone’s whacked them!” he cried, staring all about. “Who’s out there?”
Then a hoof flashed down from the roof of the passageway and connected with the guard leader’s head! As the human tottered and toppled over, Pat caught a glimpse of a bright blue udder hanging down from t
he ceiling.
“Little Bo!” he cried in delight.
“Shut up, big-mouth!” she hissed. “Or you’ll bring more guards running!”
“Sorry,” he said, reaching up to help her down. “How did you manage to stay up there?”
“Chewing gum!” Bo wiped her hooves and blew a pink bubble in his face.
Pat grinned and hugged her. “Most cows chew the cud – not gum!”
“Then it’s a good job I’m not most cows,” she said, hugging him back. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I saw the guards take you down here from my classroom window, but I couldn’t get out to save you until now.”
“Classroom?” Pat frowned. “What are you on about?”
But Bo had turned to the other three bulls. “OK, boys, you had better get out of here. Follow this tunnel straight to the end and you’ll reach the emergency exit. Don’t stop running till you’re right out of Rome.”
“Thank you,” mooed the skinny bull. “Sorry we had to fight you before.” They saluted her and ran away.
Pat looked at his sister. “What’s going on?”
“The F.B.I. is up to something big, Pat,” Bo told him. “They are rounding up cattle and making them fight each other like gladiators. The toughest, brainiest fighters are taken to join the Elite – like me. The useless failures are taken here and thrown to the lions – like them!”
“I nearly went the same way.” Pat shuddered. “But what’s it all for? What is the Elite?”
“I’ll tell you all I know,” said Bo. “But first – where’s the professor?”
“He’s all right,” said Pat. “He’s made friends with Emperor Nero and gone to his palace.”
“What?” Bo’s eyes widened with horror. “Nero is the man behind this whole scheme, Pat. He’s working with the ter-moo-nators!”
“Oh no!” Pat groaned. “We’ve got to warn the professor!”
But before they could move, they heard the sound of hoofsteps coming from further up the tunnel.
“Quick,” hissed Bo. “Let’s get these sleeping guards out of sight and hide!”
