by Steve Cole
“We WILL get out.” The unearthly rattle of T-312’s transmitted voice boomed through the speakers of the cows’ helmets. “The capsule and its contents have been buried with us.”
“We have tools. Drills. Weapons,” T-207 said coldly. “Working at maximum capacity, I calculate we will tunnel our way to the surface in three years, ten months and eleven days.”
“As long as that?” A relieved grin crossed McMoo’s face. “Well, you won’t find many American astronauts to nobble once you’re free. Because the Apollo moon missions stop in December 1972 – a full three months before you can poke out your ugly metal heads!”
“Then … we really have won!” Bo cheered. “Yes!”
“You still will not triumph,” rasped T-312. “We will build our moon base as planned, here beneath the ground. We will mine metals from these rocks and build spaceships and weapons. Then we will build robot pilots to fly them to earth and destroy you!”
“Oh yeah?” said McMoo. “And how long is all that going to take?”
“Our computers predict … between forty and forty-five years,” said T-207. “But we do not tire. We do not give up. Our fleet’s first act will be to destroy your farm – and the world will follow!”
There was a click as the ter-moo-nators switched off their transmitters. Then silence, as cold and deep as space.
“Forty to forty-five years from now,” McMoo muttered. “That means they’ll be ready to attack in our own time!”
“That’s it, then,” said Pat quietly. “We may have stopped the F.B.I.’s first plan. But now we know for sure that their second plan works – because we’ve already seen them invade the farm.”
Bo nodded. “We haven’t changed history at all!”
“So it would seem,” said McMoo grimly. “And if that’s the case, there’s only one thing to do – go back to the future and face our fate!”
Chapter Twelve
THE MOON-ROCK FUTURE-SHOCK
Before the C.I.A. agents could face anything, they had to get back to earth. Pat was a lot more squashed on the voyage home, but the company was much better! The human technology worked like a charm, even if the toilets didn’t, and after fifty-four hours Apollo 10½ started its descent through the atmosphere.
“This is the tricky bit,” McMoo explained. “Moving through the layers of air in the atmosphere puts a lot of strain on our ship – makes it glow red-hot!”
“Being an astronaut’s a tough life,” Pat mused. “The humans who do it are heroes!”
McMoo looked proudly at his young friends. “And so are the cows and bullocks.”
Luckily, Apollo 10½’s heat shields held out, and the cramped craft splashed down safely in the Pacific Ocean. Helicopters collected its unusual crew in utter secrecy and took them to a US navy ship, which transported them to a nearby island where a plane was waiting to carry them back to the Kennedy Space Centre …
Pat barely noticed the long journey. All he could think about was the nightmare waiting for them in the twenty-first century: the dented, rusty ter-moo-nators, many decades older, but with their thirst for revenge unquenched …
Director Blinkenshrink greeted them warmly upon their arrival back at the Space Centre, and listened to their adventures in amazement.
“You have done America and the world a great service,” he declared finally, walking them to Launch Control’s exit. “Our astronauts are safe and the Apollo moon missions can continue in peace.”
“A terrible war has been averted,” McMoo agreed. “And since we want to keep all this business secret, I think my lieutenants and I should slip away sharpish, don’t you?”
“Yes, please,” said Blinkenshrink. “The sooner things get back to normal here, the better.”
“Oh, what about Gertie Barmer?” asked Pat. “She knows the truth of everything that happened too.”
“She quit her job as security chief,” the director revealed. “Said that guarding a space centre was way too much like hard work. She’s gone off to marry a rich farmer instead and start a family in the United Kingdom.” He shook hands with the C.I.A. agents. “Well, so long … and thanks again.”
As the big man left, Pat turned to Bo and McMoo. “Ugh!” he cried, horrified. “Gertie must be going off to have Bessie!”
“Euwww!” Bo pulled a face.
“So in a way the F.B.I. are responsible for Bessie Barmer!” McMoo concluded, ushering them away from the Launch Control Centre towards the Time Shed. “And it was because I wanted to escape Bessie that I built my time machine … Which led in turn to us joining the C.I.A. and becoming the F.B.I.’s biggest enemies.” He laughed heartily. “We’ve defeated them so many times throughout history – and they brought it all down on themselves!”
Bo sighed as he opened the Time Shed’s doors. “But now they’re going to bring the whole of their rotten fleet down on us.”
“Eh? Rotten fleet?” McMoo looked at her, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Yes, of course …” He slotted the ZEN-generator back into place in the horseshoe of controls. “Perhaps the future isn’t as bleak as we think!”
Pat felt a tiny spark of hope. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you,” McMoo declared. “By landing a split-second after we first departed …”
He pulled on the red take-off lever, and Bo frowned as the Time Shed rattled away, fast-forwarding history to take them to the early twenty-first century. “You sure about this, Prof? A split-second after we left, those two ter-moo-nators were about to crash through the—”
BWAMMM! The doors were smashed open to reveal the battered T-207 and T-312, now forty-plus years older. In the skies above, a dozen Moo-FOs could be seen, getting closer.
“Stand back, boys.” Bo jumped protectively in front of them. “I’m not going down without a fight.”
“But they will,” said McMoo with a grin.
T-312 frowned at him. “Explain.”
“Certainly,” said McMoo. “You see, back on the moon, escaping energy from my ZEN-generator created millions of magic holes in just about everyone and everything it touched – including you, your capsule, the rocks you mined for metal, the parts you used to make your robot pilots—”
Suddenly – BWOOOOM! A Moo-FO in the sky exploded. Seconds later, another one followed it into fireworks … and another!
“Impossible!” roared T-207. “What is happening?”
“Don’t you see?” said McMoo. “You’ve built your whole fleet from unstable materials. It’s a miracle you and your ships even made it through the earth’s atmosphere! And now, as their heat shields cool down again …”
BWAMM! “They’re falling to pieces!” Pat laughed as another Moo-FO blew itself apart.
“And now I’m wondering just how tough these old ter-moo-nators are!” Bo charged up to T-207 and hoof-jabbed his chest-plate. CLUNK! CLANG! The whole of his armour fell to bits, revealing his skinny grey bull body – and a pair of spotty underpants!
“Urgh!” said Pat. “Get out of my sight!” So saying, he kicked him back out of the Time Shed, where he landed in a heap.
“You will pay for your insolence,” snarled T-312, raising his wrist-laser. But as he tried to zap Pat, the blaster backfired and blew his own armour off in a thick cloud of silvery mist.
“No smoking in the shed,” cried Bo cheekily. She butted the dazed bull-bot out through the doors to join T-207, sprawled in the shadow of their ship. Then – KRANNG! – the entire Moo-FO crumpled like tin foil and collapsed, before ripping apart with a white-hot KA-BOOM!
“Ha-haaa!” cheered the professor as the last of the Moo-FOs exploded in the sky. “So much for the great invasion!”
Pat’s face fell. “But what about Bessie and Gertie? They were hiding behind the wall outside.”
Bo nodded. “They were ready to knock down our shed before – and after all they’ve seen tonight …”
McMoo had already shrugged off his uniform and whipped out his ringblender, and now stood peering out
into the smoke on all fours. “Let’s check it out.”
Pat ran over, with Bo just behind. He saw that Bessie was staring around in shock; and Gertie was staring at her.
“So,” the wobbly old woman snarled. “As soon as I say I’m thinking of staying, you stage a big dumb joke like this to try and scare me off, huh?”
“No, Mum!” Bessie protested. “This was nothing to do with me.”
“Hogwash!” Gertie bellowed. “You know I hate cows and space more than anything, so you went and mixed ’em up halfway through my holiday, just to freak me out. And it’s worked too!” She lumbered away like a vast, wrinkly jelly. “Goodbye!”
“Mum! Wait!” shouted Bessie. “Don’t be such an old ratbag.”
“Why not?” Gertie shot back. “You are!”
“There we go – all’s well that ends well!” McMoo grinned at his friends. “There’s nothing like an invasion from space to ruin a neighbourhood’s reputation.”
Pat nodded happily. “It doesn’t look as if Gertie will be moooving in just yet.”
That moment, a large white crate-like object appeared in a blaze of light.
McMoo blinked. “It’s a C.I.A. time machine!”
“About time our so-called employers showed their noses,” grumbled Bo, “after letting us do all the work!”
A huge, elderly cow with an udder as big as a set of bagpipes emerged with a squad of purple-sashed bodyguards.
“What a day this is turning out to be!” McMoo exclaimed. “It’s Madame Milkbelly the Third – Queen of Cows in the twenty-sixth century.” He bowed in reverence, and Pat did the same.
“Wotcha, Madame Milky,” said Bo, with a clumsy curtsey.
“Greetings to you all,” said the grand old cow. “I decided to visit you in person because ten young F.B.I. agents have recently turned up at our moon base in torn spacesuits, complaining about the three of you most bitterly. We tried to contact you …”
“Sorry,” said McMoo. “The phone packed up and we’ve been a bit busy …”
“So I can see.” Madame Milkbelly gestured to her guards, who quickly dragged the broken ter-moo-nators away into custody. “It seems the F.B.I.’s latest time crime went unnoticed by our agency – but you seem to have beaten those wretched bulls once again.”
“You know it, your maj.” Bo struck a heroic pose. “And it only took us forty-odd years!”
“And now we’re back on earth,” Pat added, “I’m keeping my hooves firmly on the ground.”
“Easier said than done when you’re a star agent of the Cows In Action,” said McMoo happily. “I just know there’ll soon be another action-packed mission coming our way – and guess how that makes me feel?”
“Don’t tell us,” laughed Bo, and Pat piped up too: “Over the mooooon!”
THE END
About the Author
Born in 1971, Steve Cole spent a happy childhood in rural Bedfordshire being loud and aspiring to amuse. He liked books, and so went to the University of East Anglia to read more of them. Later on he started writing them too, with titles ranging from pre-school poetry to Young Adult thrillers (with more TV and film tie-ins than he cares to admit to along the way). In other careers he has been the editor of Noddy magazine, and an editor of fiction and nonfiction book titles for various publishers. He is the author of the hugely successful Astrosaurs, Cows in Action, Astrosaurs Academy and Slime Squad series.
Also by Steve Cole:
[ASTROSAURS]
Riddle of the Raptors
The Hatching Horror
The Seas of Doom
The Mind-Swap Menace
The Skies of Fear
The Space Ghosts
Day of the Dino-Droids
The Terror-Bird Trap
The Planet of Peril
The Star Pirates
The Claws of Christmas
The Sun-Snatchers
Revenge of the Fang
The Carnivore Curse
The Dreams of Dread
The Robot Raiders
The Twist of Time
The Sabre-Tooth Secret
The Forest of Evil
Earth Attack!
The T-Rex Invasion
The Castle of Frankensaur
[ASTROSAURS ACADEMY]
Destination: Danger!
Contest Carnage!
Terror Underground!
Jungle Horror!
Deadly Drama!
Christmas Crisis!
Volcano Invaders!
Space Kidnap!
[COWS IN ACTION]
The Ter-Moo-nators
The Moo-my’s Curse
The Roman Moo-stery
The Wild West Moo-nster
World War Moo
The Battle for Christmoos
The Pirate Moo-tiny
The Moogic of Merlin
The Victorian Moo-ders
The Moo-lympic Games
First Cows on the Mooon
The Viking Emoo-gency
The Udderly Moo-vellous C.I.A. Joke Book
Astrosaurs Vs Cows in Action: The Dinosaur Moo-tants
[SLIME SQUAD]
Slime Squad Vs The Fearsome Fists
Slime Squad Vs The Toxic Teeth
Slime Squad Vs The Cyber Poos
Slime Squad Vs The Supernatural Squid
Slime Squad Vs The Killer Socks
Slime Squad Vs The Last Chance Chicken
Slime Squad Vs The Alligator Army
Slime Squad Vs The Conquering Conks
For older readers
Z. Rex
Z. Raptor
Z. Apocalypse
FIRST COWS ON THE MOOON
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47989 6
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2013
Text copyright © Steve Cole, 2011
Cover illustration © Andy Parker, 2011
Interior illustrations copyright © Woody Fox, 2011
First Published in Great Britain
Red Fox 9781849413961, 2011
The right of Steve Cole to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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