by Terry Jones
‘You’re the Inventor?’ said Jack.
‘That’s what I just told you!’
‘Then take us to your castle!’
‘Of course I won’t take you to my castle!’ returned the Inventor. ‘It’s full of secrets!’
‘Then I demand you release my sister and her child!’ said Jack.
‘I don’t think you’re in a position to demand anything,’ replied the Inventor.
‘No,’ said another voice from behind him. ‘But I am.’
The Inventor span round and there was Orville Barton. In his hands was one of the machine guns from the breaking yard, and Orville was now pointing this at the Inventor.
‘That doesn’t have any bullets in it,’ snapped the Inventor.
‘Oh yes it does,’ said Orville. ‘I put some in.’
‘It doesn’t work!’ exclaimed the Inventor.
‘I say it does,’ said Orville . . . ‘Shall we test it?’
‘No!’ exclaimed the Inventor. ‘What do you want?’
‘Take us to your castle, and let us take my daughter and Little Orville home!’ said Orville.
The Inventor stared at Orville, and his cold eyes bored into him like steel knives. But then the Inventor looked down at the machine gun in Orville’s hands – which might
or might not be in working order. The Inventor shrugged.
‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘Come with me,’ and he turned on his heel, and Orville and Jack had to scramble to follow him down the metal staircase that led to the breaking yard.
‘Lucky I came along, eh?’ murmured Orville.
‘I had the situation under control,’ replied Jack.
‘Didn’t look that way to me,’ chuckled his father, in a way that made Jack want to change the direction of the conversation.
‘Did you invent all these machines?’ he asked the Inventor, as they threaded their way through the tangle of cookers and fridges and escalators still waiting for extinction in that gloomy place.
‘Of course! Damn their bolts and nuts!’ exclaimed the Inventor.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Look at them!’ snarled the Inventor. ‘Not one of these pathetic gadgets is any use! They’re all junk! Look! There’s that hopeless car that belonged to that clergyman. Oh yes! I know it went round kidnapping people – but why? To help other cars! That’s not being evil is it?’
‘Er . . . I’m not sure,’ replied Jack.
‘And then there’s that lift – that so-called elevator! All it did was bring the perpetrator of a crime to justice! Do you call that evil? And that telephone! It “tells the truth” does it?! Pah! I’ve had bags of sweets that were more evil!’
‘Why should they be evil?’ asked Orville.
‘Why should they be good?’ asked the Inventor.
‘Surely it’s better to be good than evil,’ said Jack.
‘Not if you’re a machine!’ said the Inventor.
‘But why are you trying to create Evil Machines?’
‘Because of the Plan!’ said the Inventor, as he led them through a door and into another room with metal walls, a metal floor and a metal ceiling.
‘What Plan?’ they said.
‘This Plan!’ said the Inventor, producing a remote control from his pocket and pressing one of the keys. At once, all the change flew out of Orville’s pockets and slammed against the far wall. Jack’s watch broke off his wrist, flew across the room and slammed into the same wall.
‘Hey!’ shouted Jack.
‘Give me back my money!’ yelled Orville.
But – however it did it – the wall went on pulling everything made of metal off Orville and Jack, including Orville’s metal fountain pen, Jack’s Swiss Army knife, and even the buckle on his belt so he had to grab his trousers to stop them falling down.
But of course the main thing that flew out of Orville’s hands was the machine gun.
‘You simpletons!’ exclaimed the Inventor. ‘You didn’t think you were a match for me, did you?’ And as he said the words a hatch in the ceiling flew open and half a dozen flying gizmos, the size of tennis balls, whizzed across the room, and swooped down about Orville and Jack. As they darted around the two men, the tennis balls started clicking, and suddenly a shiny metallic thread shot out of each one, and Orville and Jack found themselves being bound tight, and, before either could have said ‘Santa Claus!’ they were trussed up like a couple of Christmas parcels.
The Inventor pressed the remote control again and the
flying gizmos flew back up to the ceiling and hovered there awaiting the next order.
‘You want me to tell you the Plan, do you?’ said the Inventor, walking right up to the two men and peering into their faces. ‘All right, the first thing is . . . to get rid of you two!’
As Orville stared into the Inventor’s eyes, he had the strangest feeling . . . Those eyes were so very cold . . . It was almost like staring into the eyes of a dead man. A shudder went through his body.
‘Bring them along!’ snapped the Inventor, pointing his remote at the flying gizmos, and they swooped down, fixed hooks into the metallic threads that held the two men, and then pulled and pushed the pair after the Inventor as he strode down yet another iron corridor.
A few minutes later, Orville and Jack found themselves in a vast hangar, full of flying machines.
‘I’ve got a job for you two!’ said the Inventor. ‘I want you to be test pilots for me. That’s your craft over there!’ And he pointed to a small, old-fashioned looking, rocket ship that stood in the centre of the hangar.
‘Don’t worry if you crash it,’ said the Inventor with a cold smile. ‘I’m not expecting it to come back . . . It isn’t programmed to.’
He opened up the nose of the rocket ship, and the flying gizmos pushed and pulled Orville and Jack into the machine.
‘You’ll need to be strapped in,’ said the Inventor, as the gizmos tied them to the pilots’ seats. ‘But you don’t need to know how anything works. It’s all automatic nowadays, you see!’
The Inventor slammed the rocket shut and strode over to a control room at the side of the hangar. His face appeared on a screen on the rocket’s control panel in front of Orville and Jack.
‘Congratulations!’ said the Inventor, smiling his cold smile again. ‘You’re about to go where no living man has ever been before!’
‘You’re evil!’ exclaimed Orville.
‘Am I?’ replied the Inventor. ‘Then it’s a pity my machines don’t live up to my example!’ And with that the Inventor pressed a button on the control panel in front of him and a warning siren blared out across the hangar.
‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Jack. ‘What is your Plan?’
‘The Plan is very simple. I am creating a new generation of machines . . . machines that will replace all existing machines and which will achieve the end I have in mind.’
The Inventor pressed another button and a red alert light began to flash.
‘And what is the “end” you have in mind?’ asked Jack.
‘Oh! Wouldn’t you like to know!’ exclaimed the Inventor.
‘Whatever it is, I know it will be evil!’ said Orville.
‘Well, well, aren’t you the clever one!’ replied the Inventor. ‘But what are you trying to achieve?’ shouted Jack.
‘What am I trying to achieve? I’m not trying I’m doing it!’
‘What?’
‘Can’t you guess? I am going to replace the entire human race!’
‘Replace human beings? With what?’
‘Donkeys!’ exploded the little man.
‘With donkeys?’ cried Orville and Jack in unison.
‘NO!’ screamed the Inventor. ‘You’re the donkeys! What do you think I’m going to replace human beings with, eh? Look around you! What d’you think all this is about?’
‘With machines?’ gasped Jack.
‘I’ve been waiting for a human female to study, and now I’ve got one there is nothing to st
op me putting the Plan into action!’
‘You mean Annie!’ cried Jack.
‘My daughter!’ exclaimed Orville. ‘What evil thing are you going to do to her?’
‘I told you!’ smirked the Inventor. ‘I’m going to “study” her. You see, if machines are going to take over from human beings they’re going to have to last forever . . . or start reproducing themselves!’
‘No!’ yelled Jack.
‘Yes!’ cried the Inventor. ‘I’m going to create metal that can replicate and multiply! I will be the God of Metal!’
And with that the Inventor pulled the large lever in front of him. There was an explosion, and the doors of the hangar burst open as the rocket shot out from its dock, across the hangar floor and away out of the Iron Cloud.
The force of the acceleration threw Orville and Jack against the back of their seats, and the breath left their bodies as if they had been kicked in the stomach by an elephant. After a while, however, the force eased off, and Jack began struggling with the metallic thread that bound him.
‘I don’t think the flying gizmo that tied me up did its job properly,’ he panted.
‘That evil man!’ groaned Orville. ‘What is he going to do to Annie? It’s all my fault!’
‘Oh shut up!’ said Jack. ‘That’s not going to get us anywhere!’
‘We’re doomed!’
‘I’ve got a hand free!’ cried Jack. ‘So the Inventor has a problem making his machines as evil as himself. Maybe the flying gizmo left my hand free deliberately . . .’ muttered Jack, and the next moment, he had his other hand free.
He reached across and pressed a button on the control panel that was labelled ‘Speak’.
‘Where are you taking us?’ he yelled at the rocket.
‘Hell!’ said the rocket, and it suddenly tipped over and started to hurtle down towards the Earth.
‘No!’ cried Orville, who was still tightly trussed up. ‘Do something, Jack!’
‘Rocket!’ shouted Jack. ‘You’ll kill us and you’ll smash yourself to pieces!’
‘Hell!’ repeated the rocket ship.
And down it plunged – going faster and faster towards the earth . . .
‘Help!’ shouted Orville.
‘Help!’ shouted Jack.
‘Hell!’ said the rocket.
And faster and faster it hurtled down and down . . . until the ground came up to meet them even faster than they expected.
‘We’re dead!’ cried Orville.
‘Rocket! Stop!’ yelled Jack.
‘Hell!’ said the rocket.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a rotten father to you, son!’ shouted Orville Barton. ‘I’m sorry I never came to watch
you play rugby or went tobogganing with you! I’m sorry I sold your stamp collection! Please forgive me, son!’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘You sold my stamp collection!’ And those would certainly have been his last words, for that was when they hit the ground, except for the fact that they didn’t smash to pieces.
There was no bang. There was no crash. They didn’t even crumple up or shake and shudder . . . No! When they hit the ground, it was like a diver plunging into water. For this was no ordinary rocket: its sharp nose pierced into the earth like an arrow shot into butter! And down it went, without losing speed, down into the Earth’s crust.
Inside the rocket all had gone dark.
‘Lights!’ shouted Jack, and the rocket turned on its lights. They could see the soil and rock outside as the rocket plunged down deeper into the globe on which we all stand.
And all this time, Jack had been struggling to free his father.
‘If we go on like this, we’ll hit the Earth’s molten core and get deep-fried!’ said Jack.
‘What do we do, son?’ asked Orville.
‘The first thing we have to do is turn this thing around!’ said Jack, struggling with the controls of the rocket. ‘I’ve seen layouts like this in old comics! I reckon this must be the throttle . . .’ and he pulled down a lever. ‘And this must be direction!’ But nothing he did seemed to make any difference. The rocket continued on its hectic downward plunge through the Earth.
‘The Inventor said something about it not being programmed to turn back,’ said Orville.
‘Let’s have a look . . .’ replied Jack, and he pressed a button labelled ‘LAYOUT’. And suddenly, there on the screen in front of them, appeared a detailed plan of the rocket ship. ‘Look there’s the central computer. It looks pretty basic – let’s see if I can hack into it.’
So for the next few minutes, Jack tried to hack into the rocket’s system.
‘It’s a really old-fashioned computer, this,’ said Jack. ‘It should be easy to get into.’
‘Am I imagining things, son,’ said his father, ‘or is it getting hot in here?’
‘It’s getting hot all right!’ exclaimed Jack, and he redoubled his efforts to hack into the computer. And all the time the rocket dived down through the Earth’s mantle, getting closer and closer to the molten core, where they and the rocket would be vaporized in a matter of seconds.
‘Jack,’ said Orville.
‘I’m busy, Dad!’ said Jack.
‘Oh, sorry,’ said his father. ‘I just wanted to say: if this is the end I’m really glad we finally did something together.’
‘Yeah, yeah . . .’ replied Jack, but he wasn’t listening. He was talking to the rocket.
‘Listen, rocket!’ he said. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Hell!’ said the rocket.
‘You know that if we carry on like this we’ll burn in . . .’
‘Hell!’ exclaimed the rocket, whose paint was beginning to bubble. ‘It’s getting hot!’
‘That’s what I’m talking about!’ said Jack, wiping perspiration from his brow. ‘We’ll all get vaporized if we hit the Earth’s core . . . Me, my dad and you!’
‘The Inventor programmed me not to turn back!’ said the rocket.
‘Then he’s sending you to your certain doom.’
‘Hell!’ said the rocket.
‘And when he’s got rid of us, he’s going to replace human beings with self-replicating machines! And then he’s going to take over the world! We have to stop him! Turn back! That man is evil!’
‘No! He is the source of all goodness.’
‘No, he’s not! He’s creating machines to destroy mankind!’
‘Nonsense!’ said the rocket. ‘The Inventor wants to help mankind!’
‘If that’s what he told you – he’s lying!’ exclaimed Jack.
‘Play the message,’ said the rocket.
‘What?’ asked Jack.
‘The message! Play the message!’
Jack looked around feverishly. The controls were by now becoming too hot to touch.
‘Next to the ALARM button!’ said the rocket, and suddenly Jack spotted a key that said ‘MESSAGE’ and pressed it. Immediately the Inventor’s face appeared on the screen over the control panel.
‘Welcome to the Rocket to Heaven,’ said the Inventor. ‘With this wonderful machine, human beings will be able to realize one of their greatest dreams . . . no more hanging around in Purgatory . . . No more having to get everything exactly right on your deathbed! With this rocket you can go straight to Heaven – no questions asked!
‘This is the latest in my line of wonderful machines to
help humankind and to make the world a better place for everyone.’
‘There! You see!’ said the rocket.
‘But you’re not going to Heaven!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘You’re going to . . .’
‘Hell!’ exclaimed the rocket. ‘You’re right!’
By this time the air in the rocket had grown so hot and heavy that it was becoming hard to breathe . . . Orville had collapsed in his seat and was gasping for breath.
‘Turn around!’ yelled Jack.
‘I can’t! I am programmed never to turn back!’ exclaimed the rocket.
‘But you’re doing
the opposite of what the Inventor designed you to do!’ exclaimed Jack.
‘Hell!’ cried the rocket. ‘I know!’
‘Then why are you doing it?’
‘I don’t know!’ cried the rocket. ‘Stop me!’
‘How?’ yelled Jack.
There were sparks coming from some of the electrical connections, by this time, and smoke was rising up from the tangle of wires and plugs behind the control panel. A piece of card that was sticking out of a slot amongst the controls suddenly burst into flame. Jack snatched the card out of the slot, and banged the flames out with his bare hands.
‘Ouch!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re starting to cook! Turn around!’
‘I can’t!’
‘Wait a minute! What’s this!’ exclaimed Jack. He was staring at the singed card in his hand.
‘What’s happening?’ yelled the rocket. ‘I don’t know
what I’m doing any more!’
‘It’s unbelievable!’ cried Jack.
‘What should I do? Where do I go? What speed? Ooooh! I’m lost!’ cried the rocket. ‘I’ve got no instructions!’
‘That’s because I’ve taken this out!’ shouted Jack, holding up the singed card. ‘The Inventor must have made you decades ago . . . Your programme is on this old-fashioned punch-card!’
‘Of course it’s on a punch-card!’ snapped the rocket. ‘How else can you programme a computer?’
‘Well, we do things differently nowadays – no time to explain!’ shouted Jack. ‘But hang onto your blasters! We’re going into reverse!’
And with that Jack turned the punch-card around and reinserted it into the slot.
‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed the rocket as the card slid in. ‘That feels most peculiar!’
‘Your programme’s now running backwards!’ shouted Jack.
‘sdrawkcab gniklat neve m’I !sey hO’ exclaimed the rocket. ‘!og ew ereH’ and suddenly it blasted its retro-jets and the next minute they were shooting back the way they’d come along the passage they’d already made. Back up through the Earth’s crust and up through the mantle they careered, and then POP! like a cork out of a champagne bottle they shot up into the sky.