eyes darted upwards. It seemed to come from the painting.
He approached the masterpiece on shaking legs and stared into the face of Jesus.
‘Are you trying to give me a sign?’ he asked.
He waited. Jesus peered down at him with a beatific expression. Barnaby had always believed in a connection between art and the divine. Was it possible that link was about to be confirmed?
Another noise came from the painting. There was no doubt about it. It was a voice, as if God were communicating from a great distance.
Barnaby stepped closer.
‘Are you trying to tell me something? Speak to me,’ Barnaby said. ‘Tell me what I must do.’
The face of Jesus exploded into a thousand pieces as a large golden head smashed through the wall.
‘Run!’ the metal head screamed. ‘Get back! It’s alive!’
Barnaby staggered back from the destruction in speechless horror as the metal creature broke through the wall and leapt into the room. Barnaby turned back to the painting. It was damaged, but at least the remainder—
The entire wall toppled forward, crashing onto the floor.
Wa-woomph!
Two more people—a man and a woman—scrambled over the rubble and raced past him towards the gallery in the next room.
‘Sorry about this!’ the woman yelled over her shoulder. ‘But you’d better get out of here.’
‘We’re not kidding!’ the man added. ‘There’s something coming after us—and it’s not pretty!’
I’m hallucinating , Barnaby thought. It’s a delusion brought about by the long hours of work. I’ll wake up and The Last Supper will be perfect—
Then the creature appeared, convincing him that this was no delusion.
‘Gaarrk!’ the creature bellowed as it oozed into the room.
Barnaby tried to speak, but could only open and close his mouth like a goldfish. The three people had pulled out blasters and were now firing into the opposite wall, completely destroying Paxley’s A Black Quixo in an Inky Black Cave and Tobor’s The Massacre of Mobius Four , to make a hole big enough to climb through.
‘Run!’ the woman screamed at him.
‘For the love of God,’ Barnaby said, finally rediscovering the power of speech. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a cheese sandwich,’ the robot yelled back. ‘Radiation has mutated it into a sentient life form!’
As the three strangers disappeared through the gap they had just blasted in the wall, Barnaby stared in horror at the creature. Up close, he realised it was a cheese sandwich, although it was a million times larger than any cheese sandwich in history. It had no eyes—or face, for that matter—but a rudimentary mouth ran along the centre where the slice of Swiss cheese had once been.
Zeeb says:
By strange coincidence, Barnaby Hazleton was distantly related to Bert Jackson, the workman who was responsible for tossing the sandwich down the ventilation shaft two centuries earlier.
You don’t need to file that information away anywhere. I just thought you’d find it interesting.
Staggering away from the creature, Barnaby turned back only once to see it devouring the paintings he’d spent decades creating. The creature burped, emitting a stench that smelt vaguely of dead rat, Swiss cheese and oil paint.
Giving a last, wild cry, Barnaby fled for his life.
18
‘I’ve only got one question,’ Blake said to Nicki as they trudged down the darkened tunnel. ‘Can you guess what it is?’
They had left the cheese sandwich far behind after the monster had headed in a different direction apparently in search of new prey.
‘Uh, no,’ Nicki said airily.
‘Really?’
‘Nothing springs to mind.’
‘Let me give you a clue,’ Blake said. ‘Do the words, Yippee! Come and get us, you sprot eater , mean anything?’
‘Oh,’ Nicki said. ‘That.’
‘Yes. That .’
Nicki looked rather embarrassed—or as embarrassed as a gold-skinned woman could look. ‘I get nervous sometimes,’ she said. ‘Being a cyborg, sometimes my human biology doesn’t communicate
He approached the masterpiece on shaking legs and stared into the face of Jesus.
‘Are you trying to give me a sign?’ he asked.
He waited. Jesus peered down at him with a beatific expression. Barnaby had always believed in a connection between art and the divine. Was it possible that link was about to be confirmed?
Another noise came from the painting. There was no doubt about it. It was a voice, as if God were communicating from a great distance.
Barnaby stepped closer.
‘Are you trying to tell me something? Speak to me,’ Barnaby said. ‘Tell me what I must do.’
The face of Jesus exploded into a thousand pieces as a large golden head smashed through the wall.
‘Run!’ the metal head screamed. ‘Get back! It’s alive!’
Barnaby staggered back from the destruction in speechless horror as the metal creature broke through the wall and leapt into the room. Barnaby turned back to the painting. It was damaged, but at least the remainder—
The entire wall toppled forward, crashing onto the floor.
Wa-woomph!
Two more people—a man and a woman—scrambled over the rubble and raced past him towards the gallery in the next room.
‘Sorry about this!’ the woman yelled over her shoulder. ‘But you’d better get out of here.’
‘We’re not kidding!’ the man added. ‘There’s something coming after us—and it’s not pretty!’
I’m hallucinating , Barnaby thought. It’s a delusion brought about by the long hours of work. I’ll wake up and The Last Supper will be perfect—
Then the creature appeared, convincing him that this was no delusion.
‘Gaarrk!’ the creature bellowed as it oozed into the room.
Barnaby tried to speak, but could only open and close his mouth like a goldfish. The three people had pulled out blasters and were now firing into the opposite wall, completely destroying Paxley’s A Black Quixo in an Inky Black Cave and Tobor’s The Massacre of Mobius Four , to make a hole big enough to climb through.
‘Run!’ the woman screamed at him.
‘For the love of God,’ Barnaby said, finally rediscovering the power of speech. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a cheese sandwich,’ the robot yelled back. ‘Radiation has mutated it into a sentient life form!’
As the three strangers disappeared through the gap they had just blasted in the wall, Barnaby stared in horror at the creature. Up close, he realised it was a cheese sandwich, although it was a million times larger than any cheese sandwich in history. It had no eyes—or face, for that matter—but a rudimentary mouth ran along the centre where the slice of Swiss cheese had once been.
Zeeb says:
By strange coincidence, Barnaby Hazleton was distantly related to Bert Jackson, the workman who was responsible for tossing the sandwich down the ventilation shaft two centuries earlier.
You don’t need to file that information away anywhere. I just thought you’d find it interesting.
Staggering away from the creature, Barnaby turned back only once to see it devouring the paintings he’d spent decades creating. The creature burped, emitting a stench that smelt vaguely of dead rat, Swiss cheese and oil paint.
Giving a last, wild cry, Barnaby fled for his life.
18
‘I’ve only got one question,’ Blake said to Nicki as they trudged down the darkened tunnel. ‘Can you guess what it is?’
They had left the cheese sandwich far behind after the monster had headed in a different direction apparently in search of new prey.
‘Uh, no,’ Nicki said airily.
‘Really?’
‘Nothing springs to mind.’
‘Let me give you a clue,’ Blake said. ‘Do the words, Yippee! Come and get us, you sprot eater , mean anything?’
‘Oh,’ Nicki said. ‘That.’
‘Yes. That .’
Nicki looked rather embarrassed—or as embarrassed as a gold-skinned woman could look. ‘I get nervous sometimes,’ she said. ‘Being a cyborg, sometimes my human biology doesn’t communicate
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