Pacchero shot along the control room tracks and screeched to a halt. The place was deserted. There were pictures on the monitors but no one sat at any chairs. Lapinette and the Wabbit disembarked and looked around. Nothing. Nothing except the whirring of wings. Suddenly the farfalle were on them. They came at them in a lightning raid - rushing and swooping and pouncing then swooping again. The Wabbit and Lapinette had no hesitation in pulling out automatics and they fired burst after burst. The effort opened Lapinette's wound and she bled profusely over Pacchero - who shuddered and sat very still. If he'd had eyes he would have covered them. "Tell me when it's all over," he muttered. Lapinette managed to clip a farfalla but that didn't stop it. It merely wheeled about and nose-dived again. "What to do about them?" shouted Lapinette, "Can you get to the pasta control panels?" The Wabbit searched in his fur for a spare magazine. "I'm rather busy," he growled. But he moved backwards nonetheless. Lapinette laid down covering fire but more farfalle were coming. The Wabbit kept firing too but moving backward played havoc with his aim. He flailed with his paws and managed to hit one between the wings. It flew erratically into the tunnel and disappeared. "Gotcha," he yelled. He was nearly at the control desk and he looked at the picture of the pasta ocean. "I'll never eat fusilli again," he groaned. "You don't eat it anyway," shouted Lapinette." The Wabbit scowled and grunted. "I'll make an exception."
