In an instant the projectile had found its lock on my fragile hull, in response I hammered on my ECM (Electronic Counter Measure) and initiated my rear thrusters. As the ronk clearing around me, an even bigger stinker was dropped a Thargoid missile was raking its way through the blackness of wytchspace towards the ship. The Gronk gronked (on his planet, gronking wind in a different colour expresses an emotion) purple wind everywhere, as if in some way summing up the horror of the impending situation. "By the piles of the Ploeides, it's a Thargoid invasion ship!" I gasped. Cursing my luck, the Gronk sends a proboscis from his snout looping out towards the scanner, seconds later my stomach drops as an aminous image materialises on the main screen. With a start I jump to my feet spilling beer, peanuts and ash everywhere. I begin to snooze myself, and am just beginning to fantasise about a night on Rigel 5 with the four- breasted love sirens when I hear the shrill sound of the scanner alarm. He lies snoring his little furry snout off, occasionally catching an itch up his hairy torso with a dozy claw. In a half drunken stupor I glanced across at the long range scanners, nothing but asteroids for entertainment, and to be quite frank the novelty of zapping lumps or rock had long since dried up.Īnother turn of the head and I'm gazing at the Gronk, my ever-faithful companion. All around the half-shadowed interior of my beat-up Cobra, beer cans lay redundant reflecting the lights of the ship's auto-pilot. We'd been travelling over 20 days, the hyperspace jump from Quaxxon to Zoonce was some jaunt, and talk about dull. In fact there's one particular incident that I remember with some clarity. Well, it wasn't quite like that there was the odd run-in with the law for smuggling the odd ton or 20 of Arcturan Megaweed, and a couple of errors in judgement due to mistakes in identifying nice, ripe, juicy traders carrying priceless cargo for nasty roughneck good for nothing pirates.Īs the incomparable Wolf, I had many exciting and dangerous adventures (well, kind of for a teenager playing on a home computer).
Yes indeed, Wolf Flipside: Righter of wrongs, purveyor of purity, guru of goodness, federation freedom fighter and legion of liberation. Sacking the default character Commander Jameson, I assumed my action hero-type Pseudonym, Wolf Flipside.
As keen as the next schoolboy to reach the dizzy heights of Elite, this reviewer soon got lost in space. As a goggle- eyed 15-year-old I spent month upon month locked away in a dimly lit room, with only my Human League albums for company. First released on the BBC Micro, its wire-frame 3D went all and sundry foaming at the mouth. There is probably no-one who has owned a home computer who hasn't at some time or another come into contact with David Braben's trading-cum- action space campaign, Elite.
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