A Shock For 4-H-N, Chapter One

Rumours were still flying round Flash Club Headquarters of some altercation at an out-of-the-way supermarket when Flashslip sought Mini-Flash Phytolith in his room.

“I thought I’d better tell you,” said the senior boy. “Because I don’t like it, Phytolith. She’s up to something. The assault course – ”

“I know what it is,” Mini-Flash Phytolith put in. “Fast-track advancement. Neophytes have always been entitled to it, provided they beat a senior at each of the trials. 4-H-N’s trying to get out of her beige.”

“That’s some obscure history,” Flashslip remarked, looking closely at Mini-Flash Phytolith, himself beige-clad and a more recent recruit even than 4-H-N.

“I’ve studied it,” returned Phytolith shortly, and then was silent.

For he’d heard the rumours too, and they ran on topics which would have been impossible to dismiss. Moltron, and a mysterious female Mini-Flash who apparently enjoyed easy access to Grindrotron technology not yet on the shelves? There was no-one else that could have been, and Phytolith unlike the gossip-mongers knew what psychic powers were at her fingertips. The Special Program versus that mercenary dunderhead? 4-H-N would have been able to extract everything she needed to know, and Flashslip’s news this morning was little more than confirmation she had.

Because Mini-Flash Phytolith would be at the command of a senior 4-H-N, in the eyes of The Flash Club at least.

She might order an inspection of his room. A surprise inspection. It was exactly what she’d threatened to do on Intelligentsor Day.

Flashslip was still watching carefully, so he noticed when Mini-Flash Phytolith’s hand moved to the top of his nightstand and clamped down, as though to hold the top drawer shut with all the squeezing strength it could muster.

“We can’t let her, Flashslip,” declared Phytolith at last. “The film,” he added quickly. “And the contact details of our producer. Never even mind the neophytes who’ve already joined us. If she found out at this stage, it’d ruin everything we’ve been working for. Open your messages.”

Flashslip went over to the terminal and did so. His most recent was still the all-recipients invitation from 4-H-N, which had gone out to every Mini-Flash of graduate rank.

Mini-Flash Phytolith rose from the bed and summarily hit accept.

“You’ve just volunteered,” he told Flashslip mirthlessly. “Stop her.”

Flashslip’s resultant preparations meant he had to start delegating missions to Mini-Flash Phytolith and his other assistant, Mini-Flash Meteor. One such was to set off early on the day of the trial. Just before it did, Mini-Flash Crimsonhead joined her fellow tunics on their shuttle’s bridge to pass a handheld scanner over the surroundings in general, and Mini-Flash Meteor in particular.

“All clear,” Crimsonhead sang out at length. “Nitrite glycogomia, check, and no suspicious substances tucked away where they oughtn’t to be.”

“Your knickers are going to be tucked very tightly away where they oughtn’t to be on my return, dearie,” Mini-Flash Meteor vowed.

“Give it a rest, Meteor,” was all the other said in reply. “No-one’s afraid of you anymore. This security-check was only required because you crashed your last supply-run, after undertaking it with your smell on. As, I gather, you undertake most Flash Club tasks and duties these days. Not that I’m complaining. With you around, my certificate for neatest flight-plan logged won’t be in any danger.”

On that twinkling triumph the little Mini-Flash pranced off. Meteor stood and fumed. Behind her, the loose lid of a storage-locker bumped once.

Mini-Flash Phytolith, who’d been there throughout, took the ship up.

For the first hour or so, Meteor maintained the surly silence of an addict while Mini-Flash Phytolith manned the controls, making no attempt at conversation either to comfort his companion or for his own sake. So it was that only intermittent thuds from the storage-locker sounded out over the steady rhythm of the shuttle’s drive.

At great length, once they were well away from home, Phytolith quelled this latter to an idle and pushed his chair back.

“You’ve overshot the service-station by about a light-year, sweetie,” commented Mini-Flash Meteor, less than sweet herself, although it was true that in every direction was blank starry space.

“If you can live without winning that certificate,” Phytolith replied, “I thought perhaps we could do something else. Something you’ll like.”

Meteor looked back at him, as to indicate that that would depend greatly on what he had in mind, but she was listening nevertheless. After all, since the day of the launch-party she’d taken an increased interest in whatever it was this boy and Flashslip had their little furtive fingers in. If Meteor was now looking at her long-awaited means of sneaking ingress, that she might ascertain ways in which their scheme could be of advantage to her, then Mini-Flash Phytolith may be assured he had her undivided attention.

“Crimsonhead we’ll have to leave for another day,” that one went on, “but there’s another girl in it who’s wronged you. And a chance to even the score.”

The locker thumped again. Mini-Flash Meteor rose.

“Then share, dearie, pray,” said she, stepping to the rear bulkhead. “But first, allow me. If someone doesn’t fix that I swear I’m going to go out of my – ”

Knickers filled Mini-Flash Meteor’s vision the minute she opened the lid. Bright green spotty ones, and their well-built wearer was sliding straight out onto her.

“GYAAAGH!”

Crump.

It was Actualsis, her silver dress and auburn hairdo suggestive of a superstar, though she looked a little ruffled just now for one accustomed to glamorous social soirees. That however went double for the girl on whom she sat, dotted panties squashing half her face down on the deck.

“To those who feared we forgot to bring a toaster,” Mini-Flash Meteor just about managed to drawl, “I cry behold.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Mini-Flash Phytolith, “slipped my mind to tell you. It’s safe to come out.”

He made no attempt at concealing his amusement from either of the girls. As flinty as his namesake, it fairly glinted from him.

Mini-Flash Phytolith was somebody who took revenge.

“Hope it was warm enough for you in there,” he added.

It had been so much so as to put Actualsis in fear for her thermostat, and she’d been desperate for an oil-change too. From the floor she quivered indignation at Mini-Flash Phytolith.

“Where’s Flashslip?” was her first demand. “You promised he’d be here.”

“I also promised you an exclusive,” Mini-Flash Phytolith replied. “So you’d better hope I wasn’t lying about that part.”

Actualsis rose, still tremulous with rage, granting Mini-Flash Meteor her liberty at last.

“I can’t help you unless you help me,” continued Mini-Flash Phytolith. “So if you can do what I asked, get on with it.”

For a moment it may have looked to both Mini-Flashes as if the glaring girl wasn’t going to. Actualsis however had been designed for that walk of life in which an exclusive was an exclusive, and her programming allowed for a bad-mannered director every now and then.

She tipped her pretty head to one side, accessing her filofax, then went over to the navigation controls and entered a new trajectory.

TO BE CONTINUED