Exodus, Chapter Two

Once Sonica was all hooked-up to the ship’s own life-support apparatus, Joe stopped by the medical bay himself and changed the dressings that had come out of the first-aid box in his kitchen for new ones from the supplies. Concerns about certain girls accidentally showing more of themselves than anybody needed to see hadn’t made him forget that without this precaution he’d end up doing the same, in a far less picturesque manner and all over the floor to boot. That danger averted, and cargo and crew securely onboard, our hero shuffled slowly to the bridge.

Fire-and-scissors damage to the consoles proved to be only peripheral. Joe moved aside the pilot’s chair he’d slagged, and found another to take its place. Even his last-but-one battle with Schiss-Zazz felt a long time ago now. As for when he and Mini-Flash Splitsville had started up these same engines and set out from Nottingham, less space seemed to stretch between Joe’s lived childhood and his late adventures amidst its legacy.

He remembered the last time he’d sat at this panel, ghastly realization dawning on him. Now in sure sequence Joe commenced launch-procedures.

Only once did he hesitate, and that was when he thought of Morag.

No use anthropomorphizing her. Morag had only been a fantasy. She wasn’t to be confused with a person who’d miss him, or wonder why he never said goodbye.

Joe sat a moment, his hands halting on the controls.

Look elsewhere for The Lovely Land of Might-Have-Been, for all that our hero doubted he’d ever listen to that song again without recalling this time outside time and this place which was no place at all. Joe’s subconsciousness however had stood for nothing so sentimental, nor anything more meaningful than things merely not being any trouble. Our hero supposed that was what you ended up with, when you led such a life as had been his. In Morag, boyhood adoration for a little girl had segued smoothly and without pain to a mature relationship. The concept was beautiful, but belonged only to the realm of desires and dreams, for history told a different tale. Insofar as Joe understood the workings of the unconscious mind, it had probably been a factor that her first name was Scottish.

What Gala had said to him would always rankle. With words she’d cast a shadowy Neil Sedaka strangeness on the love Joe regarded as his destiny.

Yet had he dwelled forever in that attic, perpetuating the pretence of a universe without hurt, worlds would never have been saved.

Reality was where causes came from.

Closing his eyes a moment longer, Joe in his own way said goodbye to Morag.

Then he completed the final checks and took the spacecraft up.

No complications, no crises on the launch-pad, no death-defying escape amid a hail of enemy lasers. Joe made his laborious way along the corridor, thinking how he, Bret, Dylan and Neetra would have felt short-changed if there hadn’t been at least a last-minute firefight. But of course, all that had come later. Lifting off from the fens outside Boston entailed no more than a swell of the star-drive and an elevation so near noiseless as to be almost eerie.

The view outside the portholes wasn’t much. Indeed, it wasn’t anything. The ship was traversing whatever it was that lay between Joe’s tangible memories and the galaxy. With all due respect to Confucius, there was small incentive to concentrate on this journey instead of the destination. Besides, our hero had a hunch as to where his friends would be.

Sure enough, when Joe returned to the medical bay he found them there, staying by their two invalids and drawing what cosiness they could from the relatively compact surroundings. Mini-Flash Splitsville waited quietly by the green-glowing pillar in whose nutrient-bath Joe’s own likeness bobbed upright. Robin and Juniper were sitting side-by-side on one of the couches, likewise saying little. Over the sleeping Sonica meanwhile, Flashshadow kept vigil, as did Mini-Flash Pseudangelos.

Surveying the latter, Joe wondered how much of what had happened to her she truly understood. Similarly, her reasons for seeking him out and instigating this entire wild career remained beyond him. All that Joe was able to intuit, from the course events had taken, was that her mysterious enterprise had somehow failed.

That much was palpable in the mood which pervaded the silent compartment.

Not everybody was here however, and Joe detected Mini-Flash Robin and Mini-Flash Juniper growing ever more fidgety for this absence. It had indeed been longer than it took to put on a tunic and boots. Joe also gathered, remembering when last he saw those garments, that both Mini-Flashes knew they were the last pair Presh would relish seeing. Her animosity probably extended to Juniper’s Special Program classmates too.

So Joe said to Robin: “I shall find her, my friend.”

With that he turned from the doorway at once, before anyone had the chance to bring up his injury. Even if the love-triangle wasn’t Joe’s fault, enough had happened here that was. Just now our hero liked the thought of being of use to some of those who’d suffered because of him.

END OF CHAPTER TWO