On Intelligentsor Day, Chapter Four

Mini-Flash Phytolith hurried into his quarters, and the first thing he did was lock the door behind him. He hadn’t stopped running since the auditorium.

Auntie Green had mentioned a report.

That was the only thing to focus on. That would keep him from thinking about the rest of it. A report might mean by now…

He stumbled to his desk, tuned in the live newsfeed, and listened.

Yes. There it was. Right. OK. And that was mostly fine too. Mini-Flash Phytolith’s hectic heartbeat was starting to return to normal.

So the clean-up operation hadn’t been a complete success, but at least its primary goal was achieved. Apparently the defective had destroyed itself. That wasn’t quite what Mini-Flash Phytolith had envisaged, but certainly it made for a reaffirmation of the power of conditioning. Not that he’d ever doubted the leader. You didn’t do that. As for the question of data, yes, the enemy might have stored some findings on the memory-banks of their Star-Fighter, which was why Mini-Flash Phytolith had instructed Moltron to dispense with the ship too. But if that liquiform lout had failed, then fine. It had long been painfully apparent to Phytolith they didn’t know what efficiency was, here outside The Magnetic Stones. Erasing information on the defective here at Headquarters was already his job, so when the enemy returned, he’d merely do the same for that vessel of theirs. Teach it a charmed life only got you so far.

Mini-Flash Phytolith breathed out, slowly, and switched off the feed.

Not bad.

First proper challenge of active duty too. Another day, another reason to be thankful you’d not ended up a pile of pebbles.

He wished it made him feel better.

The weight of what had gone before so bowed a pair of small shoulders that the wobbly legs beneath them gave, and Mini-Flash Phytolith flopped to his bed without even skirt-tucking first. He fell as one exhausted who had been granted leave to relax, if it could be called relaxation which so coursed his body and whirled his head that he had but power to close his eyes.

4-H-N.

The beauty, and the anger.

To see her again, and for their subsequent interview to have been thus…

Phytolith never liked to look in the mirror. He was repulsive, after all. He’d grown up knowing that, and reminders of the fact had been received almost daily. Just now, however, there were light-years between him and surviving a glance at that reflective pane to the right. What he’d have seen there would have shrivelled him utterly.

Mini-Flash Phytolith breathed, and breathed again. Then, still not daring the mirror, he shuffled sideways until he was within reach of his bedside table.

The single drawer of this he opened, and quietly rested his other hand on what was inside.

Fingertips and palm brushing smooth slick silk which had been against her skin was an electric sensation every time. And oh, Mini-Flash Phytolith swore, his quarters were stuffier when the drawer was open. It was almost imperceptible, but for one attuned to her…

Which he was.

For the second time, Mini-Flash Phytolith closed his eyes.

His nostrils, for their part, had picked up a little of the same when she’d confronted him. There was more than respite in this prize. It was Phytolith’s strength too.

She didn’t know.

She’d said she did, but she didn’t. She couldn’t know.

It had terrified Mini-Flash Phytolith to discover she had her suspicions. He was willing to bet every droplet of colour had drained from this comparatively new pink flesh of his, and the guiltiness which crushed him now was going to be far slower about receding away. But still, suspicions were all 4-H-N could claim. She’d had her back to the vent he was lodged in when she either heard or scented his presence, and he’d made himself scarce long before she’d had a chance to turn around. That 4-H-N might correctly deduce who it was who’d been there was a possibility Mini-Flash Phytolith had never so much as considered, until the moment those brown eyes were burning at him backstage.

Seemed even a semester of 4-H-N studies couldn’t prepare you for the girl herself.

True enough. Not only the panic which had sent Mini-Flash Phytolith squirming backwards down the duct, but also what he’d stared upon in rapture prior to that, had reduced him. The time to take the Star-Fighter up had been while everyone was busy fighting that robot, but you might as well have asked Mini-Flash Phytolith to figure out the Prophecy as those controls just then, the state he was in. It was no way to behave when you were at war. You’d have thought Miss Jade and her corrector would have taught him self-restraint.

At least the operation had gone more or less smoothly once he’d finally pulled himself together. Yes, the enemy’s interference was regrettable, but Moltron had been waiting on schedule at the Target Harbour refuelling-port, and there’d been a narrow window of opportunity for Mini-Flash Phytolith to make payment and depart unnoticed. Galactic public transport had seen him back to Headquarters in time for Intelligentsor Day.

Fine. He was sure he’d performed admirably. Only now, Mini-Flash Phytolith told himself, it was time to confront.

He’d heard what 4-H-N said.

And if he had any sense at all…

Yet that notion was no more than embryonic when the hand in the drawer clamped down, squeezing jealously on the silk, as if a universe had suddenly moved to take away the contents of that clenching grasp.

Get rid of them?

As soon ask Mini-Flash Phytolith to leave them lying on the shower cubicle floor, that they might be obliterated with the rest of the ship, as ask him to surrender his prize.

His strength.

Gently he loosed his hold. Then ever avoiding the mirror, he withdrew the hand and sealed away what had been 4-H-N’s secrets and were now his own.

Not long ago, one who might have been describable as grandfather to Mini-Flash Phytolith had closed another drawer thus, on a token the disposal of which would have spelled an end to dreaming. That one likewise had been aware the consequences of this act might resonate through the cosmos, but he had chosen regardless, electing that what was done for his sake alone might in eons to come be whispered of as destiny.

Three generations of Joe were starting to display a family resemblance.

Mini-Flash Phytolith rose, still shaky, but feeling a little better than he had done. There’d been one other discovery this momentous afternoon, and now at last he cast his mind over it.

That girl who had been with 4-H-N.

As he contemplated her, Mini-Flash Phytolith began to smile. Not because the girl was pretty, although certainly she was. No competition, that went without saying, but nor had Phytolith any complaints about the glimpse of shimmery cerise he’d enjoyed when he was on the planks. Active duty was something a Mini-Flash could start to appreciate.

But no. Even so, it wasn’t that. Phytolith’s smile was incredulous, awed. He softly shook his head as one barely able to believe.

For he’d heard 4-H-N speak the girl’s name aloud.

Mini-Flash Meteor.

She wasn’t from the compound. Nevertheless, Mini-Flash Phytolith knew better than most that there were no coincidences. That was why the side he was on was going to win the war. Because they had a leader who understood such matters, in ways the enemy could never hope to. Great was the leader. All-embracing was his vision.

With a name like that, there could be no doubt this Mini-Flash Meteor was one of Mini-Flash Phytolith’s own. She, like him, was sure to play a part in the fate of 4-H-N.

And what a pleasure it was going to be to cultivate her intimate acquaintance.

THE END