The Communique, Chapter One

Flashsatsumas, a little male figure in vest and pants, rested comfortably upright with his splayed shins and forearms snug in cushioned manacles.

“So nice to do this here, instead of at Headquarters!” he beamed. “The girls pinch and tickle me when I’m all hooked up.”

“Been there,” sympathized Dylan Cook from over by the controls.

“Aren’t all your second gender sweet like 4-H-N, then?” Flashsatsumas queried.

“Oh, I could tell you a thing or two about school,” Dylan assured him, compensating for a sudden upsurge in the readings.

“Um, speaking of whom,” followed in a flurry, “I don’t suppose…?”

“Oh, she rushed off early this morning, I’m afraid,” replied Dylan, trying not to grin. “Looked like she’d had some good news. But I’ll let her know you said hi. Er, Flashsatsumas, would you mind thinking about, I don’t know, homework or something for a minute?”

Because these power-levels by now were all over the place. It was however only a short interruption, and soon Dylan was done.

“So no problems here!” he declared, switching the apparatus to its unlock cycle and hefting Flashsatsumas’s bright orange containment-suit. The boy stepped down and accepted this load, then tugged it on and inflated in sequence the protective pneumatic pockets at its sleeves and shoulders and skirt-hem. Dylan kept his back politely turned throughout, since that was what he’d have done on Earth, and there were certain Mini-Flash customs he was more than happy to leave to Joe.

“You get all the wear you can out of that thing,” Dylan told Flashsatsumas confidentially, once the latter was dressed. “From what I was just seeing, you’re not going to need it long. Someday soon those powers of yours are going to be every bit as reliable as mine.”

They walked from the lab to the twin-sun brilliance of a Grindotron noon. Along the corridor spongy faces of technicians bounced or rolled busily at knee-height.

“As for the rest of it,” Dylan went on, mindful not for the first time that these Mini-Flashes were no older than he’d been when The Four Heroes started out, “well, the technological side is where my expertise ends, believe me. But I do know that when it comes to what you call the second gender, the only experiments that count for anything are the practical ones. Just get out there and give it a go, Flashsatsumas! After all, there’s never been another Mini-Flash like you. All that extra power’s got to count for something with the girls, right?”

There they were. 4-H-N had wanted to catch them first thing this morning. Of course she’d messaged Bobby right away, but there were others less in the know who still deserved thanks.

“Guys!” cried 4-H-N. “Guys, it’s OK! She’s back!”

“Sue?” asked Flashslip, as he and Flashbee turned. “Oh, splendid news, Mini-Flash 4-H-N! Well, stand at ease.”

4-H-N wanted to giggle. Skidding to a halt she ignored the instruction and treated both boys to her very prettiest curtsey, because they'd earned it and also because it was fun seeing if she could so fluster Flashslip that he blinked out of phase with reality and left his clothes behind. Today she drew admirably close, because it was Flashbee who had to reply.

“Keeping an eye out for your friend was the least we could do, even if we didn’t find her,” said he. “That girl saved our lives.”

And he looked closely at 4-H-N, in not quite the same way boys typically did.

You couldn’t really blame Flashbee for his methodological insectile curiosity, since an insect was what he was. His large yellow antennae bore testament to that. 4-H-N was just glad this galaxy never shut up about her secretive teasing smile, because right now she had need of it.

“Some humans have powers, Flashbee,” she reminded him. “Er, you’ve heard of The Four Heroes, right?”

Which didn’t explain why 4-H-N had fibbed to the news reporter, and from Flashbee’s expression she was willing to bet he’d watched that late-night bulletin.

“So thank you,” she therefore pressed on swiftly. “And please will you thank Flashsatsumas too? He’s on Grindotron today and I just missed him. You three were the only ones Bobby and I could ask, because you know what Sue looks like. Well, Petunia does too, but we had a feeling she wouldn’t be quite as eager to help us.”

Flashbee still looked like there was more on his mind, but at that moment an insistent electronic pinging sounded out in stereo. The boys shot forefingers and thumbs to the hems of their skirts and silenced it.

“Oh,” said 4-H-N importantly, “action stations, you two. Go keep the little neophyte safe,” and she couldn’t resist upgrading her smile to life-threatening cheesiness.

As for Flashslip, it was funny how his command of speech always failed him long before his pomposity did. Through incoherent spluttering noises he communicated the sentiment that 4-H-N mustn’t be afraid, but should report for duty as usual and leave this emergency to the senior boys. Thereupon he and Flashbee whirled round again and ran for Headquarters, their pants showing.

Dylan hastened into the war-room with Flashsatsumas hot on his heels. “I came as soon as this one’s skirt started flipping out,” said he. “Prof, what the heck?”

Well might Dylan have asked. Over every flatbed scanner in the concourse, where should have been state-of-the-art holograms of whatever it was that was wrong, an angry red squiggle was defacing the airspace. It was as if animations by a child with a crayon had somehow gone viral. Grindo operators riding in hammocks at the hips of robot floor-walkers were trying to look like they were working the problem, but Dylan thought to himself, jeez. This was the galaxy’s Silicon Valley, and that had to be embarrassing.

Professor Grindo was clicking about in his personalized mobility-frame.

“The invader is made of something we can barely even detect,” he informed Dylan. “All our equipment, and there’s no telling where or even what it is.”

Nor was there any need for Prof to add that if they couldn’t, no-one in the sector could. Grindo egotism on these kinds of accomplishments was never less than justified.

“Scattered reports from where it’s so far struck have at least allowed us to sketch a rough trajectory,” continued the Professor. “Mini-Flashes and Alliance personnel are being stationed along the anticipated route. Unfortunately, with no apparent pattern to the attacks, even those measures are what you Earthlings would call a shot in the dark.”

“Sounds more like some sort of wild animal than an invader,” Dylan observed.

“Wild animals we can scan for,” pointed out Prof. “Although granted, until we can establish a telemetry fix, guesswork remains our best bet.”

Dylan was working the problem too.

“I’ll get you that fix,” he said next second, already retracing his steps for the door. “Flashsatsumas, you’re with me!”

END OF CHAPTER ONE