Vertiginous, Chapter Three

Flight by flight up the square stairwell which Flashfrond had told her led to his bedroom, 4-H-N proceeded.

She wasn’t sure this was this was one of her wisest moves.

Still, she could scream as well as any girl, and Flashfrond surely knew it. That much was in 4-H-N’s favour, even if it would have been going too far to say she felt safe.

Here was the room. She knocked.

Her leotard could really have done with a wash, after two workouts yesterday. 4-H-N however hadn’t wanted to mess with the variables at this crucial stage.

The door opened and Flashfrond quickly ushered her in.

She guessed she couldn’t help feeling apprehensive on hearing the click behind her, not that there was anything immediately threatening about where she found herself. Yes, it was gloomy, and no, she hadn’t been in many boys’ rooms. 4-H-N hoped they wouldn’t all give her the creeps like this one did. It was slightly larger and more lavish than the entry-level arrangement, with a table and chairs as well as a bed. Over by the window hung a beige neophyte Mini-Flash tunic, which 4-H-N took to be Flashfrond’s old one.

The stuffiness was mostly her. She did grant him that.

Was it the reason Flashfrond seemed to be having trouble keeping still?

On the desk were snacks, and the promised soft drink. The problem wasn’t that he didn’t keep his word, but rather that he told her so little in the first place. Her cheeks in addition were starting to ache from so much false smiling, yet she opened the can and commenced getting her smell on, not that she needed it.

Flashfrond was hovering. 4-H-N wished he’d sit.

“Anything I like?” she inquired, after not many sips.

He nodded.

Then here was hoping some words might pin him down.

“What does 4-H-N have coming to her?” she asked. “I’ve really been wondering about that.”

“The Ritual of Demand,” Flashfrond replied. His voice was impressively soft and portentous. 4-H-N was apparently supposed to know what the Ritual of Demand was.

“Wow,” was her best attempt. “You’re kidding me?”

“I can’t tell you how I know,” continued Flashfrond, still hushed. “Just believe me when I say we’ve got it on good authority.”

Friends in high places? That would confirm 4-H-N’s fears she was dealing with more than a shady little circle of boys.

“So you’re well-connected?” was her next question.

“You could put it like that,” responded Flashfrond.

And all the while. Twitching his coppery head as if to scrutinize her features angle by angle. It was the shuttle-stop all over again, only worse. All at once 4-H-N had had enough.

“A holo-photo would last longer!” she burst out.

Flashfrond laughed, embarrassed, and it seemed something had finally happened to hold his fidgets in check.

“Just seeing if I can catch it again,” he offered by way of explanation. “I first noticed last night. Has anyone ever told you…?”

Once more he flicked his gaze from side to side, letting it chance upon forehead and chinline and eyelashes. Then he shrugged, as if the project had defeated him.

“There are times you really look like 4-H-N,” stated Flashfrond.

4-H-N herself stared.

“Kind of why I suggested this,” Flashfrond continued, grinning in a guilty way, blushes mounting on his round pink face. “Since you had so many questions, I mean. So I thought maybe I could help you out with those, and then…”

He wasn’t looking only at her anymore. His eyes kept taking in the window too, and they seemed to be trying to drop 4-H-N a hint.

The neophyte tunic.

Extremely slowly, and without further words, 4-H-N began walking to where it waited.

It wasn’t Flashfrond’s old one.

There were two things draped over the chair-back beside it which told 4-H-N what it was actually for. One was a long beige hair-ribbon, of just the kind with which she tied her ponytail when she was in Mini-Flash uniform.

4-H-N turned back to Flashfrond, eyes unblinking, lips parted.

“It’s not much to ask,” he informed her, and there was something insistent in his voice now. “Not after I’ve done all this for you. It’s just putting on some clothes.”

The second object, alongside the hair-ribbon, shimmered whitely in the dim room. Looking on it was the moment 4-H-N began to wonder seriously whether she was home in bed.

She picked up the knickers and turned them over in her hands.

They weren’t the ones she’d lost at Nebula Seven. These were new, and had never been worn. The pristine label alone told her that.

Yet they were of identical style, size and manufacture to that dear departed pair.

4-H-N’s head was spinning. None of this made sense.

True, she and Moltron were foes. They’d battled once. And true, she hadn’t thought him the type to peer at girls in the shower. She’d been wrong about that. But…

Moltron was an intergalactic mercenary. A tough guy, even if he did have certain proclivities which put the lie to that image. He worked for profit. How much of that could there be in organizing clandestine cliques of male Mini-Flashes who happened to have a grudge against her?

Did Moltron share that grudge? What reason had she ever given him to?

And why would somebody who operated outside the law take the risks and make the time to set himself up as some sick equivalent of a Boy Scout master?

It was ludicrous. It would have made 4-H-N want to laugh, under any other circumstances.

Yet as far as she apprehended the situation, there was nobody but Moltron who could have told Flashfrond and his mysterious confederates that those were the kind of knickers she wore.

4-H-N would say one thing. She’d come here tonight in search of information.

No complaints as far as that went. It was a pity she understood not one iota of what she’d discovered, but at least she wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Not in any sense, for with the pair of panties clenched in one fist she set off for the door, still moving and feeling more like a sleepwalker than anything else.

“Where do you think you’re…?” Flashfrond fumed at her, a grabby arm outstretched.

4-H-N’s free hand was good enough for him. As on the sports field, every play this boy ever made could be anticipated a solar-system off. He crashed to the carpet at the foot of the bed, both his hands now squeezing his skirt-front, tears squirting from his eyes.

So 4-H-N sauntered out and closed the door behind her, a girl whose life just kept getting more and more complicated.

“Wait!” wheezed Flashfrond, striving to rise, though it still booted him to clasp himself.

He staggered to the door and threw it back. “Those are mine!” he protested punily. “I paid for them!”

And he had. Onto the landing Flashfrond stumbled, thighs wobbly as to give out. His target was already far out of reach, several floors below by now, ponytail bouncing, nose in the air.

“Kim Novak!” quavered the furious boy. “You…you…4-H-N!”

There in the rectangular portal he hunched, gazing from on high, a powerless portrait of solitude and loss.

THE END

Just a quick dutiful nod from the doctor to the master, although I hope it's already clear whose genius inspired this last three-part story! His middle name was Joseph, don't you know...