Carmilla's Resolution

The conference chamber’s large circular table was ringed with seats for the humanoids, and ramps leading to elevated platforms for the jeeps. These were arranged in alternating sequence so that every member of the organization could address the forum from equal ground. Psiona launched the meeting with one last item recently gleaned from her cerebral cave.

“Less than two standard time-intervals after Zeldich and Grey Bag made their getaway, The Back Garden issued a public statement that Prince Agaric has abdicated,” she announced. “They humbly beg forgiveness for not divulging this sooner, but the shameful nature of this strictly internal affair made them reluctant to reveal their embarrassment to the sector at large.”

“Give your powers a break, kid, because we all see the connection,” said Blaster-Track, parked beside his Commander. “Now if Agaric gets caught, the royal family’s hands are clean. But off the record, they’re backing Phoenix Prime one hundred percent. They’d throw in with Scientooth alright, or anyone else who opposes the Alliance, just as long as it meant recovering some of the hold they used to have on this galaxy. And with so-called Spookan putting Back Garden resources at Phoenix Prime’s disposal, the odds of her being able to bust Scientooth out are looking better by the minute.”

It was Carmilla who next spoke, albeit so quietly and woefully that the only words her comrades were able to hear were her final three:

“…all my fault.”

“Friend Carmilla – ” Blaster-Track Commander began to protest, but she hushed him.

“Phoenix Prime never learned what goodness is,” our heroine told the table. “All she knew was anger, hate and revenge. Her clone Phoenix tried to teach her the ways of The Four Heroes’ cause, but Phoenix let her down. We all did, when we took sides in a struggle that wasn’t our own, and handed Scientooth over to the Alliance to solve a problem we created. Well, talk about reaping the whirlwind. Because all this mess…”

Carmilla made a helpless gesture.

“Phoenix Prime thinks she’s doing what The Four Heroes would have done,” she explained. “She thinks it’s the way to set things right. She doesn’t understand. She can’t see that working with the likes of Big Grin and The Back Garden is only going to make things worse.”

Our heroine sighed, heavily and long. Then she looked up again to her newfound friends, and continued in tones at least a little steadier than they had been before.

“I can’t go back to Grindotron now,” said she. “If I do, I’m obligated to tell my family and Prof everything we know about Prince Agaric. But the Grindoes are Alliance citizens, and…”

Blaster-Track Commander nodded once, sombrely, for he understood.

“And before that day is done, Toothfire and The Back Garden will be at open war,” he finished for her. “The peace we have striven to uphold will be forever lost.”

“That’s why I came to you in the first place, Commander,” Carmilla said to him with a tiny sad smile. “You know how to fight this kind of battle. Everything from here on in has to be on silent running, the way you do best. We follow Big Grin to Phoenix Prime. And then, somehow, we fix this.”

They were with her. Carmilla saw as much in the set features and resolute brows of her humanoid fellows, and it even seemed to her that about the numerous jeeps was something resembling calm determination in their radiators and headlights. So it was that despite the pain our heroine felt at this latest chapter even now commencing in her oft-tragic family saga, strength enough to face it was lent by the sympathetic beings of flesh and metal assembled around her, and Carmilla found herself able to commit to her course with a sense of acceptance and purpose.

“I don’t know about you, Psiona,” she stated in conclusion, “but I’m about ready to hit the sonic showers.”

Sharing the shower-block’s scented steaminess with a like-minded jolly cubicle-chum brought Carmilla no end of comfort after her trying day. Once pores clogged with space-dust had been sound-blasted clear, and the last gritty specks of Target Harbour scourged from the tips of her tresses down to her toes, our heroine’s faith in her ability to take on the universe was all but restored. So after Carmilla had helped Psiona with a few difficult-to-reach areas the two girls sauntered out into the locker-room together, not much caring where they draped their towels, because it wasn’t a competition and anyway they’d got the formalities of praising each other’s figures out of the way at the start. Nevertheless, the tender smile with which Psiona was now favouring Carmilla made the latter all too aware her bouncing bathtime buddy felt she required support in a different sense.

“Is it really that obvious I’m troubled?” our heroine grinned resignedly.

“Not to the others,” said Psiona, with the involuntary smirk often seen on girls from this galaxy when their talents were compared with those of males. “If you’d like, I can psychically scan for the sources of your sorrow. Some people find an objective voice helps them put things in order. Not that I’d ever do it if you didn’t wish me to…”

Carmilla had enough little sisters to know that girls Psiona’s age could be genuinely smug and genuinely kind all at the same time. “Are you kidding, hon?” she returned with a warm smile. “Go right ahead. It’s got to beat reading my horoscope!”

Psiona raised one open hand with the palm pointing in Carmilla’s direction, and closed her large emerald eyes.

“You spoke no untruth when you told us your reason for remaining with us,” the telepathic teen began. “But there is more, which you did not tell. Your family on Grindotron have become besmirched by a dread betrayal, one in which you believe yourself complicit.”

Carmilla in all fairness felt she had mentioned this already, twice in fact. Nevertheless Psiona was helping, just as she’d said, for our heroine had tried hard to convince herself that that thought wasn’t really there. Now she knew it was.

“Another reason,” Psiona went on. “The Commander. And yet…”

Only Psiona could have looked prettier still with her little forehead furrowed in a frown.

“It’s all so new and strange…there’s nothing like it in our galaxy,” she murmured at length. “What you feel for him is strong…or rather, you want it to be…but still you do not know whether any of it is even real at all. Frankly, I’m finding this very confusing.”

“It always is hon,” Carmilla advised her. “Though I’ll admit, my own individual instance is what people on my planet call a doozy.”

“What do you do there, when faced with feelings like these?” asked Psiona, awed.

“Pretty much the same thing I’m doing here,” was Carmilla’s reply. “We keep on getting the job done. Thanks, Psiona. Let’s try this again sometime.”

“It was most educational,” the other girl agreed, and took Carmilla’s clothes down from the peg for her. “Here’s your Mini-Flash tunic. You’re lucky, I’d love one of these.”

She spoke without a trace of irony, but Carmilla already knew that while there were similarities between this sector and home, fashion was mostly one big difference. “Then it’s yours, hon,” she informed Psiona confidentially. “You’ll look hotter than me in it. Besides, I’ve just this minute received my discharge-papers from the Mini-Flashes.”

So saying Carmilla opened her locker, and took out the travelling-case she had brought with her from Grindotron. Because one way or another she was away from that world now, and could not be associated with family and friends there until she had brought this galactic crisis to a close. No more need for them to hear her white lies about why she was wearing the tunic, and Psiona had helped our heroine see that these false reassurances could never have flowed so readily were it not for the far greater lie she had been telling herself. At least she had been a little more honest about Blaster-Track Commander, but where exactly he fitted into this decision Carmilla was prepared to figure out as she went along. Far more importantly than either of these issues however was that if Phoenix Prime insisted on acting in accordance with yet another misapprehension of The Four Heroes’ cause, adding her own corruption of those original ideals to what was fast becoming an ongoing theme in this galaxy, then someone had to represent what the cause was supposed to stand for. Someone had to fly The Four Heroes’ colours in the way they were meant to be flown.

She undid the seals of her travelling-case while Psiona wondering looked on.

“Whatever the challenge, whatever the peril,” Carmilla said softly, “somehow it always manages to be there…!”

And from out of the case’s thrown-back lid, a golden and crimson costume flamed.