Delinquents, Chapter Four

At the first glowing gusher that would send her in the direction Mini-Flash Bobbypins had gone she ran, to jump straight in with her feet together. Just as 4-H-N had previously deduced, the rushing currents rubbed her bare cheeks and legs a good deal more than you’d expect at Headquarters and she suspected she’d be bringing half the beach back with her in her hair, but there was no faulting the swiftness and efficiency with which she was borne to the floor above. This new segment of their hollowed-out space-rock boasted a monumental arched ceiling which 4-H-N’s feisty thermal was blasting her at. As she barrelled clear of its fountainhead she tucked and inverted so her soles were pointing at the landing-site, then upside-down galloped the span of its dome in a race against her own impending inertia.

Bobbypins was lying in wait, but 4-H-N had assumed she would be, and knew in advance that as the Mini-Flash could aim from anywhere in that cave’s airspace it was all going to come down to reaction-time. Besides, the inevitable shot turned out to be a poor one. All 4-H-N had to do was yank back her firing-arm so the catapult rested by her ponytail, and Bobbypins’s pearl hummed across her path a clear breadth ahead of her. Why would she go for the wrist? 4-H-N logged this as something it might be just as well to remember later on, even as the other half of her brain calmly calculated what her next move should be now that gravity was fast pulling her pounding feet down from the roof.

She spied her way out, a lightless opening half-way up the cave-wall to which her trajectory would lead her just fine. Somersaulting in free-fall to position herself, 4-H-N then went on to spy a little retreating blur of mostly silver and beige. If Mini-Flash Bobbypins however had really wanted to escape unseen, she’d have done better to not turn her back wearing shiny new spun-silk ones. 4-H-N still wasn’t quite right-side up but there was no hesitation as she slipped back her stock.

“Join this galactic union,” muttered she, and fired.

The flaming pearl sailed on target and whumphed into Bobbypins’s inside leg just above her shimmery gusset. With an anguished little whimper she plummeted from flight at once. Yep, girl can dish it out, that figures. 4-H-N had to admit she didn’t feel in the least bit sorry for her.

Hugging her calves the clone hit the threshold of her exit-portal white frills-first and slid its steep smoothness to cannon out the other side, half her lines of lace by now bunched up in not the most comfortable way but with a more pressing problem to address before she could think about unpicking. Yikes! The canyon floor she’d opted to deposit herself upon was a veritable nightclub for those living tentacle-traps! The lumbering blobs surely numbered in their hundreds, and 4-H-N was plunging right into that mass.

This was going to call for some quick thinking. There were several bare patches of sand for 4-H-N to steer herself at, but that wasn’t any use. A little dainty two-footed finish like in gymnastics was out of the question, seeing as she was making like an out-of-control interplanetary freighter. What she needed was a runway, but that might work to her advantage. Coming to earth in a colossal burst of grainy spray the clone curled up and rolled to disperse her momentum, whereat like a pinball she bounced from one rubbery anemone-hide after another leaving the sea-sluggish ones to bestir themselves in turn from each unexpected collision. Next second 4-H-N was on her feet and running again, judiciously so, familiar as she was with the range and speed of these uglies when they were in a predatory mood. Sure enough, several of the creatures were already unfurling their tendrils and humping at her with all the hungry haste of the one she’d fallen foul of before. Nothing however about either that incident or the present situation had hinted to 4-H-N her persecutors were able to climb.

A headlong hurtle up the nearest rock-formation ensued, knees jolting, arms pumping, until 4-H-N was head and shoulders higher than the amorphous brutes. In an instant they had her plateau surrounded, but the upland was stumping them just as she’d gambled and that gave her time to take care of a related piece of business. On this same raised stage sat another of 4-H-N’s favourite shellfish. Stamping her foot down neatly on its cusp she flipped it lips-over-hinge into her free hand, and though the anemone-enemies were fast figuring out they could stretch their flagella to snare her, she could see a local blow-hole that was just about to go. Skipping onto it with insteps side-by-side 4-H-N roared roofwards on the gusher’s first push and left the quivering limpets to quest in vain. Still a teaser, she smiled to herself.

Above ran a narrow ledge and 4-H-N touched down crouching. Just a second or two, that was all she asked. Cracking open the clam in her hands she plucked its pearl and reloaded, but no sooner than that was Mini-Flash Bobbypins thundering upon her like a silver-haired harpy. The precious seconds 4-H-N had begged for were spent. Futile now to attempt so ponderous a procedure as taking aim and sliding her stock and discharging the new stone. All that would serve was pure reflex. 4-H-N with the speed of thought cocked her elbow to keep her catapult clear of Bobbypins’s ballistics, so sacrificing an exposed forearm into which her rival’s fire-pearl excruciatingly punched.

Grim as the hurt was, 4-H-N managed to tag Bobbypins back before her tendons went into spasm. The Mini-Flash, emulating her namesake, abruptly changed course for the uppermost reaches where doubtless were oyster-beds well beyond 4-H-N’s flightless bounds. Using the latter’s strategy against her, in other words, which didn’t bode well what with their now having entered elimination. No way could 4-H-N count on Mini-Flash Bobbypins pulling off anything short of a full-body shot, since that was all it would take for her to clinch the match. Even though twice now, weirdly, she’d gone for her gun instead…

And there it was. All of a sudden, 4-H-N had the measure of her Mini-Flash foe.

Here was a girl who fired on you before you were ready, tallied up the subsequent hit as the first point she’d scored, and only after that let you know you were playing at all. Never even mind that the tests of flying-skill she preferred were those where her opponent couldn’t fly. The Mini-Flash Bobbypinses of this galaxy, and indeed of any galaxy, were the sort of people who didn’t like to shoot unless they were confident you weren’t armed. Throughout this game Bobbypins had held many advantages, but in return she’d just handed 4-H-N the only one she was going to need.

The clone leapt from the ledge, and with her bag swinging from its strap jet-jumped multiple thermals to cross to the closest ammo dump that was within her means. A closed-off cubby-hole of a cave, its limpid pools shadowing various many-sized shells, and through whose roof a raging torrent belched like smoke from an overactive chimney. Into this seclusion 4-H-N ducked for several successive heartbeats, then rose like a rocket from the flue in a last rush that spirited her to her destination.

That took the form of a craggy cliff where Mini-Flash Bobbypins already awaited her. 4-H-N descended, skirtless, her white underwear still one big stuffed-up clump in back, while her hand wrapped round the gun-grip and the other balled up in a fist were both clenched so tight that the knuckles if anything showed whiter.

Mini-Flash Bobbypins’s pearl was fast and deadly accurate. It smashed into the rival pistol while its owner was still mid-flight, tearing it from her grasp. Down to the clifftop clattered the catapult whereat it spilled a shining stone which trundled into the gulf. 4-H-N landed before her adversary weaponless.

Indecently gleeful about the lips and teeth Mini-Flash Bobbypins kicked open a clam, taking her time. One leisurely reload and it would all be over.

That was when 4-H-N’s other hand, the one she was making into a fist, unsprang. In it was a second stone, swaddled in the grubby knickers she’d changed out of earlier and stowed inside her bag. A flick of an eyelash later these panties were stretched slingshot-fashion to the limits of their elastic, the pearl tucked into that pocket of silk resting in the palm pulled back, and Mini-Flash Bobbypins had barely begun to stoop snarling for her own when 4-H-N’s twanged true and triumphant. A fiery projectile exploded on beige and the tunic-wearer stumbled back, banged her head against the canyon wall and slumped still.

The secret to controlling this game was letting your opponent think they had the upper hand.

Breathing hard, 4-H-N surveyed the stunned Mini-Flash. She looked as innocent and vulnerable as could be. Like much else about her, opined 4-H-N, this fell into a category called “believe that and you’ll believe anything.” So too did any cosy convictions the clone might have entertained that were their roles reversed, Mini-Flash Bobbypins would now be doing what she was about to do.

“It’s a lot more than you deserve, Bobby,” 4-H-H said, lifting her up and bundling her onto her shoulders. “But luckily for you, this is how I play the game.”

Never had space’s black sky been so welcome a sight as 4-H-N quit the final air-column and arrived on the asteroid’s exterior, laying Mini-Flash Bobbypins down by her feet. She was just in time to catch a glimpse of tailfins dwindling into the distance. Clearly Mini-Flash Meteor and the other girls had been watching – they were good at that – and felt no especial inclination to stick around once the fun was done. Much of what 4-H-N had seen tonight disgusted her, but this light regard for Mini-Flash Bobbypins’s welfare exhibited by her supposed friends did so most of all.

“Yeah,” murmured 4-H-N. “You’d better run.”

With a finger she fumbled for her wristwatch and pressed. Then she pressed again, and held, but even that by now took effort. Exhaustion, injury and tappy smell-bombs were conspiring to sap 4-H-N of what little strength remained. To the last drop of it she bore down on the button until her bare legs buckled and she bit the crust, making a matching pair of sleeping beauties underneath the stars.

This time the signal did get through. Micro-Mallet was by his loved one’s side with all his customary promptness, and it was he who radioed for an ambulance-shuttle. Thus Mini-Flash Bobbypins woke next morning safe and sound in the medical bay at Flash Club Headquarters, and 4-H-N likewise in her sunny bedroom back on Planet Grindotron.

The clone could only hope her new friends’ recovery was as wretched as hers, though she doubted this was possible. There were of course aches and pains left over from her duel, but the dissolution she’d indulged in immediately prior to that was taking an unimaginably greater toll. Not even 4-H-N’s one experience with an excess of Martian wine came close. Her bedsheets smelled as if they’d been steeped in tepid toffee yoghurt and stale doughnut batter and day-old fat from a cheese and onion crisps deep-fryer. It had all seemed so sumptuous last night when she and the Mini-Flashes were happily tapping without a care in the galaxy, but now 4-H-N wouldn’t have minded in the least if she never had to so much as sniff any of those malodorous aromas again.

When Grindotron’s second sun had begun to contribute its bright afternoon beams to 4-H-N’s suffering and poorliness, her friend Flashlight came round to see how she was. After hearing her story, the male Mini-Flash positively enthused:

“This is so interesting, 4-H-N. It’s long been rumoured that Lightning based the original design for our flight-simulators on some naturally-occurring phenomenon he’d discovered out in the wilds of the quadrant, but for a clandestine group of female Mini-Flashes to have actually found it and be using it in secret...well, talk about a sign of the times!”

Dear Flashlight, thought 4-H-N. Here she was, alone with him in her bedroom with her saucy nightie on, and the topic he wanted to talk about was Flash Club socio-history. She hoped he’d never change.

“As for the girl-gangs though, we do know about them,” Flashlight continued more gravely. “I wish now I’d thought to warn you, 4-H-N. It’s a big problem these days, the second gender looking for thrills and spills outside of what The Flash Club allows. Obvious enough why it’s happened. All our sports, like the flight-simulator and Flashball, were meant for Mini-Flashes with half the power an average girl of today’s got. No wonder our old rules and regulations aren’t providing enough excitement.”

4-H-N gave him a big supportive smile, because he was a good friend. That much was evident from the sympathy in his voice when he asked his next question, though there was genuine curiosity too:

“So did they tell you anything at all about why they did it?”

“Not a thing,” was 4-H-N’s honest response. “I guess it was some kind of entry-level Mini-Flash solidarity. Getting their own back on me for giving Mini-Flash Brace a hard time, I mean. It’s funny, because when I was talking with them in the changing room it didn’t sound like they thought any more of boys than, um, well, most girls around here, no offence.”

Flashlight waved this away.

“They must have been lying about that though, like they did everything else,” decided 4-H-N. “That, or it was all just a horrible trick.”

Watching Flashlight formulate a reasoned hypothesis was quite an experience. You could practically hear the rusty cogs turning, though 4-H-N knew his eventual results often turned out to be correct.

“You’ve not been in our galaxy long,” he commenced at last. “But the idea of girl Mini-Flashes standing up for a boy, just because they’re all still in the beige tunic set...well, it’s rot. Things don’t work that way here. Maybe it’d happen where you come from, and that’s why you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Because to me, 4-H-N, what this really looks like is – ”

The door opened and 4-H-N’s sister Phoenix came in, carrying a large postal package. “And ’ow fares la petite drôlesse?” she wryly inquired of her fellow clone. “Bonjour, Flashlight. Maman et Papa ’ave elected to wait until zis long convalescence is ovair before exchanging certain words with you, mademoiselle, on ze subject of your recent misadventure. In ze meantime, you ’ave a delivery by courier interplanetaire.” She parked the parcel on 4-H-N’s eiderdown. “Allow me to make it clear ’ere and now zat my duties as errand-girl do not extend as far as taking in your laundry.”

“Don’t blame you,” commented Flashlight. “Or at any rate, now’s not the week to start.”

4-H-N undid the wrapping, opened the long cardboard box inside, then stared at what she saw. It was a beige tunic emblazoned with a yellow Flash Club logo, and in a separate compartment the knee-boots that went with it. Resting on top of the whole was an empty glass test-tube.

Flashlight’s features wore a fast-growing look of enormous gratification. “I knew it,” he breathed. “Just like I thought! It wasn’t any malicious prank, 4-H-N, and those girls weren’t pretending when they said they liked you. Don’t you see? It was an initiation! You’ve made the gang!”

For a long time 4-H-N gazed speechless at her unlooked-for and unwanted prize. Then she dug her fingernails into its folds and fiercely made to rip the tunic in two.

Phoenix’s hand on her arm stopped her. The older clone sat down on 4-H-N’s bed.

“No-one in ze galaxy could be more reluctant zan I to propose taking a leaf out of Joe’s book,” said she. “But you were zere at ze Arch of Titus, ma soeur. Ze Special Program did drive Harbin back. No longair can we enjoy ze luxury of arguing Joe is wholly wrong, zat ze upheavals in zis sector’s youngair generation bear some vital significance to ze cause. One of us, undercovair among ze new gendair, observing at first ’and ze way in which zey zemselves are responding to zis era of change, may be of more value zan yet we know.”

“You took some crazy risks on the mission, 4-H-N,” Flashlight reminded her fairly. “Not that it didn’t pay off, of course, but it was like you were feeling weren’t doing enough. Like you were desperate to make some contribution to the bigger picture, the same way everyone else from your homeworld. Seems to me you couldn’t ask for a better way in to just that than what you’ve got there.”

He and Phoenix saw it was time they left 4-H-N to recuperate. On reaching the doorway however Flashlight turned back, and before departing, added:

“Think about it.”

END OF CHAPTER FOUR