Issues, Chapter One

It was the sort of situation that really required name-tags, or better yet, convenient captions somehow superimposed over the veritable double splash-page of a scene. Such scattered rectangles for easy reference hanging inexplicably unsupported in space would have been much appreciated by the two warlike factions facing off, neither of which boasted a member who had the identities of all the others absolutely down.

By the left-hand borders, underneath a sky-gaping rent in the subterranean storage-bay’s canopy, would have proliferated those text-boxes pertaining to the humanoids who had opened this new sunroof on entering via Drenthis’s desert surface – Blaster-Track Commander, Carmilla Neetkins, Croldon “Wonder-Tool” Thragg, Zeldich the Warrior, Grey Bag and Sludge-Man. Round about the floor strewn with rubble and sand, the nomenclatures of each flying mini-jeep on which these heroes respectively rode should likewise have been – Blaster-Track, Runalong, Computero, Steelforce, Bolter and Little-Track. Then, ranged upon tiered deck-plates that their battle-formation held the high ground over that of the intruders, was a regiment of identical fungal foot-soldiers who as rank and file did not qualify for individual indica but amongst them a handful that did – Magnolia, Moltron, Big Grin, Technus and, farthest-back and loftiest, Prince Agaric of The Back Garden.

That one had barely opened his lipless mouth when Carmilla rapped out: “Yep, unannounced visitors. I know you’re an old-school bad guy, Agaric, but you can skip the clichéd prelude. Especially since this is the second time Big Grin’s led us straight to you. He’s as good as an engraved invitation.”

Prince Agaric’s tiny red eyes flicked in displeasure to the cowering Grindo, whose bulky suit of bronze automated armour lent him no courage as he was well aware its notoriously shallow power-cells were all but depleted following his frantic flight from Nereynis. “He shall be dealt with,” hissed the mushroom-monarch. “Now, female, is it our game to anticipate each other? Then I take it you are here to demand I deliver up your sister, together with Scientooth and Joe of The Four Heroes.”

“Joe I had no idea about,” was Carmilla’s response. “But you’re two-thirds right.”

If our heroine knew so much about villainous discourse she should have seen that feed-line coming a mile off. Not that she understood her host’s mocking laughter at first.

“The whereabouts of Phoenix Prime are, I fear, unknown to me,” he crooned. “She has to all appearances thought better of her association with us.”

Suddenly the twin burning dots no longer pinned Carmilla, but had shifted to he who stood at her elbow.

“Congratulations, Commander,” Prince Agaric sang softly. “Did I not tell you it would be thus?”

Carmilla whipped her head about to stare at the one addressed. Blaster-Track Commander looked, if it was even possible, worse than he had when Psiona broke the news that led them to this mission. Our heroine had chosen not to press him at that time, but now it struck her an explanation there and then from the Commander himself would surely have been preferable to the same facts flowing from this subsequent source.

“No words of gratitude? He was scarce so mute at Xandreth Rings,” resumed Agaric to Carmilla. “There, your noble consort waxed loquacious indeed on his selfish fear of forsaking certain pleasures much looked-for from you. Upon my proposal we grant Phoenix Prime leave to see the error of her ways, instead of apprehending her against her will in a manner which might have lost him your favour, this champion of right turned me loose at once. Would that my most subservient underlings exhibited half the deference to sound policy as does our quadrant’s oldest crusader.”

The long leering face, hideous in triumph, seemed to melt away before Carmilla’s eyes. What swam into view to replace it was an image of one she had just been thinking about, Psiona, exhausted beyond her tender years from unstinting labour at a telepathic control-desk. In those first few seconds it was the thought of how her friend had suffered that made Carmilla burn with indignation and anger, rather than the billions of other innocents in jeopardy. They followed soon enough though. An unnameable cataclysm already earning comparisons to this sector’s grimmest was suspended over its friendly stars like a guillotine blade, and Blaster-Track Commander had let it happen. And he had kept this a secret. And his excuse for doing so, apparently, was herself.

Any girl might have reeled under these revelations as Carmilla did now. Most, however, would have enjoyed the comparative privilege of feeling as if the news had made a stranger of the man by her side. For our heroine, it was the opposite. Never had this Blaster-Track Commander more closely resembled the one she knew.

Just like the old him. Nottingham all over again.

All that desperate hoping against hope she had loved not a robot programmed from scratch, but an accurate approximation of the original Commander’s qualities and traits. Talk about being careful what you wished for. In that moment it seemed to Carmilla any doubt was dispelled as to why the copy had been so skilled at imposture and lies. They were all she could expect of the genuine article.

Croldon Thragg’s gloved digits did a quick rumba on the buttons of his trusty handheld device. “According to my Wonder-Tool there’s no trace of anti-matter mutated energy-signatures anywhere in the immediate vicinity,” he reported. “His Highness may be telling the truth about Phoenix Prime. As for Joe however I’m reading nothing likewise, though admittedly Four Heroes powers can’t always be detected using scientific equipment.”

Carmilla was thankful for a little statistical data to bring her back to the present. She folded her arms.

“Too bad, Prince Agaric, sounds like Joe escaped not long after Phoenix Prime did,” said she. “You’re having a real recruitment crisis and if you ask me it all comes down to standards. People from my galaxy have them. That’s where you, and the lousy no-good creeps and jerks who throw in with you, keep going wrong.”

The mycological smile stayed on. Carmilla very much wanted to believe that was only because of the dissension its wearer had successfully provoked.

“Forgive me if I must seize the lead in our contest,” said he. “But enough of this.”

Magnolia’s rope made a whip-cracking noise as she tightened her two-handed grip, and sentient beings all across the storage-bay’s highly diverse spectrum tensed to spring. Round one yellowish slime-skinned hulk with chrome cyborg implants Prince Agaric’s sporey soldiers were fast making space. Had Carmilla still been in the mood to play along she might have tied on a technicality, with a bonus point for the pun, as it was seldom any stretch to guess what was coming from that corner.

“Face Technus!”

The bionic brute’s bowed bullet-head pushed what was left of the ceiling spinning to the skies in chunks. Energy-to-mass conversion backwash bowled Big Grin’s near-immobile armour down upon the iron deck, shattering the conical glass helmet that its squashy occupant tumbled blithering out of sight. Grey Bag on the other hand charged face-first into the turbulence, hunkering low on all fours, to pit his talons and tusks against the first wave of blue-luminous fungizoid troops led by liquid-formed lummox Moltron who liked to serve as unofficial master-sergeant to Agaric’s legions. The floor was already piling up with new dunes, fed by streams which spilled from overhead, and in and out of these dry cataracts zoomed Zeldich and Sludge-Man on Steelforce and Little-Track to counter those leaping enemy assassins who preferred to strike at middle-height. Chain-flails jangled and blades glinted as the airborne droves running up against Zeldich’s combat-readiness were abruptly reacquainted with gravity, whilst lusty Sludge-Man focused on the swinging somersaulting Magnolia as she was the kind of counterpart he especially enjoyed getting to grips with. The jagged rim encircling this open-air arena meanwhile dropped beneath Computero’s tyres as he spirited Croldon Thragg to the clouds, Runalong and Bolter flanking them as backup, a precision-engineered trio and the proud inventor of the Wonder-Tool bound to bring back to earth a Technus by now towering tall leagues above the battlefield.

Carmilla was all set to dive into this fray when Blaster-Track Commander stopped her. He, atop Blaster-Track, was steering her instead towards a door open on darkened stairs.

Our heroine yanked her arm free. “I’m not leaving the guys!” she flung at him. “They wouldn’t even be risking their lives right now if it wasn’t for you!”

Against such harshness Blaster-Track Commander had never before had to formulate words. All he was able to return was a helpless beseeching look, and it was his jeep who spoke.

“Prince Agaric took a powder in the confusion, kid,” Blaster-Track pointed out. “My sensors indicate Scientooth’s down below, and we can’t afford to let him do the same. Remember, everything we heard from Psiona points to what that pair are up to as the reason the galaxy’s under threat.”

Carmilla saw that. Blaster-Track Commander, in tones bereft of all their customary strength, added: “Faithful Blaster-Track attempted to dissuade me from my choice.”

“I’ll bet he did,” was Carmilla’s response. “And I know Agaric will have put his own spin on what really happened. But it doesn’t change the fact you lied to me.”

Her voice held more or less steady. It was said. “Let’s move,” Carmilla concluded, not looking at either of them.

END OF CHAPTER ONE