Neetra's Message

And there she was.

It so happened that the small space-lounge was already candlelit, but now this soft illumination was supplemented by a source which for many of the attendees proved more romantic still. For far above the beehive bouffants of girl Mini-Flashes and tables loaded with half-eaten hamburgers appeared the golden-glowing features of Neetra Neetkins, in holographic projection no less lovely than the genuine article. The highlights of her russet locks were like waterfalls that tumbled and twinkled down upon the gazing crowd, while those mysterious inviting depths where Neetra hid her hairpins blended gently with the shadows of this darkened room and framed her shining face.

“Joe,” Neetra said. “Because something tells me you’re the one who’ll hear this message first. I’m counting on you to do what you think best when it comes to my family and Dylan, because I know what kind of time this is. But I hope it’ll be you.”

It was the smile she here let slip, one of tenderness, familiarity and above all else of love, that started the tears to Joe’s eyes. Up until now the last time our hero beheld Neetra had been on that sunset afternoon in Nottingham. A pre-prepared recording this may have been, but for Joe it was still enough to dispel every fear and doubt that had preyed on him since then. As long as he was looking at Neetra thus there was only the resolve to be the hero he should be, together with the knowledge that if it was in her name, then there was nothing else he could or would do. They had found each other so long ago, and what they were to each other now was the same in her case as it was in his. The one, the first, and the only.

“I’m striking out into the galaxy to find the truth, whatever that may mean these days,” Neetra went on. “But before that, as I guess you’ve already figured out, I had to check in with my friends the four farns on Planet Eshcaton. Manual, Prune, Benmor and Albazorascabaranthi needed to be told about recent developments, especially the things you and Gala learned from The Prophecy of the Flame, and what we all discovered back on Earth towards the end of the Solidity War.”

Flashtease’s wide blue eyes shone in the light of Neetra’s image, for he had adored her too. Joe knew this, and put his arm around the Mini-Flash to reassure him it was alright. After all, if our hero himself could not help feeling that way, it was hardly fair of him to expect others to be able to. Indeed, Joe was more than happy to share his sentiments with such a friend as Flashtease had been.

“This rift between you and Dylan, however significant it may be to future events, the farns hadn’t actually heard of,” said Neetra. “That’s not their fault. Local versions of the Prophecy are far more detailed on what the coming struggle will mean for this galaxy, and the role of The Four Heroes is never very clear. Empress Ungus only knew about those parts because she’d stolen our Earth-authored edition during the Fourth Dark Advent. But I filled my friends in, on that and also the theory I know you agree with, Joe, about the important role the Mini-Flashes and the present younger generation here seem destined to play. Because I guess that was a discovery I made myself.”

Flashthunder had every right to fancy the reason Neetra’s luminous cheeks briefly brightened yet further was not only due to the modesty demanded by such a statement. For his own recollections of when Neetra first voiced her hypothesis to a private audience of him alone would have been sufficient to raise an identical blush, had not Cherry beside him started to look even more like dangerously volatile dark-matter than she usually did. So instead Flashthunder took his girlfriend’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, quietly confident that Neetra’s words to Cherry when together they collected from her the password for this same communique had not been wholly ignored by the temperamental outer space teen.

“Now the farns are going to set to work studying their ancient texts for any correspondences with the details we’ve gathered, even though they know there’s a risk Harbin might find out what they’re up to,” Neetra declared solemnly. “They’re brave old men…all the more so, because they’re aware this means something worse than just putting their lives in danger. It was you who taught me, Joe, to understand how an evil mind perceives opportunity. The adult Harbin who’s at large in this quadrant comes from a point in the future sometime between his defeat of our children, and the final conflict with our older selves. No-one knows yet who the winner of that battle’s going to be. So if Harbin learns about the farns there’s no question he’ll attack, but he’ll also keep them alive, in the hopes he can force them and their considerable prophetic powers to clue him in ahead of anyone else.”

Flashshadow knew what came next. That Neetra felt it went without saying was testament to the person she was, who Flashshadow was proud to call her dearest and most trusted friend. For although Flashshadow spent most of her time invisible to the eyes of others, she herself saw much. She had joined Joe’s movement immediately on learning of it, perceiving right away that he to whom Neetra had become so close must surely share something of her principles and values. Now Flashshadow’s faith was affirmed in the girl who never once throughout all their adventures together had forgotten she was there.

The lounge in general saw Neetra’s point likewise. These young people would not have joined Joe had it been within them to remain oblivious to it. A quartet of courageous reverend wisemen must be rescued forthwith, not merely because information they might divulge under The Foretold One’s cruel compulsions posed a threat to the future of the universe, but rather because The Four Heroes’ cause was clear on how to act whenever innocent lives of any kind were in danger. Joe had taught his followers well. Even their newest member Mini-Flash Splitsville, though once she would have been the first to admit it was hardly her scene, found something in that which had gone unsaid she was able to get hip to. As for the longstanding Contamination, a gaunt man of radioactive blue-white silhouette, he slouched a-smoulder on the outskirts of the group and silently concurred. Here was what had ever spoken to him about the cause. Its duties and dictates drew upon the goodness left behind in the creature others had made of him.

“Now for the important part, Joe,” Neetra declared. “My farn friends understand the likes of Harbin too, better in fact than you or I. With wisdom like theirs, when they predict something, I take it seriously. And they’ve told me that if Harbin does make his move, they already know where he’ll take them.”

Petunia listened on. She had only dared glance at Joe once or twice, but he was certainly listening, which made it the thing to do. This was after all important cause business, or so at any rate Petunia kept telling herself, even though she couldn’t say for the very rottlebottles of her what this all-too pretty girl called Neetra might possibly have to do with it. The expression on Joe’s face meanwhile was what was making Petunia’s prim annoyance ramp up steadily by the petun, to use the standard unit of measurement she had invented for applications pertaining to herself. Petunia was starting to suspect there might be something in what she’d often been told about wearing her sweaters excessively tight, because just at the minute it felt like her heart was swelling too big for that which contained it.

“There are twin planets which used to be called Drenthis and Nereynis,” Neetra explained. “All four farns agree Harbin will head that way on his return from Eshcaton, past Drenthis, then past Nereynis, to hold them prisoner somewhere on the other side of the galaxy. So if our fears turn out to be well-founded, we have our rendezvous-point. Look for me there, Joe. Out beyond Nereynis. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

With a last sparkle from the huge gold eyes, expressing a longing Joe too knew well, the transmission drew to an end and Neetra faded gently until only the candles remained. Our hero breathed out slow the kind of sigh which only the very happiest know how to heave.

“Cherry, Flashthunder,” he then said. “I cannot thank you enough. Should it ever be within my power to repay this debt, you have but to call on me.”

Timid Flashthunder seemed overawed as he stumbled through a few words of acknowledgement while rising to his feet beside Cherry. “But I’m Flash Club,” he continued. “No offence to the Mini-Flashes who stand by you, Joe, but we’re not really supposed to be here, and the decisions you’re about to make aren’t anything to do with me. Cherry and I have done the job we came here to do, and now we ought to be going. Disregarding official advice isn’t something you go into lightly when you’re terrified of everything as I am.”

“You have given me good reason to refute that, Flashthunder,” Joe told him very seriously.

Quick goodbyes were exchanged between Flashthunder and his friends Flashtease and Flashshadow, the first-named speaking shyly and the latter two with the utmost earnestness and gratitude, after which Flashthunder and Cherry departed arm-in-arm. Joe hoped he would see them here again, but was also aware that if his deeds were to match in any way the words he imparted each week to this circle of supporters, then the right to not join him must be respected in all. What was more, Flashthunder had been quite correct that there was much for them to discuss.

“Drenthis and Nereynis,” our hero therefore resumed to the company. “Antique names, according to Neetra, and I confess I have not heard them spoken in your quadrant before now.”

They didn’t seem to ring any bells with the rest of the gathering either. “There’s one place we might be able to find out, though,” Flashtease went on. “The old Flash Club archive. I can take you there.”

Joe thanked him, and the plan was made. “Leave it to farns to use the old names for everything,” laughed one of the other Mini-Flashes.

“Such was Neetra’s design, my friend,” Joe smiled in reply. “She has maintained the strictest security over all her communications, as by now we are more than aware. The affairs of our cause are thereby made safe from the many forces unfriendly to us.”

“Yes, I’m sure Neetra’s very clever like that,” burst forth another voice. “I bet you’d still believe her over me, even if I told you my theory about what Harbin’s done with the farns.”

These words so presaged the imminent breaking of a storm that all heads turned. It was of course Petunia, standing now, and everything from the flip-up tips of her violet hair to the frilly fringe of her white underskirt trembled with barely-suppressed emotion.

Concern and compassion were written on every face that looked at her, but there was also a strange expectancy which Petunia didn’t understand at first. It was only after several seconds that she realised why everyone seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

“I don’t have a theory,” she cried aloud, and it was then the tears began. “But I know the dances to all six songs in my repertoire and can twirl as many as three times in alternating directions without getting dizzy. Since you don’t have to be able to do that to save the galaxy from Empress Ungus, I can only assume your precious beloved Miss Neetra can’t!”

Amid choking floods Petunia flung herself for the exit, petticoats billowing unheeded that the whole assembly glimpsed a declaration of allegiance which for all anyone knew was now to prove tragically premature. Joe in deepest pity and regret attempted to halt her by speaking her name.

She rounded on him. “When I think of everything I’ve sewn onto my underwear for you!” was the sum of her final tearful tirade. “You, and that…that stupid jacket you’re always going round in!”

Petunia crashed blundering from the space-lounge, and a pained hush prevailed in her lace-trimmed peachy-scented wake.

“It’s what Jim Steranko wears,” Joe at great length protested meekly.

“If Jim Steranko stuck his head in a fire, would you do that?” asked Contamination.