New Beginnings

Blaster-Track Commander, tall and muscular and upright, stood with feet planted firmly on his skateboard-sized mini-jeep which followed the downward-sliding platform at a geostationary hover. From her position a yard or so below on the elevator itself, Carmilla Neetkins let her eyes range over the lean physique encased in brilliant green spandex, the pair of photon-pistols ready in trim holsters at the breast, the cloak of royal purple flowing from strong shoulders to heels, and the golden-haired head of lofty brow and determined tapering chin.

No doubt about it, Carmilla thought to herself. This man she’d never met before looked just as good as she remembered.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” she said to him, hearing the awkwardness even as she spoke and cringing at it a little. “I mean, a total stranger shows up asking for your help…”

The Commander laughed gallantly. “A stranger, fair Carmilla Neetkins?” said he. “Not while genetic affinity to friends Neetra and Phoenix is written on those very features, for to both I owe debts of honour which render me your humble servant. And even were this not so, I have faithful Blaster-Track’s word that you are all you claim to be. As I believe you put it on your planet, any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

“Great to see you again too, little buddy,” Carmilla added with a grin to the flying jeep. “And I’m loving the upgrades!”

“Hey, even an old hunk of junk’s got to keep pace with these changing times!” Blaster-Track chuckled back to her in his synthesized voice.

Carmilla needed that familiar good-humoured gruffness right now. It meant at least one of the duo was acting the way she expected. Although, to be fair, she’d known from the start this was going to be weird.

Blaster-Track Commander had no clue what a stab it had been for Carmilla, hearing that perfunctory reference to her fair features take second place to the profound and trusting bond he shared with his jeep. She was used to those same masterful tones churning out lavish adulation for her beauty in ornate arrangements of prose. The kind of honeyed words that would put a girl off her guard, which of course had been the general idea. Carmilla supposed it wasn’t Blaster-Track Commander’s fault that prior to seeking him out she had enjoyed a torrid love-affair with his evil robot double, and that to start making those kinds of comparisons between the two might verge on unreasonable. Nevertheless, since her arrival Carmilla had found herself doing nothing but.

Our heroine didn’t like to believe she had fallen for a robot. Surely that was impossible? At any rate, there was certainly more comfort in taking the line that everything she loved in the replica had been duplicated from the original. Casting another glance at this champion of virtue before her however, Carmilla was beginning to have doubts. Blaster-Track Commander was the product of a decidedly more chaste era than that which the galaxy was experiencing now. This real version of him had spent his life among Blaster-Track’s airborne vehicular brothers, fighting for liberty against the tyrant Space-Screamer and his mechanical hordes in an age when women barely existed. Did that devil-may-care seductiveness with which his double had so successfully swept Carmilla off her feet truly exist in him? Dimension Borg, creator of the clone, had devoted six hundred years of his runtime to close study of human susceptibility and weakness. No other foe to The Four Heroes ever boasted such a talent for manipulation. One prospect among many which Carmilla knew she had no choice but to acknowledge was that there might be no past or potential love-story here. Perhaps she had merely been made a fool of by a particularly skilful piece of programming.

It wasn’t far different to back home when you thought about it, philosophized Carmilla. Even outside of this extraterrestrials-and-robots context, men with the gift of the gab were usually the ones who pretended to be something they weren’t. They were the ones a girl had to watch out for, the ones most likely to be the cause of hurt, and sadly enough the ones hardest to resist. Carmilla planned to keep an open mind anyhow, and then on a sterner note reminded herself this wasn’t about rekindling romances in the first place. It was about bringing Phoenix Prime home.

The elevator had lowered them by now into a vast cavern, bedecked with electronic equipment which whirred and blinked all along the craggy rock faces that made up walls and ceiling. Throughout this atrium many jeeps like Blaster-Track busily zipped, each of them boasting a different-coloured paint-job. “You’ve achieved so much in a short time, Commander,” Carmilla murmured. “This is an incredible set-up.”

“When your sibling Neetra gave me back my freedom, having already saved trusty Blaster-Track’s life, the least we could do was make good on the request she imparted to us both,” replied Blaster-Track Commander. “So, having regrouped with our jeep comrades scattered throughout the quadrant, we set to work at once combining our own technological stockpiles with impounded Space-Screamer materiel to craft this suborbital battle-station from a vacant asteroid. Had friend Neetra failed and the Solidity returned in triumph after destroying Planet Earth, we would have been ready to lead resistance to them from here. But as you and I both know, Carmilla Neetkins, your sister is as modest as she is valiant. Her mission to save your homeworld successfully ended Dimension Borg’s war and brought historic accord to the peoples of this sector. So it is that in our present peacetime, loyal Blaster-Track and I have found new use for these facilities which happily were never called upon to serve their intended purpose.”

As he spoke, the platform broached the deepest level of this catacomb base. Rocky ridges scrolled overhead and out of sight to disclose a gigantic gymnasium-cave below, its darkness lit by darting rays of brilliant red and frequent explosions on computerized pop-up targets and sparring-partner drones. This scarlet light danced over the lithe frames of what looked like four figures traversing in nimble motion the gym’s ever-shifting surface.

“Former Solidity soldiers all,” Blaster-Track Commander announced to Carmilla with pride. “Some seek redemption, others to hone their skills, but we stand united in the common cause of bringing our special gifts to bear as a force for good in this galaxy.”

The elevator eased to a halt on its foundations and Carmilla disembarked, while the Commander swooped floorwards atop Blaster-Track who settled his wheels on the deck. The training exercise was over, and as mechanical apparatus withdrew into the walls and holographic accoutrements blinked out of existence, the quartet stepped down to greet their leader and guest.

“Friend Carmilla, I present to you,” Blaster-Track Commander declared, “mighty Zeldich, whose courage and selflessness were celebrated across our sector long before the coming of Dimension Borg – ”

A warrior clad in white, his face half-hidden by a round black helmet, sheathed his lethal-looking edged weapons and bowed.

“Sludge-Man,” the Commander went on, “whose remarkable body secretes and sustains an inexhaustible supply of multi-functional ooze – ”

Youthful Sludge-Man, resembling a nude sculpture which someone had coated in greenish-brown goo, treated Carmilla to a broad welcoming leer.

“Charmed,” said she.

“Grey Bag, master of this galaxy’s primordial fringes – ”

That was easy enough to believe, since Grey Bag was more beast than man. Round-shouldered and dome-headed, enormously burly but moving with an easy loping gait that spoke of agility and speed, his formidable physique was covered with fine fur hued after his name. “Must be feeding ’em alright over at Flash Club Headquarters,” he growled.

Carmilla smiled, liking him already, though for reasons of her own she could have wished not to have had to make first impressions in this short beige tunic with its yellow Flash Club logo. “Yeah, I get girl Mini-Flashes telling me all the time they hope they’ll fit into their uniforms this well when they’re my age,” she said to Grey Bag in reply.

“You’ll be right at home round here,” that one told her comfortably.

“And lastly,” said Blaster-Track Commander, “our chief field operative and tactician, who now I recall has asked if he might be permitted to say a few words.”

He to whom the Commander referred strode forth at this, carrying with him the handheld device which had emitted those energy-blasts Carmilla saw earlier. The object itself was somewhat more impressive to behold than its bearer, who back on Earth our heroine would have taken to be in his late forties. Thin, balding and anything but handsome, he suggested to Carmilla a high school physics teacher who for some reason had decided to wear a lycra bodystocking from toes to neckline.

“Ah! Been looking forward to this! Croldon Thragg,” he introduced himself, taking her hand and pumping it once. Carmilla fought back a sigh. That was the problem she was up against, right there. In a way it made a pleasant change from being hit on all the time by members of Sludge-Man’s generation, but it didn’t bode well for her hopes regarding the real Blaster-Track Commander that every adult male in this quadrant greeted you the same way he would his bank-manager.

“The Wonder-Tool,” Croldon Thragg continued, holding up his device for Carmilla to see. “Invented, built and patented by myself. Please feel free to address me as ‘Wonder-Tool’ if you’d prefer, most people do, individual identity more or less inseparable from the concept these days. Now, to business. Single greatest moment of my lived existence came about not long ago, your solar-system, planet you call Mars, during the war. Undreamt-of opportunity to field-test the Wonder-Tool against the powers of The Four Heroes. Zeldich here, and myself, roundly bettered by Bret Stevens. Wonderful! More than made up for having misguidedly joined the Solidity, which is not in any way to condone the atrocities of Empress Ungus. So just imagine my reaction when the Commander informed me we were to be visited by an associate of one of the leading scientists who witnessed the Wonder-Tool in action that day.”

“I guess you mean my mother?” Carmilla managed to interject, though it took some timing.

“Ah! Splendid! Yes, I’m quite sure that’s who she is,” said he. “So, her expert opinions, her observations on the Wonder-Tool’s performance, her recommendations for future improvements, all would be gratefully received. And I’d be more than happy to collaborate with her on a research paper.”

“I’ll make a point of passing that on to Mum next time I see her,” promised Carmilla, at great length. “But I guess I’m here with one big field-test for the whole lot of you first. Speaking of which…?”

“With me, friend Carmilla,” declared Blaster-Track Commander, and in a sweep of his cape turned and led the way. Actually it was Blaster-Track beneath his feet who turned, but this was an advantage because it added a foot to the Commander’s height and made him easier to see as the pair of them rolled on ahead.

The adjoining cave was smaller than the gym, and monitor-screens which made up most of the interior threw a polychromatic ever-changing light across what would otherwise have been total darkness. “This chamber receives live data-feed from every conceivable source in the galaxy, except where security measures are beyond the limits of our existing equipment,” announced Croldon Thragg.

“It’s impressive, Croldon, but Phoenix Prime’s going to be keeping well below the line of common sight,” Carmilla began dubiously. “She’s good at that, believe me. If I know my sister, you won’t hear anything about her until after she’s done whatever it is she’s planning to do.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Blaster-Track Commander advised Carmilla with a smile. “For here at the very cerebrum of this facility we find our fifth and final team-mate, Psiona.”

By the chief control-desk sat a pretty redheaded teenage girl with freckles. Carmilla remembered Psiona from when they had both served on opposing frontlines in Nottingham City Centre. She would in fact have been hard to forget, though the reason for this that arguably stood out above the others was that Psiona was among those who had engaged The Foretold One during his unexpected appearance. Younger than our heroine, but not by any means undergrown, she must have been one of the very first of the new gender by Carmilla’s calculation. As had proved the case with so many subsequent arrivals among her sex, she boasted mysterious powers of considerable magnitude, so much so indeed that Carmilla was grateful she and Psiona this time around were on the same side. That one proceeded to explain:

“If I’ve been told specifically what to look for, I can cast my telepathic awareness across these information-streams and sometimes sense which reports are connected to the search-term, even if there’s nothing at face value which suggests it. As soon as I learned you were coming I scanned for Phoenix Prime, and have two results to show.”

Psiona called up a matching pair of transparent pink text-windows standing perpendicular at her dainty fingertips. Blaster-Track Commander read the first and looked grim.

“Spookan the Sinister,” he pronounced. “A man who’s already taken my interest. If he’s somehow involved with friend Carmilla’s sibling, then as of now that interest just doubled.”

“Known dissident, troublemaker an’ all-round shady customer,” Grey Bag filled in for Carmilla’s benefit. “Word is he’s trainin’ up Back Garden malcontents into some kinda private army for purposes we’re assumin’ are nothin’ good. Garden royal family’s got no teeth now big mamma’s pushin’ up the fluxballs. But this Spookan? Might prove to be the first real threat to come outta that fungus-hole since the war.”

“What could someone like him have to do with Phoenix Prime?” Carmilla pondered aloud.

“I’m…nowhere near as powerful as your other, more famous sister,” Psiona began, her tones apologetic. “An overall feeling of certainty is as much as I get when I do this. One day, when I’m older, I should be able to interpret my psychic instincts in finer detail…”

Carmilla gave her shoulder a squeeze, and told her: “You’re doing a great job, hon. Leave the finding-out part to the rest of us. That’s what I came here for.”

“Meanwhile,” went on Croldon Thragg, skimming the other readout, “a Grindo of suspect character steals an experimental transforming armoured suit from one of the Professor’s storehouses and promptly absconds from Grindotron, present whereabouts unknown.”

“There’s a Phoenix Prime link to that one alright,” declared Carmilla. “It’s part of what the girls and I set in motion when we went after Scientooth. During our battle in Nebula Seven, before Toothfire took him into custody, he told us there were Grindoes in his service. Looks like the official investigation’s drawn too close for one particular spy, and he’s blown cover ahead of getting caught. Phoenix Prime bears some of the responsibility for that, same as me – do your powers work that way, Psiona?”

The auburn-haired girl shook her lovely head. “I would only have sensed this Grindo if he held some significance to future events, as well as past ones,” said she.

Sludge-Man cackled with exuberance. “Then what are we waiting for?” he gurned. “Let’s high-tail it and throw a little special seasoning into this tasty mix!”

“Quite,” agreed Blaster-Track Commander. “Grey Bag and Zeldich, you’re the best-suited among us for a Back Garden mission. Reconnoitre the vicinity and report on Spookan’s doings. Psiona, please continue to monitor the airwaves here at base for any new information that may come to light. The rest of us shall track down our errant Grindo and ascertain just where Phoenix Prime and Scientooth come into all this. Gentlemen and lady, your jeeps await.”

NEXT: 'TARGET HARBOUR'