Shapeshifters, Chapter Three

Professor Iskira Neetkins looked down at the face of Dr. Mendelssohn and thought exactly what her daughter was thinking.

Then she eased the control lever back into its housings and brought the all-terrain vehicle to a grateful juddering halt. They had arrived at a long-abandoned mineral processing mill, a solitary pillar of old pitted stone perched high atop a desert ridge. Ancient conveyor-belts, their gears and pulleys corroded together into single metal masses that would never move again, slanted from the precipice into deep empty quarries through which the wind sang an endless lonely song. An edifice of such apparent age could only date back to before the Venusian exodus. Iskira could imagine it out here in this remote place, weathering the day when destruction came to the first Martian civilization. Though the past was crumbled and gone, fragments of it were standing yet.

Iskira and Mendelssohn, and Bendigo too, had watched from afar as a platoon of Solidity interceptors broke from the orbital battle with Mars’s defence force and pierced through the black clouds of night, screaming down upon a distant location where the three travellers knew smouldered the ruins of the Feeder Ray beaming-station. Nothing that could serve the invaders remained there, but that only meant their next decision would surely be to set off following the ATV’s tracks. They would be upon Iskira and her entourage soon enough, and could not fail to locate the single chunk of architecture towering amid oceans of red dunes. This building however would at least be defensible, whereas open desert spelled an immediate demise.

Iskira clambered out of the ATV then helped Dr. Mendelssohn down. He had regained consciousness after his breakdown of some hours ago, but was still very weak. Supporting her one-time mentor and lover on her shoulder Iskira made to lead him indoors, but before setting out she addressed the third member of their party.

“Bendigo,” Iskira said solemnly to him. “At a time of war and direst crisis such as this, we turn to you for protection.”

Bendigo looked back at her, the wise and beautiful one to whom he had pledged his loyalty so long ago. Her noble husband was no longer here, and Bendigo indeed was the last of their employees still alive. Nor was he the man he was, having of late sorrowfully forsaken the way of the warrior for reasons he could no longer clearly recall. Iskira’s words to him now, however, Bendigo understood. Indeed, it was even possible her plea reawakened something in his mighty breast that had once meant all to him, and whose return, though heralded but softly yet, was welcome. Bendigo smiled.

“Aye, learned Professor,” said he.

“My dear old friend,” whispered Iskira, with tears in her eyes. Then she helped Dr. Mendelssohn into the mill and Bendigo set down to his task, a lone steadfast sentry clad in head-to-toe chauffeur’s uniform.

Gala drew in a long, slow breath. Then she walked over to the cellmouth, assuming a manner of businesslike briskness that was woefully unconvincing.

“These walls look pretty well fortified,” she commenced, “but with our powers, working together...”

It was no use. Words could not stand against a look as stern and relentless as that which she faced. Gala’s voice quietened and stopped.

“You murdered him,” Joe then said.

Gala sighed. “Yes, I did,” she responded. “And I kept it from you. It was important you learn about my origins as soon as possible, but we’d only just met, and there were certain things – ”

“I advise you to leave that sentence eternally unfinished!” Joe interrupted, and now his tone was fearsome. “You of all people know there never can be and never will be a time when I could condone the act of taking another’s life!”

“Are we still talking about the same person?” asked Gala, anger beginning to colour her voice too. “A bloated, decadent sea-slug? One who let my mother die, and millions of innocents like her, because he was happier being ruler of the world? Don’t try to tell me he deserved anything less than what I gave him.”

“His crimes were great, but that did not give you the right to repeat them!” Joe protested. “When we start down that path, Gala, we – ”

“Become no better than the ones we fight,” she finished for him, impatiently. “That’s Four Heroes thinking. I wasn’t one of The Four Heroes.”

Joe’s pain at this sharpened when he remembered his joy on time-travelling with Gala to the day of which they spoke, and believing he had found in her a kindred spirit and fellow champion of Nottingham. It had felt like the start of something wonderful, and now, having allowed himself to feel that way, he was betrayed. His next question was all the colder and more intent for it as he continued:

“Then perhaps, instead of debating old allegiances, you might reveal to me the other secrets you still keep? You are already aware I refer to Flashtease. Now that I know what you are capable of, it is surely in my best interests to learn the truth at once!”

“I will tell you, Joe, everything,” Gala said to him earnestly. “But you must see that now isn’t the time. We’ve got to – ”

“When will you cease to make that excuse?” Joe burst out in disbelief. “No more lies, Gala, it is too late! I demand that you – ”

“Listen to me,” she put in. “If Draxu was able to kill us with his powers, he would have done. He must also know he can’t beat us in a fight. He’s got something else planned to finish us off, so he’s playing for time. This cell can’t hold us but it will slow us down. If we sit here arguing, we’re just handing Draxu our deaths.”

This point, at least, Joe saw he must grant her. So they crossed to the doorway, Gala laying her hands on its fleshy frame and Joe pointing one of his at the shield as together they put their powers to work.

“If we could figure out how Draxu’s doing what he’s doing to us, we’d be in with a better chance of stopping him,” said Gala after a pause.

“I agree,” replied Joe, who was almost as grateful as she for the change of subject. “His ability to commandeer memory and emotion somewhat resembles psychic vampirism. On several occasions The Four Heroes encountered such enemies.”

“That could come in handy,” Gala said, “assuming Draxu really is some kind of vampire-mushroom. And yes, I just heard what that sounded like.”

“Alternately, it may be he is usurping our own psychic powers and turning them against us,” Joe went on. “Such a capacity has been seen in at least one other before now.”

“Spencer Matthews, I know of him,” said Gala. “And that would explain why Draxu’s telepathically invisible. But whichever one it is, we need to...”

From several decks above, Draxu listened to all of this. He had never ceased to listen to the two humans since the moment he was brought on board this ship. At their speculations and theories regarding his nature he broke into a lofty laugh.

“A little bit of both, and still neither one has it,” cackled Draxu. “You fools are forgetting I’m a fungus. I grow on anything that’s there."

As the Fringer free-for-all romped on across the roof of the Flash Club ship, overhead there loomed slowly into view the remains of a less successful negotiation bid than Neetra’s. Half a star-destroyer, it drifted dark and lifeless but for a few pinpoint explosions still pockmarking its hull. The Vernderernders had however left intact the section with the fuel-tanks, and glimpsing as much, Neetra declared:

“There’s our way to finish this,” then to Mini-Flash Luna, “Get below, Titch! We’re going to need your sharpshooting!”

The faithful girl shot off downstairs while Neetra held still and began to muster her might. She concentrated until it felt like the pent-up psychic force was going to pop her out of her tunic, then cut loose and threw above her head the widest-dispersal telekinetic shunt of which she was capable. Spread so thin she could not expect to do the enemies damage, but if the Fringers were a swarm of beetles then this was a gust of gale-force wind. Diverse swooping intersecting courses suddenly became one unified talons-over-tailpipes ascension, bringing the beasts directly into close-quarters with the hanging hulk.

Mini-Flash Luna at her gunner’s post bared tiny teeth in a fierce white smile.

“That’s all,” she proclaimed, “thank you!”

Hammering back on both triggers Luna threw all cannons pulsing to life, whereat Fringers and derelict vanished as one in a celestial fireball. The immediate supernova of this newborn sun left the other Mini-Flashes standing strong, staring out resolutely on the afterglow, residual heat warming their bare arms and thighs.

Neetra saw, however, that Toothfire was nothing if not punctual. Cold machine-minds cycling dispassionately through a pre-programmed sequence dispatched The Flash Club’s next challenge with admirable swiftness and efficiency.

A vast meteor was approaching. Neetra and her team could feel its latent gravitational pull touselling their hair and lifting their skirts. Though the great space-rock was still at a distance, the eight young people were already dwarfed by its sheer awesome bulk as it beat its ponderous end-over-end path towards them.

“Shadow,” Neetra commanded in a whisper. She longed more than anything else to be able to make it a request instead. But there was no prospect of flying around this leviathan in time.

Flashshadow tiptoed forward and knelt daintily on the roof of the ship. She touched both hands to the bulkheads. Then her insubstantial frame tensed like a coiled steel spring.

The effect of Flashshadow’s power when acting upon other bodies brought with it no accompanying sensation. For her team-mates this made for a nerve-racking final few seconds as the meteor completed its advance, and in one last plunging revolution loomed high and consumed their world. Its grey cratered continents outspread to every horizon drew face-to-face with The Flash Club. Then its soaring summit began to sink, and everything was enfolded in darkness.

Though Neetra and her friends could no longer see, their thoughts continued uninterrupted and that was cause enough for a happy release of breath. All, however, were finding in addition that they could still feel. Some of the cold was making it through, the unimaginable primordial cold of stone and metal ore that had spent its billions of years of existence in the depths of freezing space. Each Mini-Flash could feel it gnawing through their layers of tunic and underwear, chilling the skin beneath. Evidently this monumental task was straining Flashshadow’s powers beyond their limits.

None of The Flash Club much cared to imagine what would happen if those same powers gave out now.

Then stars shone again, teammates and ship were back, and outer space felt as sultry as a summer’s day after the conditions that had lately prevailed. Beyond the spacecraft’s afterburners the meteor was slowly spinning into the galactic gulf. Flashshadow had dropped from her sprinter’s crouch and was sitting with legs splayed, panting hard, and the others wasted not a moment in racing over to her. Neetra was first to arrive, and skidding onto her knees beside her friend did her level best to throw her arms around the barely-corporeal one and squeeze her tight.

“You did it, Shadow, way to go!” our heroine beamed, tears sparkling in her eyes. As the Mini-Flashes joyfully took their turn to try and bestow thankful embraces of their own, Neetra’s oxygen-mask communicator started to ping. She rose and extended its aerial, saying: “What’s the sitch, Titch?”

“I am very sad,” crackled back Mini-Flash Luna’s voice. “To catch our dream should be just around the corner, but unable to fastidious. So hot, and so broad!”

“Thanks, Titch,” Neetra acknowledged with a grin, then waited for the translation which in this instance came from Flashlight. “Vernderernder heat-field,” he explained. “They’ve put a giant warp of supercharged plasma between us and the Arcology. No way to go round it. We’ll just have to fly straight through and hope the ship doesn’t melt.”

Neetra looked ahead, from which direction a seething ruddy luminescence was indeed becoming visible. She nodded once.

“Last one,” our heroine declared. “Toothfire’s got a real weakness for the classics. Bombardment, check. Attack by minions, check. Big rolling rock, check. Just endurance to go.”

She clapped Flashlight on the shoulder. “Let’s batten down the hatches,” said she. “Could just go for a bit of heat right now anyway. That was quite a shiver in the knickers just then.”

“You think you girls had it tough?” Flashlight inquired plainly.

END OF CHAPTER THREE