Under Starter's Orders, Chapter One

It was easy enough to mishear Flashshadow, since she never raised her voice above the softest of timid murmurs, and that was why Joe had assumed the name of their destination must be something other than what it sounded like when she said it. Our hero didn’t see how there could be a place called “disqualification tablet,” even in this galaxy. He should probably have kept in mind he was still a comparative newcomer here, and that the literal appellations towards which local cultures so tended nearly always made sense after you’d been to take a look firsthand.

For no sooner had Joe and his Mini-Flash friends steered their interplanetary crimson-coloured two-seater into orbit and plain sight of the venue, than it emerged that both halves of its curious nomenclature were nothing less than apt. A tablet it certainly was, which was to say an oblong or lozenge-shaped planetoid which shunned more conventional rounded dimensions. This vast sheer-sided block sat in space as if balanced upright on one of its two longer edges, making of the rectangle’s parallel flat faces awesome precipices of astronomical height. On top of this outlandish stellar body, meaning all along the length and breadth of its other long edge, the uppermost, were signs of teeming busy life.

At the two narrower ends of this summit sat the start-line and finish-line of a great racetrack, which between these points was a dizzying cosmic whirl of spirals and loops all jumbled round the central slab in chaotic complexity akin to that of some Earth rollercoaster or waterslide overgrown to astral proportions. The tablet’s vertical planes were perforated with numerous gigantic circular bores, and through these tunnels the crazy string of the track wove in and out and back again, producing an overall effect which suggested to Joe a thick slice of Swiss cheese with spaghetti pulled through its holes. Even from the distance he and the Mini-Flashes were at, it was possible to glimpse speck-like vehicles zipping along the course in ferocious competition. Our hero grimly concluded there was a touch of tact about the first part of this savage speedway’s name, for here “disqualification” apparently entailed being barged off the road and cast spinning to the stars in pieces.

But Joe already knew he and his companions were far from the more respectable neighbourhoods of this space-sector. Planet Grindotron, Flash Club Headquarters and the bright civilized systems about them had long ago dwindled to a distant twinkling cluster. Here the only illumination that fell was a dull perpetual burn from the nearby red giant sun Acheldama, which glowered on the border of the galaxy itself. These were the outskirts indeed, lawless unfrequented boondocks, and it was clear to our hero that such was the choice for hardcore racers with glory on their minds and no desire to be troubled by speed-limits.

“Flashshadow says welcome to Disqualification Tablet,” reported Flashtease, interpreting for Joe the whispered words of the Mini-Flash girl sitting on his knee. “But how can there be anything here that’s going to help us get into the temple on Eshcaton?”

“This does not strike me as the kind of place Flashshadow would mistake for somewhere else, my friend,” Joe observed fairly. “And it is imperative we gain access to that same temple, now more than ever. If the unlikely setting before us holds but the slenderest chance of obtaining some means to achieve this, then we must try.”

A steady stream of spacecraft mostly sized and styled in similar fashion to Joe’s had been proceeding to Disqualification Tablet throughout this conversation. Our hero reignited his thrusters and joined them.

Through a maze of pit-stops and supply-sheds where fearsome outer space hot-rods grumbled endless billows of exhaust, past fast-food stands which vied with the vehicles to splutter out the most smoke and oil, and in and out of the jostling backs of some frankly deadbeat-looking life-forms all bathed in the dim reddish glow of Acheldama, did Flashshadow lead Joe and Flashtease along Disqualification Tablet’s habitable horizontal to wherever it was they were going. Keeping their small tour-guide in sight was no easy task, for she tended to vanish from view in poorly-lit and crowded surroundings such as these, but even so Joe missed no opportunity to glance about him. His adopted galaxy was in the habit of showing him intriguing sights, and here without doubt were the very latest.

A good many of Disqualification Tablet’s competitors and clientele were alien creatures whose age and gender Joe could only guess at, but there was a fair proportion of humanoid men besides. There were no grown women, as only a very few of these existed throughout the quadrant, and also no boys such as Flashtease. However, Joe was surprised at first to note just how many of the drivers and crew were girls. Brisk little teams of exclusively female mechanics wearing slightly spotted white ankle-socks rigged fuel-hoses to sleek supercharged rocket-turbines, while in the cockpits pretty pilots flicked through warm-up tests on idling afterburners and eyed the competition from under long lashes. Flashtease, walking beside Joe, had started to look apprehensive. He was also holding his skirt firmly in place with both hands.

Our hero was beginning to understand this anxiety. Here at Disqualification Tablet were none of the Flash Club rules and regulations which Flashtease knew so well, none of the orderly sports on which that old organization had been built. But one of the very few scientific facts thus far reliably established about the new gender was that among those species boasting parahuman abilities, such as Flashtease’s own, these emergent females developed their powers at an earlier age than the males had ever done. Was it possible this divide had already sparked some kind of counterculture among the galaxy’s girls, for whom the satisfaction of testing their capacities to the fullest was not to be found within masculine officialdom of yesteryear, but might be wrested from the far more perilous challenge of illicit arenas such as Disqualification Tablet? If so, it was a valuable insight indeed for Joe’s ongoing research into the quadrant’s youngest and most important generation. None of it however diverted him from slipping a comforting arm at once around his friend Flashtease, who smiled thankfully up in return.

They were drawing near some sort of commotion ahead. It did not seem to be on Flashshadow’s route, but Joe called a halt all the same and led his two companions over to investigate, by now quite keen to learn more. Spectators had gathered in a tightly-packed mass, and rising strains of music hinted they had done so in order to watch a performance. Our heroes threaded their way through the throng until they came in sight of a makeshift stage, whereupon all three of them stopped and stared as one. Flashtease, for all his earlier fright, was suddenly on the verge of uncontrollable laughter.

“Well, at least there’s somebody here we know!” he exclaimed to Joe in glee.

Above a modest ocean of lurching alien heads and shoulders, from which many an upraised tentacle rhythmically brandished wrenches or tyre-irons in cheery shows of support, a girl was belting it out amid dry-ice blown from a chrome engine-head and a colouful laser-show jacked together from indicator-lights. As her twin backing-dancers were non-sentient androids it was perhaps inevitable they would look comparatively dispassionate as they laboured in pre-programmed synchronicity through their poses and twirls, but even living artistes might have run the same risk when juxtaposed against quite such a pert and perky star.

It was Petunia, ardent adherent to Joe’s nocturnal gatherings. In that context she was ubiquitous, listening quietly rapt in a tight sweater and a band in her hair, but here she was working those same flippy violet tresses with her flippy bouffant skirts until they moved like things alive. Bobbing prettily up and down to the jaunty refrain she chanted lilting lyrics in a sweet smug voice, all the while tossing out intimate smirks and flutters of the eyes upon her uproarious audience.

“She has a personal life of which we knew nothing,” Joe declared, realising this for the first time.

Petunia’s tongue with evident expertise skipped flirtatiously over successive syllables which she pushed out perfectly from pouting pink lips, to the tune of:

“Go, my peachy-pink solar space-racer, go go!”

Which called for a vigorous pirouette, swirling Petunia’s petticoats level with the stage and revealing the large Four Heroes insignia she had sewn in a prominent place on another item from her top drawer. Joe by now was trying his level best not to notice Flashtease’s persistent smile.

From the roaring reaction it appeared this little number had gone down well. Petunia continued to bounce out her appreciation, the flat soles of her sensible shoes skimming from the boards again and again and her parachuting underskirts a white flouncy cloud complete with lace trim, as she beamed and waved until the last of her fans had slithered back to their grease-pits.

“For a good girl, that was quite a lot of her naughty side,” concluded Flashtease.

They made their way over to the foot of the stage, and when Petunia saw them it all but threw her into ecstasies. “Guys!” she squealed, gesticulating wildly with one arm over her head. “Guys! Oh! Wait just a minute!”

After quickly stooping to switch off her androids one by one and giving Disqualification Tablet two more reminders of where her loyalties lay, Petunia whirled back around and happily flung herself face-first from the stage without the slightest doubt there might be somebody waiting to catch her. Fortuitously Joe had by now arrived in arm’s reach so was able to do so, and set the girl safely down on her flat soles again.

“So, what important work for The Four Heroes’ cause has brought us all here today?” she asked with great enthusiasm, and then as Flashshadow continued to lead the growing group in the direction of her theme, Petunia instead of waiting for an answer immediately addressed the question Joe and Flashtease had not yet asked: “Well, you see, at this early stage of a singing career a girl can’t exactly pick and choose her venue. Disqualification Tablet’s not glamorous, but it’s a start! I mean, rottlebottles, it’s not like I’m Cherry…”

Joe, Flashtease and Flashshadow broke at once into at once into the flurries of contradiction this statement so emphatically prompted.

“Not yet, anyway!” Petunia then twinkled upon them, just as soon as their assurances had been acknowledged. “But all outer space better just watch this space!”

They were drawing up on a pit-stop where sat a lean gleaming jet-black racer, similar in its specifications to Joe’s, but which looked decidedly more as if it meant business. There was no crew, just one lone girl with her head tucked under the hood as she tinkered away at this mean machine. Flashshadow trotted over, and the driver on detecting her straightened up and shook back her silky sheet of silver-blue hair. From the familiar greeting that passed nonchalantly between them, it was clear to Joe he had reached his destination. Something else however was revealed about the car’s owner just as soon as she stood, and it surprised Joe slightly while his two other young companions were nothing short of astonished.

“Rottlebottles!” gasped Petunia. “She’s a Mini-Flash!”

END OF CHAPTER ONE