Study of Revenge, Chapter Two

4-H-N hurried inside the communications concourse to which she’d been directed. The doors slid shut behind her.

She didn’t even need to hear them seal straight after to know at once what this was.

For there stood Auntie Green.

No sane girl of 4-H-N’s height and build would have entertained illusions about escaping the Flash Club’s longstanding Mini-Flash matron in a straight struggle. That being so, 4-H-N reckoned Auntie Green could probably have managed without the guards. Full-grown Flashes, each a powerhouse, and each capable of flinging force-bolts besides? It would have been funny under any other circumstances. What had they imagined 4-H-N was going to do?

The question must have been written all over her face, but Auntie Green didn’t answer it with words. Instead she pressed a button on the desk before her.

One by one the many monitor-screens ranging the concourse began to light. The first alone would have been sufficient to start 4-H-N gawping, for it was footage of herself doing something she remembered, only framed by the banner headlines of an emergency news bulletin. Seconds later 4-H-N apprehended that each screen represented a different holovision channel. Every station in the galaxy was beaming the same broadcast.

That night on the ledge. When 4-H-H had fought Petunia, and accidentally defaced with ink a giant Four Heroes emblem shining on the building-side behind them.

4-H-N hadn’t known the whole sorry episode had ever been committed to video.

She’d kept it a secret shame. Now it seemed even that dubious luxury was hers no longer.

“Note the time-stamp, Mini-Flash 4-H-N,” said Auntie Green. “That this happened so long ago has only made matters worse.”

“Worse?” queried 4-H-N, not understanding.

“Reports are coming in of riots across the populous sector,” elucidated Auntie Green without sympathy. “What else could you expect? This is everything we feared. One of our supposed champions for the Coming Conflict has been hiding in our midst, scheming who knows what else, ever since this expressive little display of just what she thinks of the cause she’s meant to be fighting for. Now, here’s where you laugh at my galaxy’s benighted faith in prophecies and symbols, and remind me that on your enlightened homeworld such ridiculous superstition is a thing of the past.”

4-H-N drew breath to protest, indignantly, that she hadn’t been about to do any such thing. Auntie Green gripped the birch-rod she carried, silencing her.

“It never occurs to you people, does it?” the matron went on. “Our civilizations were ancient when yours were still primordial slime. Is it just possible that what you call superstition is actually us, understanding how the universe works rather better than you do?”

This time 4-H-N held her tongue. Even having been told once before they were past the usual mode of Mini-Flash correction didn’t take away her memories of that birch. Besides, she and Auntie Green were straying from the subject, of which the latter seemed aware.

“So, Mini-Flash 4-H-N,” that one resumed. “You can understand the galactic public requires reassurance. They’re going to need to see we at The Flash Club are taking steps.”

Flashbee’s words, almost to the letter.

They’d do it, 4-H-N. They’d have to.

And for the first time since the doors closed, 4-H-N’s heart underwent a true and proper plunge. Knowing in advance that this moment would arrive wasn’t by any means the same thing as looking forward to it. Maybe the pre-preparation had even enabled her to ignore just how much potential danger this madness was going to put her person in. The token was tucked away ready but it lent only the tiniest comfort, for 4-H-N’s insides still felt they were lowering near to its hiding-place. In between here and the shuttle-port around the corner, something awaited, and it wasn’t going to be very much fun at all.

“Although we don’t have to go through with it,” Auntie Green then continued. “Tell me where you’re keeping the Special Program, and we’ll waive the Ritual of Demand.”

She wasn’t gloating.

4-H-N saw that immediately. Auntie Green was in absolute earnest about the bargain.

So she must have known about the Special Program for a while, but waited for something like this. How did she find out? Storm-Sky? Somehow 4-H-N couldn’t quite believe that.

Not that it exactly topped her list of concerns just now.

“Give me back my girls, Mini-Flash 4-H-N,” repeated Auntie Green.

The warning which one of those same girls had issued not an hour ago was what was turning this into the point in a nightmare where 4-H-N would have wished she could wake up. For a quick glance behind was all it took to tell her things were already looking pretty grim out there, and yet it was only happening because the galaxy feared the worst. If 4-H-N told Auntie Green what she wanted to know, the worst was what was going to happen.

“That’s the way,” Auntie Green remarked. “Stand there dumb, now that it’s come to it. Now that the situation’s deteriorating by the second. I expected nothing more. I’ve occupied my role in The Flash Club a good deal longer than Storm-Sky has his, and while your gender may be new, the same can’t be said for the brand of delinquency you represent. Every time, it comes down to background. Don’t get me wrong about the Prophecy, as we’ve established I believe in it and you don’t. My people have had little choice but to believe. We’ve seen outsiders arrive who’ve indubitably borne an influence on our galaxy. I however have also had the unhappy and unlooked-for privilege of stewardship over the powerless, brattish, malodorous little sibling who tags along after them, apparently under the misapprehension she’s somebody too. Did you really think we’d let you carry on with this charade? Our most powerful asset, our only proven means of defence against The Foretold One, in your indefinite custody? Now tell me, Mini-Flash 4-H-N, where are my girls?”

Her girls. If they’d ever regarded themselves as such, they’d never have fled her in the first place. Why couldn’t Auntie Green see that? They weren’t her girls, or 4-H-N’s either.

“You know we’ll find them anyway,” Auntie Green pressed on. “And bear in mind that the minute these Headquarters gates are barred to you, your safety ceases to be any concern of mine.”

4-H-N scarcely needed a reminder of the last part. It was still making her tremble, in spite of every effort to stay firm. For if this was it, then it was going to be even worse than the assault course, and she didn’t want that much Drenthis feeling. She didn’t know what would happen if she started to hate like that.

Yet from the looks of things, 4-H-N gathered they’d reached the point where Auntie Green had discussed the situation as much as she wished to.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask, Mini-Flash 4-H-N,” said she.

So it was one choice, or the other.

Everything 4-H-N believed in, everything she and her friends were fighting for, on the one hand. The word of somebody she trusted as to what would be the dreadful consequences of her giving in. True, with that option came something else. 4-H-N didn’t require a second reminder quite so soon after the last.

What came with the other, though, was her striding back into the storage-bay in the middle of Jenny’s Intelligentsor vision to explain it was all over. Sorry. Only you see, she’d been scared.

One choice, or the other.

There were places within to which The Four Heroes, not to mention 4-H-N’s other elder sisters, had been frequent visitors in their time. It was from one of these 4-H-N brought back her reply. She herself would have been surprised in that moment to know how inaccurate Auntie Green’s unkind assessment of her had been, and how much better that one would have done to group her squarely among those of whom she had also held forth.

For although Auntie Green had indeed worked with Mini-Flashes a long while, none of it had prepared her for the one facing her now.

“Then you might as well drop the ‘Mini-Flash’ from that.”

4-H-N’s voice held more or less steady. Her old enemy looked back at her, and one war at any rate was over. One of them was defeated at last.

“As you wish,” said Auntie Green.

On her signal a pair of Flash Club guards marched to the far doors and threw them wide.

That was when 4-H-N quailed, for all that she’d striven to stand in defiance.

For the passage disclosed wound its way down to the lowermost circle of Headquarters, and she’d seen flaming torchlight flicker on stone.

TO BE CONTINUED