You Know Where You Sent Her, Chapter One

Since the schism, Joe’s subconscious self and Mini-Flash Splitsville had been operating out of an old abandoned barnyard safely secluded in the wilderness beyond Boston. Besides a very modest tumbledown farmhouse, and a clutch of cavernous crumbling outbuildings, there was nothing but endless field and endless sky. Here the fenland lay flat from horizon to horizon, which was why the place had become headquarters for the rest of our heroes too, now they were united at last and preparing to make their move.

For Joe saw well enough they weren’t going to get Sonica’s life-support apparatus up three flights of stairs to his attic, and even if they did, that same apparatus would disappear as soon as it passed into reality. Sonica needed a medical bay which actually existed, and to be hooked up to it before the journey began. That was why Joe was taking the audacious step of radio-controlling his spaceship through the barrier, to land it on this open countryside. Flashshadow meanwhile was at Pilgrim to arrange for the patient to be transferred, exercising her influence as a prominent local headmistress since it was an irregular request even for an imaginary hospital, and Mini-Flash Juniper had driven her there in the school bus.

Mini-Flash Robin went with them. They were going to drop him off at Morag’s first. Then they’d pick him up again, and Presh, on their way back with Sonica.

Joe didn’t envy his friend, who was in for no easy conversation. Our hero however guessed that what had happened between Robin and Juniper would have happened, irrespective of this strange adventure. While Joe held no illusions regarding his expertise in matters of the heart, he had done his best to brace Robin up for the daunting task of breaking the news, and reminded him the most important duty was to bring Presh back to the launch-site before the word ended.

Schiss-Zazz, meanwhile, would know what that looked like as well as anyone. It was plain enough to Joe he had entered via the attic, not least because it was the only means by which he might have done so, and would no doubt depart the same way when he perceived what had taken place. Sadly there was nothing our heroes could do about that, save redoubling their efforts once they were home to apprehend Schiss-Zazz and bring him before his galaxy’s justice system.

Was that everything?

Joe looked out over crops and pasture, a vast empty plain familiar from earliest memory, though the time for mistaking it for more than memory was past.

He thought perhaps that was everything.

Turning to the farmhouse, Joe checked inside his leather jacket for the letter he’d recovered from Mini-Flash Robin. It hardly seemed fair that their tasks today should be so different. Joe’s would have qualified as a happy privilege even without comparison to such a one as Robin’s, and now that all else was underway, the time for it had come at last. Our hero set off indoors.

Mini-Flash Pseudangelos was at the kitchen table, pouring out shot-glasses from a bottle of chocolate syrup and downing these one by one. She was getting her strength back after an addiction to another more sinister species of confectionery, and childbirth. Her cheeks were regaining their customary flush, her deep brown hair looked richer in cocoa solids than before, and her Earth-style school uniform was back in place as day-to-day wear.

Joe sat down. He’d had some fraught interpersonal relationships, but getting to know this girl had set new standards.

“Would you like to see my collectable action marbles?” she asked him.

“Before even that,” replied Joe, producing the letter.

He handed it over, and then with a smile sat back to watch as wondering Mini-Flash Pseudangelos reverentially eased the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet within. Our hero resolved that such innocent deceptions would not become his habit, but even so, there was much to be said for knowing in advance you were the bearer of good news.

Mini-Flash Pseudangelos read the letter.

Her face fell.

Something was wrong. Joe knew it right away, though enormous glucose-syrup tears were not slow about welling in the Mini-Flash’s eyes.

“Then…it was true,” issued tremulously from her. “And when Sonica said that uncalled-for thing I tried so hard to pay no attention, because deep down in my heart, I believed…!”

An instant later Pseudangelos was on her feet. Sobbing, she flung for the kitchen door as her wooden chair toppled behind her. Its clatter on the tiles preceded a slam which shook the farmhouse to its foundations, and Joe was alone.

He sat thunderstruck.

The only world his ruse seemed to have ended was Mini-Flash Pseudangelos’s own.

Our hero grasped for the discarded missive, understanding nothing. When his eyes fell upon print, he understood less.

The letter had changed.

Same headed paper Joe remembered forging, a long-defunct magazine publisher’s logo and address, but beneath it a line or two of terse text was the sum:

Dear Mini-Flash Pseudangelos,

Your competition entry has been disqualified. This is because you did not follow the instructions. In future please familiarize yourself with these before submitting work.

In desperation Joe sought the envelope. It was empty. The autographed picture of two ballet dancers he’d included as a prize for Mini-Flash Pseudangelos was gone.

How could this possibly have happened?

Preposterous even to contemplate whether Mini-Flash Robin was the culprit. Joe refused to shame himself doing so. And yes, his own memories since writing the letter were incomplete, but nobody had known of his schemes, much less boasted any motive for undermining them. Whichever way Joe looked at it, sabotage was ruled out.

It had to be something else.

But what?

Joe folded the page again and slid it into its envelope, barely aware as he pressed and smoothed the self-seal slip back down. Numbly he replaced the thing inside his jacket pocket.

He had asked a question which only one person might be able to answer.

END OF CHAPTER ONE