Broadside for Broadside, Chapter One

Pavements soaked with standing rain stretched beneath a hard grey-black sky seared through with red. The city drew in breath. Something was moving through the clouds, something huge, something fast. Doors and windows rattled in its unseen overhead wake, and lakes and canals parted into deltas as if cloven by an invisible prow. Those citizens who turned their eyes fearfully upward saw only an immense indistinct shape, darker than the heavens it was forging through, throwing even gloom into shadow for a moment then just as swiftly gone.

At The Four Heroes’ house a radar-blip sounded its insistent staccato note. Nine figures were converged upon it, their faces and bodies tinted green from the circular monitor’s glow, their eyes fixed on the tiny point of light as it proceeded steadily downward to the centre.

“Making a beeline from Nottingham Castle right to this spot,” Dylan announced. “It’s them. They’ve got to be on to us.”

“Whatevair zey are travelling in, it is ’ardware about which we know nothing,” Phoenix continued, checking the digital readout graphs. “Zey must ’ave successfully kept it ’idden from us all zis time. We must assume ’owevair zat a vehicle of its size and powair output is at least stratospheric-enabled.”

“Then that is where we shall meet them,” Blaster-Track Commander declared, already turning to the door. “Where is friend Joe?”

Three of the company held still for a second. “No sign,” was Bret’s grim report, “His telepathic signal’s being suppressed, which can only mean they’ve gotten to him already.”

“So do we risk the mission on a rescue,” asked Amy, “or stay with the plan?”

Neetra did not speak. Nobody else had been there when she and Joe exchanged their last words together, and so a second possibility concerning his whereabouts now presented itself to her alone. It was one she could scarcely bear to think about. But suddenly all eyes were on her. The others, knowing what Joe was to her, were putting the decision in her hands.

“Nothing’s more important than reaching Dimension Borg,” she said at last, in a quiet voice. “We have to leave now.”

There was no time for farewells. Most of our heroes’ allies were still busy cleaning up after their battle with Phoenix Prime, and the only ones who happened to be on hand were Neetra’s friends Aloysius and Gussy and her big sister Carmilla. The three of them were dispatched to the Railway Station with all possible haste to carry news of this desperate turn of events, whilst Neetra and her eight comrades were airborne within the next minute.

Together they punched into the lowering firmament and climbed steeply, traversing first the damp and inky layers then streaking past whiter and drier mists, to finally burst out into skies of brilliant azure that held eternal sway above the temperamental climes hugging the world. Still our heroes tracked higher, four flying forms of different sizes but all miniscule before the sea of swirling vapour that rolled from horizon to horizon below and the blue infinity that arched above. Gaining a height equidistant between Earth and orbit, three of the dots banked around and stopped to face the direction from which they had come while the fourth continued on its way and was quickly gone from sight.

Firing up the galactic cruiser was a job for three, so Dylan, Phoenix and Amy had gone on ahead in the Four Heroes Ultimate Cycle. That left the remaining six with a single task. They were to hold off those who were advancing, until transportation out of the danger arrived.

Bret and Max stood side-by-side on the Flying Platform Lightspeed. This silver disc-like aircraft was not armed, but nor was she capable of space travel, so the technical crew had had to take the more combat-ready Ultimate Cycle. Both men, however, were hefting the largest heavy weapons they had found in the armoury, and Bret’s trusty samurai sword hung behind him. To their left hovered Neetra, her flight-pack on her shoulders and her photon-emitter on her arm. On their right the sentient jeep Blaster-Track sat steady on his jets, his Commander poised atop and Flashtease behind him.

Each was prepared to give their all. But they were few in number, the power of The Four Heroes was already halved, and they had no way of knowing what they were about to face.

The clouds parted. That which emerged, first as a vast black mass against the white then resolving into detail as it rose majestically from the opaque deep, heralded the coming of the Next Four.

It most closely resembled a galleon, and parts of its long stately hull were of timber, tar and gold as if it had been built in a bygone age. It was however broader than a vessel of that time would have been, due to a pair of enormous round mechanical bosses protruding from either side amidships. Above and below each of these, mighty twin propellors chopped the air. The mast stood tall, though it was slanted like a fin, and in place of a canvas topsail a towering solar collector glittered along its length. The glided plate flashing from the forecastle announced this outlandish dreadnought was named the Henry Martin.

She dwarfed the company facing her. The black bores of brassy cannon glared from the bow like eyes, and a daunting array of other armaments both ancient and futuristic pointed levelly at our heroes. Standing by her prow, with one foot resting on the rail, was Gala. Behind her were The Chancellor, Steam and D’Carthage.

It was not in Bret’s nature to show fear before a battle, and today was no exception. Nevertheless, he meant every word when he muttered:

“Six of us…and they’ve brought a fortress.”

The Four Heroes Ultimate Cycle zipped through the starry void of orbital space to where the galactic cruiser waited. Tyres squealed on the landing-bay floor and a crew of three pelted down gleaming passages to the bridge, where they threw themselves into seats as one. Fingers skated across control boards, and operational lights came to life.

“Prepare for sub-atmospheric manoeuvres, Amy, and take us down,” Dylan instructed from the pilot’s chair. “Phoenix, make a start bringing the reactor online. We’re going to have to do this in one go – pick up the guys, then make the intergalactic jump from within Earth’s gravitational field immediately after.”

“But Dylan!” Phoenix cried. “Zis powair core ’as only enough left in ’er for one more deployment. Once charging ’as begun, it cannot be reversed!”

Amy’s green eyes shot to Dylan in some apprehension. “So if we’re not ready to go to hyperdrive when the reactor hits critical mass…?” she began.

“Yep, whole ship explodes,” Dylan finished grimly, not turning from his own calculations. “It’s going to be tight, girls, but we don’t have any choice! Our friends can’t last long against that thing the Next Four are riding!”

Using a megaphone, Gala hailed our heroes across the blue gulf.

“Blaster-Track Commander,” she commenced, slowly and deliberately. “We’ve barely even talked before now…not that I’m the only one who’s been remiss. For it seems that all the time you were heroically rescuing us from collapsing factories and the like, you were carrying information you neglected to share with Nottingham’s rightful defenders.”

“Like you can talk!” Neetra flung back, using her psychic powers to amplify her own voice. “Or did you just forget to mention the massive great Four Heroes-destroying flying boat you had sitting in your garage?”

Gala’s eyes flashed. “There are timbers at the heart of the Henry Martin that were taken from the plague-ship on which I was born,” was her response. “I’ve made sure I never lose sight of my cause. Can you say the same, Four Heroes? First skullduggery and double-dealing against those you’ve fought alongside, and now I find you apparently running to Dimension Borg himself to beg an alliance!”

Bret folded his arms. “If we’re turning this into a coffee morning, Gala, then I might as well tell you now that everything you’re talking about only began when we found out your cause is either a lie or a major misreading on your part!” he shouted. “So what say we skip it, and you just tell us what you’ve done with Joe?”

Although they were at a distance, Bret and his comrades could see the cold smile of victory that came to Gala’s lips at these words.

“How do you suppose we found out about this?” she inquired. “Your beloved team-mate has betrayed you, Four Heroes. It seems at least one of you recognizes which of our causes is the true and valid one!”

Her words hit our heroes hard. None were prepared to believe her without question, but nor was any breast free from the first stirrings of anxiety. All were aware that Joe had grown the closest to Gala, that he alone had refused to distrust her outright, and that he had objected to secrecy from the beginning. Could all this have been enough to lead him into doing what Gala claimed?

For Neetra the blow was worst of all. She knew more than any other how Joe had suffered since the encounter with their time-travelling heirs, and how it had brought home to him that his cause demanded commitments for which he was painfully unready. His growing affinity with Gala had awakened in Neetra additional concerns about where Joe’s loyalties lay. Now, as the girl reeled under aftershocks that grew rather than dwindled in intensity, the last sentence she had heard Joe speak came back upon her again and again. Our duty is to the truth…

The five words were like a death-knell sounding in Neetra’s heart. What seemed now to be their one possible meaning spelled the one situation she could not possibly face.

On the deck of the Henry Martin, The Chancellor was almost equally unsettled. He turned to Gala and in a whisper asked: “What is the meaning of this falsehood?”

She lowered the megaphone. “Whoever the traitor really is, it’s in our best interests that he or she remain undiscovered,” was her reply. “Disruption of The Four Heroes’ morale can only tell in our favour too.”

Her confident and collected demeanour did nothing to allay The Chancellor’s fears. He had already made a bleak wager with himself that the Next Four’s prisoner was not destined to remain a helpless captive for long, and Gala’s ploy to turn Joe’s friends against him felt like the final clinching proof that he was right to suspect as much. Uttering such a lie was perhaps a strategically sound act, but it had far more value as a means of leaving Joe with no-one to turn to but Gala herself. The Chancellor had always known this must ultimately happen if their cause was to reach fulfillment, but he no longer knew whether Gala still wanted it only because of what was written in The Prophecy of the Flame, and that was what tortured him.

Gala raised the loudhailer again. “In summation, Four Heroes,” she resumed briskly, “you’re outgunned and outmatched, and this vessel’s very being has been harmonizing with mine my whole life. Its rhythm and motion flow through me as naturally as breathing. If you don’t wish to learn what that means in battle, you’ll surrender the information I want here and now.”

“We held Plomonoog with just five other jeeps against Space-Screamer’s robot hordes,” Blaster-Track Commander responded. “It takes more than overwhelming odds to force a surrender from us.”

“You can’t hope to prevail against a weapon that fights as intuitively as I do,” Gala declared, her smile glinting. “I would, however, be entertained to see you try.”

“Then we won’t disappoint you,” said Bret, and the three stationary bodies before the Henry Martin separated and bore down upon her. Bret and Max swung up their howitzers and let rip, their opening salvos impacting on the ship’s plated hull. Amid the roaring of shells and the bursts of flame, a fragile peace was rent asunder. It had endured neither easily nor long, and perhaps all those present had known from the start that this day must come. Open war between The Four Heroes and the Next Four had broken out.

“No-one gets away,” Gala commanded her team, “but see you bring me Blaster-Track Commander alive!”

END OF CHAPTER ONE