Captured

A short trek through the rain, and Joe was standing at the great iron-studded oaken doors of Nottingham Castle.

His duty was to the truth. That much he still believed without reservation, but what it meant here and now Joe still could not say. He knew he would never rest until he had learned from Gala all that he might be to her, and whether she genuinely believed in their destiny as she had described it. But what right had he to ask her for those truths, when even now he was keeping secrets from she who had confided in him, and the word of his evil enemy was to be believed over hers?

Had he, then, come to tell Gala everything? To betray forever his friends, their mission, and their cause? But the dictates of that very cause told Joe that honesty was always right, that trust was nobler than suspicion, and that the likes of Dimension Borg must be resisted. And, as unthinkable as it seemed to Joe that he could even consider destroying all that The Four Heroes had striven for over these last months, here he stood in front of the castle door.

Why had he come? What decision was he on the brink of making? What was he going to say to Gala a few minutes from now?

As it turned out, Joe needn’t have worried about most of it.

The flagstone beneath his feet gave way. With a cry our hero plummeted into a dark shaft, crashing and flailing from its many angles as he careened deeper and deeper down, until he fell at last from the opposite end and fetched up in a sturdy net suspended from on high. Joe groped to sit and look around him. He was dangling above the floor of a grim stone dungeon, his superhuman powers held in check by an overwhelming psychic force. This was courtesy of the assembled Next Four, who stood in a circle around the snare.

Joe’s previous visits to Nottingham Castle had all involved an intimate dinner with Gala, where they had enjoyed sumptuous food in elegant surroundings. It took just one look at her face to see that that was not on the cards this time.

“So,” was her greeting. “You think coming here in person is going to make amends? You think it means we’ll forgive you? For this?”

She pulled from her coat a sheet of computer printout, and thrust it at Joe. On its white face was a neat block of text, impersonal, anonymous, relating succinctly that Blaster-Track Commander knew Dimension Borg’s whereabouts, The Four Heroes were working with him behind the backs of the Next Four, and they were imminently to depart for a locale where it would be impossible to follow them.

Joe’s eyes widened. He struggled in vain to escape his bonds. “A traitor? But our plans were known to none but the most select few!” he cried in horror. “The one who has done this can only be among those closest to us, one participating in the very mission as we speak!”

At this reaction, Gala’s previous anger paled to insignificance. The colour drained from her face.

“Then it wasn’t you who sent this,” she said in a deathly undertone. “I allowed myself to hope…but I should have realised all along.”

Then there was no keeping back her rage.

“Is this how you repay me?” Gala exploded at the helpless Joe, her eyes like fire, her teeth flashing behind blood-red lips. “After everything I showed you, everything we shared, and everything I would have been willing to do? Well, your plots against me are at an end. We’ll crush The Four Heroes, crush your little scheme, and then I’ll be back to deal with you!”

She stormed out of the dungeon and was lost to Joe’s sight.

“Hell hath no fury, dear boy,” D’Carthage commented silkily as he sauntered past, setting off after his leader with The Chancellor and Steam. The barred door slammed shut behind them.

Through the vaulted passages strode the Next Four, bound for the castle gates. The Chancellor drew abreast of Gala.

“This man, Blaster-Track Commander,” he proceeded, brisk and soldierly. “He has the location of the one we seek, and within the hour means to flee from our range?”

Not breaking her stride, Gala unsheathed her cutlass.

“Let’s move,” said she.