Christmas Eve, Chapter One

Nottingham had seen many Christmases, from the snow-swirling first one soon after its creation when he who had tyrannically opposed The Four Heroes and their city met his defeat at last, to the bleak and rainy Christmas of the Martian occupation which the townsfolk had celebrated in subterranean caves hiding out from General Banthal’s patrols. Christmas Eve this year was one of dazzling sunshine streaming from a cloudless blue sky, bringing no heat to dispel the crisp frostiness that tingled on faces, fingers and toes, but setting a-sparkle the snow that lay thickly on the streets. Through the gleaming drifts, the chilly air and the golden beams, all the human-and-otherwise populace of Nottingham tramped and laughed and bustled. It was a vast and glorious jostling mass of people, living life in the safe-haven city for mankind as it was supposed to be lived, walking and shopping and eating and drinking and wishing Season’s Greetings to each other with their breath making white clouds that danced on the air before them.

There were, however, some who had chosen to set themselves apart from these happy festivities. On the roof of a tall office block, one of these crouched in silence. It was the Next Four member known as Steam, his bronze-and-purple mechanical body outlined against the brilliant sky as he surveyed the merry tumult below. His face, though handsome, wore an expression that spoke of ugly sentiments, and the emerald embers that smouldered in his eyes betrayed none of the tenderness sometimes seen there. His was a gaze to inspire neither pity nor love, but fear.

In a sudden burst of fire and smoke, Steam was gone from the rooftop. His broiling trail arched above the streets and ended mere moments later in a nearby park, where the automated man alighted in the high branches of a pine tree so stealthily he barely dislodged a handful of the snow that rested there. Peering down through needles and cones, Steam trained his eyes on the white path far beneath and two figures walking along it, whose presence his psychic senses had infallibly led him to.

It was Joe and Neetra of The Four Heroes. With their cheeks aglow from the cold as they smiled and fondly talked, they looked like any other young couple taking a romantic snowy stroll in Nottingham that Christmas Eve. The reality was far from what such a cosy picture suggested, for between feuding parents, a rogue twin sister and a son and daughter from the future, Joe and Neetra had three generations’ worth of trouble piled upon them this holiday season. However, both had been heroes long enough, and had loved each other long enough, to know that courage and constancy were not only needed when saving the world. What shone from them as they enjoyed their walk was not the turmoil in their lives, but the certain faith their love would overcome it just as long as they were together.

This was what Steam saw as he observed them unseen. It was impossible for him to see anything else. There was a fire that raged inside Steam’s artificial body, and it had nothing to do with the external flames he generated to propel himself in flight. He was immune to harm from these, but not so the inferno within. Neetra’s love for Joe was all it took to ignite it, and once the blaze was underway, it scorched and licked and ate away at him more agonizingly than any other torture he had known.

Feeling its familiar ravages beginning yet again, Steam watched Joe and Neetra out of sight and his expression darkened ever more. What twisted his fine features now would have rendered him unrecognisable to all those who believed they knew him, and there was only one, separated by impossible distances from Steam’s present-day peers, who would have held an advantage over them. Lord Qualtrough, sorcerer and despot from Nottingham’s retroactive history, had once been confronted with the fearsome sight of Steam springing at him, his every intention to do cold-blooded and remorseless murder with his bare metal hands. Had Qualtrough not perished later that day, and had instead been able to see Steam as he hunched atop the tree, he would have recognised the look on his face.

Another torrent of fuming flame lit the Christmas Eve shadows, and the pine rocked in the wake of he who had already departed. Through a sky that gloomed towards dusk Steam carved a grim fiery incision, his stubbled chin set and his fists clenched tight, everything in his manner proclaiming he was embarked on some desperate and dreadful errand. Ahead of him lay the craggy horizon, and at its summit the silhouette of Nottingham Castle.

Circling Planet Earth was a galactic cruiser that had come from the other side of the universe. Her long journey had left her very much the worse for wear, but on her bridge now were five individuals more than willing to take on the lonely task of working over the Christmas period if it meant getting her spaceworthy again. They were an unlikely collection, headed by Dylan Cook of The Four Heroes and his girlfriend Phoenix Neetkins, one of two clones who Neetra called sister. With them was a pair of humanoids who hailed from the same faraway quadrant as the ship: a tall dashing blond-haired man named Blaster-Track Commander, and a little bare-legged freckled boy called Flashtease who was dressed in a short grey tunic with a yellow lightning-bolt on the front. The fifth member of the company was a miniature red jeep that trundled along at knee-height to the others.

“Truth is, she’d seen better days even before we made the trip,” this one commented, in a gruff synthesized voice. “Running her at full power all the way from our galaxy to yours has left the hyperdrive unit in serious need of repair. Guess the boss and I aren’t the best guests, showing up to ask for your help then sticking you with an engineering job before we can go anywhere!”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Blaster-Track old buddy,” Dylan told the jeep, and he meant every word. “For months now, what we’ve needed more than anything is to track down our enemy Dimension Borg, because only he’s read the Prophecy that can tell us just what the Next Four are up to. Things were looking pretty hopeless on that front until you guys arrived, to tell us Dimension Borg’s setting up shop in your sector and you need a hand kicking him out! Thanks to you we can do exactly that, and also find out everything he knows before the Next Four get to him. A bit of elbow-grease is no price to pay for that, believe me!”

“Zen let us begin,” Phoenix declared briskly, pulling out her fusing-torch. “Reconnecting ze primary linkages looks to me no more zan ze work of three days. Once zey are done we can make a start overhauling ze capacitors, and from zere – ”

“Phoenix, honey,” Dylan put in, taking her aside. “These repairs are important, but so’s family, especially today. I still don’t see why you’re determined to spend all of Christmas up here! Wouldn’t you rather be back on Earth with Neetra and the others? They’re as worried about you as I am. I know you haven’t sorted things out with Carmilla yet, but surely there’s no better time of year for that than now?”

Phoenix did not look at him. “We must face Dimension Borg without furthair delay,” was all she said. “For zat, my technical and scientific expertise is needed ’ere. I will be at ze linkages.”

She strode from the bridge without another word. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the four who remained.

“Her resolve is…as strong as dullivian, my friend,” Blaster-Track Commander said to Dylan, bravely attempting a tone of hearty approval.

“Yeah, and she’s about half as warm and cuddly,” Blaster-Track muttered in addition.

Dylan sighed. “This is about more than what’s going on between her parents and her argument with her big sister,” said he. “It’s like she did before – she’s trying to set herself up as some sort of cold, unfeeling clone that doesn’t care what happens to her flesh-and-blood relatives. Except I know she feels and cares just as much as any of us, clone or not, and I can tell how much it’s hurting her to do this to herself. Darn it, I wish I could help. I’d be able to, if I could only understand…!”

Blaster-Track Commander nodded with an air of deep empathy. “In our galaxy there were almost no females until very recently,” he said. “As a consequence I don’t understand a thing about girls and women myself.”

“Males from our different galaxies have something in common, in that case,” said Dylan. “But really, is that so? What caused such a massive change in your gender distribution?”

“Nobody knows, but yes, there are millions of females now,” the Commander declared. “It’s led to quite the generation gap. At least half the Mini-Flashes now are girls, something unheard of in my day. That’s why the boy here claims to be an expert on their habits.”

“Then I guess it must be you who’s been working the old magic on Neetra, Flashtease!” Dylan chuckled. “Someone’s put her in a good mood with us, at any rate, because I’ve just remembered she made us something!”

So saying he opened his toolkit and took out a plate, which he set down on the control panel then removed the red-and-white chequered cloth tied around it. Underneath were several large and lumpy mince pies.

“These are a type of human food we traditionally eat on this day,” Dylan explained to his galactically-displaced friends. “It’s one of our festivals, you see, and Neetra said she didn’t want us to feel left out!”

“Oh boy!” Flashtease exclaimed, his freckly face lighting up like a Christmas bauble. “I’ve been longing for the chance to get my hands on Neetra’s goodies and this looks like the closest I’m ever going to come!”

“Whoa, Flashtease, hang on a minute, I should tell you Neetra’s cooking is a little bit – ” Dylan began in concern, but it was too late, for Flashtease had already grabbed two mince pies and stuffed them into his mouth whole. The boy stopped moving almost immediately. He gave a little choke, steadily turning so scarlet in the face that his freckles disappeared, then crashed into a prone position on the deck with his twitching feet and bright yellow underpants pointing ceiling-wards.

“So,” Blaster-Track Commander resumed, after a moment’s pause. “These repairs.”

END OF CHAPTER ONE