March of the Machines, Chapter Two

In a single flare of narrow crimson eyes, an electronic relay lanced across the scene and the entire factory began to explode. Our heroes, who had been expecting a fight, were taken by surprise and forced to fall back on emergency escape manoeuvres at once. The place had been so strategically mined, however, as to cut each intruder off from their fellows, making it impossible for those who could fly or teleport to reach the others in time. Even Steam and Degris were penned in by the factory roof and unable to venture skyward, and as the last explosive detonated and the floor gave way beneath our heroes’ feet, Neetra saw she had no choice but to teleport to safety alone.

The remaining twelve plummeted into the dark as the factory floor dropped away from them in one huge unbroken piece, bearing the head, its haul, its malfunctioning minions and its six railing prisoners with it. Steam’s flames roared into life alongside the golden glow of Degris’s levitation, and between them they halted the plunge of several of their comrades while the rest grabbed the rocky walls and clung on. All eyes were trained on block of floor as it dwindled out of sight down the enormous shaft, while from far below in the darkness the sound of rushing torrents began to be heard.

“An underground watercourse!” Dylan cried, scrambling to find a foothold.

Flotation collars, purloined from army bases, airline manufacturing plants and hovercraft facilities, bloomed into full inflation from the base of the factory floor. It hit the watercourse in a monumental splashdown, the spray from which drenched the heroes high above, then shot away along the rapids like the world’s largest and strangest raft to vanish into blackest distant tunnels beneath.

The Four Heroes and the Next Four had more to concern themselves with than the flight of their quarry, however, for now the factory floor was gone, the walls and roof it had supported were steadily collapsing into the shaft. Tonnes upon tonnes of century-old brick in massive irregular chunks was heading the way of their twelve bodies, which were all that stood between the avalanche and gravity. Outside, Neetra had tumbled into a landing on the fragmented street and sat up just in time to see the whole of the great dark edifice sag in on itself with a thunderous din, surely to smash her friends out of existence in the space of seconds.

“Guys!” Neetra wailed helplessly.

Then, on the fiery red horizon behind her, a light twinkled.

This solitary star streaked towards our heroine, growing in size and noise by the instant, and sped by in a gust of wind that set her skirt and hair flying. As the newcomer passed, Neetra caught a glimpse of its form and recognised it, though it was one she was amazed to see here. A slim and handsome blond-haired man, clad in blue doublet, bright green breeches and flowing purple cloak, standing poised atop a futuristic red vehicle that looked like a hybrid skateboard and miniature jeep.

“Blaster-Track Commander!” Neetra breathed.

The Commander and his aerial mount descended without preamble into the gaping hole in the ground where the factory had been. Balancing precariously behind him on the jeep was a third figure, one Neetra did not know, a little freckled boy her age wearing a short grey tunic with a lightning-bolt insignia on the front. This one held on tight to his older companion, seeming not quite ready for such hair-raising adventures, as they chased the falling lumps of rubble at a perpendicular angle and breakneck speed. Whipping twin laser pistols from his belt, Blaster-Track Commander fired off precision silver-blue beams that thinned out but could not check the landslide, which was now mere moments away from the twelve in its path.

“Glacid sprayers, trusty Blaster-Track,” said the Commander, banking his steed into a horizontal turn.

“Got it, boss,” the jeep replied in a cheerful synthesized voice. Twin nozzles extending from its rear chassis vented a sparkling cloud of pinkish vapour the breadth and width of the shaft, and on touching the plummeting masonry this miraculous mist froze with a crystalline sound, holding the rubble in place. The pink ice seemed fragile and a second later was already starting to crack, but for The Four Heroes and the Next Four, one second was all that was needed.

Joe, perched on a rocky ledge, drew his hands together and ignited them. Degris mustered up a psionic force-bolt from his mid-air stance, D’Carthage called up great writing vines and roots from within the cliff-face, and The Chancellor took aim with some gigantic gun. With one accord, fire, telekinesis, plantlife and artillery ploughed into the obstruction and annihilated glacid and brick alike. Save for a few tiny pebbles that pattered back down, our heroes’ route to open skies was clear.

Neetra gazed from the edge of the hole as Blaster-Track and his two passengers rocketed free, just before everything of the factory shell that had fallen in flung itself out again and the girl had to run for cover from the volcanic rain of boulders. Swooping back around, Blaster-Track Commander declared with a smile: “That’s the Four Heroes I remember! Standard rescue procedure, Flashtease!”

The small freckled boy, who was apparently so named, nodded perkily and knelt down to pull a bundle of ropes from a compartment on Blaster-Track as he and the Commander leapt to the street to join Neetra. Gratefully she took a rope and together they flung them down the shaft to their allies. The non-fliers below took hold and began to climb, while Degris and Steam made their own way to the surface. Soon Gala, who knew about climbing ropes, and Bret and Amy were with them topside.

It was Max who caught Neetra’s rope, before she had had the chance to tie her end to something solid, and his considerable weight made her stumble forward. Flashtease ran to her, and with obvious enthusiasm threw his arms about her waist to keep her steady.

“Hey! Watch the hands!” Neetra gasped.

Max finally hauled his large body out of the pit, followed by Joe and D’Carthage. Flashtease turned his close personal attention to helping first Carmilla then Phoenix up the last few feet, little guessing how lucky he was to have missed Gala, and with Dylan and The Chancellor bringing up the rear the whole group was safe and sound on terra firma again.

“Blaster-Track Commander!” Bret laughed, warmly shaking his hand. “Man, are we glad to see you! I don’t know what’s brought you all the way to our side of the universe, but you couldn’t have picked a better time!”

“I bring tidings of some import, my Earthling comrades-in-arms,” replied the Commander. “But it is good to see you too!”

“You can tell us all the tidings tonight, over dinner at ours,” Dylan said at once. “It’s the least we can do, seeing as you just saved all our lives! What’s more, it’ll give you a chance to get to know the rest of us, those you didn’t meet when you were last here.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Carmilla agreed earnestly, looking the Commander up and down with much approval.

“I regret that I have a prior appointment, my friend,” Joe said to him, with a glance at Gala. “I will not be able to attend, but I am in your debt for today.”

“Then let’s get going!” Flashtease exclaimed eagerly. “Oh boy, girls and now food too, I think I’m going to like this planet!”

“Er, has anyone explained yet who this boy is?” Neetra asked the company in general as they set off for home, saying their goodbyes to Joe and the Next Four while talking, laughing and renewing old friendships nineteen to the dozen. It looked like it was going to be a typical party at The Four Heroes’ house, indeed, of the kind Joe had enjoyed so many times before. He watched them go, until the sound of their voices had ceased to carry.

“I suppose it’s some comfort to know The Four Heroes’ friends have a penchant for showing up when you least expect them, since your enemies are so given to it too,” Gala remarked, bringing Joe back to the present. He turned to face his only remaining companions in this desolate twilight, the Next Four – silent, solemn, older than him, and unlike him in ways his departing friends would never be.

“Dinner?” Gala proposed.

If Joe felt like sighing, he managed to suppress it. “Dinner,” was all he said in reply.

END OF CHAPTER TWO