Of Traps and Lace, Chapter One

Petunia moved through the pretty evening glow, companionably hand-in-hand with a boy wearing nothing but inch-thick rubber pants. Male Mini-Flashes suddenly mindful of the underwear beneath their own tunics stopped to watch as she and her escort’s considerably more industrial ones sailed by the lit-up shops. Those observers already teetering over taking a trip to Nottingham might have been tempted out of their last-minute doubts by the bobbing of Petunia’s silky violet flip-up tips or the flouncy bounce of her hemline, not to mention such motion as belonged to the tight snowy sweater between. Others however argued an oath to The Flash Club meant more than six saccharine songs, and would have appreciated it if certain girls put their petticoats to their proper use and weren’t quite so public about allegiances. It seemed no matter which side Mini-Flashes stood on interpretations of The Four Heroes’ cause, there was something about Petunia that had all the boys bumbling to politics.

“Hey, Petunia, you’ll never believe this,” said Plunder Dacks. “You know how the Special Program went off? Well, apparently Auntie Green spanked them so much they went off. That’s what constitutes a Flash Club masterclass!”

“Sounds more like a disaster class!” Petunia exclaimed.

As his and hers made their way into an Earth-style restaurant, two space-jalopies pulled up unnoticed at the far end of the street. Each was crowded with more Mini-Flashes, these female and universally clad in entry-level beige.

“Can you quit going over the bumps on purpose, Bobby?” 4-H-N grumbled to the driver. “You’re not the one with an ink-bottle down your knickers.”

She slid her sunglasses off, since it was night and she was worried about overdoing the act. Even with them on however it would have been difficult not to acquire her target, especially when Petunia hopped to the top of the restaurant-step. Mirthlessly 4-H-N thanked her in secret for treating them all to that, though she’d have preferred it if Petunia had put on an unembroidered pair tonight and treated her to a quiet life instead. Not that 4-H-N knew of any girl in any galaxy who’d wear plain ones on a date, which was what this looked suspiciously like. Were things getting romantic between Petunia and her bodyguard in Baumgaartens? Was the unrequited passion for Joe slowly starting to wane? 4-H-N raised a small eyebrow, though she had to admit, if she herself were faced with Petunia’s choice she’d skip the agonizing and go for old Kevin Costner every time.

“So when are you going to show us your surprise, 4-H-N?” Mini-Flash Bobbypins asked eagerly.

In unspoken reply 4-H-N heaved with both hands something hidden under a sports towel which she’d been keeping by her boots. She didn’t need the rear-view mirror to know Mini-Flash Meteor had ascended to the brow of the back seat, and was treating it as the prissiest of princesses might her throne. Her iciness had been chilling the back of 4-H-N’s neck all the while she was riding shotgun.

“If we do this Mini-Flash Meteor’s way, we come out of it with a pair of inky pants,” 4-H-N announced to the other girls. “Yay Meteor,” she added, casting that one an over-the-shoulder glance. “All that talk about how this means something. Symbols mean something, it means something that we’re loyal Alliance Mini-Flashes…but what’s this ever going to mean, unless other people know what we’ve done? Unless we show them. I know you love your cinema and TV round here. So we’re going to film it.”

She threw off the towel to reveal a bladderlike thing that sat in her lap, curiously organic in aspect though equipped with a telescopic lens and wings. It was a Grindotron flying camera, which 4-H-N had smuggled out of Professor Grindo’s storeroom before leaving for Headquarters that afternoon.

Approval verging on outright delight ensued from all the Mini-Flashes but one. “She’s so hardcore!” Bobbypins pronounced. “Meteor, how come you never thought of anything like this?”

“It can’t have caught on here yet, but it’s pretty big where I come from,” 4-H-N explained, though she couldn’t keep her voice from dropping somewhat when she thought of the kind of girls and young people who did it. Mini-Flash Meteor, green, made reply in tones which by contrast carried clear.

“Why, how deliciously Joe’s faction, gantrative. I do declare you’ll soon have us all emulating Earth-ways just like they do in Nottingham. Pray correct me if I’m wrong, your being the expert on Alliance Mini-Flashes, but isn’t it the rather the point of our Flash Club loyalties that we don’t behave exactly as he and his pack of defectors do?”

4-H-N’s grip tightened slightly on the flying camera’s flesh.

“I’m the one doing it, Meteor,” she reminded her. “And Petunia doesn’t get to put this down to some random prank. This is about teaching her, and all the others like her, that they don’t have the right to wear that emblem anymore. That the galaxy’s already chosen which interpretation of the cause to stand by.”

4-H-N saw she’d strayed once again from pretence to beliefs which were genuinely hers. There was surely something not-quite-right that these should ever have had anything to do with the methods of Mini-Flash Meteor and her gang. Trying not to think of that 4-H-N launched the camera aloft, and kicked the car door open. Taking charge would only antagonize Meteor further and make this look even more like a power-play, but if that was what it took.

“Come on, girls,” said 4-H-N. “Let’s go create some content.”

When Dacks and Petunia first met he had been among the adherents to her interpretation of Joe’s interpretation of The Four Heroes’ cause. Tonight, like most young couples finding themselves in a more intimate setting than hitherto known, they had reverted to those interrelations which felt to them familiar and therefore most comfortable. They sat side-by-side like children, not with the table between them like adults, and Petunia having ordered the do-it-yourself hamburgers was now hosting an instructive seminar for her rapt attendee.

“This kind of Petunia-burger is all set to take the galaxy by storm,” she informed him knowledgeably while she worked. “Sprinkle on several handfuls of these little rottlebottles – Joe says they’re called mushrooms, he’s ever so wise – then the breaded onion-rings go plunk-a-plonk-a-pling, thus. This yellow sheet with holes in is very important and after that you squeeze out a lot of this red substance, then put the top on and we’re done!”

Looking exceedingly proud Petunia lifted her accomplishment in both hands, not to take a bite herself, but to hold it out to Plunder Dacks.

“If it’s Earth-foods, Petunia, I usually just have an orange,” he declared, feeling a little faint. “A dry orange, from out of the fruit-bowl at home I mean, its very being all but defined by pith.”

“You’re an orange,” giggled Petunia.

She moved herself and her offering nearer, so that for Dacks the smells of sizzling meat-juice and globulous cheese were heightened by a hint of the perfume Petunia wore. He had never even heard of bacon steak served with a slice of peach melting on top, but a human chef could have explained to him that that extra little tinned fruit tang was what was making him crave the first drop of hot fat on his tongue, even though Dacks estimated a single mouthful of the repast would be sufficient to end his life. He was already convinced he was in telepathic rapport with Petunia, since that was the only explanation he could think of as to why she overloaded his senses so. When she was being like this it was obviously no help.

His back was to the window, so he didn’t see whatever it was outside that brought a sudden shocked expression to Petunia’s features.

“Rottlebottles, it’s those girl Mini-Flashes who were horrid to me!” she cried. “Come on, Dacks, we’ve got to get out of here!”

She slapped the burger back down on its board and seized him by the hand, then scrambled to flee the booth heedless of what her skirts and underskirts were doing. Breathless Dacks was towed along behind, following in more ways than one The Four Heroes’ cause.

END OF CHAPTER ONE