The Incursion, Chapter One

Beyond the ornate railings a rock-lined lane wound its way through parkland densely roofed by trees in the thick of their late-summer leafage. Breaks in the black boughs disclosed a sky gilded with sun, and to exit the deep green tunnel was to move through heat. A light patina of sand that crunched in whispers underfoot hinted at seaside nearby. Along this track of cooling shadow slanted and dappled through with gold, Joe and Flashtease were strolling.

“Remarkable,” said one to the other. “On my planet, Flashtease, caves and hollows such as these exist only at a certain time of year. When they do not, we somehow forget them, until that season is upon us again. I had forgotten them myself. Now I wonder at the untold ages of my life which have passed since first I gazed on such vistas as these, though that itself is a minor marvel to how it should be I find them here, so unchanged, so suffused with memory. Here, of all places. We have allied ourselves with an extraordinary intellect,” Joe felt it only fair to add.

“Did I visit this bit while I was there?” asked Flashtease, looking around him.

“This is Neetra’s,” Joe replied with a tiny smile.

Flashtease smiled secretively back. That explained it. He may not have known Qingdao in China from the Plains of Plomonoog, but the feelings and fantasies with which this little corner tingled had been registering on him in most familiar fashion ever since he arrived. There was no need to go on fighting back the blushes, and at this thought Flashtease moved affectionately closer to his companion, who knew how he cared for Neetra and was wholly comfortable sharing a sentiment which was the same for him. After certain of Flashtease’s experiences on the aforesaid trip to Earth, that was the sort of kindness you never forgot.

“It still seems incredible how much we’ve achieved in such a short time,” the Mini-Flash went on as they walked. Joe smiled, and put his arm around him.

“You are young, my friend,” he explained. “Not that any who heard tell of your heroics in my absence would have believed as much. Yet there are lessons which by their nature must be learned, and the process is long. It was especially so for me, lacking as I did your wisdom. Now though, I detect an order which to your eyes might not be apparent. The universe is unfailingly meticulous and just in allocating what belongs to us, and what belongs to others. Only through living, however, do we determine which is which. So arrives the happy discovery that that which is truly ours, always was, and has waited patiently for the day we return to make it our own.”

As he spoke, the last of the canopy gave way to brilliance. Down into an open valley of sandy sun-soaked grass stretched the pathway, widening until it became a road flanked on either side by the first few houses. The rooftops of these steadily stacked and soon there were bridges and spires too, then above them the dazzling gleam of skyscraper glass. Over it all a mighty domed Town Hall presided, and from its soaring summit a city stretched in sunlight.

It was Nottingham.

Proceeding to the interior where street and square merged into a myriad well-remembered panoramas, Joe parted from Flashtease as the latter had a training session to deliver to some of the newer Mini-Flash recruits. Speaking of them, they were everywhere, and seemed to grow in number each day. With all the artless disregard for modesty Flashtease himself was still so prone to exhibit they hastened up flights of stairs in little fluttering groups or posed leaning back on the barriers of high walkways overhead. It was always a veritable rainbow working with Mini-Flashes, more colours even than The Four Heroes’ costumes in 2596. Between Mini-Flash underclothing and that thing in the sky, Joe at least wasn’t wondering at his sense of deja-vu.

As he passed the younger girls and boys most of them curtsied to him in the manner they’d been taught, much as Joe kept insisting that wasn’t necessary here. Entering the Media Centre through its shining glass doors he presently arrived at the publishing department, where everyone was hard at work on the latest issue of a weekly comic due on the Nottingham newsstands that afternoon. Mini-Flashes made up a goodly portion of its readership, though Joe hoped it was something the whole city could enjoy.

Surveying layouts at the big drawing-board stood the creative director. Our hero was proud to have secured the services of this hitherto unknown hotshot artist, whose affinity with The Four Heroes’ cause had been as much a secret as his talents until recently. A young man, his Grecian physique of greenish-brown goo unobscured by garments, he bubbled over in every sense as he took Joe through the breakdowns of his new back-up strip.

“Excellent work, Sludge-Man,” Joe told him sincerely, half-absorbed himself in the fantastical narrative. “Please continue. It is important they should have this.”

Next on the daily round was broadcasting. This office was smaller than the art studio and boasted just two employees, both of these humanlike, and one of them indeed came from Earth. To Joe it was typical that the one who didn’t looked like a history teacher, and the one who did looked like nothing on his homeworld or anyone else’s.

“Dean. Mr. Thragg,” Joe greeted them as he entered. “How goes it?”

The man of more mundane aspect took up his handheld device at once and projected onto the wall a long scrolling catalogue of recently downloaded films, television programmes and pop songs, all of them from Planet Earth. Joe ran his eye down the luminous list, and even on this cursory scan let his breath out slow through sheer admiration.

“Mr. Thragg, you never cease to amaze me,” our hero declared. “This newest selection abounds with examples to inspire our young supporters and teach them the ways of our cause. I see some here which long ago bore such an influence on myself,” he added in plan honesty.

“One of these solar cycles that disused Solidity string of intergalactic transmission-buoys is sure to give out, and then we’ll have to look sharp about pulling our Earth-originated material,” Thragg advised him matter-of-factly. “Until then however, happy to do all I can in the name of the cause.”

Joe wanted that to be true, and he spoke very much from the heart on his deep appreciation for Thragg’s technological skills. Sometimes however our hero was inclined to believe the opportunity to flourish these was the one and only reason the older man was here. No such doubts about the ideological commitments of his colleague though, whose twin specialisms in the cause and Terran popular culture made him as invaluable as Thragg. Privately Joe suspected that in finding Dean a full-time job for which he was ideally suited, he had accomplished something of which every labour-exchange back home had already despaired.

“The assortment is compendious, Dean,” our hero informed him. “However, I trust that as ever I can rely on your sound judgement?”

“Whoa, dude, it’s like...the fact that every time, you even feel the need to so much as say that, I mean, just getting my head around it is the part that...” Dean commenced, the elaborate white bunches in which he styled his sparse hair casting ever-moving shadows over his tiny desk. To punctuate he smote his bosom where it showed bare beneath the tablecloth he was wearing. “But bro, not long now until you’ve got two commissioning editors. Louise-Claudia will be here, but you know, the kiddo was Solidity, she’s got guilt-issues to get through – and whoa, Croldon my dude, no offence on that,” he flung at once in the direction of wholly indifferent Thragg. “Because bro, you sitting here in this room, doing that Croldon Thragg thing day in day out...it’s living proof, I mean living proof, ex-Solidity can find their way to...” and overcome, Dean beat his breast again. “Matter of time. Guilt-issues. That’s the only thing putting her off joining us,” he finished with confidence.

“I have every faith in that, Dean,” Joe told him seriously, and made to leave. Then he paused.

“My friends,” our hero began again. “I do not suppose there has been…?”

Croldon Thragg anticipated the question. This wasn’t difficult, as Joe asked it every day.

“More Mini-Flashes have written in requesting it,” said he. “Still none however who can furnish us with a title, or anything close to an original air-date. Many of the same vague but consistent recollections as to content.”

Joe thanked him, then sighed. “How far back in their formative years can it have been?” he begged the universe in general. “Though of course, the answer is half a lifetime or more, so young are they. Nevertheless, my friends, it falls to us identify it somehow. Any televisual presentation which left so lasting an impression on so many of our followers must be acquired for priority rerun on our network. Nothing is more certain than that this would be in furtherance of The Four Heroes’ cause. Mr. Thragg, as a resident of this galaxy, you are sure your personal recollections can shed no light?”

This last was spoken in tones of earnest hope Thragg might have remembered something since they discussed this same subject the previous morning. “Never had a holo-screen,” he reminded Joe. “Which is to say, purchased several hundred but only for parts. First operational prototype of the Wonder-Tool contained components from fifty-seven different units, took up most of the toolshed,” he added fondly.

“Gentlemen, I shall leave you to keep up the good work,” Joe declared. “And please...”

Thragg promised they would try their best to find it, thereby rounding off the complete collection of words and phrases heard in the broadcasting office each day.

END OF CHAPTER ONE