Part 5
'Hurry up girls, you don't want to be late!'
Professor Utonium was in one of those 'Life is Perfect' moods that came upon him from time to time. The girls seemed to have recovered very well from the shock of the events on Saturday. On Sunday, yesterday, he had taken them on a trip into the countryside and they had taken a happy, playful walk through the woods – well, more of a float through the woods, in their case – and they had listened and watched with a touching fascination as he had told them about the insects and plants and fungi they encountered. Only Blossom had seemed a little less than her usual lively self, and had wandered off on a couple of occasions, but then she was given to quiet moods when she seemed to need time to herself. The Professor smiled indulgently at the thought: Blossom was the one he could most easily relate to, she seemed so mature at times. She might not be quite as clever as Bubbles – the Professor had noticed this, too – but she was infinitely the more rational, the more focused and effective thinker. He knew that Bubbles and Buttercup would have forgotten the Saturday business easily, Buttercup because she would be angry and would have pushed the incident aside in her mind, Bubbles because she found it difficult to think about the same thing for more than a few minutes together; but Blossom would have wanted some time to think it through.
The Professor rarely ate breakfast, and he had grown used to being able to leave the girls to look after themselves – something no other responsible parent of kindergarten-age children could afford to do. After waiting to ensure that they were ready for school, he returned to his lab, and the girls began making themselves some hot porridge, for it was a cold morning.
The Professor had been incorrect in thinking that the girls had forgotten the incident on Saturday. In many ways, he underestimated them. He believed - or maybe wanted to believe - that the girls would always confide in him and would always come to him for help and guidance. He overlooked the fact that they were used to dealing with problems as a team, that they looked first to each other for support. In moments of trouble, they closed ranks, and this behavioural aspect of their super powers was something that had escaped the Professor's attention in the battery of tests to which he had subjected the girls over the years. They were far more independent than he gave them credit for, far more than their classmates at Pokey Oaks Kindergarten. Nothing quite like what had happened on Saturday had happened to the girls before, and far from forgetting it, they had discussed it amongst themselves as they lay in bed the previous night, and their conversation now soon turned from idle chatter to that very subject.
'I wish we'd never gone,' said Bubbles, stirring the saucepan of porridge on the stove, 'Stupid medal! It spoilt the whole weekend.'
'It wouldn't be any different if we hadn't,' replied Blossom, thoughtfully, 'we just wouldn't know how that lady felt.'
'We'd know how we felt,' observed Buttercup.
'I know what Blossom means, though,' said Bubbles, 'She'd still be unhappy because of what we did.'
'She'd be unhappy because of what her husband did,' replied Buttercup.
'Perhaps we should do something for her,' suggested Bubbles.
'That's a good idea,' said Blossom.
'Why should we?' snapped Buttercup.
'Well, it's not her fault her husband's in prison.'
'It's not ours, either,' retorted Buttercup.
'Yes, but we did put him there and I expect she's finding it difficult to cope on her own. I wonder if she has any money? At least if we did something it would show we don't have anything against her.'
'What can we do?' asked Bubbles.
'Maybe we could babysit for her,' suggested Blossom.
'I know!' exclaimed Bubbles, 'Why don't we go to the supermarket and get some things for her? We could get some shopping and maybe some toys for the baby.'
'That's a nice thought, Bubbles,' said Blossom, 'We'll do that, after school.'
After they had finished their breakfast, washed up the dishes, and called goodbye to the Professor, the girls set off for Pokey Oaks. The kindergarten was a mile or so from their home, but the girls could cross this distance in an instant, and they usually played a little game with Ms. Keane by contriving to reach their desks at the very moment that she was about mark them as late. It was thus quite normal for them to be the very last children to arrive. However, as they approached Pokey Oaks today, the girls noticed that there was something odd going on. The playground was filled with children and adults, and the queue of people-carriers and off-roaders that would normally be clear by now was still clogging the road.
The girls landed in the midst of great deal of noise and excitement. All around the playground, groups of parents were engaged in animated conversation, whilst the children, the girls' classmates, were darting between these groups laughing and playing quite happily. Ms. Keane spotted the girls' arrival and, hastily apologising to the parents that she had been talking to, ran over to speak to them.
'Oh girls,' she cried, in a very thick voice, 'something terrible has happened!'
'What?' chorused the girls, delighted.
'I think you'd better take a look for yourselves.'
Ms. Keane led the three of them into the building and through to the main classroom. When she opened the door, the scene that greeted them was one of complete devastation. Someone had clearly attempted to burn the school down. In the centre of the room, there was a huge pile of debris made up of half-burnt desks, the rusty metal skeletons of several chairs and an enormous quantity of ash, and the walls and ceiling were covered in a thick, brown tarry-looking substance. The door to Ms Keane's own little office was hanging from one hinge, its window broken, and the office itself had been ransacked, the filing cabinet broken into and its contents strewn around the floor.
'I just don't know what say girls,' said Ms Keane, who was close to tears, 'I just can't understand who would want to do this. The computers are all smashed. The class project work has gone. Oh!' She put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of shock as she suddenly remembered something. 'Those things that Townsville Museum lent us! How on earth am I going to tell them? Oh, I'd just like to get my hands on the people who did this.'
She turned away for a moment and blew her nose.
'They've gone through all the lockers,' continued Miss Keane after a few seconds, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, 'but I'm afraid they've really picked on yours.'
'Never mind, Ms. Keane,' said Bubbles, unexpectedly. She reached out and touched her teacher's hand. 'It's not your fault. They just wanted to get us.'
'Yeah, there are some spiteful, cowardly people in Townsville,' said Buttercup, 'Don't worry, we'll find out who they are and teach 'em a lesson!'
'I forgot,' said Miss Keane, with a wan smile, 'you girls are used to this sort of thing. Do you really think you can find out who did it?'
'We can try,' said Blossom, 'Girls, search for clues!'
The three little girls began to sift through the remains of the classroom looking for evidence that might identify the perpetrators. In this forensic work they were greatly assisted by their ability to fly, which enabled them to search with the minimum of disturbance to the evidence.
Suddenly, Blossom let out a little gasp.
'My book!' she cried. She picked up a charred piece of cardboard, all that remained of her book on conversational Chinese.
'You can get another book, Blossom,' said Buttercup, who had turned around to look and was rather irritated that her search had been interrupted by such an irrelevance.
Blossom threw her sister an angry glance. She held onto the piece of book cover for a few more seconds, then threw it back into the pile of ashes.
'Yes,' she said, quietly.
Blossom returned to the search, but try as she might, she found that she was unable to concentrate on the task in hand. She tried to examine the lockers for fingerprints with her microscopic vision, but no matter how many times she shook her head to try to get her focus back on what she was doing, it was impossible to stop her thoughts straying back to the terrible shock she had experienced on seeing that little bit of burnt card. The book had been a Christmas present from the Professor, and it represented something far more than mere paper and print, far more than any other present. How to put it in words? It was an adult present in the midst of a flurry of stuffed animals and toys. When she had torn off the wrapping paper and read the title on the spine, and had looked up in delight to thank the Professor, something special, a small, intimate moment of understanding, had passed between her and her creator. Their eyes had met and for a moment two similar souls had made contact. It made her feel special, chosen, uniquely close to the man who had brought her into the world. Now all that remained of that moment was this black, mutilated piece of garbage. It was an affront, it was an obscenity, and she had to fight hard to hold back the tears.
'Oh!' Bubbles let out a little squeak and held up her arms to her mouth in a gesture of horror.
'What is it?' asked Blossom, trying to shake off her feelings.
'Look!'
Bubbles pointed to another dark shape on the floor. Although most of it had been melted down to a blackened, formless mass, enough of Twiggy's plastic hamster cage remained to make it recognisable.
'I'll kill whoever did this!' shouted Buttercup.
The three girls looked at one another.
'Keep looking,' said Blossom, grimly.
It was Buttercup who spotted the crucial clue.
'Look at this,' she said, pointing to the wall.
There, just visible beneath the black stains of the fire, were the words "Miss Keane stinks signed Bubbles".
'I didn't write that!' exclaimed Bubbles, horrified.
'Of course you didn't,' said Buttercup, 'Look at the handwriting. Who do we know with handwriting like that?'
'Big Billy,' said Blossom, 'Let's go!'
For once, the girls left the classroom through the door. They did not want to get dirty breaking through the sooty ceiling. Each of them had mixed emotions as they streaked across the city towards the Dump. Oddly, Buttercup had initially taken the destruction of Pokey Oaks with equanimity. It struck her at first as being quite fun that the two sides of her life – her role as a super-heroine and her life as an ordinary kid at the school – had come together. Only when she had seen the destruction wrought upon the little hamster did her anger explode at the thought of the miserable, cowardly individuals who could have done such a thing. Bubbles, whom Ms. Keane had imagined might have gone into hysterics at the sight of the destroyed classroom, had been completely unmoved by the physical damage. She had been shocked at the death of Twiggy, of course, but it was actually Ms. Keane's unhappiness, that little snuffle when she had tried to hide the fact that she was crying, that had caused her the most pain. It had also not escaped hypersensitive Bubbles' attention that Blossom was very upset, but since Blossom had said nothing she was reluctant to question her. Blossom herself was angry. She could feel the anger seething inside her. When she thought of Ace and the other all-too-familiar members of the Gangreen Gang something like a shock of electricity seemed to sear through her brain, fracturing her thoughts with the desire to pound them, to smash them, to beat them to a pulp. As a rule, she was the one who could be relied upon to keep her composure in a crisis, but there was something too personal in this attack, something that seemed to hit, in some way, all of the people she loved. If the Gangreens wanted to attack her physically, then fine, she could take that. She could take a beating, and give one too, but there were some things they had no business touching, some things that were no concern of theirs. When the three girls reached the Dump, Blossom smashed her way, with a single blow, through the door of the Gang's hut without pausing for thought. It was an impetuous move reminiscent of some of Buttercup's adventures, and great splinters of wood were sent flying through the interior, but it was a wasted effort, for the hut was empty.
In frustration, Blossom picked up the deal table and hurled it against the wall, where it shattered into its component parts.
'What're you doing?' asked Buttercup in surprise.
'Let's smash this place up,' replied Blossom, 'Give them a taste of their own medicine!'
'What's the point?' said Buttercup, 'Look at it.'
There was indeed nothing to smash. The hut was utterly impersonal.
'I just wish there was something here that was important to them!' exclaimed Blossom, recognising the truth in Buttercup's words.
'This is all they have,' said Bubbles, quietly, looking around the bare room, 'They haven't got anything that's important to them.'
'Who cares about things?' said Buttercup, 'It's them we want!'
'Well?' said Blossom, who was beginning to feel uneasy that it was Buttercup who was acting as the Voice of Reason.
'Well, let's go and look for them. They're probably down at the Arcade. That's where they spend most of their time when they're not causing trouble!'
'Let's wait for them here,' replied Blossom, determined to be more grown up about this, 'That'd be better than going in and breaking up the Arcade. Some innocent person might get hurt.'
The girls had only a short wait. As Buttercup had predicted, the Gangreen Gang had spent most of the morning throwing away their ill-gotten money down at the amusement arcade. When their funds ran low, they spent what remained on some cheap beer and returned to their hideout with the intention of wasting the afternoon getting drunk and scheming how to get some more money to repeat the whole process again on the morrow. They had already consumed some of the beer on the journey and were loud and merry as they approached the hut, and were not at all prepared for a reception committee.
'Here they come,' whispered Buttercup.
Through the window of the hut, Blossom saw the half-witted Big Billy approaching with an asinine smile on his face, and the sight sent such a dizzying wave of anger through her head that it felt as though she had been physically struck. The hut door opened.
'So, you like picking on little kids, do you?' shouted Blossom, leaping forward to confront a stunned Gang, 'Let's see you pick on us!'
With that, she dealt Big Billy a blow in the stomach that sent him reeling across the hut and through the flimsy wall. He landed on his back in a filthy, icy puddle.
'Hey, what's all this?' whined Ace, his arms outstretched in a gesture of innocence, 'We ain't done nothin'.'
Blossom grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his feet.
'Oh no?' she yelled, 'Killing a defenceless little hamster is nothing is it? Well I think it is something.'
She punched Ace in the face four times before throwing him through the door to land face down next to Billy. At this point the remaining, conscious, members of the Gang made a run for it. Grubber, who suffered from a deformity of the spine, had no chance to escape and was caught by a flying kick on the backside from Buttercup, propelling him head over heels across the trash and mud until he landed in a heap of slimy plastic rubbish sacks that split and spewed their entrails of half-eaten take-aways all over him. Snake had taken to his heels as soon as he had spotted the girls, his legs skittering and sliding under him on the frozen ground, and managed to hide and escape punishment. Little Arturo was simply picked up bodily by Blossom and flung headlong into the same pile of rancid filth as Grubber.
With a moan, Big Billy tottered to his feet, holding his stomach. In an instant, Blossom swooped down upon him, kicking him in the teeth so that a great gout of blood spurted from his lips. He staggered back and was again caught in the stomach by another kick from Blossom. He collapsed to the ground, vomiting.
'Blossom!' shouted an astonished Buttercup, 'Leave it! He's finished.'
Breathing heavily, Blossom paused. Buttercup was right. Billy was out of it. They all were.
'We haven't finished with you guys yet!' yelled Buttercup, 'You'll do time for this!'
She looked around. 'Oh yeah,' she said, 'Thanks for all your help, Bubbles!'
Bubbles was standing in the doorway of the hut, staring at the inanimate bodies of the four gang members. She seemed not to have heard Buttercup's words.
'What?' she said, in a rather dazed and automatic way.
'What the hell were you doing?' asked Buttercup, indignantly.
'Yeah,' added Blossom, frowning, 'Why didn't you help?'
'I don't know,' said Bubbles, looking at the floor, 'It's just…' She looked up at Blossom. 'It's just what you were saying about things that were important to them. Look.'
Bubbles gestured at the inside of the hut, which was quite visible to the other girls thanks to the huge hole made by Billy during his unscheduled exit.
'There's nothing. Nothing important to them at all.'
'So?' said Buttercup, shaking her head.
'Well, they probably think it makes them strong. No one can hurt them. They've got nothing to lose. They don't have a hamster that they love that someone can kill, or things that they've made that mean something to them, or presents that people have given them that they treasure. They think it makes them tough, having nothing to lose. But it doesn't. It just means they've got nothing to live for.'
Blossom and Buttercup looked at one another, and Bubbles began to feel self-conscious.
'I just thought,' she continued, looking at the floor again, 'What if you'd killed them? What if they were all dead? Who'd come here and be sad for them? No-one. What could people say about the Gangreen Gang if they came here and saw this place? That they had a hut with a table and some chairs, and one of them was called Billy.' She pointed with her arm to the name, carved roughly into the wall with a penknife. 'That's all you can say about five people: they had a few bits of furniture and one of them was called Billy. That's so sad, it seemed like punishment enough.' She looked up again. 'I'm sorry.'
'Yeah, well,' said Buttercup, uncomfortably, 'Only you could feel sorry for the Gangreen Gang, Bubbles. They don't care about things like that.'
'Don't they?' replied Bubbles, almost to herself, 'Perhaps they don't think about it.'
Frowning, Blossom flew over to stand in front of Bubbles.
'Look,' she said, 'It's nice to be concerned about people, but we're supposed to be a team. We work together. You've got to keep your mind on the job. We took them by surprise this time, but it could've been different, and we'd need your help.'
'Sorry,' said Bubbles, again looking at the floor.
'The important thing was to stop the Gang doing what they did to the school again. That's why we came here. If you start getting sentimental about criminals, it could put Buttercup and me in danger. We're relying on you. Can you see that?'
'Yes,' replied Bubbles in a very tiny voice.
'Just think about all the damage they did at school. You wouldn't want to see that happen again, would you? That's the only thing to concentrate on – protecting Townsville and the people we love. Your personal feelings don't come into it.'
'Oh?' snapped Bubbles, looking fiercely at her sister, 'That's what you were doing was it? Putting personal feelings aside?'
'What do you mean?' asked Blossom, shakily, aghast at this sudden flaring-up.
'You weren't beating up Big Billy for Townsville, or our loved ones,' said Bubbles, 'You were doing it for yourself!'
'That's not true!' cried Blossom.
'Isn't it?' replied Bubbles, with tears in her eyes. In a blinding blue flash, she vanished, soaring into the sky.
'Bubbles!' called Blossom.
'Let's go!' said Buttercup, who had grown bored with the whole scene.