Kid Normal and the Final Five

by Greg James

  ‘Or Heroes, as they prefer to be known.’

  ‘These abnormals,’ stressed Knox, ‘shouldn’t be wandering around putting us and our families at risk. They’re not like us …’

  ‘Some of them are, actually,’ the man interrupted. ‘The Voice of the People says the Alliance contains some people without these Capabilities. The boy nicknamed Kid Normal, for instance. A child who has no power, and yet last month, on Halloween, he was seen by numerous witnesses saving a town from …’

  Knox’s features writhed once again. ‘That’s the exception that proves the rule,’ he said, sounding a little desperate. These abnormals clearly have the potential to …’

  But the female presenter was holding up a hand to stall him. ‘Well, it seems not everyone agrees with you,’ she said icily. ‘Nicholas Knox, thank you for joining us. You’re watching Breakfast with Julia Reynolds and Ben Boxall. Now, let’s have a look at the weather, shall we? Janet’s live at a Christmas tree farm – can you hear me, Janet?’

  As the programme moved on to the next item, Knox was visible in the background. Looking shell-shocked, he got up from the sofa without a word and stalked out of the studio, yanking the microphone from his lapel and flinging it to the ground as he went.

  ‘Well, I think it’s safe to say he just got owned live on TV,’ smiled Murph’s mum, holding up a hand, palm outwards. Murph returned the high-five, feeling better than he had in days. Maybe people were starting to see through Knox after all.

  Kopy Kat had watched the breakfast news too, with mounting alarm and annoyance. How dare these people be so rude to her partner in crime? Given how the interview had gone, she’d been expecting Nicholas Knox to arrive home in a bad mood. When he got there, however, she swiftly realised that ‘bad mood’ didn’t quite fit the bill. Describing his mood as ‘bad’ was a bit like describing the planet Jupiter – a gas giant more than a thousand times larger than Earth – as ‘quite spacious’. It was like describing those pink wafer biscuits as ‘somewhat disappointing’.

  ‘Fools! Idiots! Imbeciles! Cretins!’ Knox was roaring like an angry thesaurus as he slammed the door shut behind him and stamped through the front hall.

  ‘I don’t think it went so bad, Knoxy,’ said Kopy Kat unconvincingly, poking her head around the corner. She was in her normal form that morning, straight-cut black hair framing her long-nosed face.

  Knox snarled like a wild animal, and Kopy Kat frowned as she watched a few strands of hair escape from the perfectly oiled wave on the top of his head. She thought quickly. She couldn’t have him losing his cool now, just when some really high-quality plotting was called for.

  A brainwave hit her, and she shapeshifted into the one form that was always guaranteed to improve his mood. A second later, an exact carbon copy of Nicholas Knox walked back into the hall.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ said the copy-Knox, in his own deep, smooth voice. ‘You always say you’re prepared for any setback.’

  The real Knox took a couple of deep breaths, reassured by the appearance of the one person in the world he truly admired and trusted. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘It seems I underestimated the population somewhat. I was sure that people’s natural fear and suspicion would do my work for me. I thought once Heroes were exposed, people would naturally distrust and turn against them.’

  ‘Lots of people hating them already,’ reasoned his doppelgänger as they turned and began to walk together towards the back of the house, where a flight of stairs led down to a spacious basement. ‘The School is surrounded by protest … Most of the newspapers are saying you’re the man to sort it all out.’

  ‘Right again,’ Knox admitted. Talking to an exact copy of himself always calmed him down. But then his face clouded once more. ‘It’s just … this boy. This Kid Normal. His very existence weakens my whole argument!’

  ‘He is child! Why you worry your head?’

  Knox stopped at the top of the staircase, clenching his fists in frustration. ‘This … child and his friends were able to defeat Nektar.’

  ‘Nektar was loony. Big bin-loving loony!’

  ‘Nektar,’ said Knox icily, ‘was a brilliant scientist. Yes, he may have been … peculiar. But we all have our peculiarities, Katerina.’

  ‘I have no peculiars.’

  ‘And then,’ continued Knox, ignoring her, ‘this … boy ran up against Magpie. The most dangerous supervillain of all. A man who could take power at will. A man so dangerous, he had been imprisoned by those Heroes – without sight of another human – for thirty years. He finally escapes – and what happens?’

  ‘He was defeated,’ sniffed Kopy Kat Knox. ‘He was not so dangerous after all.’

  ‘He was defeated,’ clarified the real Knox, ‘by this Cooper. This normal kid.’

  ‘Kid Normal, you mean,’ Kopy Kat corrected. ‘Maybe he just lucky!’

  ‘No. It can’t just be luck. No one’s that fortunate. That’s the mistake the wasp and that bird idiot made. And I will not be making the same one. Kid Normal is my—’

  ‘Achilles toe?’ interrupted Kopy Kat.

  ‘No! Not only is that the wrong expression, it’s also not what I wanted to say. I hate it when people do that’.

  The fake Knox gave a sympathetic pout.

  ‘No. Kid Normal,’ continued Knox, starting off down the basement steps, ‘is the one thing that stands in the way of my complete and utter domination. He is a Hero without a superpower. He is one of the freaks … but he is not himself a freak. There’s something about him that people respond to.’

  Knox had reached a wide metal door at the bottom of the staircase. He tapped some numbers into a keypad and the door slid to one side, revealing a brightly lit, gleaming laboratory that stretched out beneath the house. Numbers spooled across several widescreen computer monitors, and a workbench in the centre of the room held a number of devices wreathed in wire and tubing.

  Knox – in case you’d forgotten – was an extremely gifted scientist and inventor. He had first brought his talents to bear designing Nektar’s mind control helmets before helping Magpie put the Shadow Machine together. But all the while he had been continuing his personal projects in his own, private lab. He had never stopped hatching his own plans … just waiting for his moment to arrive.

  ‘As you say, my dear,’ said Knox to the exact copy of himself, ‘I am always prepared for any setback. My plans have been carefully laid, and I anticipated that Kid Normal might be a problem. The existence of this boy is muddying the water. With him by their side, the Heroes seem so much more relatable. But the public has a healthy suspicion of anything different, and that mistrust will do my work for me. People just need a little … push in the right direction.’

  Knox had moved over to the workbench and was flicking switches on a large silver box. ‘I’ve been working on an updated version of some of my old technology. And I think it’s finally ready to be used. All I need is the right platform.’

  ‘You have invented a new kind of train?’ asked fake Knox.

  Nicholas Knox was too engrossed in his plotting to be annoyed by this. ‘No,’ he purred, ‘not that kind of platform, my dear. I need access to the corridors of power. Tell me, Katerina. Do you think you could impersonate the Prime Minister?’

  Kopy Kat scrunched up her face, and it immediately started to melt and shift. Suddenly Knox was no longer standing in the laboratory with himself, but next to a stern-looking woman with iron-grey hair wearing a smart suit.

  For the first time since his disastrous TV appearance that morning, Knox smiled.

  ‘Yes!’ he said delightedly. ‘It’s time to put Plan B into action. It doesn’t matter that people aren’t turning against Heroes on their own. It doesn’t matter that they don’t yet see me as their saviour. Because together, my dear, we can – quite literally – change their minds.’

  4

  The Storming of The School

  ‘View halloo! Ahoy there, you whimsical scallywags!’
r />   ‘Ber-NOO-NOO!’

  The five Super Zeroes spun around as one, to see the familiar shape of Sir Jasper Rowntree rolling towards them down the school passageway in his high-tech wheelchair. Lumbering beside him was the large, ungainly form of Monkey Malcolm, the sometime Rogue who now served as the aristocratic Hero’s butler.

  ‘Hey, Jasper,’ said Murph, glad to see a familiar face after once again running the gauntlet of angry protestors at the gates that morning. ‘Hiya, Malcolm.’

  ‘Ber-NOO-nie?’ asked Malcolm hopefully.

  ‘I don’t have any, erm, yellow bendies on me today I’m afraid,’ said Murph apologetically.

  ‘You can just say banana now, you know,’ Mary reminded him.

  Malcolm’s peculiar Cape was that he spontaneously transformed into a giant monkey whenever he heard the word ‘banana’, which was understandably alarming for anyone around him when it happened. Since coming to live with Jasper, however, Malcolm had taken to spending all of his time in his monkey form and was all the happier for it. Saying the word ‘banana’ held no danger these days. But old habits die hard.

  ‘Ber-NER-NOO?’ the monkey asked Mary.

  ‘Oh, no, sorry, Malcolm,’ she said, patting her pockets as if the flaxen fruit would somehow materialise out of nowhere.

  ‘Here you are, old chap,’ said Sir Jasper kindly, pressing a button on his control panel. A hatch opened in the side of the wheelchair and a robot arm emerged bearing a single, perfect banana. Malcolm grabbed it and, slumping down on the floor against the wall, began munching contentedly.

  ‘You’ve made some improvements to the chair, then?’ asked Nellie softly, fascinated as always by anything electronic or mechanical.

  ‘Yes,’ smiled Sir Jasper. ‘Since I got the old Cape back, thanks to young Mr Cooper here –’ Murph gave a small bow, grinning – ‘I’ve been adding a few touches with the power of tele-tech that I couldn’t quite manage before.’ The old knight had spent many years without a Capability after Magpie had stolen his power of electronic control – though he had remained a hugely talented inventor without it.

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway, Jasper?’ asked Hilda. ‘I would have thought the Alliance would be keeping you busy, what with Heroes not being secret any more.’

  ‘Busy?’ mused Sir Jasper. ‘Yes, that’s one word for it. Manic, there’s another word. Crazy, terrifying, discombobulating, there are a few more. Completely bananas.’ Malcolm’s head jerked up. ‘I’m here to talk to Geoffrey about that bunch at the gates, in fact.’

  ‘Bunch of ber-NEE-nee?’ said the monkey hopefully, but Jasper shook his head.

  ‘They’re getting more and more scary,’ Billy said seriously. ‘One of them threw another egg at me yesterday. It caught me off guard, and, well … I ballooned it by accident. It smashed on the front row of protestors.’

  ‘It was brilliant, Jasper,’ said Mary, laughing. ‘One minute they were chanting their normal nonsense about freaks and oddballs, the next they were all completely coated in egg. If we could have rolled them in breadcrumbs and fried them we’d have had numpty nuggets.’

  ‘Knox got a right beasting on TV the other morning, too,’ smiled Murph. ‘He looked like a total idiot!’ The other Zeroes broke into grateful laughter.

  But Sir Jasper wasn’t laughing along with them. His face was grim as he continued: ‘One bad interview and a couple of nice newspaper articles might not be enough to turn the tide, young fellas and fellesses. It’s eggs today … what’s it going to be tomorrow, eh? I just don’t like the way this is all going. This chap Knox … he’s whipping everyone up into a frenzy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Murph, his anger at the lies Knox was spreading about the world of Heroes suddenly bursting to the surface. ‘What’s with that guy? What did we ever do to him, for heaven’s sake? At least he’s been lying low the last couple of days. Maybe he’s running scared.’

  Jasper shook his head mournfully. ‘I wish that were the case. But his support is growing all the time. And I’m afraid I’ve just heard that he’s been invited to see the Prime Minister again. They’re going to make some sort of announcement at noon today.’

  ‘What are they announcing?’ Hilda demanded.

  ‘I wish I knew,’ said Sir Jasper. ‘But I need to speak to the head before it happens. If he whips those protestors up into any further … it might even mean closing The School for a bit.’

  There was a sudden clamour as all five Zeroes voiced their dismay at this prospect. Murph felt like his insides had been replaced with those blue cool-packs you use to keep picnics fresh. The prospect of The School closing was such a hideous thought that he pushed it right down to the back right-hand corner of his brain, which as any doctor will tell you is where all your most troublesome thoughts are stored.

  ‘Calm your boots, young hotheads,’ soothed Sir Jasper. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. We don’t know what this Knox chappie is going to say just yet – it may be nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Souperman will let us all watch Knox’s broadcast,’ Mary wondered.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Sir Jasper sternly. ‘Much more important that you all continue as normal. We don’t want to give this fellow the satisfaction of paying too much attention to him, now do we? You’ll all be in lessons at midday anyway. I’ll have a quick look, though, just in case.’ He pushed another button on the control panel of the wheelchair and a small, slim TV screen slid out from his right armrest. ‘If there’s anything to tell you about, I’ll brief you fully at lunchtime,’ he reassured them. ‘Come on then, Malcolm. Let’s go and see our friend Mr Souperman, shall we?’ he called, spinning his chair around and beginning to glide back down the hallway.

  ‘Bye then, Jasper,’ called Murph after him, nervously massaging his stomach. It still felt like a clammy cool-bag. ‘See you at lunchtime!’ The old man waved a friendly hand in affirmation, raising a wrinkled thumb high in the air as Monkey Malcolm struggled to his feet and shambled off after him.

  The rest of the morning was taken up with a long, brain-beasting maths lesson. Murph’s mind was so busy wrestling with the internal angles of triangles that he didn’t even notice as twelve o’clock came and went. It was only when the lunch bell interrupted his Pythagorean struggle that he realised Knox must have made his mysterious announcement.

  ‘I wonder what that oily creep has been telling everyone this time?’ he said to Mary as he stuffed books into his backpack.

  ‘Can’t be anything that amazing, or it’d be all over the school by now,’ she said dismissively. ‘He probably just dribbled on about how we’re all freaks, the same as always.’

  Standing in the lunch queue beside the other four Super Zeroes, Murph cocked his head to one side and listened. Something was different. He strained his ears, trying to penetrate the layers of sound like a geologist digging through strata of rock. On the surface was the normal dinner-hall clatter, chink and chat. Below that, the usual noises of daily life at school: slamming doors and the distant yell of an angst-ridden geography teacher. What had changed … ?

  ‘Come on, Captain Cuckoo-Cloud,’ said Mary abruptly, tugging his ear affectionately. ‘Chef Burton’s just sent out a fresh tray of lasagne.’

  Murph dragged his attention back towards lunch like a disobedient spaniel. But the nagging feeling persisted as, almost on autopilot, he loaded up his tray and found a seat alongside his friends at the back of the hall underneath the large windows. As Murph sat down, one of the windowpanes rattled noisily in the wind. And that’s when he realised what his brain had been trying to tell him.

  ‘Listen,’ he told the others, suddenly serious. ‘The protestors outside … They’ve stopped.’

  They all strained their ears. Sure enough, the usual hubbub from the demonstrators at the school gates had vanished.

  ‘Why aren’t they shouting any more?’ wondered Mary. ‘What’s going on? Is it something to do with Knox’s speech? Maybe the Prime Minister told them to leave us alone!’
>
  At that moment the large double doors at the side of the hall burst open.

  ‘Attention, students!’ came the strident voice of Mr Souperman. ‘Attention, please!’ He sounded oddly stilted and robotic.

  ‘What on earth?’ sputtered Hilda indistinctly, fragments of lasagne fountaining out of her mouth in a Parmesan-perfumed parabola. She was at the left-hand side of the group, facing the doors, and had the clearest view out into the hallway behind the head teacher.

  Murph’s brain, already on high alert, now began fizzing with fear and suspicion. If he’d had a large light on the top of his head to signal he was alarmed, it would have started flashing red and spinning round and round. He didn’t – we’d have mentioned that at some point during the preceding three books – but his mind was overloaded with questions. Why had the protestors stopped shouting outside The School? Why had Mr Souperman just burst into the lunch hall? Why did he sound so weird? What had Hilda seen outside the door? Murph looked more closely at the head teacher, who was now looking owlishly around the hall as it gradually fell silent.

  ‘He looks even more gormless than usual,’ muttered Billy.

  ‘It has been brought to my attention …’ began Mr Souperman. ‘That is to say …’ He paused.

  ‘What is this?’ said Billy to Murph. ‘I don’t like it.’

  Murph agreed with this wholeheartedly, and craned his neck to see what Hilda was staring at. She was gesturing at Mr Souperman and desperately trying to swallow a large mouthful of lasagne so she could speak properly.

  ‘There is something wrong with us,’ said Mr Souperman, furrowing his brow as he did so, as if part of his brain was confused by the words coming out of his mouth. ‘These powers we have. They are … They are not right.’

  ‘You sound just like that idiot Knox!’ shouted someone.

  Mr Souperman’s face clouded. ‘Nicholas Knox has our best interests at heart,’ he said robotically. ‘Nicholas Knox wants to keep everyone safe. These people are here to help us.’