by Greg James
‘Five bars of milk chocolate,’ answered Carl. ‘Don’t eat them all at once.’
Ten minutes later, the Final Five had reconvened in the garage, costumed up and ready for action. This time Carl led them to the line of milk floats, and Murph noticed for the first time that the float nearest to them looked a little different to the others. It was larger, with chunkier tyres and a higher windscreen. And where the other milk floats had simple controls – just a lever and a steering wheel – this one had a bank of dials and switches set into its dashboard. The steering wheel itself was studded with several buttons and triggers, and a pair of red furry dice hung from the rear-view mirror.
‘Yes,’ said Carl, seeing Murph’s raised eyebrow. ‘I’ve been keeping myself busy with other things besides your kit, you know. It has been five whole months, after all.’
‘Why have you been wasting your time repairing a milk float?’ Hilda wanted to know. ‘I thought we were planning to bring down the Government. Shouldn’t you be designing, like, a tank or something?’
‘Oh yes, very subtle,’ replied Carl, but with a twinkle in his eye. ‘That’d keep headquarters nice and secret, now wouldn’t it? Looks just like a normal dairy on the outside, then a dirty great tank rolls out of the archway. We’d have Knox’s thugs down on us before you could say “narcissistic egomaniac”.’
‘I’ve got a feeling you’re going to tell us this is no ordinary milk float, though,’ said Murph, grinning even more widely as Nellie climbed into the driver’s seat, her eyes shining.
‘Don’t you go pushing any of those buttons now, Little Nell,’ cautioned Carl, seeing her fingers twitching. ‘Of course it’s no ordinary milk float,’ he went on, turning back to Murph. ‘I’ve made …’
‘A lot of special modifications,’ Murph finished for him, remembering with a pang Carl’s greatest invention – his life’s work – the Banshee, the silvery-blue flying jet car that had been the Blue Phantom’s transport during the Golden Age of Heroes: now, along with the other remnants of the Heroes’ Alliance, in the oily clutches of Nicholas Knox.
‘This,’ announced Carl, giving the milk float an affectionate slap that made the bottles arranged in crates in the back jingle, ‘is the Lean Mean Dairy Queen. We needed a way to get in and out of HQ without suspicion. And what could be less suspicious than a tatty old milk float clanking in and out of a dairy, eh?’
He reached inside, past Nellie, who was still gazing at the steering wheel with an expression of pure longing, and flicked a switch. The clanking from the back of the float grew louder, accompanied by the whine of an electric motor. The crates lifted, and Murph could now see that they were cleverly fastened together on a metal framework. They unfolded like a complicated piece of lactose-based origami, spreading out to either side until the float looked like it had large wings made of crates. It looked like the sort of dream milk floats probably have if they’ve eaten too much cheese before they go to bed.
‘And in here,’ said Carl, leading them to the back of the vehicle, ‘is the control centre.’ Beneath the crates, there was a deep well with four low padded leather seats. Angled in front of them was a bank of communication equipment and a large mirror. ‘Can’t have a screen,’ explained Carl. ‘Anything with a screen might be a way in for that maniac and his scary zombie-tech. Don’t want any of you suddenly spouting all this “Obey Knox” nonsense. The mirror’s tilted, and there’s a series of other ones …’
‘It’s a periscope!’ realised Murph, walking to the front of the float and seeing a glint of silver reflection behind the radiator grille.
‘The old ideas are usually the best,’ confirmed Carl. ‘Yes, a good old-fashioned periscope so you can see what’s going on. Right, Super Zeroes,’ he continued. ‘Adventure ready?’
‘Adventure ready!’ confirmed Hilda excitedly.
‘Little Nell, stay up the front with me,’ announced Carl, eliciting a short squeal of excitement from Nellie. ‘You’ll find a milk delivery operative’s uniform in the storeroom just over there. The rest of you, under the crates. And keep your mouths shut! There’s nothing that attracts attention like a talking milk float.’
12
Ruin Robotics
With a clang, the milk crates closed over Murph’s head, leaving him, Mary, Billy and Hilda in semi-darkness. The leather seats were comfortable, and the winking red and green lights on the comms equipment emitted a soothing glow. Murph felt a warm wash of pleasure come over him. The country might be in the grip of an evil, shiny-shoed maniac, but he had total confidence in his friends. The Super Zeroes were back. And not even Nicholas Knox could stand in their way.
With a jerk, the milk float started forward. In the angled mirror in front of him, Murph could see the courtyard, and he could feel the wheels on either side bumping over the cobblestones. The image swerved as the float turned to the right, heading out of the main archway and off through the town.
‘Complete silence, now,’ came a soft murmur through a speaker grille set into the back of his chair. Carl was speaking to them from the driver’s seat. ‘It might look pretty normal out here, but every single one of those people would turn you in to Knox if they discovered you.’
As they drove, Murph could see people going about their business, popping in and out of shops or sitting on benches staring into their phones. But there was a strange atmosphere. Strangers looked at each other with an air of guarded suspicion. Nobody seemed to be chatting or laughing together. Everyone’s eyes were lowered, sneaking glances at each other from beneath half-closed lids. Murph caught a glimpse of more newspapers, arranged outside a shop. THEY’RE STILL OUT THERE! read one headline. KNOX WARNS OF ENEMY IN OUR MIDST, said another, and a third baffling headline read DANGEROUS FREAK MACHINE DISCOVERED. Murph scowled. What on earth did that mean?
Presently, the people thinned as they left the town centre and began to trundle towards the outskirts. Here and there he spotted a hurrying figure, but by and large the streets were empty and sinister-looking. Curtains were drawn, or blinds down.
‘Target in sight,’ came Carl’s crackling voice over the radio after a while. ‘Hoo, lummy. Don’t know if you’re going to find much, though,’ he continued. Murph strained his eyes, but through the periscope he could only make out a high metal fence and the indistinct outline of a large building beyond it.
The milk float clanked to a stop, and the crates unfolded. Impatiently Murph jumped out of his seat to see what Carl was talking about, and stopped dead in dismay.
He had expected Ribbon Robotics to be guarded, and was at the ready for an exciting battle to get inside and see what they could discover. But the building was not guarded – and he could immediately see why. It was completely derelict. Most of the windows were blank empty spaces with bare rooms visible behind them. Jagged shards of broken glass jutted from others. The high fence that had once been electrified had been torn down and flattened at several points, and the large gates lay on the ground, partially blocking the entrance.
Carl had stopped the milk float beside a ruined snack van bearing a faded picture of a giant hot dog. With a pang Murph remembered how they had hidden behind it to plan their first ever mission as the Super Zeroes.
‘I knew the Alliance had cleaned this place out pretty thoroughly after Nektar’s attack,’ said Carl, clambering out of the cab and joining him. ‘They’d have taken away anything they found to hand over to the Cleaners, for research. But I didn’t realise they’d done quite such a thorough job.’
The Super Zeroes stood in a line next to what had once been called LARGE JOHN’S DELUXE SNACK WAGON. The dark windows of the ruined Ribbon Robotics building stared out at them like a hundred accusing eyes.
‘Let’s have a look around anyway,’ decided Murph, thinking with a qualm of the other rebels waiting for them back at HQ. They had risked their entire existence to rescue the Super Zeroes, and his first decision after their release was looking very much like a bust.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ sa
id Carl.
Glass crackled beneath his trainers as Murph led the others across the reception area. The remains of three smashed revolving doors were strewn across the back of the room, their metal frameworks twisted and tortured. The staircase that led to the top floor was bare and chilly.
At the top of the stairs, they turned left into a large room that had once been decorated with big potted plants. One of them lay smashed in the middle of the floor, the dead leaves fanned out like a hand with a single pointing finger, but all it was indicating was a broom cupboard with the door wrenched off. Mops and rusty buckets could be seen strewn in the gloom inside.
Nektar had ruled Ribbon Robotics from the enormous boardroom, with its rows of huge windows. These, too, were smashed, and as the Super Zeroes picked through the rubble, they found no evidence of the battle they had once fought here except for a dented frying pan. Double doors led to the tower at one end of the factory, but these too had been torn down, and the stairs and passages that had once been Nektar’s lair were stripped clean. Bare concrete steps now led to an empty room at the top of the tower, surrounded by broken windows and a mangled, partially collapsed balcony.
‘Everything’s gone,’ moaned Mary, spinning on the spot and looking out at the view. ‘Carl’s right – they cleared the place out.’ Murph’s heart sank like an obese hippo. It was a total bust after all. Why would he have expected to find a clue here?
‘I refuse to accept it,’ said Hilda suddenly.
‘What?’ asked Murph dully.
‘I said,’ repeated Hilda, ‘I refuse to accept it. There must be something else, some sort of evidence. And I’m going to sit here on the floor until I think of it.’ She sank down on to the dusty ground and furrowed her brow.
‘I admire your persistence,’ said Murph, smiling.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Billy, ‘way to never say die and all that. But … look around you, Hilda! They’ve stripped the place bare. The Cleaners have been all over it.’
‘Cleaner!’ said a soft voice. ‘He was a cleaner!’ Nellie was standing in front of Hilda, holding her hair out of her face with one hand.
‘He was a cleaner,’ said Hilda, leaping to her feet. ‘You, my friend, are not only a very good pilot. You’re also a genius.’
Nellie peeped in delight, before grabbing Hilda by the hand. Together they raced off down the stairs.
‘What on earth is going on?’ asked Murph, starting after them. ‘Who was a cleaner? Who? Who?’
‘Follow that questioning owl!’ Mary told Billy, and they dashed away in pursuit.
Nellie and Hilda had led them back to the large room at the top of the stairs. Three sets of closed lift doors formed one wall, their dull metal sheen bearing a hazy reflection of the five Super Zeroes as they reconvened.
‘There’s nothing else here, though,’ said Mary, baffled. ‘Just the …’
‘Broom cupboard,’ agreed Hilda. ‘Remember when we saw Knox here? He hadn’t come from Nektar’s lair. He hadn’t come out of the lift – because he was on his way down. He was escaping. And he was carrying a broom.’
‘So … you think he’d been hiding in the cupboard?’ hedged Murph.
‘I think,’ said Hilda, striding over and beginning to move buckets and mops out of her way, ‘that this isn’t a cupboard at all.’ Nellie came to help, pressing her hands around the dusty shelves.
Murph was unable to entirely shake off the feeling that his friend was clutching at straws as well as mops. But this was eclipsed by an even stronger feeling that he was desperate for Hilda to be right. He joined his friends at the broom cupboard, looking around for anything that didn’t fit. And after a few seconds, he saw it.
There was a light switch on the wall just inside the broom cupboard door. But, up on the ceiling, was a second switch – one with a string to pull. Murph tugged at the string.
Nothing happened. ‘Why doesn’t that work?’ he wondered out loud.
‘Why doesn’t what work?’ said Hilda, spinning round.
‘That light-pull,’ Murph explained. There’s no need for it – look, there’s a normal switch there. And nothing happens when you pull that string.’
Nellie had come to join him, still holding a mop she’d cleared away from the back of the cupboard. Suddenly her eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Maybe you’re not supposed to pull it,’ she said in her usual quiet tones. ‘Maybe you push.’ She reached up with the wooden mop handle and jabbed at the white plastic fitting at the top of the string.
There was a click as the mop handle connected, followed by a small creaking. At first nobody realised what had happened, because they’d all been watching Nellie. But then, in an impressive display of synchronised double-taking, they looked around to see that a large section of the back wall of the cupboard had swung forward, revealing a narrow staircase leading upwards.
‘Secret door!’ babbled Billy excitedly. ‘Secret door! Secret door!’
It is unlikely that many of us will ever discover a secret door. This is a pity, because it’s one of the most exciting things that can ever possibly happen in the entire universe. In most books and films, when the heroes discover a secret door they nod grimly at each other and head straight inside, pausing only to light a flaming torch or utter a pithy one-liner. In real life, there is usually a few minutes’ delay because it’s such a purely thrilling moment that you simply have to caper about for a bit singing the Secret Door Song.
‘Secret door,’ warbled Hilda, cantering around the broom cupboard like a pony, ‘we found a secret door. We found a door, a secret secret door.’
Billy joined in, galloping after her and singing along: ‘Secret door, we found a secret door, we found a door, a secret, secret door.’
The Secret Door Song went on for a minute or two, which was fairly restrained, considering. It really is very, very exciting, discovering a secret door. Even Nellie hummed quietly along with the last chorus. But once the song had ended, Murph waved her up the hidden stairs with a polite ‘Discoverers first’.
‘Well, the Heroes’ Alliance clearly never found this,’ breathed Mary as they reached the top of the staircase and stepped into the room beyond.
The room was smallish and windowless. But arranged across one wall, where you might normally find windows, was a huge bank of monitor screens, their faces grey and lifeless. Below these was a desk with an expensive-looking office chair still standing in front of it. A microphone on a stem rose out of a complicated-looking set of controls, and thick wodges of cabling connected the whole arrangement to a large black computer terminal underneath the desk.
‘Secret room,’ Hilda began singing, ‘we found a secret room, we found a room …’ but her singing died away as nobody joined in.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Mary, ‘but this room couldn’t look much more like a supervillain’s lair if you put a wooden sign on the door saying “lair” in a villainous font.’
‘Comic Sans, probably,’ added Billy quietly.
‘What on earth is this place?’ Mary went on. ‘It’s obviously nothing to do with Nektar, otherwise it’d be plastered in his foul stinky spittle-goop.’
‘Just been sick in my mouth a bit,’ Billy broke in, ‘so thanks for that.’
‘This is Knox!’ realised Murph, moving forward to sit in the chair. ‘He must have been the brains all along! It was him who invented the mind-control technology! And he used all this gear to control Nektar’s mini-drones.’ He swivelled from side to side, imagining what it would be like with the monitors all switched on. He wondered what kind of person would sit here, hour after hour, watching the outside world on a screen … spying on real life while he plotted who knew what schemes inside his carefully coiffured head. Murph Cooper wondered … and didn’t like the answer.
‘The drones led Nektar to The School,’ remembered Mary. ‘Which means Knox was spying on Heroes before that.’
‘He found out about us!’ Hilda added. ‘He’s known about Heroes all along.
A
nd then after Nektar, he managed to get himself in with Magpie!’
‘For someone who calls Heroes freaks, and thinks the world would be better off without them,’ mused Murph, ‘he certainly seems fascinated by the idea. I wonder what goes on in that head …’ He sank deeper into the office chair, with the sudden mad idea that by sitting in Knox’s old seat, he might be able to gain some insight into his game plan.
The blank grey monitors stared back at him, mute and unseeing.
‘What have you got there, then?’ asked Carl, tipping his milk delivery operative’s cap back on his head. He had been napping in the front seat of the Lean Mean Dairy Queen, which he’d deliberately parked in a nice patch of sunshine.
‘Clues!’ said Mary proudly, picking her way through the tangled remains of the metal gates. She and Murph were carrying the large black computer tower from underneath Knox’s desk between them.
‘Do you think you might be able to see what’s on this?’ said Murph as they manhandled the heavy box into the back of the milk float.
‘Well, computers were never really my thing,’ mused Carl. ‘I can certainly get it powered up again, though. And then we’ll let Lara take a look at it.’
‘Nellie’s mum?’ asked Mary. ‘Is she good with computers, then?’
‘Dr Lara Lee?’ asked Carl incredulously. ‘Good with computers? The most renowned coder of her entire generation? The inventor of not just one, but three programming languages? The woman who, while she was still a student, managed to define the variables that—’
‘OK, OK, we get it,’ said Murph, shamefaced. ‘I didn’t know your mum was, like, a super-coder,’ he told Nellie a little resentfully as she climbed into the passenger seat.
‘I don’t think,’ retorted Nellie softly as she buttoned up her coat and reached for her peaked cap, ‘that you ever asked.’
‘This is outstanding!’ Murph’s mum congratulated them later as they all sat round the scrubbed wooden table in the ice-cream kitchen. ‘I must say, we had our doubts about Ribbon Robotics being your first port of call, but we should never have doubted you.’