by Greg James
‘Excellent work, my dear,’ said Knox. This was going even better than he could have hoped. And now, he thought to himself, it was time to snuff the Rebellion out once and for all. Time to do away with the Heroes, and this Cooper boy.
The Cooper boy. Knox’s thoughts darkened. He was not by nature a fearful man; fear was for the weak only. But he needed to be sure this threat was completely neutralised. Nothing must spoil his moment of ultimate triumph.
‘Tell me their plan again,’ he snapped at the screen, which was still showing a fuzzy image of Kopy Kat.
‘They have bomb,’ she told him. ‘Bomb can destroy your mind control, Cooper says. They plan to fly to palace and let off bomb.’
Knox leaned back in his richly upholstered chair, musing. ‘You must make sure you are the one with the bomb,’ he told her.
‘Yes, yes,’ soothed Kopy Kat.‘This I know already.’
‘I’m going to order an attack on that dairy,’ Knox told her, ‘so be ready. When the attack comes, make sure Cooper and his friends escape and come to the palace. I shall dispose of them personally. I don’t want to risk them escaping and starting this ridiculous rebellion business all over again.’
‘Keep hold of bomb, bring Zeroes to you.’ Kopy Kat ticked her tasks off on her fingers. ‘Is easy as pies. They want to come to palace anyway, I just bring them and keep hold of bomb. I will not let bomb off, I will give bomb to you.’
‘That’s exactly the plan I just outlined to you, yes,’ said Knox testily.
‘Is good plan,’ said Kopy Kay defensively. ‘They come to palace. I destroy bomb. Then you destroy them.’
‘I know it’s a good plan,’ said Knox, controlling his temper with difficulty. ‘It is my plan. A plan I devised and you are going to carry out for me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Kopy Kat replied soothingly, ‘we call it your plan if you like. Whoever make the plan, is good plan.’
Knox pressed a button to cut off the transmission. He had been planning some evil laughter or something at this point, but somehow Kopy Kat had taken the wind out of his sails. A qualm flew into his brain like an unwanted moth. Surely … surely nothing could go wrong. He decided to go down to the secret laboratories beneath the palace, to make sure his backup plan was progressing. Just in case.
You could never be too careful. And Nicholas Knox was a very careful man indeed.
18
The Battle at Perkins Dairy
Murph awoke three days later with the certain knowledge that he was about to have a truly momentous day. He was curled up on a camp bed near the window in Mary’s bedroom. A bright beam of early sunlight was streaming through a crack in the wooden blinds, and he could hear birdsong from outside. The rest of the Zeroes, dotted around the floor on various blow-up beds or mattresses, were still sound asleep.
Murph held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, pondering the day ahead of them. Because today was the day … the day they were going to try and finish Nicholas Knox’s reign of lies once and for all.
The Cy-bomb was ready.
It was Mary who had told him, bursting into the room the previous evening looking flushed and excited.
‘It’s finished!’ she had shrieked. ‘Lara says we’re ready to go!’ She had been keeping a close eye on the bomb as it developed, spending hours with Dr Lee as she analysed Knox’s code.
Murph went back over his plans in his mind, hoping against hope that he’d got this right. If they were going to win, a lot of different things would have to happen in exactly the right order. This was, without doubt, their most complicated and dangerous mission to date. One slip, and the whole world of Heroes would be finished forever.
‘Let’s roll,’ he told the others, sitting up.
‘What time is it?’ yawned Billy sleepily, ruffling his hair.
‘Nearly six,’ Murph told him. ‘Time to move.’
‘Saving the world has a very inconvenient timetable,’ grumbled Billy as he shuffled off to the bathroom. ‘Surely the world could just as easily be saved in the early afternoon, leaving ample time for a lie-in and a late breakfast.’
Murph grinned despite his fear. No matter how high the stakes might be, he still had good friends on his team.
But, ten minutes later, as they raced down the stairs ready to begin the mission, everything turned upside down.
‘Attention!’ boomed a voice over a loudspeaker. ‘The dairy is surrounded!’ It’s not the most dramatic thing to shout over a loudspeaker. In fact, to our knowledge it’s never been shouted over a loudspeaker before or since. ‘Your castle is surrounded!’ would have sounded better, if a little retro. ‘Your base is surrounded!’ would have been a better choice. But the headquarters of the rebellion were in a dairy … so what are you going to do? And that is what the voice over the loudspeaker was shouting.
‘How on earth did they find us?’ wailed Hilda, turning pale.
‘We’ve got to get out of here as quickly as we can,’ said Mary firmly. ‘We’ve got to go on our mission to the palace. Quickly! Before they attack! Run!’
Murph had stopped dead.
‘Murph, what shall we do?’ urged Hilda, tugging at his T-shirt.
‘Mary’s right,’ said Murph after a moment. ‘We’ve got to get that bomb to the palace. Get to the Banshee. Go!
The road outside the dairy was sealed off with red-and-white police tape. But that wasn’t the first thing you would have noticed if you’d been there. It wasn’t the second, third or fourth thing, either.
The first thing you would have noticed was the tank. The second thing would probably have been the battalion of soldiers, pointing their weapons at the entrance to Perkins Dairy. The third thing would most likely have been the attack helicopter, bristling with missiles, hovering directly opposite the dairy entrance. After noticing all those things you might have had a quick glance at the red-and-white police tape, but to be honest, nobody would judge you if you missed that part completely.
‘The dairy is surrounded!’ bellowed the voice from the speaker on the helicopter, loud enough to carry even over the clattering of the huge rotors. ‘Surrender now or we will open fire.’
‘Doesn’t look like there’s anything in there,’ muttered one soldier to another, peering through the archway. But they were wrong.
‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,’ quavered a voice. There was a mechanical humming as a milk float rumbled out from the arch. An old man with a grey moustache was at the wheel. ‘I come in peace,’ he said to the soldiers, putting a hand respectfully to the peak of his white milk-delivery-person’s cap. ‘I think there’s been some mistake.’
‘There’s been no mistake, grandad,’ shouted the army commander, who had taken cover behind a parked car. He’d been warned that the Heroes based here would stop at nothing, and he’d also been warned to expect a surprise attack. But nobody had mentioned anything at the briefing about milk floats. For a split second, he paused.
And a split second was all that Carl Walden needed.
With a whine, the sides of the milk float’s cabin folded down, revealing two rows of dull gunmetal-grey missiles.
‘I thought you said you came in peace!’ protested one of the soldiers.
‘Ah yes. Sorry, young Private,’ apologised Carl. ‘That may have been a slight … What’s the opposite of an exaggeration?’
‘A lie?’ suggested the soldier.
‘Yes,’ mused Carl, ‘I suppose that would sum it up. Anyway – try a few pints of THIS for breakfast, punks!’ He pressed one of the buttons on the control panel, and the missiles fired into life. One shot into the air towards the helicopter, which was forced to bank and retreat to avoid it. The others flew towards the soldiers, who dived for cover.
‘That should buy the kids a few minutes,’ said Carl to himself grimly, adjusting his cap and reaching for a switch marked FLAME-THROWER.
Inside the Banshee, Nellie was calmly flicking switches and checking dials as she completed her pre-flight checks. Through t
he windscreen the remaining members of the Rebellion could be seen preparing for battle. Mary’s dad emerged from the garages dragging a small trolley behind him, upon which was a complicated array of tubes and barrels. He joined a small squad of Cleaners, and together they took up defensive positions just inside the archway.
Nellie’s mum ran up to join them, giving her daughter a wave as she did so. ‘We’ll keep them busy for as long as we can!’ she shouted over the growing whine of the jet engines. ‘Good luck! We all believe in you!’
Nellie nodded seriously. ‘Ready for takeoff,’ she told Mary, Billy and Hilda, who were clustered behind her.
‘Where is that bomb? We need the bomb,’ said Mary loudly.
‘Cool it, Mary,’ said Hilda. ‘Murph’s never let us down yet.’ Mary snorted contemptuously, and Hilda furrowed her brow. ‘You two haven’t fallen out again, have you?’
‘What? No,’ said Mary absent-mindedly. ‘Ah, there he is! Murph! Have you got the bomb?’
‘Got it!’ panted Murph, running up the ramp.
‘Give it to me, quickly,’ said Mary, rather sharply. ‘You need to get in the co-pilot chair. Let’s fly!’
Hilda looked puzzled, but Murph silenced her with a waggled eyebrow. ‘Here you go,’ he told Mary airily, tossing her the Cy-bomb.
‘Buckle up,’ ordered Murph, dropping into the copilot’s chair.
‘And make it fast,’ Nellie added quietly, pulling on her pilot’s headset. With the other hand she pointed out of the windscreen. Soldiers were bursting through Carl’s invisible barrier at the entrance to the dairy. As they did so, Mary’s dad activated the contraption on his trolley. With a noise like a giant lemon meringue pie falling on to a sheet of corrugated iron, it began firing huge globules of a white creamy substance at the oncoming forces. The soldiers were knocked off their feet and rapidly began piling up in the entrance to the dairy. Try as they might to get up, the goo held them fast.
‘Super-sticky splurge cannon!’ yelled Mary’s dad delightedly. ‘I told Carl it would work! Now, go get ’em, Zeroes! You can do it!’
Nellie pushed sharply forward on the throttle that stuck up between the Banshee’s two front seats. The car shot upwards, the blast of air from its twin jet engines knocking most of the people in the dairy courtyard to the floor. Murph battled the g-force to look out of the side window, and saw the town dropping away incredibly fast. Within seconds it had faded to a reddish-brown smudge in the green landscape. Nellie pushed a second lever to her right to rotate the jets, and now the Banshee shot forward, leaving Perkins Dairy and their friends far behind.
19
Peril at the Palace
Nicholas Knox stood in his opulent palace, hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out of the large windows. He felt a thrill of excitement, such as you or I might feel on Christmas Eve or the day before a really amazing holiday. But Knox wasn’t bothered about holidays, or festivities, or even – as previously outlined – cute dogs. He only cared about crushing his enemies. The thrill of excitement came from the certain knowledge that he was about to do exactly that.
His plans had been laid carefully. Kopy Kat had done her work flawlessly. The Super Zeroes were even now flying towards him, unaware that he knew their every move. Their bomb was in the hands of his own faithful lieutenant, and when they arrived she would hand it straight to him.
A Cleaner burst in through the polished wooden doors. ‘Mr President, sir,’ he said urgently.
Knox turned his head slightly. ‘Yes?’ he called loftily. ‘What is it?’
‘Our security detail picked up an aircraft,’ said the Cleaner, sounding worried.
Knox smiled. ‘Excellent,’ he said smugly. ‘Allow it to land.’ He turned once again to look out of the windows, his brain already full of thoughts of triumph. The last Heroes would be defeated and humiliated … and everyone would see it happen. He glanced at his needlessly expensive watch. Half an hour to go until his daily broadcast. Perfect.
‘Should we send ground forces to intercept, Mr President?’ the Cleaner asked nervously. ‘It could be abnormals … You could be in danger, sir.’
‘Certainly not,’ Knox snapped. ‘Keep all forces at the front of the palace for now. I will deal with these so-called Heroes myself.’
‘Very good, Mr President.’ The Cleaner saluted smartly and marched out.
Outside the front of the Presidential Palace, hordes of Rogues and mind-controlled Cleaners were lined up in military formation. Nicholas Knox had summoned all of his forces to be on standby as he won his final victory over the world of Heroes.
‘So, what’s all this about, then?’ said one of the Rogues to his neighbour in a burbling voice.
‘Oh come on! Surely you haven’t forgotten again!’ replied a reedy voice.
Let’s zoom in and have a quick look at them, shall we?
The first speaker was a tallish man dressed in a glittery golden jacket. His bulbous eyes were turned upwards, gazing at the huge robot next to him – or, more specifically, the tiny man dangling from the front of the huge robot like an oversized baby.
‘I’m terribly sorry, old fruit,’ apologised Goldfish (for it was he). ‘I do tend to forget things, you know.’
‘Yes, I know! I know!’ squealed Roman Goldstealer (for it was also he, with his terrifying robot Goldbot which had been repaired since we last saw them). ‘We’ve been working together for six months now!’ The three Rogues – Fish, Stealer and Bot – had thought it was a good idea to team up, mainly because their names all started with ‘Gold’. The tiny archaeologist had changed his mind almost immediately, however, once he realised Goldfish had a short-term memory of approximately five seconds.
‘Really?’ said Goldfish mildly. ‘Six months? Time flies when you’re, er … erm … What is it we’re doing again?’
‘Oh for… For the last time! We have joined forces with President Knox, because once he has defeated the last Heroes, there will be nobody to oppose us, and Rogues will be able to do as they like!’
‘Oh, wonderful,’ replied the man-fish. ‘President, erm … Knox, yes. Splendid chap.’ He looked curiously over his shoulder. ‘Lovely palace,’ he noted. ‘I wonder who lives there.’
Goldstealer snarled in frustration.
‘Quiet!’ said one of the Cleaners next to him. ‘We must be prepared for orders from our glorious President!’
*
At the back of the Presidential Palace, huge gardens stretched away impressively into the dusk. They were carefully tended but full of hiding places. There were patches of ornamental woodland, winding pathways beside huge ponds and enough stretches of lawn to keep even the most advanced lawnmower busy for weeks on end.
In one of the ponds was a small island, which was usually home to ducks. This particular afternoon, though, it was home to ducks and Heroes. Twenty-eight ducks, to be exact, and precisely five Heroes.
Murph Cooper looked across the expanse of lawn to the lit-up windows that stretched across the back of the palace. ‘Ready?’ he asked the others.
‘Balloon Boy ready,’ came Billy’s voice from the darkness.
‘Rain Shadow ready.’
‘Equana ready.’
‘Mary ready.’
‘Mary,’ scolded Hilda. ‘We’re doing Hero names. You spoiled it. Say “Mary Canary”.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Mary. ‘Mary, um, Mary Canary ready.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Murph. He led the Super Zeroes over a small wooden bridge and along the side of the immense lawn at the back of the palace. Tall flower beds hid them from the watching windows as they crept along.
Eventually they came to a small side door. Murph pulled a grey box from his utility belt. There was a soft click and the door swung open, splashing a puddle of light on to the dark grass.
‘This is it,’ Murph told the others as he led them inside. ‘The belly of the beast.’
‘I don’t like beasts,’ whined Billy quietly. ‘And I don’t especially like bellies eit
her. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Hilda told him. ‘Murph knows what to do.’ Her kind words unleashed familiar eels inside Murph’s stomach. He sincerely hoped she was right.
*
Six o’clock.
All over the country, people stopped what they were doing to sit obediently in front of the TV or computer screen. If they were outside, they stopped in their tracks, lifting their phones to watch the President’s daily broadcast. Every face, on every street, was bathed in the eerie blue light of the screen, pulsing with the subtle frequencies that meant the man who was about to appear in the picture seemed trustworthy and friendly. The President was on their side. They would believe anything he said.
‘Good evening, my friends,’ came the reassuring voice, and all around the country, viewers felt a sense of relief. President Knox was in charge – their friend. He would keep them safe. All was right with the world.
Screens flickered into life, showing the President in his customary comfy chair beside his flickering log fire. The licking of the flames was calming, soothing. The loud ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece was reassuring. The gentle breathing of the sleeping dog on the worn rug was soft and slow.
President Knox smiled at the camera, and everyone unconsciously smiled back. They trusted him. He was their friend. He had their best interests at heart.
The clock kept on ticking … Knox, Knox, Knox. The light from the fire pulsed reassuringly.
‘I have a special guest to talk to you tonight,’ Nicholas Knox told his subjects. ‘I’m very pleased to say that the new Prime Minister himself, Mr Hector Blunderbuss, has dropped by to say hello to me. Do come and sit down, Prime Minister.’
The enormous, bulky form of Hector Blunderbuss appeared in shot, shuffling along in his ill-fitting black suit. His enormous nose and shock of hair were more than a little strange-looking to anyone who wasn’t being mind-controlled, but to the viewers everything seemed normal. This man was part of the President’s team. Any slight eccentricity was to be overlooked.