by Nick Place
Luckily the OK Team has Cannonball, who these days can more often than not manage to fly to the landing pad without slamming into the glass cone, and is strong enough to carry at least two of us. And we have Switchy, who can change into anything from a flying carpet to a lift, as required.
So now we’re lounging in beanbags and comfy couches, enjoying a view of the city’s night skyline that non-Heroes would kill for. We’re drinking chocolate Super Shakes and eating Hero Chips, which are normal hot chips – but us Heroes like to do even the simple things with Hero style.
It’s too early for the Zenith to be full of Heroes. Groups of two or three are scattered around; some wearing capes, or masks, others glowing faintly or buzzing and one guy scratching with his finger through pink fire where his ear should be.
The Do walks past.
‘Wow, nice hair!’ says Switchy. The Do is a teenager not much older than us whose only power is to have a stunning hairstyle, and no matter how many times we see him, we can’t help but admire his hair every time.
Cannonball nods as The Do heads towards a friend with giant wings. ‘Thank goodness he chose to use his hair for good instead of evil.’
Just then, a FlyBoy arrives with the man who was in the alley. He’s unshaven and has a ponytail. His suit shines in the light and he has a Spiderman tie. Cannonball waves and the man heads our way.
‘Cannonball?’ I start. ‘What’s going –’
But the guy looms over our couches and Cannonball stands.
‘Kyle, hi, great to see you,’ says Cannonball.
‘Hey Cannonball, awesome to be here. I’m totally psyched, you know. Good times, good times,’ says the guy.
We’re all staring. Cannonball suddenly realises everybody is silent.
‘Kyle, sit down. Everybody . . . this is Kyle Smythe-Davies. He’s my agent.’
‘Your what?’ says Logi-Gal.
‘My agent. I’ve hired him to work on my profile, try to get me some press and perhaps some endorsement deals.’
‘Why didn’t I think of getting an agent?’ asks Torch. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got an agent and I haven’t.’
Faster than a speeding bullet, Kyle has a business card in his hand and is offering it to Torch. ‘I’m always willing to talk to potential clients, Mr ummm . . .’
‘Torch,’ says Torch.
‘Mr Torch. It’s an exciting time to be a Hero and there are some strong financial opportunities available for the right rising star.’
‘So why are you representing a loser like Cannonball?’ Torch asks.
‘Oh, that’s charming,’ Cannonball says. ‘Torch is renowned for his wit and manners, Kyle. Not. I’ll have you know, Human Candle, that Kyle here already has several potential sponsorship and TV advertising opportunities on the boil for me.’
‘That’s right,’ says Kyle. ‘There are potential campaigns for bandages, stack hats, crash helmets, Hero health insurance . . .’
‘Anything where the Hero might have hurt himself. That’s classic,’ says Switchy. ‘This guy has got you pegged, Cannonball.’
‘Why don’t we talk in private,’ Cannonball says, and drags Kyle away to a separate table.
At a table to our left, Ace is showing off a new card trick to a girl Hero I haven’t seen before. She’s in a slinky black and brown velvet bodysuit with white on her stomach and she has tiny ears like a cat. She’s also curled up in the beanbag in a very feline way. Ace is in his usual all-white outfit with a bold ace of spades on the front.
‘See, Tabby, the four aces have found their way to the top of all four piles of cards!’ he says triumphantly. ‘Deal with that.’
‘Tabby has got to be the worst Hero name I’ve ever heard,’ says Logi-Gal dismissively.
‘Can’t fault the costume though,’ says Switchy.
‘You boys,’ sighs Logi-Gal.
Torch swings to his feet and swaggers over with his hands on his hips.
‘Hello, cat lady. I would shake paws, but . . .’ he clicks his fingers and a flame appears on his index finger, ‘you might get burnt. Because I’m hot!’
‘Oh man,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
‘I preferred it when Torch was shy and timid,’ Switchy says.
‘Do you mind?’ asks Ace with an edge to his voice. ‘This is my hand so shuffle off, kid.’
‘You’re a bit young for me, kitten,’ says Tabby. ‘If you were about a decade older, you’d be puuuuuuurfect.’
She curls a fist and playfully taps him on the right arm and Torch visibly recoils, reaching for his biceps.
Ace sniggers. ‘You might want to deal a few more hands at the gym, big guy,’ he says.
Torch trudges back and we all try not to laugh. Cannonball returns to our beanbags and sits down.
‘That went well,’ Logi-Gal smirks as Torch sits.
‘Torch, what is with your right arm?’ I ask.
‘What are you talking about,’ he says, self-consciously rubbing his biceps.
‘If anybody brushes it, you act like it’s been hit by a crowbar.’
‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just recovering from something, that’s all. It will be fine.’
‘Recovering from what?’ Cannonball asks, just as a Hero covered in feathers approaches us. He has an enormous multi-coloured parrot sitting serenely on his shoulder, an owl on his head and a fully grown peregrine falcon on the other shoulder.
‘Hey, you are OK!’ he grins at us. ‘I hear you took out the Trolley King tonight.’
‘No biggie, Beakie the Birdman. As easy as taking out the garbage,’ shrugs Torch, sipping his Super Shake.
‘What is Trolley King now? Category 4?’ asks Beakie.
‘I’m pretty sure he’s a Category 5, maybe 6,’ says Cannonball, flexing his muscles as he pretends to stretch his arms and shoulders.
I shake my head. ‘He’s Category 3, about a level above a pesky shoplifter. Still, a win’s a win. We’re not complaining.’
Beakie the Birdman pats me on the back as he leaves, and I am solid enough to feel his feathered glove. ‘You’ll be ticking off world-saves any minute, Focus. Speaking of which . . .’
I still get excited whenever I see or feel the golden glow that signals Golden Boy’s arrival. Golden Boy is the best Hero in town, and he saved the whole world about a year ago, at the same time that we were finally earning our Hero stripes with Mr Fabulous. I used to be in awe of him until he treated me like some kind of second-rate Hero, but then we became friends – actual friends – when I helped him believe he was good enough to save the planet.
He touches down so lightly on the landing pad that it’s as though he doesn’t even need to land, his billowing golden cape and matching gold costume dazzling everybody in the room. If it wasn’t for the heat haze disguise, the people of Melbourne would think the sun was setting right on top of the Melbourne Central pyramid. He is huge, as most of the top Heroes are; standing at least half a metre taller than any of us and yet a ball of finely honed muscle.
Golden Boy nods hello to a few Heroes, wanders over to the bar and orders a drink – some kind of golden liquid, of course – and then waves to us. Our credibility goes through the roof, and we all work desperately to look nonchalant, as though we couldn’t care less that our city’s greatest champion has chosen to hang with us.
‘Mind if I sit down?’ Golden Boy asks.
‘I’m kind of expecting a cat babe to take that chair any minute,’ Torch says, but Logi-Gal gives him such a withering glance, he shuts up fast. Golden Boy has taken the chair anyway.
‘Oh, I needed that,’ Golden Boy says, sipping his drink and sighing. ‘No fewer than 12 alien vasta-raptor-blurbs just off the coast. It took me three hours to get them all squeezed out and bagged. My costume was disgusting until I conflabulgated it.’
None of us has a clue what this means, but we’re too cool to admit that. I make a mental note to turn on the special Hero TV channel, Channel 78737, as soon as I get home and hear what ha
ppened.
‘Golden Boy, should you be drinking alcohol when you’re still on the job?’ asks Logi-Gal. ‘What if another one of those vasta-things turns up?’
‘Who are you? My mother?’
‘Actually, I’m Logic Girl,’ she says.
‘Logi-Gal? Nice to meet you.’
‘Logic Girl.’
Golden Boy considers her sensible Hero costume. ‘Nah. Logi-Gal is easier to say, and a lot snappier.’ Then he grins at me. ‘So, the Trolley King, hey? Nice work.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, and I mean it. Any compliment from a Triple A Hero is not to be taken lightly.
Golden Boy takes another sip. ‘So, was he easy to beat, or harder than you thought?’
There’s something in his voice that makes me pause. It’s not just a casual topic of conversation.
‘He wasn’t too hard,’ I say. ‘We made a couple of false starts and took a moment to get the right tactics, but we’re improving all the time and –’
‘Focus,’ he says. ‘Relax. I wasn’t suggesting you might have stuffed it up. I just want to know if the Trolley King was unnaturally tough, because, to be honest, you guys shouldn’t have had much trouble bagging him.’
We all think about this. Switchy POP!s and turns into a couch, which is unfortunate because he is already sitting on a couch.
‘No, I think he was about what a Category 3 should be,’ I say. ‘Why?’
Golden Boy leans forward, glancing over his shoulder to check no Heroes are within earshot – especially The Ear, whose power is to hear clearly from more than 200 metres away.
‘Something weird is going on,’ he says. ‘You heard about the Makybe Diva?’
‘The Level C Hero with the powers of a horse?’ Logi-Gal says.
‘Not just any horse. Anyway, she’s now in hospital, with vets working round the clock to save her, after bumping into a gang that said they were Category 3. The Diva’s an experienced Level C and should have been a clear favourite in that fight, but this gang beat her to a pulp . . . And Riverdance?’
Torch snorts. ‘The Irish dancing Hero? He’s the lamest Hero in town.’
‘Nevertheless, two supposedly Category 2 shoplifters left him unconscious and with a possible broken leg which, for him, is serious.’
‘But a relief for all of us,’ Torch says. ‘No more twinkletoes.’
‘Torch!’ I say sharply. ‘He’s a Hero!’
‘Sorry,’ he says, but he doesn’t look like he means it.
‘Will somebody please hit him on the arm,’ says Logi-Gal, and Torch leans away from us, worried.
‘What does this mean, Golden Boy?’ I ask. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Just be careful. That’s all. The word on the street is that there’s a new performance enhancer that boosts a Hero or Villain’s powers. Villains have been unnaturally strong, with powers beyond the standard level for their category, and I think it’s this juice.’
‘What is it?’ Switchy asks. ‘A drug?’
‘Maybe,’ Golden Boy says. ‘We think it’s a potion, like a Super sports drink, but with a lot more grunt.’
‘Have you tried it?’
‘Cannonball, please. This is me we’re talking about,’ Golden Boy says. ‘Ask those alien vasta-raptor-blurbs whether I need to enhance my powers.’
‘Do they speak English?’
‘That’s not really the point I was trying to make, Logi-Gal.’
‘I know. It’s just that if the aliens didn’t speak English, we couldn’t ask them the question, could we?’
We all stare at her.
‘Well, we could, but they wouldn’t understand it.’
Stop. Why won’t she stop?
‘. . . and we wouldn’t know what they were saying either. Unless we spoke their alien language.’
There’s total silence until she blushes and says, ‘This probably isn’t the time to point out I prefer Logic Girl to Logi-Gal, is it? . . . okay, fine!’ She folds her arms, scowling.
‘If you want to be Logic-Girl, I’m happy to call you Logic-Girl,’ says Cannonball quietly. We all stare at him, then he blushes. ‘So Goldilocks, this stuff sounds great. Why aren’t we all on it?’ he asks loudly.
‘Because it’s against the International Code of Hero Ethics to deliberately artificially enhance your power,’ Golden Boy says sharply. ‘And because you wouldn’t know what the side effects of this stuff are, whatever it is. And you have no idea who has created it, or why. And anyway . . . it’s cheating.’
‘Cheating?’
‘Yes, unsporting.’
Cannonball snorts. ‘What’s “sporting” got to do with it? This is about crime, about evil dudes, about justice prevailing.’
Golden Boy shrugs. ‘There’s still a right way and a wrong way to go about it. I prefer Hero acts to be truly heroic. Now listen, you lot, not a word, okay? Not many Heroes even know about this. Just watch out when facing crooks who should be easy to beat.’
He winks and saunters over to Ace who has just pulled a dozen playing cards from his mouth. Tabby, the cat Hero, looks horrified, but starts to purr when Golden Boy arrives.
We’re finishing our Super Shakes when Sidekick, the Zenith barman, approaches us.
‘Hey Switchy,’ he says, tossing an envelope onto our table. ‘You have an official summons from the AFHT. It just arrived.’
‘How did they know I was here?’ asks Switchy, currently in his most usual recent shape, as a kid slightly older than us with good skin, blond hair and wearing a blue bodysuit with a giant question mark on the chest. ‘I’m 537 per cent sure I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.’
‘Switchy,’ I say patiently. ‘They have powers.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he says, opening the envelope. Then he looks at me with big eyes. ‘It’s true. I’ve been summoned to headquarters.’
We all stare at him.
‘All right, what haven’t you told us about?’ says Cannonball harshly. ‘Are we all about to lose our capes because you’ve stuffed up?’
‘I haven’t done anything. Not that I know of.’
‘It doesn’t have to be a kicking,’ I point out. ‘There must be other reasons people get asked to HQ.’
Logi-Gal suddenly sits up straight and clears her throat. ‘There are nine (9) separate reasons a Hero may be asked to attend the AFHT headquarters,’ she says. ‘The first is to attend a disciplinary hearing by the Hero Executive, as outlined in clause 7.3 (b) of the Hero Guidebook, Australian edition, published in 2007 as against the 1997 International Edition, upgraded in 2006. A Hero Executive may comprise between four (4) and twelve (12) Heroes depending on the case being heard. I’ll now go through the 437 separate potential charges a Hero may face. One (1): Attacking a kangaroo with –’ ‘Thanks Logi-Gal. I don’t think we need to go through all that,’ I say. ‘Might be faster for Switchy simply to head over there and find out why they want to see him.’
‘Focus, will you come?’ Switchy asks.
‘I’m not sure I’m invited.’
‘I want you to come. You’re the OK Team leader. They won’t mind.’
I suddenly notice the fear in his face. It’s easy to forget how fragile our collective hold on this amazing Superhero world still is.
‘Yeah, I’ll come. Of course I will, and relax. A Hero is a Hero . . .’
‘No matter what,’ Switchy finishes for me.
Cannonball suddenly stands. ‘Time to go,’ he says.
Torch frowns. ‘Why? I haven’t finished my Super Shake.’
‘Flatulent Man has just arrived.’
We all hurry for the door.
‘I don’t know how he even got accredited as a Hero,’ Logi-Gal grumbles.
CHAPTER 5
HERO HQ
We’re on a tram, trundling to Richmond from the city. I’ve never been to Hero Headquarters. None of us has. There’s never been a need – Logi-Gal’s threatened nine (9) separate clauses occasioning a summons notwithstanding. Australian Federation of Hero Typ
es representatives such as Chameleon or Southern Cross have no trouble tracking low-level Heroes like us down, if they need to. Plus there is Hero TV and herohints.com if the AFHT needs to send a general message to the Hero community.
‘What do you think it will be like?’ Switchy asks.
‘I have no idea. It will be huge, I guess. And probably made of glass, or crystal or something that catches the sun.’
‘Yeah,’ Switchy nods. ‘It will be dramatic. I wonder if Heroes live there or if it’s just for AFHT meetings.’
‘No idea. Have you ever been to the street?’
He looks at the address on the card that was with the letter. ‘Nope. Stawell Street. It’s one up from Bendigo Street. Isn’t that where the TV station, Channel Nine, is?’
‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Why do Hero meeting places always seem to be right next to major media outlets?’
‘Maybe they plug into Nine’s satellite feed to broadcast Channel 78737?’
‘Yeah, right. A Hero pirate station!’
We both laugh. But we’re too nervous to really enjoy it.
We get off the tram where Bridge Road crosses the Yarra River and walk up Stawell Street, past an Officeworks superstore. Switchy has chosen to be a man in a big trench coat with a large Fedora hat and dark glasses over his multicoloured mask. An appropriate look for today’s meeting. I’m in my usual silver outfit, but I’m not even bothering to control my body’s nerves, so that I’m little more than a cloud. When I’m really scared or worried, it’s as though all my molecules unravel.