The OK Team 2 (5 page)

‘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

W
e'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 Types 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.

We're both looking around us as we walk.

‘This isn't what I expected,' Switchy says.

‘No. I can't see any big shiny buildings,' I admit. There's an empty block full of weeds on the left and suburban houses on the right.

‘What number was it?' I ask.

‘Number 28,' Switchy says.

‘We're at Number 20 . . . it must be just up ahead.'

Number 28 is a small bungalow-style house with a neat picket fence and flowers in the front yard. Switchy and I exchange glances. He double-checks the card.

‘It's the right one.'

‘Oh well. Here goes.' I press the buzzer next to the front door. From inside the house we hear a tinny, electronic version of
The Chicken Dance
.

‘This must be the wrong place,' Switchy says.

We hear shuffling footsteps approaching. Then there's the sound of fingers fumbling with locks and handles. At last, with a lurch, the door opens and we're staring at a man who is about 100 years not out, maybe even as old as Mr Fabulous, and wearing a brown cardigan, a blue shirt and baggy grey trousers.

‘Eh?' he says.

‘Um,' I reply.

‘Selling something, are you?' says the old coot. There are mysterious stains on his cardigan.

‘My name's Focus,' I say, veering in and out of visibility. ‘This is Switchy.'

‘What do you want?' the old man barks. ‘A medal?'

We stare at him.

‘Or a chest to pin it on?'

His shoulders shake and he's wheezing and I realise he's laughing, but then it turns into an old-man cough and he hacks for a couple of minutes, almost turning blue before he can breathe again.

‘Ah, sorry about that, young 'uns. Should've given up the smokes before I was 70, eh?'

We're still staring at him. Finally Switchy stammers, ‘I got a letter.'

He holds it out so the old man can squint at it, peering down his nose, mouth working. Then says, ‘Hang on. I'll need to get my glasses. Come in then, come in.'

And he shuffles off down the hall, leaving the door open.

Switchy and I look at one another again.

‘It's got to be some kind of Heroically tricked house that looks normal on the outside, but is actually some amazing huge space inside,' I say.

‘Or maybe it's a gateway to a massive underground headquarters,' Switchy says.

We follow the old man into a long hall, with faded pictures on the wall of men and women in capes. The floral carpet is red and blue and almost worn through.

The doors off the hall are closed, and at the end is a lounge room, packed with piles of books, a newish computer and a fireplace.

The old man is standing behind a table by the window, with glasses perched on his nose. He's flicking through a huge, old book, with vertical columns on each page and handwritten notes. He doesn't look up as we enter the room.

We wait awkwardly.

Finally, I say, ‘So this is Hero Headquarters?'

The old man peers at me. ‘What did you think it was? A doughnut factory? Of course it's Hero Headquarters.'

‘It's not quite what I expected,' I say.

The old man chuckles again, managing to avoid a full-on laughing-coughing attack. ‘I'll bet you were expecting some kind of glass cathedral. Too many comic artists letting their imaginations run wild! No kid, this is Hero Headquarters. It's not much, but it's all we need.'

‘Oh,' I say. Switchy is sweating under his hat.

‘What were your Hero names again?' the old man barks.

‘Focus.'

‘Switchy.'

‘From the OK Team,' I add.

‘Hmm,' he frowns, running a gnarled finger down a page of small writing. ‘Ah, the OK Team!'

He reads for a moment, then says, ‘Hmmmm,' again, in a not very encouraging way. He closes the book, picks up Switchy's letter and readjusts his glasses on his nose. We watch his lips silently mouth words as he reads.

Finally, he puts down the letter and gives us a mostly-toothless grin.

‘Well, Mr Switchy. Congratulations.'

‘For what?' asks Switchy.

‘Your upgrade. You've been upgraded to Level C. Effective immediately.'

‘Level C!'

Switchy turns pink, POP!s and becomes a gleaming silver trophy. The old man barely blinks.

‘Southern Cross will be here any –'

On cue, there's a swooshing noise outside and then Southern Cross, a Triple A Hero, and the Secretary of the Australian Federation of Hero Types rushes in through the back door.

‘Switchy! Sorry I'm late. Ah, Focus. You're here too. Good. How are you both? Good morning, Your Highness.'

This is directed at the old man, which opens up a whole world of questions we don't have time to ask.

Southern Cross fills the room, standing two metres tall and almost as wide, with pure muscle across his shoulders. His cape hangs well, and the Southern Cross stars across his chest are bright white even in the gloomy room. One thing about the big-time Heroes. It's hard to miss them.

Switchy POP!s and becomes the youthful blue-suited version of himself. He says, ‘I've been upgraded.'

Southern Cross nods. ‘That's right. Your work has been strong lately. We loved what you did to nail the Trolley King. The magnet was a great idea. Effective immediately you're Level C . . . but it does come with some conditions.'

Uh oh. Switchy and I sneak a glance.

Southern Cross says, ‘We want you to leave the OK Team.'

I blink. Switchy gasps.

‘You're young to be a C,' Southern Cross explains. ‘You're showing a lot of potential. But it needs to be honed. We feel that right now, you need to enter the AFHT's Advanced Hero Training Academy.

‘The AFHT AHTA,' says the old man.

‘That's right,' Southern Cross nods.

‘Also pronounced ayeffeighty ayeeighteaaye.'

‘Yes, um, thank you, Your Highness. Switchy, we want to team you with trained Hero tutors and other promising Heroes for expert and intensive tuition.'

I can feel my visibility wavering. I don't know whether to be thrilled for Switchy or crushed that the OK Team can be dismissed so easily. Not to mention that Switchy is clearly regarded as a better Hero than any of us.

All Switchy says is, ‘When?'

‘No time like the present,' says Southern Cross.

‘Can I have a moment alone with Focus?'

Southern Cross smiles. ‘Of course.'

We go out the back door into a small backyard paved with concrete. Hanging on the Hills hoist clothes line are three well-worn capes and three pairs of gloves. A huge thick cable runs down the wall from outside, and then through the backdoor and into the house.

‘Focus, I don't know what to say,' says Switchy.

‘You don't have to say anything, mate. It's a brilliant opportunity. You have to take it.'

‘Oh, I'm going to take it,' he says, and I realise it hadn't occurred to him for a second not to, which is a little disheartening. ‘But I feel shocking about leaving the team.'

I sigh. ‘Switchy, Southern Cross is right. You have the potential to be a seriously good Hero, maybe even a great one. The last thing I want is to slow you down. Look how far we all came along with Mr Fabulous training us last year. With this sort of help, you could be amazing.'