The OK Team 2

by Nick Place

  Liarbird was also my girlfriend – the first, in fact the only girlfriend I’ve ever had. For a few months after the OK Team’s first big adventure, my life was great. I was developing confidence as a Hero and secretly holding Liarbird’s hand whenever I could.

  But she’s gone.

  I couldn’t believe it when she broke the news.

  ‘My father is taking a senior position at a bank in Nigeria. His salary will be 47 million-million dollars,’ she said. ‘We got an email about it this morning. We leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Is this the truth or are you using your power?’ I asked.

  ‘Hazy! You can ask my mum.’ She looked hurt. ‘Listen, it’s not you, it’s me. You’re great, but we need time apart, so I can find myself. We’re not breaking up, just having some time off. We need some space and Nigeria will give us that.’

  I veered wildly out of focus; all the control I’d been learning went out the window. I was visible, then fuzzy, clear then a mist. Tears clouded my eyes, and then the whole world was blurry.

  ‘When will you be back?’

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘In about a week. Bye.’

  And she was gone. That was eight months ago. Out of my life as suddenly as she’d arrived.

  We’ve replaced Liarbird in the OK Team, but it’s not the same.

  So anyway, Chameleon warns us that we are dangerously close to being punished for using our powers in an everyday setting, in front of normal people.

  ‘I won’t report you this time, boys, but don’t let it happen again,’ he says.

  I am fuzzy with relief.

  ‘We SHOULD be able to use our powers, though,’ says Fredrick (a.k.a. Cannonball). ‘It’s not our fault these non-powered losers can’t fly. If Focus can fade straight through a pack of players, good on him.’

  ‘So it’s also okay that the Ivanhoe kid guided the ball through the goal when it should have missed by metres?’ Simon (Torch) says.

  ‘That’s different. That was cheating!’

  I shake my head at my stocky little friend who is trudging along kicking at weeds that are sprouting up through the cracks in the path.

  ‘All I’m saying,’ Frederick continues, ‘is that I’d love to be able to run onto the field and really let myself go. Let my powers take over. But I have to apply the handbrake to my potential all the time. It’s so frustrating!’

  Chameleon is still floating above us, blending in to the blue sky with white slowly moving clouds. He laughs. ‘You need to investigate Hero Ball, Frederick.’

  ‘Hero Ball?’ Frederick stops dead, all ears. ‘What’s that?’

  CHAPTER 3

  THE TROLLEY KING

  Later that night the OK Team is in the city centre and ready for action. It always makes me feel more like a Hero when I see the skyscrapers soaring into the air and I’m in the heart of the action. Tonight, we’ve heard a report of some kind of disturbance in an alley deep in the financial district and the Australian Federation of Hero Types has confirmed that it is a Hero job worthy of our Level D ranking.

  Cannonball is in his usual outfit of black crash helmet, slightly too large black bodysuit (with room to grow into) with a flaming cannonball on the chest, and red shorts and boots with yellow trimming. The yellow trimming used to be painted on, badly, but Cannonball has stepped up his costume as we’ve improved. The cape is new; I think he was jealous that my cape billowed so dramatically and he wanted one for himself. Capes rock.

  As Focus, I wear silver, from the already-mentioned flowing silver cape to a silver long-sleeved shirt with a shiny silver F emblazoned on the chest. I used to wear jeans that were dyed silver, but now I have proper silver pants that I ordered in from the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Store. (Really! You don’t actually have to be a Hero to order a silver suit – or any colour Hero suit – but if you are a Hero, it’s a very handy resource.) I’ve taken to wearing a silver mask, although if I’m totally out of focus you’d never know, and I even found some big chunky silver boots, so I’m colour-coordinated from head to toe.

  Torch still has the best costume of the Team. It’s a hand-me-down and is slightly singed and frayed, but not so you’d notice. With orange legs, turning into yellow through a flame-style design near his chest, and with red flames on the arms and legs, Torch’s outfit is a Hero classic. He has long hair too, which gives him an even more dramatic look, especially when he’s shooting his flames.

  Today Switchy is in the shape of a small square computer with slots on the front – about the size of a wheelbarrow. In fact, he’s rumbling along next to us like an Automatic Teller Machine on wheels. His trademark multi-colour mask is stretched across what must be his head.

  ‘Switchy, firstly it’s completely illogical that a small cash-dispensing machine would be rolling independently along a Melbourne street,’ says Logi-Gal, our newest Team member. ‘Secondly, if such a thing were possible, I doubt the machine would be humming Yellow Submarine. Thirdly, skin and bone simply cannot turn into metal so I refuse to believe you actually are a robot, and fourthly, you just ran over my foot, which really hurt.’

  She crosses her arms, and strikes a sensible pose, her autumn-brown cape flapping behind her. Logi-Gal wears a dark blue bodysuit with a short brown skirt and boots with cushioned soles. At her audition, she explained that as a Hero she was likely to be on her feet a lot so good footwear was essential. The large L on her chest is light blue, and shoulder-length hair and glasses make her look a little like a librarian.

  Switchy, the rolling ATM, makes another run at driving over her foot.

  ‘Very mature, Switchy,’ she says.

  ‘Bite me,’ he says, his normal voice sounding strange from within the computer, and then goes back to humming Beatles tunes. Switchy loves The Beatles.

  ‘Can we all keep our minds on the job please?’ I ask. We’re getting close to the alley near Southern Cross Station, close to where the old power plant used to be. Before it was demolished recently, it was the home for Hero Anonymous meetings – where I met Cannonball. The good news is that Melbourne’s Heroes have since found many more interesting venues for meetings and social activities.

  ‘Do we know who we’re facing?’ Torch asks. ‘I’m ready to scorch some bad guys!’

  He shoots a flame out of his right index finger, smoking a leaf off one of the few trees in the city, and strikes a power pose. I can’t believe how the old, quiet-as-a-mouse shy Torch has changed.

  ‘The reports are of crashing metallic objects, which narrows it down to a few potential Villains,’ I explain. ‘Plus, they tagged us for the job, so it can’t be a Category 8 Super-Villain. Must be a low-level baddie.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the Ball-Bearing Bandit?’ Cannonball suggests.

  ‘Or the Aluminium Anvil,’ I say.

  ‘Or Mostly Metallic Martin, the Martian Marauder,’ Torch suggests.

  ‘Or I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Steel,’ says Switchy, now in the form of a paper airplane in a multi-colour mask, and gliding alongside us.

  ‘Or Tin Foil Pete.’ Logi-Gal shakes her head sadly. ‘He’s pathetic, even by our standards.’

  ‘Hey, what do you mean “by our standards”?’ asks Torch. ‘We’ve risen steadily through the ranks. We’re a Team on the move, baby. Better than OK!’

  ‘Baby?’ says Logi-Gal. ‘What’s with “baby”?’

  She slugs him on the upper right arm and Torch winces, and grabs his biceps.

  ‘Ouch! That really hurt . . . but sorry about “baby”. I got carried away,’ Torch admits.

  ‘Good to see you can take a punch, Candle-Head,’ says Cannonball. ‘But Torch is right: we’re a long way ahead of the Tin Foil Petes of the Villain World. We’re bona fide Level D Heroes. Well, except for you, Level E’er.’

  ‘That’s only because of your fancy Mr Fabulous and his famous tutoring,’ Logi-Gal says, sniffing.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how you improve, what’s important is that you do improve,’ I say. ‘A Hero is a Hero, no
matter what.’

  ‘Yeah, yea –’ Logi-Gal begins, but is cut off by a loud SMASH from the alley we’re approaching.

  ‘I’m 240 per cent sure that’s who we’re here to find,’ says Switchy, who is now an inflatable clown.

  ‘Logi-Gal, activate the Hero Haze,’ I say, and she presses a button on her forearm. All around us, and the alley, a heat shimmer appears, hiding the Hero–Villain action from everyday civilians.

  ‘Nice work, Logi-Gal,’ I say. ‘Switchy, make like a telescope.’

  ‘Sure thing, Boss,’ Switchy says and turns pinks, shakes and becomes a video camera on a long, telescopic neck. He stretches his neck all the way to the alley corner and peeks the camera around the bend. We’re watching the scene on his rear end, which is now a television. Sure, on one level it’s kind of wrong that we’re staring at our friend’s bum, but the Hero world is rarely straightforward, especially when your friend can turn his bum into a TV.

  Switchy’s bum-cam shows a shopping trolley ramming the alley wall, then backing up and ramming it again. Then backing up again and hitting the wall harder.

  ‘Weird,’ says Cannonball.

  ‘Strange,’ agrees Torch.

  ‘Unnecessarily vandalistic,’ says Logi-Gal.

  Switchy peeks around the corner again. There are six or seven shopping trolleys roaming menacingly around the alley.

  ‘How does a supermarket trolley manage to look menacing?’ Torch asks.

  ‘Who cares! Let’s smash ’em,’ Cannonball grins.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Let’s not dive straight in. Let’s come up with a strategy.’

  ‘We’ve got a strategy: “smash ’em”.’

  Sometimes it’s hard being the Team’s leader.

  ‘Cannonball, we need a plan. I think we know who we’re dealing with,’ I say.

  ‘A disgruntled shopper?’ Switchy asks.

  ‘No. The Trolley King,’ I say.

  ‘The Trolley King!’ Logi-Gal frowns and concentrates. ‘Born: 1972. Height: 182 centimetres. Weight: 91 kilograms. Shoe size: 43 US. Priors: Many, and believed responsible for the theft of more than 2500 shopping trolleys in the past five years. First appeared in 2003 during the Supermarket Showdown Villain Riots and was upgraded to Category 3 Villain in 2005.’

  Even if she often takes life too seriously and refuses to believe anything that defies, well, logic (like almost everything Switchy does, for example), and is constantly telling us that her name should be ‘Logic Girl’, you can see why Logi-Gal is handy to have around. And she’s great at battle strategy.

  Torch snaps his fingers and a spark flies off his index finger. ‘Isn’t he the Villainous mastermind who dismantled the device on the front wheel of a trolley that stops it moving beyond a certain distance from the supermarket?’

  ‘The very same,’ says Logi-Gal, striking a serious pose.

  ‘And, more to the point, he’s wrecking this alley,’ I say. ‘Torch and Switchy, distract Trolley King with a diversionary attack so Cannonball and I can sneak up on him.’

  ‘That’s the second-worst plan I’ve heard this year,’ says Logi-Gal.

  ‘I’ve been leading this team for more than a year,’ I say. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I’ll just stand by and watch your genius get us all trolley-smashed then, shall I?’

  I ignore her. I put my gloved hand out, and begin our team’s battle-cry, ‘I’m OK!’

  Torch, Cannonball and Switchy put their hands on mine.

  ‘You’re OK!’

  We all yell together, ‘We’re OK!’

  ‘That is so lame and it won’t have any bearing on the events to follow,’ says Logi-Gal.

  The OK Team is in action and it’s always my happiest moment. Switchy turns pink, shakes violently and then – POP! – he turns into a flying roller-coaster car, barrelling around the corner into the alley and zooming above the Trolley King’s head.

  Meanwhile, Torch runs around the corner and points his index fingers at the various trolleys, shooting rivers of fire at them. They’re metal, so it doesn’t do much, but it looks impressive and certainly gets the attention of their leader.

  ‘I am the Trolley King!’ he screeches in a strange high-pitched voice.

  Torch and Switchy wait for my move.

  I take a deep breath and step into the alley, in full view of the Villain. He’s wearing a metallic cape over a black and blue costume and gumboots on his feet. He has a red cap on his head, like a supermarket check-out chap might wear.

  One hundred or more shopping trolleys all turn slowly to face me. I swear I hear one of them snigger.

  A year ago, I would have been terrified, practically a cloud of invisibility as my nerves destabilised my body’s fragile solid state. But today I’m only slightly blurry, out of focus around the edges, as I stand there, silver gloves on silver hips. ‘And we are the OK Team, Level D Heroes, Grade Three. Except for Logi-Gal –’ ‘Logic Girl,’ she says quietly with a sigh.

  ‘– who is Level E,’ I continue, ignoring her. ‘What category are you, Villain?’

  ‘I’m Category 8!’

  ‘You are not,’ I say. ‘That’s Super-Villain. Logi-Gal says you’re Category 3 at best.’

  Trolley King looks shifty. ‘I will be Category 9 one day, Blur-brain.’

  ‘But not yet. Today, all you’re going to be is arrested for vandalism.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ The Trolley King waves his arms and ten or twelve trolleys zoom straight at me. I’m ready for it though and fade to invisible, so the trolleys pass straight through the mist where my body should be. They crash into the gutter and end up in a heap.

  ‘Go Cannonball,’ I say.

  Cannonball is distracted by a man in a suit who has quietly entered the alley and is observing the battle. I’ve never seen him before, but Cannonball gives him a quick wave and then points at the Trolley King. ‘Let’s fire the cannon!’ he yells, and leaps into the air. Unfortunately, he still hasn’t totally mastered the art of flying and he zooms sideways, smacks into the wall, crash-lands into a row of rubbish bins and rolls over groaning.

  ‘Torch, go!’ I say.

  Torch shoots flames again, but a trolley drives straight through his fire and rams him into the wall. Another couple of trolleys try to batter his body as he cowers, hands over his head. Lucky for Torch the trolleys all have dodgy wheels and keep veering off course at the last minute. One grazes his right arm as it rolls past and Torch grabs his biceps, yelping in pain.

  ‘Switchy, go!’ I yell.

  Switchy the roller-coaster car turns pink – POP! – and is a fire hose, shooting water at the Trolley King. But beyond making him wet, it doesn’t do much damage and the trolleys hurtle around the alley, smashing into walls and knocking the rubbish bins around.

  ‘Bwa-ha-ha-ha,’ booms the Trolley King, tossing back his head. He might have a dodgy costume, but he does an excellent evil laugh.

  ‘Logi-Gal?’ I say. ‘Any bright ideas?’

  She’s leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed. ‘Finally, the genius leader asks for my help. And it’s Logic Girl, by the way. Have you stopped to consider that the trolleys are made of metal? What might be able to stop metal objects in their tracks?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you for help,’ I say, stepping sideways to avoid an aggressive wobble-wheeled trolley.

  ‘Think basic primary school science classes,’ she says helpfully.

  Science has never been my best subject at school. Another trolley tries (and fails) to ram me.

  Logi-Gal sighs again. ‘How does metal react to a magnet?’

  ‘Oh, yeah! Good idea!’ I’m back in the game, even as I temporarily forget to lose focus and a trolley clips my hip. Ouch. ‘Thanks Logi-Gal, nice work. Switchy, make like a magnet!’

  The fire hose shakes – POP! – and turns into a man in a black dinner suit, holding a rabbit in a big black hat, three golden rings and a wand.

  ‘Not magician . . . magnet!’ I
yell, as trolleys continue to charge me.

  A dove emerges from inside the magician’s coat as he turns pink, shakes and – POP! – he’s a phone box.

  ‘Switchy!’ I yell, as another trolley makes contact with my semi-solid hip, sending me flying. Cannonball and Torch are being pounded by trolleys.

  The phone box POP!s and finally an enormous magnet, red and white and four metres high, fills our end of the alley. The trolleys all panic and try to roll the other way, but the magnetic force locks on and reels them in. Like a Death Star tractor beam, the Switchy magnet sweeps up every single trolley and clumps them helplessly against its prongs.

  The Trolley King suddenly looks like a defeated Villain in a dirty cape. I turn completely invisible (to make the capture cooler), tiptoe right in front of him and then reappear, perfectly solid, to grab his cape at the base of his neck.

  ‘You’re under arrest!’ I say. ‘Logi-Gal, alert the police.’

  ‘I would have triumphed if it wasn’t for you meddling kids,’ the Trolley King grumbles.

  Cannonball struts over to the mysterious man in the suit and they shake hands, both smiling broadly. “I was good, wasn’t I?’ says Cannonball.

  ‘Fantastic,’ says the man. ‘Room for improvement, but great.’

  ‘This is most irregular,’ says Logi-Gal.

  CHAPTER 4

  COOL HERO HANGOUTS

  IN MELBOURNE

  An hour later, we’re at the Zenith Café. One of the joys of our new status as slightly-less-crap-than-we-were-a-year-ago Heroes is that we’ve been introduced to some of the better Hero hang-outs around town. I’m sure there are still more exclusive Hero cafés, but we’re definitely having fun enjoying our new Hero world.

  The Zenith isn’t hard to find, but non-Heroes don’t even know it exists. Melbourne Central is a shopping centre, on the corner of Swanston and La Trobe streets. The main feature is an old brick chimney, known as the shot tower. It’s tall and old and is historically important which meant the shopping centre developers weren’t allowed to bulldoze it, so they put a massive glass cone around it. The result is an eight-storey round pyramid. And none of the shoppers ambling around inside the glass cone realise that at the tip of the cone, up in the sky, directly under the tip, is the Zenith Café. It’s only accessible by air – and not by helicopter or plane. You need to be person-sized. Flying. Or with somebody who can get you there. For Heroes with the power of flight, there’s a small landing area, near the door into the café. But the Zenith doesn’t discriminate. The Zenith has a team of ‘FlyBoys’ – low-level Flying Hero employees whose job it is to fly down to street level, pick up non-flying Heroes and soar with them up to the front door. A permanent heat haze around the glass cone ensures all this is done without non-Heroes noticing. And to the public, it’s explained away as air-conditioning exhaust.