by Nick Place
Torch stands to my right, finger smoking. ‘The next grass or weed to move so much as a blade gets it,’ he says loudly.
Bushranger is muttering and even before Torch can reload his flame finger, massive strands of grass snake up and around his orange, red and yellow figure, completely pinning him. He struggles desperately for a moment, then relaxes, takes a deep breath and, just as the grass reaches his neck, bursts spectacularly into a full body flame. The grass falls off him, smoking, and Torch lands on the ground on all fours, full-body flame dying away.
Panting, he stands and lights a fearsome looking flame on his index finger.
‘As I was saying . . .’ he says grimly.
If grass can cower, the grass cowers.
‘What else have you got, Bushranger?’ The Gamer asks. ‘The Pact says Focus has to take you out, but nothing says we can’t kick your mutant weeds around first.’
‘Oh, I’ve got more. Lots more,’ says the Bushranger. He reaches behind his back. He pulls out a very large bazooka – a bazooka that looks like it fires real missiles. Deadly missiles.
‘You can’t use a bazooka!’ I yell. ‘That’s against every law in the Hero–Villain guidelines.’
‘The Bushranger listens to no Hero,’ says Bushranger and points the bazooka straight at me. I’ve never looked down the barrel of anything more lethal than a water-pistol before and I’m terrified, instantly dissolving into a mist.
‘Ah yes, Focus,’ Bushranger says menacingly. ‘Your one party trick: to turn invisible whenever you’re in real danger. Well, I have bad news for you, kid. I’m going to fire this cannon and if you don’t stop the missile, I’m going to blow up that little shed that’s right behind you.’
I have a sinking feeling, but I try to bluff. ‘What do I care if you blow up a shed in an old orchard – it’s probably just full of mouldy fruit?’
‘You might want your clever little girlfriend to take a closer look inside the shed,’ he says, triumphantly.
I waver for a moment.
‘Sorry to put you in the firing line, Logi-Gal, but I think you better check it out before I make another stupid mistake,’ I say.
Logi-Gal runs to the shed door and wrenches it open.
Even though there are no windows in the shed it is glowing inside.
My stomach flips. Because the glow is distinctly star-shaped. The whole inside of the shed shines with unearthly power.
‘It’s the star-stone, Focus. You can’t let him destroy it,’ says Logi-Gal.
‘I’m sorry, Focus, I have to act,’ says Cyclone Tracy. ‘Southern Cross’s life is on the line. Logi-Gal, run for cover.’ She swirls into a storm and makes a cyclone around the shed. Leaves and fruit and branches swirl around, caught up in the strength of the wind.
‘The star-power is too strong for my wind,’ yells Cyclone Tracey. ‘I can’t budge it.’ The wind dies down completely and she slumps in front of the shed, exhausted.
‘Bad luck, cloud boy. The star-stone, power source of the mighty Southern Cross, is in my sights. My missile will scatter it into smithereens. And then – it’s lights out for Southern Cross. Oh yeah, and your breezy girlfriend is toast, for certain.’
And he throws his head back and delivers an impressive bad guy evil laugh. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha.
‘And the best bit is the missile will pass right through your pathetic invisible body on its way so you’ll have to live forever more with your cowardice. That’s even better than killing you. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha.’
I’m thinking desperately, searching for a plan.
‘. . . and when I’m done with the star-stone and Miss Windy, I’m going to reload and take out all your little Hero friends. Cannonball, and Tomorrow Girl, and Logi-Gal and The Gamer and Torch and even Switchy, over there pretending to be an orange cart. All your friends will be killed while you play like a cloud, to save your own miserable skin.’
We’re all frozen in disbelief and shock.
‘A Hero is a Hero, no matter what, Focus,’ yells Logi-Gal.
And I know exactly what I have to do. I got myself into a Pact to the death with this madman. And I will honour it, and do everything I can to save my friends.
Through incredible force of will, battling the fear inside me, I become solid.
‘Have it your way, Bushranger,’ I say. ‘S.T.O.M.P. wasn’t enough and now you’re resorting to bazookas. This is between you and me, right? The Knight-Hood Pact. So shoot me if you must, but leave the others alone.’
‘Focus, no!’ Cyclone Tracy’s voice carries pure fear. I don’t look at her or any of the others. I’m watching Bushranger and that black barrel of the cannon resting on his shoulder. It’s taking all my willpower to not fade into a mist of fear. I have to remain solid. I have to be the one who stops the missile, to save Tracy and Southern Cross, and to give the rest of the OK Team a chance. I’m burning with anger and confident Switchy will be able to spring into action in the moment after I’m shot to protect the others, but until then nobody can move.
Bushranger laughs a horrible, insane laugh and tightens his finger on the trigger. ‘You’re braver than I thought, Focus, but that’s bad news for you. You’re history.’
I close my eyes and concentrate entirely on being solid; concentrate on my physical body being as firm and as visible as it can possibly be so that Tracy and Southern Cross will be safe. I think of my body being made of stone, of being more solid than steel. Of being anything but see-through. The star-stone will not be destroyed. Cyclone Tracy will live. My friends will not be hurt. With every ounce of will in my being, I urge myself to be totally, utterly, completely solid.
And then I hear the shot.
The missile hits my chest.
And there’s a strange, metallic ping as it deflects off me.
And I open my eyes. I am still alive. I am unharmed.
And realise I am solid. More than solid. That my body is so intensely dense and impenetrable that the missile has ricocheted off like it had glanced off a brick wall. And is now exploding harmlessly in a vineyard on the other side of the orchard.
The Bushranger is staring at me goggle-eyed.
Before his brain can catch up, I launch myself across the space between us and hit him on his helmet where his chin should be, with the best left hook of my career. CLONG! My fist is still ultra-solid like granite. And the Bushranger slumps and lies quietly, unconscious.
And then, of course, it all catches up with me and I disperse into disconnected molecules of relief and shock.
The OK Team run towards me and I become vaguely firm so that they don’t run through me. Tomorrow Girl wraps me in a bear hug and The Gamer is whooping. Torch, Logi-Gal and Cannonball pile on top of me as though I’ve just kicked an impossible goal to win the grand final.
‘How did you do that?’ says Cannonball.
‘Since when are you bulletproof ?’ says Tomorrow Girl.
‘Bulletproof – that rocks,’ says Torch.
‘That was highly, highly improbable,’ says Logi-Gal.
‘I’m definitely going for the bulletproof bonus,’ says The Gamer.
‘How did you know you could stop a missile?’ asks Switchy.
‘I didn’t,’ I stammer, pulling my shirt up to discover a nasty red graze on my ribcage. ‘I had no idea I could become ultra-solid. And Torch! You did it! A full-body flame-up. You rock.’
‘We rock, Focus,’ he says. ‘The OK Team rocks.’
‘And G rl-Stars,’ says Tomorrow Girl. ‘G rl-Stars rock too.’
‘Like Torch said,’ Cannonball says laughing, ‘the OK Team rocks.’
I’m vaguely normal now, but I have to sit down, with my head between my legs. I peek up to see that Switchy has become a giant cage, holding the Bushranger and his gang members, who are all still staring at me in amazement.
Cannonball, with surprising gentleness, picks up the chunk of shining star-stone that Bushranger has been carrying around to wound Southern Cross. Cannonball nurses it over to t
he star-stone and places it exactly in the place where the chunk has come from. There is a spike of light, the entire star flares and glows and when it fades, the star-stone is smooth. I’m sure Southern Cross will be all right now.
In the distance I see a golden light shooting through the sky, coming closer at an amazing speed. I know who that is.
Then I feel the wind rise and Cyclone Tracy is standing in front of me, with the strangest look on her face. It’s as though she’s frowning and wide-eyed at the same time. She reaches out a glove and I take it, helped to my feet as the wind blows around us.
‘You didn’t know you could do that?’ she asks.
I shake my head. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Then you were going to die. For Southern Cross. And for me.’
‘I guess.’ I don’t know where to look and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. Even if my face wasn’t semi-visible, it’s probably obvious I’m blushing. Finally, I say, ‘Cyclone Tracy . . .’
‘Focus,’ she says softly, and I look into her eyes and she’s crying.
‘Focus,’ she says again. ‘Thank you.’
And she leans in and kisses me, gently, on the lips. And, of course, I become a cloud.
‘Well, that’s one way to pick up chicks,’ says Cannonball. ‘Where’s that bazooka? Metal head said he had two missiles. I want to see if Focus can do it again.’
You can always rely on Cannonball to ruin a good moment.
CHAPTER 22
SUPER SHAKES ALL
ROUND
‘It makes sense, if you think about it.’ Southern Cross puts his feet up on the coffee table and takes a sip of his Super Shake at the Goalpost Bridge Café. ‘If your body can de-moleculise itself to become invisible, it’s logical that it can go the other way, to become incredibly dense in a molecular sense, to become Super thick.’
‘Like Cannonball’s brain,’ says Logi-Gal, smiling sweetly.
‘Hey, if this is such a logical development, how come you missed it?’ says Cannonball.
‘It’s not exactly the sort of theory that you’d want Focus to try out if you weren’t certain,’ says The Gamer. ‘Not unless I gave him one of my lives.’
‘Can you do that?’ asks Logi-Gal.
‘I don’t know,’ says The Gamer. ‘Again, not the kind of thing you want to put to the test – and be wrong about.’
Switchy slurps his Shake. ‘I told you our powers were still developing, Focus. Or maybe you’re on something we don’t know about?’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ I laugh. ‘As if.’
Cyclone Tracy grins at me. I fade ever so slightly.
‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Focus,’ says Southern Cross. ‘I reckon you’re a certainty to be upgraded. You just doubled your potential powers in one move.’
‘Wow, I hadn’t thought about that. Do you think I could make Level C?’
‘If I have anything to do with it, you will,’ Southern Cross says. ‘It’s King Trevor’s call, but I owe you big time. So does Tracy.’
‘My Hero,’ says Cyclone Tracy, stagily grabbing my arm and fluttering her eyelids.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ says Torch. ‘What are they putting in these Super Shakes?’
‘There’s one thing still worrying me,’ I admit. ‘Wasn’t the stupid Knight-Hood Pact “to the death”?’
‘Technically, yes,’ says Southern Cross. ‘You just have to hope our Super Secret Villain-Holding Facility, The Lodge in Canberra, is secure enough to hold the Bushranger for the years in jail he deserves. I think it will. Without S.T.O.M.P. he’s not much of a bad guy.’
‘I still can’t believe the public buys the idea that The Lodge only has tight security because the Prime Minister lives there,’ Cyclone Tracy says. ‘What happened to Monkey 2.0?’
‘Now appearing at the Melbourne Zoo,’ Southern Cross grins. ‘And he’s been stripped of his upgrade.’
Tomorrow Girl skips up and sits next to her brother.
‘Do you think being able to put songs in people’s heads counts as a power?’ she asks.
‘It’s certainly annoying, so it might be considered a good weapon,’ Cannonball says.
‘It played a pretty major role in disempowering the Bushranger,’ I say. ‘It’s definitely worth raising with Hero HQ.’
‘We’re all still developing, still finding dimensions to what we can do,’ Torch says. ‘I can finally flame up my whole body – even if only under pressure. Focus gets better and better. The Gamer can’t be killed . . . Cannonball is still crap.’
‘Hey!’ says Cannonball, but he’s smiling.
‘At least you’ve got Kyle, your fancy spin doctor, to tell the world how great you are, even if you’re lame,’ Torch says.
‘No, I sacked him,’ Cannonball says, sipping his Super Shake.
‘You did?’ My voice is pure relief.
‘Yeah, he tried to book me for a series of ads about nappies, with the slogan: “When flying goes wrong, you might want to be wearing these.” It was humiliating.’
‘Well, we’ll miss him, that’s for sure. He was an asset to the team,’ Logi-Gal says sarcastically.
Something else occurs to me. ‘Hey Torch, you’re wearing short sleeves again.’
He looks coy. ‘Um, yeah, well . . .’
‘What about your tattoo?’
‘It’s gone,’ he says and shows us bare skin.
‘Gone?’ Cannonball is all ears. ‘How is it gone? Aren’t tattoos permanent?’
‘Well, they would be if it wasn’t for Captain Inkspot,’ Torch says sheepishly.
Southern Cross laughs. ‘Wow, I haven’t heard of him for a while. He must be a mate of Papa Torch’s. Able to remove any ink stain off any surface.’ He smiles and adds, ‘He wasn’t so good in a battle, but he was great for the clean-up afterwards.’
‘So you don’t feel a need to have a tattoo on your arm anymore, huh?’ I ask Torch.
He shakes his head. ‘No, I realise it’s about what’s on the inside. You taught me that, Focus, up there in the orchard. It’s about being the best that you can be and being a Hero within. Flashy tattoos haven’t got anything to do with it.’
The Gamer groans and shifts in his seat.
‘You okay?’ Logi-Gal asks him.
‘Well, perhaps I shouldn’t have done this . . .’ he says, and pulls up his costume’s shirt to reveal his bare chest.
A giant sword and shield is tattooed across his chest, with ‘The Gamer, Level Infinity!’ written in an old English script, taking up his entire stomach.
We all stare in disbelief. Logi-Gal chokes on her Super Shake.
Torch puts a hand on The Gamer’s shoulder and says, ‘I’ll get you Captain Inkspot’s number.’
CHAPTER 23
MISFIRING THE CANNON
I don’t think I’m supposed to witness this. I’m floating down from the café, trying out my cloud-flying, when I realise I’m in danger of landing on a small figure in black and red, wearing a black helmet.
It’s Cannonball and he’s talking to Logi-Gal.
‘This isn’t easy for me to say,’ he says. ‘I’m really nervous.’
‘What are you on about, Cannonball?’ she asks.
‘Everybody knows me as the tough guy, you know. All muscle, no heart.’
‘You know that’s physiologically impossible.’
Cannonball gulps. ‘Logi-Gal, I have a confession: I really like you!’
‘You what?’
‘I really, really like you.’
‘Well, we’re Teammates,’ she says. ‘I like you too.’
‘No, I mean in n a very non-Teammate, personal kind of way!’
‘That’s highly illogical,’ she says. ‘Are you sure?’
‘More than the sun loves the stars!’
‘Does the sun love the stars?’ she asks.
‘What?’
‘Well, I would argue that you premise is flawed. You said, “more than the sun loves the stars?” Why would the sun, a
fourth magnitude star, or more precisely a firey ball with a mass of 74 per cent hydrogen and 10 per cent helium as well as trace quantities of other elements including iron, nickel, oxygen, silicon, sulphur, magnesium, carbon, neon, calcium and chromium with a spectral class of G2V, be in love with a far-distant star?’
‘Umm,’ says Cannonball.
‘Also, given the sun is travelling through the local interstellar cloud in a low-density local bubble zone of diffuse high-temperature gas, somewhere within the inner rim of the Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, between the larger Perseus and Sagittarius arms of the galaxy, it would be kind of difficult for it to get to know other stars, let alone form a relationship with them.’
‘That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make,’ Cannonball says weakly.
‘I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not sure you’ve thought this through,’ she says.
‘Oh, well, okay. Maybe I haven’t.’ Cannonball looks crushed.
‘See you at HQ tomorrow,’ she says brightly and kisses him on the cheek before hurrying towards Flinders Street station.
No Superpower in the world can help Cannonball at this point. Invisible me creeps silently away.
EPILOGUE
It’s deep in the third quarter three days later and we’re playing Australian Rules football against Thornbury High School. It’s a couple of goals the difference, but we’re on top and I’m confident we can hold them off, especially with the continued strong play of Frederick Fodder, showing controlled aggression and completely believable, but impressive high marking ability. If Logi-Gal’s refusal to be his girlfriend is bothering him, it hasn’t affected his footy.
Simon Fondue has also been playing well, and I’ve managed to score two goals from the wing without resorting to my powers at all. With Bushranger and his gang safely locked away and the Knight-Hood Pact more or less buried, I feel as though a weight larger than North and South America has been lifted off my shoulders. Even Mum and Dad arguing loudly for more than an hour last night hasn’t totally ruined my good mood.
