by Andy Briggs
“No we couldn’t. This is a very special satellite.” Basilisk clapped his hands, making a sound like bricks clinking. “Come on! Time is of the essence.”
Pete opened his eyes and saw nothing but dust. Somewhere in the distance he could hear ambulance sirens. He blinked and looked around. He was lying at the end of a thousand-foot trench that he’d just gouged in the earth.
It had turned out that Toby’s additional weight did make them lose altitude at a much faster rate than Pete was comfortable with. He had fought hard to approach the ground at a gentle angle, but Toby had caused them to come in fast.
They overshot the launch complex at Baikonur and soared out into the surrounding rocky hills. At the very last moment, Toby had attempted to create a protective shield around them, but he only managed half a sphere around their feet. Pete had been able to twist around so they were descending feetfirst.
The shield acted like a snowboard as they hit the hillside at almost one hundred miles per hour. It gouged the earth, spitting rocks and debris in their wake. In the final few moments, the shield wavered as the powers glitched—turning the shield into ice that shattered underfoot. They tumbled the last couple of feet, picking up cuts and scratches. Pete was amazed that his glasses had survived.
Toby sat up next to him, dust turning his hair gray. He coughed. “Well, I won’t be forgetting that experience any time soon!”
Both boys then broke into laughter, so hard that tears filled their eyes. By the time the base’s four-wheel-drive ambulances had traversed the hills, the paramedics were surprised to find two crying, giggling boys. Lorna and Emily were in the back of one of the ambulances. Their concerned expressions immediately changed to ones of annoyance.
“You let them get away!” Lorna fumed.
Toby shook his head, still giggling. “It’s not like we didn’t try, Lorn.”
Lorna crossed her arms and her lips formed a pout. “Well, now Mr. Grimm is insisting we head straight to Mongolia. You have no time to clean up.”
Both boys stared at each other for the first time—the dust clung to them so it looked as if they’d both been dipped in flour. They pointed at one another and burst into laughter again.
Lorna shook her head irritably. Boys, she thought.
It took Commander Mather only a few hours to bring the Buran into a new orbit, and soon their instruments picked up the satellite gently revolving in its geosynchronous orbit; sunlight glistened off its golden heat shields, black solar panels, and the Hero Foundation’s logo on its side.
Basilisk had left no calculation to chance, and ordered Commander Mather to bring the shuttle within thirty feet of the satellite. This close they could see it was the size of a van and it looked relatively new. Basilisk remotely accessed the satellite using the shuttle’s systems; a function used by authorized crews to wirelessly and directly access satellites. He immediately hit the satellite’s own firewall and handed the console over to Worm.
Worm was pleased to have a distraction. Floating in zero-g had made him throw up, and now the back of the payload bay was a no-go area because of the sea of floating awfulness.
He touched the computer screen and allowed the electrons forming his fingers to zip into the system. Once inside it was a simple case of blindly probing the software until he was allowed through into the satellite’s operating system. He gritted his teeth at the pain.
When he closed his eyes, Worm could see the flow of data, like tiny cars flying through aerial roadways as they transferred data to and from ground stations. Basilisk had tried to explain he was seeing a rare and wonderful thing called “cyberspace”—an electronic realm few people would ever actually see.
Once Worm was done, he brought the satellite’s firewall down, leaving it wide open to attack. Now it was Viral’s turn. He had to create a virus that would not affect the shuttle’s own systems, but would hitch a ride on the data pathway Worm had just opened and override the satellite, holding it in limbo until either he or Basilisk chose to bring it back online.
The virus had taken some planning and concentration to create. Viral had always known he could interact with protein threads and DNA strands within nature, enabling him to create the most devastating viruses ever seen on the planet. It was only at the end of his teens that he realized that, with a bit of effort, he could manipulate electrons to form malignant computer viruses. His very first one had successfully crashed the world’s stock market computers, sending global economies tumbling. The only drawback he had with his powers was that the viruses—whether physical or digital—were so destructive that they only had a life span of a few minutes before they tore themselves apart.
“Hurry!” grunted Worm. The pain in his fingers was becoming unbearable and he thought he was going to pass out.
“Okay, first code’s going in.” Viral transferred his electronic bug with nothing more visible than a spark between his fingers and the screen.
Basilisk stared at the screen. The first part of the virus would ping the Foundation servers. The answer he got back would contain the location of the Foundation Headquarters—secret information that would be stored on the satellite, inaccessible from the ground.
Coordinates flashed up on the shuttle’s screen. Basilisk laughed out loud.
“We have it! Well done!”
Viral grinned, revealing his stained teeth. “Easy. Now I’ll insert the malware code to bring down their physical defenses.”
The villains were so wrapped up in the operation that they didn’t notice Commander Mather give a small gesture to his crew.
Viral was conjuring one last strand of contamination when the pilot unclipped a small metal medical kit. He brought it around with such force on the back of Viral’s head that he was struck instantly unconscious and spun head over heels to the back of the payload bay, splashing into the floating vomit left by Worm.
Worm opened his mouth to speak but felt a strap loop around his fat neck and tighten to choke him. Rebecca Syms was behind him, her knee in the small of his back and screaming with exertion as she throttled the villain. With his concentration lost, the communications with the satellite were severed, with only part of Viral’s code having seeped through.
Basilisk spun around and glared at Commander Mather, who threw a punch straight at him, but it didn’t even faze the villain.
“You’ve made a terrible mistake, Commander.”
Commander Mather didn’t listen—he braced himself against the control panel and used both feet to boot Basilisk in the chest. On earth, Basilisk’s immense strength would render him immovable by any normal human. But the weightlessness robbed him of his advantage. Basilisk shot into the payload bay like a bullet. Rebecca Syms followed suit with Worm, tossing him into Basilisk.
The zero-g environment had given the normal humans an edge over the supervillains. Irenus Markov hit a button, and emergency decompression doors closed across the payload. The Russian’s hand hovered over a button marked “airlock,” but Commander Mather stopped him.
“Markov, no! You’ll jettison the passengers if you open the airlock. I need you to prepare for reentry now!”
The crew took their seats without question.
Basilisk was furious, but he had to contain his outrage, as he risked blowing a hole in the side of the shuttle if he blasted the partition. That would depressurize the entire ship, suck the oxygen into space and kill them all. The lack of gravity meant they could not detect if the shuttle was moving, but a slight tremor through the fuselage indicated the boosters had ignited.
Viral was still unconscious as Worm and Basilisk argued over strategies for breaking through the bulkhead door. Everything seemed too risky; this was one situation where their superpowers proved completely useless. At least they had the Foundation’s location, and some of the code had been transferred into the satellite, hopefully damaging it enough to stay off-line.
For a few hours nothing seemed to happen, except the thrusters continued to fire on and off. Basilisk corr
ectly assumed that the shuttle was positioning for reentry.
Then the Buran started to shimmy violently and the villains could feel the gentle pull of gravity tug at them. Viral regained consciousness just as gravity took hold and he slammed to the floor on his back.
“What’s happening?” he asked groggily.
“We’re heading back to Earth. Hold on tight!”
Hero.com
It was the most blissful, wonderful experience Toby could remember. And then Pete had woken him up from the deep slumber. Toby forced an eye open and was greeted by harsh sunlight. He yawned and wished that he could roll over in a warm bed and sleep for an entire day.
“Where are we?”
“You’ve slept all night. We’re here.”
Immediately after they had been picked up in Kazakhstan, Mr. Grimm had declared that they were heading straight to Mongolia, the current location of Hero Foundation headquarters, to face Basilisk in the final showdown.
Toby was excited at the prospect. He felt as though he was entering a mystic world where all his questions about Hero.com would finally be answered. The FAQ guide on the site had been lacking, and he guessed that not many people bothered asking questions.
Midway through the flight, Mr. Grimm had announced that Basilisk had succeeded in taking the Foundation’s satellite off-line. The technicians who had been working night and day to restore Hero.com had toiled for nothing.
There would be no cavalry arriving to help now.
It was up to them.
The only powers left were the ones they had overdosed on the day Basilisk had inserted his virus into Hero.com. And they wouldn’t last very long either.
Toby was lost in his thoughts, only becoming aware several minutes later that he had been staring at Emily, who was trying to sleep. He looked away guiltily, only to find that Pete was looking straight at him with a stony expression.
Toby tried to break the atmosphere with a smile. “Can’t sleep, man?” Pete shook his head, but didn’t say anything. “Look, about what you said earlier, us not being a team … “
“We’re a lousy team and you know it.”
“What? We’re great, we work well together—”
“Maybe in your mind we do. You don’t let us go on the Web site when we want to. You were against a team name, costumes, everything that I suggested.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.
“That’s not true!” protested Toby, although he could see Pete’s point all too clearly. “Besides, we need a leader to keep the group—”
“Nobody voted you leader. You know what unelected leaders are called? Dictators. We learned that in class last week, if you remember.”
Toby was at a loss for words. His best friend was attacking him, and worse, he knew his best friend was right.
“I’ll be better off on my own. Like when you all left me with Basilisk.”
Toby closed his eyes. He knew this was the core of the problem. “Pete, honestly we had no idea … we were stupid to leave you alone.”
Pete’s voice rose, causing Emily to stir in her sleep. “Yeah, you were! But I should thank you. That’s when I learned that I have to look out for myself and not count on my friends or my family!” He spat the last word out, and a new wave of guilt passed over Toby. With all that had happened, they’d had no time to talk about Pete’s parents’ divorce. Toby opened his mouth to reply, but Pete had already turned his back on him, pretending to sleep.
Toby sighed. It wasn’t so much the breakup of his superteam that bothered him; it was the fact that his friends were all changing, becoming more distant. Worse still, he suspected it was his own fault. While he thought he was protecting his friends, he was in fact causing harm.
He thought back to Mr. Grimm’s words about the world needing balance. They were starting to make sense.
When Pete finally woke him up, Toby found they had landed on an airstrip in the middle of nowhere. In fact, airstrip was too kind a word. It was just a flat piece of rock-strewn desert. Mountains rippled in the heat haze to the south.
“We’re here,” said Mr. Grimm.
“Where is here exactly?” Toby asked.
Mr. Grimm walked with them to a Toyota Land Cruiser.
“Climb in. We don’t have much time. ‘Here’ is the Gobi desert in Mongolia.”
The air-conditioned interior of the 4x4 was a relief after the short sweltering steps they had taken. Before the car doors had even shut, the Gulfstream jet had taxied around and was accelerating for takeoff.
“Don’t believe in waiting, do they?” Pete mumbled.
“Why wait in such an inhospitable place? Believe it or not, it’s the winter here at the moment,” said Mr. Grimm as they jounced across the landscape. His expression still hadn’t changed, nor had he reacted to the heat outside or the frigid air-conditioning inside the vehicle. “It’s warmer than usual, but at night, temperatures have been plummeting to about minus thirty degrees.”
Toby and Pete exchanged knowledgeable looks. They had survived in the snowy plains of Antarctica. The Gobi desert was a piece of cake by comparison.
“Why is the Hero Foundation headquarters here?” asked Emily staring out at the bleak landscape.
“It’s not normally here,” Mr. Grimm said cryptically. “But due to recent events, this was the best place to hide it. Isolated, remote, and unlikely to be stumbled upon by civilians during a time of clandestine war.”
Everybody frowned, but Lorna was the first to ask. “What do you mean, war? Who’s at war?”
“We are, against the villains overthrowing society. Things are now completely out of control.”
Toby shook his head. Despite their adventures so far on Diablo Island, in the Mexican jungle, and fighting for their lives on a space shuttle, they had not paid much attention to the rest of the world. It was changing. Pete summed it up eloquently.
“Well, darn. We’d better get a move on then!”
Mr. Grimm pointed ahead. “It seems we’ve arrived.”
The Buran shuttle shook with fury as it blistered through the atmosphere. Searing flames caused by air friction tore across the black heat tiles on the underside of the craft.
Inside, the g-force pinned everybody to the wall. Everybody except Basilisk, who was hovering in the center of the payload bay.
“We’re entering the atmosphere,” he snarled. “At least we’ll have air to breathe!”
Before the others could object, Basilisk hurled an energy blast at the cockpit door, ripping a hole clean through it. He flew inside, oblivious to the g-force. The three crew members were pinned to their seats, only their eyes swiveled toward the villain. They had been lulled into a false sense of security by the villains’ lack of effort at reentering the cockpit. And now, at a critical stage, one had regained his strength.
Irenus Markov was piloting the craft with an airplane-style control stick. He jerked it to one side. The shuttle lurched to port and Basilisk crashed his head against the overhead instrument panel. The supervillain responded by yanking Markov from his seat with such force that his restraining harness snapped.
“No!” bellowed Commander Mather. “You’ll kill us all!”
Basilisk’s petrifying gaze bored into the Russian. Markov screamed and fought to escape, but within seconds his movements failed as his skin turned to stone. Basilisk applied pressure—and the man’s petrified body crumpled to dust. The remaining crew stared at Basilisk with open mouths.
“Now land us where I tell you!” shouted Basilisk.
“We can’t,” said Mather in a small voice. “You just killed the pilot!”
Basilisk hesitated. He’d let rage control him and now he’d killed the wrong guy. He stabbed a finger at Commander Mather.
“You can fly this. Land at these coordinates.” Basilisk spun easily through the air and typed on a computer terminal. Seconds later a map of the world appeared, complete with flight trajectories to enable them to land where he had indicated.
With little c
hoice, Mather took control of the aircraft. The g-force had lessened and he had to fight to keep the shuttle’s nose above the horizon. It had to glide to earth without the aid of engines to control it.
Basilisk climbed into the vacant pilot’s seat and watched as the earth formed around him. The commander angled the shuttle around, matching the computer’s trajectory perfectly.
“Good. I should warn you. There is no runway to land on.”
The commander shot him a look of hatred. “Then you’ll still kill us all. The ship is not designed for off-roading!”
“That is not my problem.”
Commander Mather stared at the freak, then calmly said something in Russian to Rebecca Syms. Basilisk assumed it was all part of the sequence, since they had been taking off and landing in Kazakhstan. He did not notice Mather or Syms tightening their harnesses. Seconds later Mather reached under his seat and yanked a handle.
Basilisk had no idea the single word Mather had spoken translated as eject.
The commander stared at Basilisk. “Now it is your problem.”
His seat ejected through the roof with a bang. Syms followed seconds later—followed by three more explosions from the payload bay as the unconscious mission specialist and both tourists were also ejected.
The ejector seats had been under the sole control of the commander and he was able to eject the crew and passengers safely. The ejector seats had parachutes and tracking beacons built in, so the unconscious trio would land safely and be found quickly.
Basilisk stared at the controls in disbelief. He had only ever flown his own invention, the SkyKar, and that had been destroyed weeks ago. He briefly considered simply flying to safety, but then remembered Worm and Viral couldn’t fly—and he still needed them for the final phase. If they died now it would have all been for nothing.
“You two! Get on the flight deck now!”
He pushed forward on the stick to level the aircraft with the horizon—but the altimeter seemed to descend even more quickly. Viral and Worm entered the cockpit at a run.
“What happened?”
