“As you know, we have our ‘A’ teams the public know and love, and our ‘B’ teams that keep their visors down and do most of the fighting. Despite our best efforts, the public have noticed that the ‘B’ teams have high casualties. This has been very bad for morale. We need to consider the proposal of a ‘C’ team that the public doesn’t know about.”

–Superhero Corps, confidential memo.

“They told me that I would never be much good in a fight, but that I would be excellent on TV. So I told them that I would rather fight anonymously than preen on camera, and then I hit my boss with a chair. I feel like I’ve made my point.”

–One Trick, interview quoted at her trial.

----------------------------------------

I’m still not dead, although I’ve come close a few times. I’ve racked up eight missions so far, most of them clean-ups after a saucer has gone down. I’ve been told they were easy missions, but they didn’t feel easy. My shields are keeping me alive, and my mutliblaster and egg launcher are earning me some kills, but I’ve taken some heavy knocks.

Red Three died on our last mission. She was the third of my intake to die. The funerals for trainees are brief, just a few words followed by the single firework rocket that’s a tradition at superhero funerals.

I’m only on call a few hours a day, and I spend most of my time in training. I train more than any of the other trainees, because I’m determined to prove I belong here.

Life as a trainee superhero is hard, but there are definite upsides. The food is incredible, and all this training is really filling my skinny body out with muscle. The experimental surgery probably helps.

I’m eating breakfast on the main deck after a night-time of being on call when the loudspeaker rings out:

“All operators and trainees to briefing room one. Repeat, all operators and trainees to briefing room one.”

Briefing room one is shaped like a lecture hall or cinema with multiple levels of seats rising up from a podium. There are perhaps three hundred seats, but less than fifty operators and only a handful of surviving trainees. We spread ourselves out in little clumps, although there are some that prefer to sit in pairs. This is the first time I’ve seen all the operators in the same room, and it is clear to me that there are groups and alliances within this team. It’s just like high school, except much more serious. I sit down next to Bad Day and One Trick.

A group of four grim-looking men and women walk past us and sit near the front of the hall. They don’t make any attempt to talk to each other, or even make eye contact. Each wears a thin black band on their left arms.

“What’s with them?” I ask Bad Day.

“The black bands? All supers who have lost far, far too much. Not a friendly bunch. Don’t mess with them.”

I can just make out the names written on the backs of the two black-banders closest to me: one is called Three Brothers the other is called Perth Rose. Their deep depression annoys me a little; what makes them so special?

“We’ve all lost something to the saucers,” I say.

Firestorm Commando sits by himself in the corner of the room. I heard that Past Prime had been trying to get rid of him, but that The General had insisted that he stayed in the unit.

Other groups of operators sit in pairs or trios, some quiet and others laughing. A few join Bad Day and me; Day seems well liked. A young man called Die Laughing jumps into the seat next to me, gives me a broad smile and then focusses on folding a paper airplane. He sends it looping through the room as soon as it’s finished, and it hits Firestorm Commando right in the back of the head.

“He won’t like that,” says Pet Shark from right behind me.

Firestorm Commando looks around furiously, but Die Laughing just waves back and starts on another plane.

There are a few operators that sit alone. A man two rows in front of us seems particularly unpopular. He looks strange, even for an operator, and is humming loudly to himself. The loner is skinny with short white hair. A pair of huge men with tattoos on their faces are about to sit next to him when they see him and abruptly jump a few rows away.

“What’s with that guy?” I ask Bad Day.

“That’s Extremely Dangerous,” whispers Bad Day.

Wow. All of the operators are dangerous on and off the battlefield. They are some of the most egotistical, aggressive and temperamental men and women I have ever met. For one man to be singled out as Extremely Dangerous worries me.

Extremely Dangerous turns around and gives us a thin smile. His eyes are grey and his face is frighteningly pale.

“Call me Simon Smith,” he says quietly.

My whole body shivers and even Bad Day seems shaken. The superheroes around us all turn to look at Bad Day; Die Laughing stops playing with his paper plane.

“Of course, Simon. No offense meant,” says Bad Day quickly.

“Simon Smith,” corrects Extremely Dangerous.

“Simon Smith,” I say.

Extremely Dangerous nods, turns away and starts humming again. All the superheroes around me relax a little. Someone mutters a curse.

“Nutcase,” whispers Pet Shark, but very, very quietly.

“He’s good in a fight,” says Die Laughing as if that is all that matters to him.

He finishes his plane and launches it with a flourish. The plane floats in the air, over the heads of all the superheroes and down towards the stage. I’m so busy watching it that I don’t notice when Past Prime walks up to the lectern. He catches the plane as it passes him, crumples it up and drops it to the floor.

“Let’s get started.”

The room falls silent, and we all lean forwards in our seats. I’ve never been to an all–operators meeting before, but I bet it’s important. Past Prime waves at the screen and a map of Korea appears.

“Three years ago the Asian Fury team damaged a saucer over South Korea. The saucer flew into North Korea before crashing. As you know, we are not welcome in that part of the world. It was decided not to confirm the kill. In hindsight this was a mistake. Last week our satellites reported these in an airbase deep in the North's borders.”

The view screen behind Past Prime glows into life to show a satellite image of three huge airships in a maze of scaffolding. They look like the offspring of world war one battleships and an amateur's version of a saucer: all gun turrets and short wings, missile packs and heavy armor. They don’t look like they could possibly fly.

“Last week the airships had disappeared from the base. All three have turned up again today. One is in South Korea, and Asian Fury is handling it. The second is currently over the ocean on its way to Japan, ETA four hours.”

Everybody groans. Superhero shields don’t work well over water for some reason, which means that intercepting the craft before it hits land is risky work. Too risky for the other teams… but probably not for us.

“Command has ordered us to take it down,” confirms Past Prime, “and this is how we are going to do it: we drop in a grid around the ship’s expected course. The course is hard to predict, so we will have to throw everyone we have at it. Those who miss will be picked up in Comets. Anyone who has an acceptable intercept will latch onto the enemy with grappling hooks and take it down. Questions?”

“Where’s the boss?” yells someone.

“Taking out the third saucer. Now, are we set?”

There is a lot of complaining, but we really don’t have much choice. People form a line into the armory based on team hierarchy, with the most experienced at the front and me right at the back. Even the other trainees from my intake are in the line in front of me, which is a little insulting. I can’t even see the front of the line. The technician dresses me with quick efficiency and arms me with my multiblaster and a short ranged melting ray for cutting into the ship. Then he hands me a long, thin tube with a cord connected to its tail. The cord runs into a large orange box which one of the technicians straps to my chest.

“Here’s your rocket harpoon. It has its own radar, so just activate it, throw it and hope it hits. If it does, it will reel you in.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“And if it doesn’t hit?” I ask, but the technicians are already pushing me towards a capsule.

“This is going to put a lot of strain on the cannons,” Bad Memories says as he straps me in place, “they were designed for six at a time, not fifty. Good luck, kid.”

The capsule clicks shut before I can answer. I doubt he would want to hear my opinion, anyway. I wait in the darkness with the harpoon pressed awkwardly against my chest.

Every few seconds I hear a thunk-thunk-thunk as the capsules before me launch. My own capsule is warm, uncomfortably so. It’s a strange life being a superhero: this morning I was being pampered, but now I’m so crushed in my capsule that my legs are starting to cramp up and my eyes are full of sweat.

“Red Five, status check,” says a voice in my helmet.

“Hot in here… I’ve got sweat in my eyes. Otherwise I’m just fine.”

The capsule pops open and a technician leans in. He pulls my helmet off, mops my forehead with a towel and ties a sweat band around my head. My helmet goes back on, the technician gets pulled out and the capsule closes again less than a minute after it opened.

“Set, Red Five?” says my helmet.

“Set,” I say, although it wasn’t really a question.

The harness slams into me, and I wake up in the sky.

The capsule ejects me far higher than I’ve ever been. The air is thin up here, and below me is water stretching out between the horizons. I check my shield: it says 20%, but that drops to 17% as I watch. I can’t see the hybrid saucer below me, so I guess I’ll just hover above the water until someone comes to pick me up.

“Come in, Red Five,” says my radio, startling me.

“Yup,” I say.

“Red Five, you have an intercept path. Prepare to follow trajectory instructions.”

“What? Where?”

“Fly north-north-west as fast as you can, horizontal.”

I start flying, the wind buffeting my body. The cold is already sneaking through my suit; they weren’t designed to fly so high. I don’t know how fast I’m flying, but it feels fast.

“Slow down, Red Five. Angle downwards.”

I follow a list of instructions about my flying, and I feel like I’m being used as a guided missile. Am I expected to fight this saucer or just impact on its side?

“Shield check, Red Five,” says my radio.

I’ve got used to being independent on missions, and this level of micromanaging is getting plenty annoying. I don’t like it at all. The fact that my shield says 14% is not helping my mood.

“Does it make a difference?” I answer into my radio. “It’s not like you will cancel the mission because my shield is low.”

There is a long pause.

“Fair enough,” says the radio, “prep your harpoon now.”

I get my harpoon and hit the big red button on its side. The harpoon searches in the air like a live thing, little jets around the harpoon’s barrel pointing it at the target. It stops when it’s pointing down and to my left, and the missile roars out of the barrel and downwards. I follow it, and see the hybrid saucer for the first time. It’s travelling fast, but so am I. Its eclectic collection of turrets and missile pods don’t look as funny as they did on the satellite image, particularly when they start shooting at me. I’m a small target and most miss, but a few impact painfully on my chest and head. Shields down to 11%.

The harpoon line on my chest goes taut and starts reeling me in. For a horrible minute I'm dragged behind the battleship like rope trailing from a helicopter, whipping around and spinning in the wind. One of the spheroid turrets locks onto me and opens up on me with a trio of machine guns. The sound of the bullets thudding against my armor is disconcerting, but not damaging. I shoot back, but then I’m past the defenses and being held right against my harpoon embedded in the metal armor.

“Red Five, are you locked?” says a new voice in my helmet.

“Locked,” I confirm, trying not to swear.

“Get inside and bring it down,” says the voice.

“Really? REALLY? I was just going to clean the windshield,” I say as I try to cut into the hull with my melting ray.

“Are you inside?” says the voice, which sounds annoyed and, I realize too late, also sounds very important.

I’m probably speaking to a general or air marshal or something now. Perhaps I should be more polite. Nah.

“Nuh. Can’t cut through. I’m going to try crawling over the ship to find a weak point.”

“Negative, Red Five, wait where you are while we consider your position.”

Consider my position? The saucer hits turbulence and I get slammed against the hull. My position is rubbish, and it won’t improve by sticking around. I climb over the hull using the many uneven welds and protrusions as handholds. It’s tricky, but no harder than the infinity wall Small Talk loves so much. I climb up to a gun turret and slash its barrels with my cutter. A second gun turret sees me and opens up with a crude laser cannon, burning through the hull and heating my shield right up.

What kind of idiots would fire on their own ship like that?

I cut into the turret and pull myself inside.

My shield says 5%.

“Red Five, we advise trying to find another way in. Start moving now,” orders my unseen commander.

“Yeah… I already did that. I’m in.”

“Copy. Please wait next time for orders.”

“I won’t,” I say, “but if it’s any consolation I’ll probably be dead before next time. Shields at five…no, four... ugh. Shields low, anyway.”

“Try and get to an engine.”

“What does one of those look like?” I demand.

The radio falls silent, and I feel a brief moment of triumph. The corridor is filled with long power cables and strange computer screens. I blast everything I see as I walk, just to be sure. Occasionally I see human figures racing through the corridors. Some take shots at me with pistols or rifles, but I ignore them.

I didn’t sign up to kill humans.

“Hey kid,” says the familiar voice of Talented Brat, “I thought you might appreciate talking to someone who actually knows what’s going on. Don’t give me that look, marshal, I’m sure the Admiral is–”

The line cuts out. I find a row of laser cannons pointing out the hull like cannons like it was some ancient ship of the line. There is no one around. The ship groans beneath me and rumbles a little. It hasn’t been flying very well at all; I’ll be surprised if we even make it to Japan without crashing.

“I found some cannons,” I offer.

“Right,” says Brat over the radio, “that will do… you need to overload the gun control and destroy it. Then we can send reinforcements and take this baby in one piece.”

“How?”

“Place your blaster on the barrel of the nearest laser; we are going to pulse-shift your suit to overpower them.”

I do as I’m told.

“Now open all the safeties and give the blaster as much as you’ve got.”

Sounds… dangerous. I do as Brat says and my suit starts to warm up alarmingly. Power crackles down my arm and the multiblaster turns bright white.

“Shoot,” suggests Brat.

I shoot. The cannons begin to spark and melt as power surges over them and through the ship. The whole saucer vibrates and lurches as light flashes. The only light is the blue sparks that jump from cannon to cannon, grounding themselves in the walls and occasionally on me as well. The cannon nearest me bursts, showering me with hot metal and balls of lightning. My shield takes a beating; I’m down to 2%.

The cannons explode one by one as the power surges get too much for them. They rip the side of the ship apart, and I only survive by diving behind a thick metal cabinet.

“You could have warned me!” I scream.

“Why? Then you might not have done it,” says Brat in his infuriating way.

He has a point, but I’m still not very happy.

“I think I want to talk to the Admiral again, thanks,” I say.

“Whatever. Just bring the saucer back in one piece.”

“What about me? Can I come back in one piece as well?”

The hybrid saucer seems to be slowing, so whatever I did must have worked.

“Reinforcements inbound,” announces the Admiral.

I can see a Comet drawing near the saucer. I don’t see anyone leaving it, but then Bad Day and Past Prime teleport right next to me. Bad Day disappears again and starts shuttling people over from the Comet. Water drips off Past Prime’s power suit; I guess he missed the saucer the first time around. He’s followed by Never Lies, Born Lucky, Die Laughing and Extremely Dangerous.

“Good work on taking the guns out and slowing this thing down,” says Bad Day.

The others take up guard positions as the ship rolls alarming from side to side. A piece of the wall rips away from the ship and blows away past the Comet. We all dive for something to grab as the wind rips at us, and I manage to hold onto a piece of protruding scaffolding.

“Everyone okay?” asks Past Prime.

We all are, although my shields are low and this ship seems to be only moments from falling right out of the sky.

“This is stooopid,” says Die Laughing, “as if our jobs aren’t hard enough without some idiots trying to build their own saucer. I mean, the world is fragile enough without humans kicking it. This is ridiculous!”

He bangs on the wall and starts laughing at the absurdity of it.

The wall beside him explodes and blows him right out of the ship and into the air like one of his paper planes. I lose track of him against the blue water below, and he’s gone.

“Die Laughing is down,” says the Admiral over the radio as we cling to the broken metal bones protruding from the saucer.

“Saucerfraking triclopshat,” I mutter in shock.

I forgot that everyone can hear me over the radio.

“That’s why this team isn’t publicized like other teams,” says Never Lies, sounding as unhappy as I feel, “they don’t want the world knowing how many of us die.”

“Disposable heroes,” I say, and Never Lies nods.

“Cut the chatter,” orders the Admiral uneasily.

“Let’s get moving. We need to find the command pod on this thing,” orders Past Prime.

We move slowly and carefully through crude metal corridors. A guy with a chainsaw attacks Past Prime, but Prime knocks him unconscious as we walk past. Every time we come to a fork in the corridor Prime looks to Extremely Dangerous to point out the way to go.

A guy with a rifle tries to take us down, but his weapon is useless against our shields, even when we are over water. He empties a full clip with no success and then runs off. We ignore him.

We reach the command pod, but it’s locked off by a series of large doors.

“The saucer will reach the mainland in ten minutes. Bring it down now!” orders the Admiral.

We ignore him.

“We need an in,” says Past Prime.

Our weapons can’t cut through quickly enough.

“Can you get past that door?” I ask Bad Day.

“I have to see where I’m going,” he says.

We’re running out of options.

“Simon Smith?” I say.

Extremely Dangerous places a hand on the door. Thin tentacles of light spread out from his fingers and caress the walls, slipping through hatches and under the door between us and the command pod. We hear screams from the pod, followed by gunfire, but Extremely Dangerous doesn’t seem the least bit worried. The door clicks open.

We all look at Extremely Dangerous in surprise, but he ignores our unasked questions. We walk into the bridge, and the command crew flees. The bridge equipment is a complex mix of old Earth technology and weird alien stuff. We stare at it and I wish Talented Brat was here to help us.

Or my mom. She would have loved this, but I have absolutely no idea what to do.

“There was nothing about this in the training manual,” I say.

Never Lies plays with some of the controls, but they don’t do anything. I bet the bridge crew sabotaged the controls when they left.

“Can you control this thing?” Past Prime asks Extremely Dangerous. “Or is it time to abandon ship?”

Extremely Dangerous stretches out his arms and shakes his head. His head pulses with a light that’s painful to see. The ship shudders, rolls slightly, and levels. The flying suddenly becomes far smoother than before. Lights turn back on, and the walls start to glow brightly as the saucer comes under control.

“Where shall I land it?” Extremely Dangerous asks in a slow, relaxed voice.

Now I understand where he gets his name from.