Trainee Superhero (Book One) (8 page)

It’s been two weeks since my first mission,
and the training is already working. I’m getting stronger and
faster; I’ve never looked so fit. I wish Stace could see me
now!

“I feel so strong! If I knew how fast muscles
build I would have done this ages ago,” I tell my personal
trainer.

“Yeah, but most of that muscle isn’t because
of your working out, it’s because of the weird things the Superhero
Corps do to your body.”

I remember what the recruitment officer had
said. I still don’t know what infranetics is, but it might be the
reason I’m getting stronger every day.

“I’m okay with that,” I say.

“I would be, too,” the trainer agrees,
“because I bet it cost a fortune to tune you up like that.”

Past Prime
seems to be in charge of my
physical training. He’s harsh, and I end most days covered in
bruises from sparring. He broke my arm during one session, but a
medic just put it in a cast and told me to get used to it.

“I think he did it on purpose,” I told the
medic

“I can’t see him doing it by mistake,” the
medic agreed.

Mostly I train alone. I suspect that the
other cadets eat together and go to classes that I’m not invited
to, and I don’t know why I’ve been singled out. I’m escorted back
to my room as soon as I finish training, and I haven’t seen the sky
since my first mission. I even eat in my room, alone, off trays
that technicians leave on my table. The food is good, but the
company leaves something to be desired. My tat-a-gotchi spins on my
arms and flaps its silver wings to entertain me. It’s getting
bigger, and looks a little like a dragon. It blinks at me and slaps
my arm with its tail.

“Computer on, please.”

My emails are the only thing keeping me sane.
Tenchi and Dad send me videos most days, and Stace drops me a line
every day.

“One new video. Play?”

“Yes.”

“How’s superschool? My friend says it’s
tough, and that I should tell you to hang in there. I’ve joined the
super corps as an analyst, although my dad isn’t happy. Maybe we’ll
meet up? I hope so.”

Stace will make an excellent analyst. We met
in an advanced math class run by a local university; she was a lot
better than me. I’ll bet her dad wouldn’t be happy that’s she’s
talking to me. Most of Stace’s videos are about how the town is
recovering from the saucer attack, and what was destroyed. My
favorite cinema is still standing, which is good news. They had the
best popcorn.

I reply to each of her emails even though I
know I can’t send anything out.

“Dear Stace, hero school is worse than
anything I expected. I broke my arm during training but we didn’t
even slow down. I’ve only been on one mission so far, and it ended
badly. The food is good, though.”

There is a knock on the door, and I close the
computer. It’s a steward, but not one I’ve ever seen before. This
base is full of them, all working to keep the superheroes fit and
happy. Like butlers, in a way.

“I’m to take you to the armory,” the steward
explains.

We walk quickly as I stuff more of the
delicious food into my mouth. I’m done by the time we arrive. We
walk past a room filled with lounges, bookshelves and TVs. A team
of suited up superheroes is waiting there, some watching the
screens and others reading. They aren’t wearing their helmets and
seem more bored than worried. I wonder what they are waiting
for.

The technician guides me into the armory and
directs me to a battered set of armor where
Bad Memories
and
three other technicians are waiting for me. I get suited up. It
doesn’t take long.
Bad Memories
watches me, but says
nothing. He is in a dark green shirt and seems to be in charge. The
other technicians are only identified by numbers on their pale
green shirts. I still struggle to walk in the suit, but I manage to
waddle through the armory behind
Bad Memories
. He doesn’t
lead me to the cannon pods like I expect, but past them to a small
waiting room with a series of doors.

“No cannons today?”

“Today you take the chariot,”
Bad
Memories
says, “but be on your best behavior because-”

Small Talk
walks into the room and
Bad Memories
shuts up. He pretends to fuss over my suit to
avoid looking at
Small Talk
. A couple of technicians help
Small Talk
into his armor, which takes only a few seconds.
He’s ready before I am and walks over to watch me.

His suit looks like it was carved from a
single bar of platinum and then dragged through hell and back. It’s
dented and scratched, but still bright. His name is written in
small, sharp letters across his chest, but the suit has no designs
or colors to make it memorable. I’m used to seeing superheroes in
flamboyantly colored costumes, but it seems that’s not how the
Cerberus Brawlers
roll.
Small Talk
’s suit has a naked
brutality that suits him well. He isn’t armed, yet he still looks
more threatening than any super I have met so far.

And that includes both
The General
and
Past Prime
.

He glares at me, but I meet his gaze.

“Follow,”
Small Talk
growls at me as
he walks out a door.

We walk into a small hangar and towards a
Comet-Seven aircraft. Comets are the fastest aircraft in the world,
although they still aren’t nearly as fast as the cannon pods. The
ramp at the back of the Comet drops open and
Small Talk
leads me up into a small, cramped space behind the pilots’ cabin.
There are six small chairs with serious straps and buckles.
Small Talk
picks a seat and straps himself in, and I do the
same.

“Set,” he calls into his helmet.

The Comet has no windows, but I can feel it
rise into the air and then speed up quickly.
Small Talk
says
nothing, so I try to strike up a conversation.

“Um… what are we-”

Small Talk
glares at me and I stop in
mid-sentence. It seems that introductions will have to wait until I
am much, much braver. We fly for about ten minutes before the craft
slows to a hover and the ramp opens.
Small Talk
unstraps
himself and walks to the ramp. I join him without waiting to be
asked. The craft rocks in the air and I wobble in my walk, grasping
a handle beside the open ramp. I look out; we are hovering about a
hundred meters above a rocky shore.

“Power up,”
Small Talk
orders, and
pulls a lever on my suit.

My helmet closes with a thud and a radio in
my helmet clicks on.

“Trainee
Red Five
primary assessment,”
a bored voice says, “
Small Talk
as leading assessor,
Talented Brat
assisting.”

“Um…hello?” I say.

“Hey kid, try not to clog the airways,” says
the voice. Whoever I’m talking to sounds like they have better
places to be.

“I’ll be quiet, but at least tell me what’s
going on?”

“Training day, kid. Every person controls the
saucer tech differently, which is why every superhero has a
different set of powers. It’s time for us to find out what you are
capable of. We normally wait a bit longer before bringing trainees
out here, but for some reason we are making an exception for you.
Now best pay attention, flight training is about to begin.”

The radio clicks off as we get lower to the
ground. The shore below us is part of a small island made entirely
of dark, sharp rocks. There aren’t many flat areas amongst the
rocks. I lean out over the edge of the ramp for a better look.

“Where are we going to land?” I ask.

Small Talk
kicks me off the ramp. I
fall for a few seconds before I realize he isn’t planning on
catching me.

“Argh! Fly! Fly! Fly!” I scream, but my suit
doesn’t oblige until I’m only a meter above the ground.

Light bursts from my palms and feet, slowing
me down to a hover. My suit shudders and I fall, hitting the ground
hard and rolling along until I hit a rocky spire.
Small Talk
lands beside me, grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

“You could have killed me!” I scream at
him.

Small Talk
gives me a cold stare and
then shakes his head.

“If you can’t survive that, you have no place
amongst us,” he says.

Touché. It doesn’t look like anyone is going
to cut me any slack. On the other hand,
Small Talk
’s
approach to training had me flying, if only for a second. He walks
off, and I follow him over the rocks until we reach an overlook
above the ocean waves.
Small Talk
looks at the waves as if
they have personally offended him. He turns to me and looks me
right in the eyes with an intense look I can’t quite meet.

“We draw our powers from the alien
technology. It’s mostly instinct; you either have it or you don’t.
Today we find out what you are capable of.”

“Okay,” because I don’t know what else I can
add.

“The only way to test instinct is to rely on
it.”

“Okay…”

“You will not need to think, only react.
Understand?”

“Ah…yes?”

Small Talk
shakes his head as if
disappointed with me. I’m feeling scared, so I do the same thing
I’ve always done when I’m scared: I pick a fight.

“Are you going to teach me how to fly, or are
we going to chat all day?” I ask.

“Not smart, kid,” says the voice in my ear.
He sounds amused.

Small Talk
doesn’t smile, but he
doesn’t get angry either. He simply picks me up and lifts me into
the air.

“Focus on control, stability. Aim your hands
and feet down like I do. It’s not the only way to fly, but it’s the
most common.”

Then he drops me, and I fall like a stone. I
hit the ground hard, but my shields take most of the damage.

“Get on with it, kid,” says the bored
voice.

“Quiet,
Brat
,”
Small Talk
says,
“or come down here and show him how to do it.”

That shuts
Talented Brat
up, which is
nice, but it doesn’t help me fly. I could only fly when my life was
depending on it.
Small Talk
moves towards me, lifts me off
the ground, and carries me towards the cliff edge.

“Wait,” I say, “I’ll do it.”

Small Talk
shrugs and sets me down. I
take a deep breath. Superheroes can fly; I need to be able to do
this. I step to the edge of the cliff. It’s a long way down, and
the rocks beneath me look sharp and hard.

I jump.

The drop is terrifying but flight kicks in
just above the water, and I just avoid getting wet. I struggle
through the air back up towards
Small Talk
. My flying is
bumpy and clumsy. I rise through the air and then drop back down
again unsteadily until I come to a stable hover near
Small
Talk
.

“Land,” he orders.

I land.
Small Talk
grabs my right arm
and points at two large dials set into the glove. They are
analogue, and look terribly old fashioned.

“Power,”
Small Talk
s says, pointing at
the slightly larger one. It’s divided into a blue section at its
higher range, a grey section in the middle range and a thin red
section right at the lower end of the scale.

“Flying and weapons fighting use power,” says
Brat
over the radio, “shields charge from surplus power.
When the dial is in the blue area your shields are charging. Don’t
let it drop to red or you will drop out of the sky. Set?”

I hear an urgent
whaah-whaah-whaah
sound in my helmet.

“That’s your low power alarm. If you hear
that, land or die.”

I nod.

“Shield,” says
Small Talk
, pointing at
the second dial on my arm.

I hear a second alarm, a shrill
beep-beep-beep.

“That’s your low shield alarm. If you hear
that, run. Can we move on now?” says
Brat
.

“Play the other alarms,” orders
Small
Talk
.

I hear a
tick-tick-tick
that sounds
like a bomb about to go off. It’s replaced by a
bang-bang-bang
like a giant’s footsteps.

“Enemy weapons lock and large enemy proximity
alarm. Dodge or run, for the lock. The prox alarm will only ring
for the real nasty stuff, so if you hear that… I don’t know,
probably just panic and then die.”

“No. Fight,” corrects
Small Talk
.

“Good luck with that,” mutters
Brat
.

“Follow,” says
Small Talk
.

He takes off slowly into the air. I manage to
keep up, and we race across the island in a set of long leaps. I
check my power: I’m in the grey section. Looking at my arm
distracts me and I get halfway through a loop when I start
overthinking my actions and crash down into the stones. I check my
shields: 98%. I barely felt that.
Small Talk
flies over my
head and beckons me back into the air.

It’s hard work, and every time I start
feeling confident we speed up. I have to stop a few times to
recharge my power, but
Small Talk
never tires. He leads me
through an obstacle course of floating poles and hoops. I crash
into most of them, because I’m even clumsier in the air than I am
on the ground. The suit shields me from hits that would otherwise
have killed me, but I’m still getting battered around. We keep
going until my low power alarm rings out (
whaah-whaah
) and
Talented Brat
calls a stop.

“Flight test complete,” he says, “weak
agility, average speed, average stamina. Let’s move this on
already.”

We land beside a set of big metal crates.
Brat
talks to me through my helmet as
Small Talk
walks to the crates. They are full of weapons.
Small Talk
hands me a powerglove and points me towards a metal cube set into
the sand. The glove lights up.