Trainee Superhero (Book Three)

by C. H. Aalberry

  “How hot is too hot?” I ask. It is going to be strapped to my arm, after all.

  “The fuses will melt at around ninety degrees Celsius. Now-”

  It doesn't take me long to do the calculations in my head: my arm will melt before the fuses do. That’s some great design work, team.

  The color cannon is a bulky barrel that starts above my shoulder, runs down my arm and juts out a foot or so past my hand. It ends in three platinum spikes and looks like a dragon claw.

  “Reminds me of my tat-a-gotchi.”

  “Ah, which one do you have?” asks Brat

  “The small silver dragon. You know them?”

  “I invented them. The silver is rare, you should be pleased.”

  “You didn’t invent them, you just patented them,” puts in Second Best.

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. I think-”

  “-mirror!” shouts Brat, and a full-length mirror folds out of the ceiling in front of me.

  “Happy?” he asks.

  I am. I look good, almost like a real superhero, and I can't wait to take this color cannon for a spin. I'm super happy.

  “Not that I care. Now get that suit off and get out,” Brat says, “I've got important things to do. I want to get to the cafeteria before all the lasagna is gone.”

  He walks off.

  “There’s no lasagna today,” Second Best says, “but I’m glad to be rid of him. Follow me.”

  She leads me through the workshop and into a large office that’s dominated by a desk. The desk is clear, but every wall contains shelves of weird alien tech. There’s a single picture on the wall of two women standing side by side at a restaurant. They are both smiling.

  It takes me a moment to recognize that one of the women is my own mother. I sit down on a crate of welding supplies while Second Best makes us coffee.

  “I hear your shields are good,” she says.

  “Yes, I guess they are.”

  “You can thank your mom for that, you know.”

  “Why?”

  Second Best taps the side of her head.

  “We gave you an unfair advantage, you see. To keep you alive.”

  Alien tech in my head? That I didn’t put there myself?

  “Plus the stuff you put there yourself. Oh yes, I noticed even if Brat didn’t. That was very risky, but they seem to be working. Come on, I’ll tune them up for you.”

  She spends half an hour checking over my implants. Everything seems fine.

  “One of a kind, your mother. She invented the test they gave you at the Superhero Corps recruitment center. You were the first civilian she tried it on, but you were probably too young to remember. You had enough superpowers to get into the Corps, but not enough power to survive for long. Her implants allow you to control your shields better than anyone else can.”

  “Why didn’t she give me an implant to help me control my weapons?” I ask.

  Second Best gives me a long, knowing look.

  “She was your mother,” she says, “not some mad scientist. Now, let’s take that new suit out for a spin.”

  Wait… did I really see Tenchi?

  Lesson Twelve: No Risk, No Reward

  “I was born rich, handsome and well connected. Yes, I was born lucky. I could have had an easy life, but life without risk is a dull thing. I will earn my greatness.”

  -Extract from Born Lucky's email to Dark Fire, the only occasion of someone volunteering for the Cerberus Brawlers.

  “Cold Comet was like a daughter to me, and I will never forget her. I also lost an arm and most of my leg that day, and I may never fly again. Yet what we found will save the Earth, and isn’t that our purpose?”

  -Master Bansuri, statement at Dark Fire’s trial.

  I’m climbing the infinity wall when Small Talk arrives at the bottom. I ignore him; I’m so close to that stupid bell that this could be the run.

  My collar explodes in pain and I hit the mat.

  “The boss wants to see you,” Small Talk says, leaning over me.

  He grabs my arm and escorts me out of the training hall up corridors I’ve never used before. We pass stewards, technicians and medics who do their best to stay out of our way. Small Talk leads me up a set of stairs and into a small, dark office with a single window looking over the Cerberus’ three cannons. We must be in the boat’s island, the tower sitting to one side of the deck. The room is dominated by a wooden desk piled high with computers and hologram projectors. A bookshelf runs along one wall of the room, and Never Lies is browsing the books. She doesn’t look up when we enter. Past Prime is also here, standing beside a weapons rack that holds long metal swords. Small Talk points me to the center of the room and then stands beside Never Lies.

  Dark Fire is sitting behind the desk; he does not look happy to see me. He’s in full combat armor. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him out of his armor. He’s about four feet tall, but exudes power.

  “Red Five,” he says, “this panel has convened to assess your potential as a superhero. We have come to the conclusion that you have some talent, but not enough to be accepted into our team. You are too prone to risk, and to injury.”

  “What? Come on!” I object.

  “You need to work harder if you want to make it.”

  Work harder?

  “I'm working as hard as I can,” I say.

  “Then this is as good as you will ever get,” says Dark Fire.

  “Then this is as good as I’ll ever get,” I argue back, “but I think I’ve shown it's good enough for cannon fodder. The Cerberus Brawlers have had a lot of casualties recently, so you need me.”

  My three instructors glare at me.

  “Why are you here?” asks Dark Fire.

  “Past Prime brought me,” I answer.

  Never Lies chuckles, so I guess that was the wrong answer.

  “I want to be a superhero,” I try.

  Small Talk just shakes his head at that.

  A silence descends on the room. They are still waiting on my answer.

  “I want to avenge my mother. I want to kill saucers.”

  Another awkward pause.

  “You are charged with assaulting The General with full knowledge as to his identity. Assaulting a superhero is considered treason,” says Dark Fire.

  “I never-”

  “-we don’t care. All three of your instructors have taken a swing at The General at one point or another, and so have I. The point is that you were sent here, but you are too young. I know that Past Prime has talked to you about joining Mercy…have you considered it?”

  “No. No disrespect to Mercy, they do good work, but I want to fight. You need me.”

  “We knew your mother,” says Dark Fire, “and she wouldn’t want you to die so young. We owe her.”

  That shuts me up, but not for long.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You should-”

  “I’m staying!” I yell.

  No one responds to my tantrum. A deep and awkward silence falls over the room.

  “We have been testing you. You are too slow in sparring, in climbing,” says Dark Fire at last. “You have some talent in assessment and information gathering, but you lack precision. You are too young, too rash. We don’t want your death on our hands.”

  “-No!” I interrupted forcefully, “I want to fight. Cape or coffin, nothing in between. You would be stupid to send me to Mercy.”

  “Dangerous, boy,” mutters Past Prime.

  I don’t apologize.

  “This is a good offer. You will be safe. Think about it,” urges Never Lies, “really.”

  “I have.”

  Every day of my life since Mom died.

  “Everybody dies eventually,” I say, “I just want to die trying to do something good.”

  “And you will,” mutters Past Prime.

  “And you will,” says Dark Fire, “but only if you can prove yourself. Now get out of my office.”

  They cance
l my team assignments. I start training harder than I ever have, but my three instructors have abandoned me. I stay in the training hall from morning to night, skipping meals to get more time in the simulator, setting the difficulties higher and higher. I spar with the multi-armed training robot until I can best it two times out of five at a medium setting. It’s not a great record, but it’s better than nothing. My sparring draws a crowd of superheroes who enjoy watching me take a beating. I know there’s a betting pool going on, and that means that some people are going to get egg on their heads. Literally.

  The superheroes have no need for money, so they bet the right to throw eggs at each other. They bet on everything, from who can get the most kills on a mission to when Chef will make lasagna again. My duels with the sparring robot are the flavor of the week, and so far over a hundred eggs have been bet on me.

  “What are the odds on me hitting that damn bell on the climbing wall?” I ask Bad Day at dinner time.

  He gives me a long, slow look, taking in my many bruises.

  “Three hundred to one, the largest odds we’ve ever seen. No one’s taken it up yet.”

  I head back to the hall after dinner and start climbing the wall.

  “Hey kid,” someone calls out.

  It’s Pet Shark, and he seems happy to see me.

  “What?” I say cautiously.

  “I heard what happened. Both Never Lies and Small Talk voted to promote you but Past Prime and Dark Fire said no. What’s with that?”

  “I dunno,” I lie.

  “Liar. You just need to prove yourself.”

  “How?”

  “Climb the wall and hit that bell. The rest of us have, it’s a piece of cake. It’s embarrassing that you can’t, really. The wall is out for maintenance until midnight, but you can try then. Hit the bell and you’re in.”

  I don’t know whether to trust him, but what else can I do?

  I train in the simulator until midnight and then head down to the wall. It's dark and quiet in the training hall, and I am alone.

  “Lights on,” I say.

  I walk to the bottom of the infinity wall and look up. The bell isn’t that far up, really. It should be easy, right? All I need is someone to help me start the wall moving. Pet Shark steps out of the shadows.

  “Need a hand?” he asks.

  He’s smiling again, and that worries me.

  “Why are you being so helpful?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Just being friendly,” he says innocently.

  I doubt it, but Pet Shark has a perfect poker face. I consider my options, but it’s not like I have anything to lose.

  “Let’s do this.”

  I climb, fall, repeat. Pet Shark laughs at me, but I ignore him.

  “I do enjoy watching you fall,” he says, “you will never make it.”

  He’s right. I won’t make it by climbing, so there is only one other way for me to hit that bell. I can see it in my head, and it ends badly. I take a break at the bottom of the cliff as I think about my options.

  Past Prime is standing by the wall watching me. I didn’t see him arrive, and I don’t care about what he thinks of me. He doesn’t say anything, but he glares at Pet Shark.

  I start climbing, pushing myself harder than I ever have. The wall slides past me, the handholds getting smaller and more spaced out as the levels go past. I’m almost at the top of the wall as ‘Level Seven’ passes me. I know I have ten seconds of relatively easy climbing before the next level drops me. I lose a little ground as the wall speeds up, but then I find a good foothold and leap right into the air and towards the bell. I slap it and the tips of my finger just miss it.

  I fall, hitting the ground hard.

  Past Prime makes no move to help me. Small Talk is standing next to him, as silent as ever. Never Lies has joined them, and I feel like I’m being judged.

  “Where’s Dark Fire?” I ask, “I want to show him I can do this.”

  My instructors ignore me, but Dark Fire steps out of the shadows to join them. He doesn’t look pleased.

  I start my climb again, but this time I feel a surge of adrenaline that pushes me up the cliff. I’m not climbing, I’m flying, and no wall will keep me down. I make the eighth level, the first time I’ve ever got so far, then launch myself up and at the bell. This time I touch it.

  Bing.

  I fall, sliding through the air, past the mats below the infinity wall and towards the ground headfirst. I stick my arms out to protect myself and hit the ground hard. My arm snaps and my forehead bangs into the floor. The pain is terrible, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I look at my arm and a bone poking through the skin. I roll over and see Pet Shark smiling at me.

  “Help?” I ask.

  “Look at you, bleeding everywhere. How untidy,” says Pet Shark reproachfully.

  I didn’t think he was a compassionate man, but he fetches the medical kit from beside the infinity wall and pulls it out of its plastic package.

  Thank goodness.

  Pet Shark hands me the plastic cover and puts the medical kit back in place.

  “Try and bleed into that, you'll make less mess.”

  I stick my arm in the bag and blood starts pooling in the bottom. I’m losing a lot of blood, but my instructors don’t make a move to help me.

  “I told you this would happen if we pushed him,” says Never Lies, because she enjoys being right.

  She turns her back and walks away.

  “He did better than you ever have,” yells Pet Shark, but she just gives him the middle finger without even turning around.

  Small Talk gives Dark Fire an intense look and then follows Never Lies, leaving my two doubters to watch over me.

  “Guess she was right… I’ve changed my vote,” announces Dark Fire, “coffee, sensei?”

  Pet Shark grabs my shirt and helps me to my feet.

  “You did great, kid,” he says loudly, but then pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “I never thought you’d make it. No one ever has, I just wanted to see how far I could push you. Dark Fire doesn’t mind me playing with the trainees, but if you tell anyone else I put you up to this, I’ll kill you. Now get!”

  I get.

  I find a steward in the corridor and she helps me to the medical bay. The nurses don't even bat an eye at my injuries, but just sit me down and pump replacement blood into my arm. They work with such practiced efficiency that they don’t even take their eyes off the late night TV show on the monitors. The doctor arrives, scowls at me, and points me towards a big black auto-surgery box. I stick my arm in the box. It whirls quietly as it sets my arm. The nurses give me a glass of orange juice and a pack of pills while they check my head. I'm feeling pretty good by the time I finish the juice and pull my arm out of the black box. It's wrapped in bandages.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” I say.

  “We haven’t even started yet,” says the nurse, and pushes a needle into my neck.

  I wake up in the sick bay. This has become such a frequent occurrence that they’ve set up a bed just for me.

  “You should apply for a frequent fliers card,” says the younger nurse.

  The doctor, Got Greedy arrives. He checks me over and leaves without a word.

  “He doesn’t seem to like me much,” I tell the nurse.

  “No,” she says with a smile, “but don’t take it personally. He’s been grumpy ever since he was conscripted for this role as an alternative to going to jail for selling med tech on the black market.”

  “He’s a criminal?” I say, only somewhat surprised.

  “A talented criminal,” she corrects me, “which is why your arm is now more metal than bone. Now get some rest.”

  I wait for her to leave, and then I stand up. My arm is in a cast, but I feel fine. More metal than bone? I can live with that. I’m doing one-armed push-ups when Never Lies walks into the room. She gives me a bemused look and shakes her head.

  “You’re an idiot,” she says.

  That’s a fair ass
essment.

  “No one has ever hit the bell, you know. It’s meant to be an impossible challenge to teach trainees to push themselves in a situation they can’t win.”

  I didn’t know that.

  “I don’t know what possessed you to throw yourself around like that. What were you thinking?”

  I shrug.

  “I wanted to impress you. I guess I was too stupid to know when I was beat,” I say.

  “Past Prime tried to argue that you mother wouldn’t want you fighting and that this incident proved you take too many risks.”

  “I guess my mom wouldn’t want me fighting,” I admit.

  “No one’s mother wants their kids to fight, but Past Prime is too old to remember that. Anyway, Small Talk said you have the kind of stupid we need, and even Dark Fire was impressed.”

  “So you voted to let me join?” I ask.

  “I did. I don’t think you are the worst superhero I’ve ever seen. Now get some sleep.”

  They keep me in the sick bay for another three days, although I don’t really see the point. I’m ready to get out of here. I play with my tat-a-gotchi, making it do tricks. It’s grown bigger now, a long serpent with crystalline wings and a sharp beak.

  “I remember when you were a lame little worm,” I tell it.

  Someone coughs politely to get my attention. It’s the grey-haired steward.

  “They want you in the armory,” he tells me, and I’m finally free.

  Second Best and Talented Brat are standing in the middle of the armory waiting for me. A crowd of technicians are gathered around them, and everyone seems excited.

  “Come here, lad,” Brat says.

  He points me towards a suit of armor in a dark corner. I can’t see any details.

  “Turn on a light or something,” I say.

  A single spotlight turns on and illuminates the suit. It’s a squat and bulky thing, all sharp corners and flat surfaces with no concession to aerodynamics. The helmet is a thick cube of black glass, and the chest and legs are covered in bulky flat metal.

  “Woah,” I say.

  The left arm is a thick rectangle ending in a barrel, the right arm is a set of rods encased in a set of clear glass cubes and a heavy prism sits on each shoulder. The prisms look like short-range cutting lasers. It’s a heavier suit than any I’ve ever seen, with overlapping metal squares all over.