Free Trainee Superhero (Book One) by C. H. Aalberry

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,