Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Pope's dreams were once more filled with a mixture of his original memories, Oran's memories, and his recent experiences flying and fighting with his new found powers. Eventually these dreams faded and for the first time since waking in the hospital he found himself seeping deeply. It was late Tuesday morning when Tetyana finally roused from his slumber.

"How are you feeling? Any headaches, nausea, or dizziness?" Her accent stirred something in Oran's adolescent loins. "Your mother sent me to check."

Pope took mental stock of his recent injuries.

He had often found himself in hospitals or sickbeds both when he was a fearless, if accident prone, teen and during his military career. Over time he had developed a ritual he used to test his condition. Starting at his feet, he tested each major joint, moving them carefully to see if there were any strains, sprains, or breaks. The movement would usually pull any cuts or burns enough to let him know of the presence of the injuries. He ended with one hand testing his head and the other his groin. Saving the two most important bits for last.

Going through the ritual silently, Pope was amazed to find no pain. He knew he had taken a couple of serious blows during the fight with Amok. But he found no evidence of his cracked ribs or bruised back. "Wow! Those doc's must have been really good. I feel great."

The Russian maid stopped him when he started to spring from the bed. "Take it easy," she said. "You are on a lot of pain meds so you probably can't feel anything."

Pope was familiar with the vaguely queasy, light-headed feeling that indicated serious narcotics. There was nothing like that this time. Instead he found himself clear-headed for the first time in days. Deciding not to argue the point, he said, "No sign of nausea, in fact I'm pretty hungry."

She put her hand on his forehead then on each cheek, while looking deeply into his eyes. "Alright. I'll make your something light. Your mother is in her office. You should see her first."

Pope decided to go talk to his mom and let her know he was feeling fine. Wait! What did I just say...my mom? He stopped, looking in the mirror over the bathroom sink. The face of the young man staring out was much more familiar than the last couple of day's exposure would explain.

He examined his thoughts. Somehow Oran's memories had integrated with his own. He could tell the difference, but he no longer automatically thought of his teen body as a different person or of his family as Oran's mother and step-father. He was still Sam Pope, but in some very odd way he was also Oran Bry, or at least what was left of him.

If I am going to be stuck here then I think this may be a good thing, he decided. I need to start thinking in the local language, so to speak. If I'm going to play the role of Oran, I really need to get into character or I'm going to start messing up. I have had it easy so far as I've only had to interact with Mom, Tetyana, and Jock, and not all that much with them. That's going to change any day now. So...I'm Oran and this is my house and family. This is my life.

He nodded to himself in the mirror and finished his morning ritual. It was different without having to shave. His cheeks were smooth without a trace of whiskers or pimples. He noticed that even his mouth tasted clean, before he had brushed his teeth. "That's not normal ..." he muttered. Oran's ... his memories showed that it was normal for Oran, even before the accident. He had no whiskers, acne, body odor, or bacterial bad breath. Garlic bread still left him stinky. But nothing bacterial. Something going on there, he thought. Mutant body chemistry?

Eventually he finished dressing and met his mother in her office. She was dressed in business casual and video conferencing with someone Oran only vaguely recognized as a charity contact. "Please check on that and get back to me. DEMA never meets all the needs, especially for the homeless. I've got to go. I have another meeting. Take care."

Once the closed the video window she turned to Oran with a smile. "How are you, baby? Tetyana said you were feeling better."

"I'm feeling pretty great. Hungry, but no pain or trouble breathing."

She looked at him searchingly. Oran remembered this was her "Are you lying to me?" look. As he was being truthful, as far as that went, he returned her gaze comfortably. "Alright," she said, "you should go get something to eat."

"I was thinking I might go for a walk in the park this afternoon," Oran said. "I'm going a little stir crazy."

"Fine," she allowed. "But be careful and if you start feeling bad, come home. And make sure you have your phone. Call me if you need anything."

"Umm ... I think my phone got blown up, in the lab."

"I had not realized ... here," she pulled a small phone out of a drawer and handed it to him. "Use this until we can get you a new one. You may want to give your friends a call. It's likely they have been trying to contact you."

"Thanks," Pope hesitated then initiated a hug with her. I am Oran. I AM Oran. Be the boy...

It was midafternoon before Oran was out of the apartment and on the street. Rather than crossing into Central Park, he walk the three blocks north to the area of the early morning battle. Barricades guarded by uniformed police and people in DEMA windbreakers separated the battle zone from the interested onlookers. From the activities Oran could see, freely utilizing his special vision, he concluded that the preliminary investigations had been wrapped up as the majority of the work seemed to be clearing the wreckage and rigging the damaged buildings to avoid further collapse.

As he watched the activities, Pope reviewed the fight from the night before. I reviewed it with his combat veteran's eye. Oran's memories supplied the information on both Amok, the rampaging monster, and on the heroes of Youngblood. He realized that the six super teens had no chance of defeating the unstoppable giant. Instead they were attempting to delay or divert him long enough to clear out the area of civilians and were likely hoping that some of the more powerful heroes would join them. Their delaying tactics seemed to have had limited success.

His own actions were wholly unplanned and unnecessarily destructive. Any positive effect was almost at random. That he was able to focus his last energy pulse enough to remove the threat from the immediate area only meant that he sent it to someplace not prepared to defend against it. Why Amok disappeared after his attack was unknown. Pure luck kept hi from killing anyone.

If he was going to do that sort of thing again, he needed to learn what his powers were and how to use them. He needed to train. The question was did he want to use his powers like that? Did he want to be a superhero?

Samuel Pope came from a family with a long history of military service. Generation after generation had offered their sons and husbands to fight the nation's wars. Army, Navy, and Marines. While many had been pilots since the advent of air power, it was a family in-joke that none had served in the Air Force. Pope himself had attended West Point, graduating in 1972, during the height of Vietnam. He joined the 281st Assault Helicopter Company and flew numerous missions in Vietnam and surrounding countries in support of US Special Forces.

After the War he was involved in the creation of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. He left active duty in 1983, after the United States invasion of Grenada. He joined the Reserves and became a civil affairs officer. In his civilian life he worked as a consultant on civil and military aviation administration. He married and had two kids, both daughters. His wife died in 2001 in the attack on the Twin Towers. His daughters blamed him. They all knew it was an irrational emotion, yet they still became estranged. The last years of his life were spent alone, teaching at various professional military education institutions, ending as a professor at the National War College.

Oran's life had been one of abuse among affluence. He had few memories of his real father, only lingering grief at his loss. Instead he remembered years of mental, emotional, and physical pain inflicted by his step-father, step-brother, and bullies at school. His mother tried to keep him safe, but he was not willing to force her to choose between him and her husband, so he learned to hide his pain.

He wandered the park, thinking about what Pope had seen in Vietnam and on many secret missions in hidden parts of the world. He was no stranger to what happened when good men did nothing to prevent evil and protect innocents. After watching the Towers collapse, tearing his wife from her family, he did not have it in him to stand by and do nothing. Oran knew wat it was like to be weak. To have no one save him. He finally made the choice. If he could use these powers to make a difference, he would.

He began to plan his next steps.

It was almost dark by the time he left the park. He wanted to swing by the battle site before heading home. When he got there, he was amazed at the amount of work that had been accomplished in the last few hours. Most of the debris had been cleared and temporary covers placed over many of the broken windows. The DEMA workers were using technologies unfamiliar to Pope, though Oran was able to identify many of the devices from his extensive readings.

"Oran!" came a cry from behind him.

He turned to see a young woman approaching him. Oran's memories kicked in, identifying her as Hester Kim, a classmate. The sudden bloom of affection he felt at her appearance surprised him. She played a prominent role in Oran's memories as one of his two or three closest friends. She was a slim Eurasian girl of medium height with short black hair and glasses, wearing a Youngblood t-shirt over khaki shorts and Birkenstocks. She swept him into a tight hug, then jerked back as if he was electrified.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you were hurt," she said contritely. "How are you feeling? We tried to visit you in the hospital, but they wouldn't let us. The nurses said you were quarantined. But Kirstin said she had seen you and you were recovering after a few days."

Pope was uncertain how to react around her. It was obvious she wanted to hug him but was uncertain. He wanted to hug her but felt pervy hugging an unrelated girl so much younger than him. She knew Oran better than almost anyone. No way I can convince her I am the old Oran, he worried.

"I'm ok now," Oran said. "Thanks for thinking about me. It is just as well, you couldn't get in. I was pretty out of it, even after I had awoken. I'm not sure why I should have been quarantined."

Thinking about the lab accident and the fate of the other two people in the area, Pope could easily see why the authorities might want to keep him isolated until it could be determined if he was somehow responsible for the others' deaths. There was also the idea that it might have been an emergence event. Keeping him sequestered until any potential powers manifested and his reaction to them could be judged also made sense form a public health and security point of view.

"Did you hear about what happened here last night?" Hester asked.

"You mean the yakisoba truck running out of noodles? I heard there was almost a riot." Oran asked innocently. "You know how I love my yakisoba. I was devastated."

She looked at him like she was wondering if he should still be in the hospital. "You like yakisoba? Wait ...what are you talking about? Never mind! I meant the Youngblood fight. They were right here!"

"Youngblood?" he asked feigning uncertainty.

"Don't be a dick," Hester growled. "I know you have a Bombshell poster on your bedroom wall. You can't playing dumb. You suck at it."

Oran thought for a minute and realized she was right. He did have a poster on his wall of the girl he had caught as she crashed through the building, along with images of several other buxom beauties, many of whom were heroines. "Right. Sorry."

"So, did you see anything? You're only a few blocks away." Hester persisted.

Oran thought telling her about his close, personal view of the fight was not a good idea so he prevaricated. "I was down in the shelter with my Mom, but we saw part of it on TV."

"Did you see Bombshell?" the young woman squeed, hitting a frequency that was particularly painful to his newly acute ears. "She was so cool. Amok knocked her though a building, a freaking building! And she still came back fighting." Hester pointed to the patch that was covering the hole high on the building near them.

"I didn't see that part, but I did see her fly back into the fight."

"Yeah! She was with that new guy. I heard the net is calling him Pulsar, you know because of the energy pulses he put out." They walked across the street to take up residence on an empty bench facing the ongoing reconstruction effort. Lim pulled out a metal bottle. "Want some?" she offered.

"No thanks," he declined. Oran's memories showed that Hester was a fan of sever non-potable drinks from Korea and Japan. Oran was a bit of a Japanophile, but he still had no idea what a 'pocari' was or why anyone would drink its sweat. He had no idea what was in the bottle but was not willing to risk it.

Changing the subject back to the previous one he asked. "Do the net trolls get to name any new super that happens to come along?"

"No. But if they don't give their own name, we have to call them something. And I'm not a troll."

"I didn't mean you. You're way too cute to be a troll."

"What!" she started blushing and looked away from him.

Pope realized the standard complimentary banter that he commonly used with girls his granddaughters' age might be taken as flirtatious rather than avuncular coming from an age peer. Crap! Not what I meant.

"Er ... sorry? I didn't mean to embarrass you," he tried.

Running quickly through Oran's interactions with the girl, Pope saw they talked more about things and events than each other or their feelings. Oran may not yet have really noticed she was not one of the guys. Pretty common for kids their age. Or so he thought. It was decades since his girls were teens and many more since he was one himself.

After a few moments of strained silence Hester inquired, "Are you going to be up for tomorrow's trek to the science museum. Alex said the new Living in Orbit exhibition is worth seeing."

Oran considered. His memories supplied that his three closest friends from Westminster Academy had made plans to see the traveling exhibit that showcased the High Guard and other permanent habitats in space. As this was an area this dimension was much further along than his home, he decided it would be worth seeing. Getting along with these teens was something he knew he would need to work on. And a museum trip seemed like a less stressful start than waiting until the first day of school. "What time tomorrow and where should we meet?"

"Well meet at the Rose Center entrance at 10am. We can do lunch at Bricks then ... whatever. Maybe a movie or if something good is at the planetarium..." She sounded more uncertain as she went on.

"We'll think of something."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then." She gently hugged him. "I'm really glad you're ok."

Oren watched her leave, moving a touch more quickly than was normal. But she was a teenager and they could be odd creatures. He looked at his watch. It was almost 5pm. He was expected back at the apartment before 6, so he had a bit of leeway. He started looking around, adjusting his vision to see what he could see.

He found by mentally sliding something he was able to shift his perception up and down the EM spectrum. This allowed him to detect heat signatures, even radio and cell transmissions. If he concentrated on a particular EM signal, like a person walking by talking on their smartphone, he found Oran's brain doing something Pope had no idea how to do. Suddenly he was hearing both sides of the conversation. Even after the guy was out of hearing range, he was still picking up the transmission with no difficulty.

Oran spent an hour tuning his new "electronic ear" before remembering he needed to get home for dinner. That night was just he and his mom. Even Tetyana was out.

"Your grandfather wants to see you before you go back to school," Oran's mother informed him. "Tomorrow is Wednesday. When would you like to get together with him. It is probably better for you to go to his place."

Oran wondered about that last comment before recalling how her father did not get along with her husband. "Yeah, no need to risk him running into Jock."

"Oran..."

"Sorry. How About Friday. I don't think I have anything planned and it will still leave the weekend free."

"I'll let him know. I know he was worried after the accident. He'll be happy to see you doing so well."

The conversation then turned to homework. Oran assured his mother than he was all caught up. That evening he decided to read ahead in his books and access the online materials. Once again, he noticed that it was easier to comprehend complex new concepts in unfamiliar fields. Pope realized Oran's brain was wired better for learning and retaining knowledge than was his original.

He pulled up an advanced quantum physics site from one of the universities. It had material that was beyond what Oran had learned before and well beyond what Pope had explored in the discipline. After only an hour found he had read most of the online text, including a surprising number of formulae and equations, and he was able to recall and apply the material correctly in the online assessment.

Even without flying or shooting lasers out of his ears, Oran was feeling pretty super.