Wednesday, March 31, 2010

"Oh crap!" Carl expostulated, after he pulled the slug out of Oran's back. "Have you contacted your mother? She's got to be going crazy."

"Oh crap!" Oran echoed. "I haven't. They took my phone and I've been worried about letting Jock know where I am."

"Why?"

Hesitating a moment earned the teen an impatient look and a "hurry up" gesture from his grandfather. Relenting, Oran related his reasoning and the deductions that lead him to suspect Jock was behind the two recent incidents that had put his life in danger. Carl listened and seemed to be giving the argument real consideration.

"Damn ... I think you know I was never too fond of that man, but I ... I don't want to believe his would do this."

"But ..."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you." Jock quickly cut off Oran's argument. "But even you admit the evidence is circumstantial. Still it means we have to be more cautious around him. If he is behind this, he's likely to try again. If he's not, someone else is, at least behind the kidnapping. The lab accident could have been just that – an accident."

The old man (Younger than I was two weeks ago, Pope thought. Damn kid is corrupting my perspective already.) shook his head and continued. "I'll call your mom. Let her know you're ok. Get her calmed down and let her know you're staying here until Sunday. Probably best to keep you away from him until we know more."

"What about the police?" Oran asked. "I was snatched from the street. If no one else did, my friends must have called 911."

"Let me make a couple of calls. I know a guy that probably knows who we need to talk to. If you have to make a statement, I'll go with you. I have more experience with the police than your mother. But first, your mom."

Oran sat next to Carl as he called Mariela. "Oran's alright. He got away from the bad guys with only a little damage ... Nothing serious. I already have him patched up ... No, I don't think he needs to go to the hospital. You know I know how to handle this sort of thing ... I think it's best if he says here for a couple of nights. I'm better qualified to talk him though this ... Why don't you come over tomorrow? I think he just wants to crash tonight ... alright, Mari, we'll see you then. Love you. The kid does too."

"Thanks," Oran said when Carl disconnected. "I'm not sure what I would do if I saw him tonight."

"Still keyed up from the fight?"

"Maybe." It had been decades since Pope had seen any action. He had forgotten the strength of the rollercoaster of emotions that usually followed combat.

Carl slapped him on his back and said, "Let's finish getting you cleaned up. If those wounds aren't closing in an hour or two I will have to pit in some stitches. I'll call my police contact while you're in the shower."

An hour later Oran's grandfather told him he had an appointment with the FBI at 10 am tomorrow. "They found your wallet in a burned down chemical warehouse in New Jersey. This is officially an interstate crime now, thus the federales. But they have almost nothing. It sounds like someone cleaned up after the bad guys by destroying the building before it could be investigated. Almost all the evidence was gone."

He also assured him the wounds were closing and would likely be gone by morning, if not sooner. "You're healing faster than I do now, but back in the day ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know ... Uphill, both ways." Oran cracked.

"Hey. You're not gonna learn much from my decades of experience if you mock everything I say."

"Teach me oh venerable hero. I am but clay for you to mold."

They moved to Carl's office, where the old engineer pulled over a white board and cleaned it with a rag. "So, you want to be a hero?"

"I think so," Oran confirmed.

Carl wrote "HERO" at the top of the board. "Great, welcome to the biz. What kind of hero do you want to be?"

Pope was stymied. "What kinds of heroes are there?"

"To use analogy some heroes are like police, they fight crime. Some are like soldiers, they protect the nation from threats. Some are like spies, they work covertly to gather information and fight enemies. Others are like first responders, they spend most of their time rescuing people and dealing with disasters. There are super explorers, super scientists, and super mystics. Then there are the generalists that do all of the above as the need arises. What do you want to do?"

Oran looked at him, mouth open and eyes bugging. "I'd never thought of it like that."

"Yeah, most people just think Whoosh! Bam! Pow! is all there is to it. They're wrong. So, which will it be?"

Oran thought for a bit. Soldier and spy were out. He had done too much of those already. He couldn't pick between the others. "I can't imagine turning away from a crime or ignoring a car wreck. Even the exploration sounds interesting. I guess that makes me a generalist."

"Great. So was I," Carl smiled and wrote it on the board. "Now do you see yourself working alone or in a team or larger organization?"

"Probably alone or in a small team to start. I don't want to get lost in a big organization."

Carl wrote down TEAM. "What sort of team? Government, corporate, or independent?"

"Damn ... Not government. Corporate sounds like a bad idea, unless it is a pretty special corporation. That leaves independent."

"Do you see yourself heroing full-time or part-time? Pro or amateur? Those are related."

"I assume pros get paid?" Oran asked. Carl nodded. "Money is nice, but at the moment I don't need it."

"No, you don't. Even if things go south with Jock, I'll sponsor you. Like I said I have a lot of stuff from the old days I've kept in working order. And you're still in school so you can't go full-time unless you register at one of the super academies."

"Not if I don't have to," Oran replied.

"Which brings us to one of the most important questions, two really. Do you want to keep your real identity secret? And are you going to register?"

"Can I keep my identity secret if I register?"

"Officially, yes. But once your name is in the DEMA computer, there is no telling who might be able to access it. At the very least DEMA can, so you are at the mercy of whoever is in the White House, or, as is the case now, whoever is controlling the President."

"Controlling the President?" Oran asked? He'd read nothing about this.

"You won't hear about it on the net or in the news, but President Grant is being mind-controlled by Dr. Lazarus. I'm still trying to figure out how he's doing it; psionic implant, chemical brainwashing, or something more exotic. Lazarus is behind him. No doubt about it."

Oran looked at his grandfather for a moment, wondering if he was right or if he was delusional. If he was losing his grip on reality, how much could the pseudo-teen trust anything the man said? "I'll have to give registering some thought. I want to keep my identity secret, as long as I'm living at home and going to Westminster. If that changed for some reason, I might reconsider."

"Then you're going to need a mask, unless you change like I do." Carl said. "I know where to take you for a costume, unless you want to wear one of my old ones. But I never wore a mask. Before we pick out the costume though, we need to know what your powers are."

Carl stared at Oran, who was trying to remember everything he had read about the silver age hero Cobalt, especially the various costumes he had worn. It was not uncommon for some heroes to change their costume design regularly. Another thing he noticed was that his grandfather's current metallic form was several inches shorter and maybe a hundred pounds smaller than he had been in his prime.

"Kid!"

"Hmm?"

"What are your powers?"

"Umm ... I'm not really sure. I know some of them. I can fly far and fast. I have enhanced senses, strength, speed, endurance, and durability. Regeneration, and powerful energy attacks of some sort. Some of the powers I can use without changing, but others ... this happens." He lifted from the floor and his skin and hair changed colors.

"That's not Cobalt blue, but it's close." Carl slapped the table and pointed to Oran. "Did you go blue when you were fighting the kidnappers?"

"Almost, but I avoided it." Oran landed and reverted to his normal colors. "The physical enhancements, strength, speed, and senses don't seem to activate the change, only the energy powers. I have not had much opportunity to test them. The only time I have used those powers was against Amok.

"That was you?"

"Yeah. That was a crime I stumbled across and just couldn't walk away. Anyway, I think these powers aren't safe to practice with in the apartment or Central Park."

"You're going to need to learn to control them and regulate how much power you're using. That control is both the most difficult and most important thing to master. I can help."

"That sounds great. What do we do?"

"What time is it?" Carl checked his phone. "It's dinner time. But you wanna eat or you wanna fly?"

"Let's fly." Oran transformed and started towards the stairs.

"Hold your horses. I gotta get changed. You might wanna grab something other than your drawers, though half the city has already seen you in them." The old man actually laughed as he walked deeper into the cavernous basement. Oran followed him, while considering the venerable history of smartass drill instructors and training accidents.

While Carl transformed into Cobalt and put on a dark grey and black costume, Oran found a set of dark grey sweats and sweatpants. He ran upstairs to grab the dark hood from the kidnappers that he had left in the bathroom. When he returned to the basement Carl was ready. "Can you see with that on?" He referred to the hood.

"Yeah. I can adjust my vision all over the EM spectrum. It's pretty easy to see through most things. I've probably practiced more with my new senses than with my other powers, though flying comes pretty naturally."

"Great. If you are through fixing your face, I'd like to get in the air. You ready?"

Rather than prolog the inevitable, Oren simply nodded.

"You're gonna have to speak up. I can't see you under that hood." Carl chuckled.

Pope could remember teasing his own daughters similarly and had a moment of sentimental affection for the old man. "I'm ready."

"Good." He pressed a large blue button. Oran realized his big metal fingers were not suited for delicate instruments. A panel along the back of the room slid open. "I've got a secret tunnel that opens at the East River a few blocks away. From there we are going just a few miles upriver to Typhoid Island. It is in the river between Randall's and Rikers's islands. You know it?"

Oran consulted the map in his head and found the reference to North Brother Island where Typhoid Mary was confined after the Royals foiled her attempt to start a plague back in 1908. "Yeah, I think I have it."

"The City has designated it as a reserve for supers as it's still considered too dangerous for normals," Carl enthused. "It's great. There are buildings to demolish, mutant rats and other critters to hunt or evade, and best of all no innocent bystanders or private property. They encourage supers to bring their battles there if at all possible to avoid collateral damage in the rest of the city. For that reason alone, it's important that you become familiar with it." He leaned closer as if he were telling Oran a secret. I'm convinced the City just wants to remind the prisoners at Riker's just what is facing them on the outside."

"Sounds perfect. I'll follow you."

The two men started flying through the tunnel. As they approached the door at the end slid up. The exit was concealed under a jetty. A power plant was visible on the Manhattan side of the river. Cobalt climbed to avoid river traffic and bridges as they followed the river north. Once past Hell's Gate, Oran could see their destination, the westernmost of three large islands in the bend of the river. Cobalt pointed to a ruined pier over a small sandy beach on the western shore of the island. They landed on the sand.

"Any problems with the flight?" Cobalt asked.

"None."

"Good. Can you look around and see if there is anyone else on the island? Be sure to check in the buildings. They should be abandoned, but occasionally someone decides to either explore or squat."

Shifting his sight through the various frequencies, Oran carefully examined the whole island. Nothing larger than a cat was moving, and he found no signs of recent habitation. "I don't see anyone, but I'm not certain I want to bet anyone's life on that."

"Then we should make some noise to let anyone you might have missed know we're here." Carl pointed to a nearby building with a tall concrete smokestack. "That is your first target. You can see that it's leaning a bit. I think it got damaged in a recent fight that happened here. Rather than letting it collapse on its own, I want you to take it down."

The old brick building stood on the edge of the sand and a forest thick with overgrown undergrowth. Oran looked with his special sight and saw it was empty, not only of people but of everything. It as nothing more than a shell. Only one interior concrete support stood holding the weight of both the roof and the stack.

He decided to start at the top of the smokestack. He wanted to see how well he could regulate the destructiveness of his attacks. If he started at the bottom and managed to do enough damage the stack would fall, and he's be out a target. He rose into the air and lined up somewhat higher than the top of the tall brick cylinder, so any misses would hit the ground rather than risking people in distance.

He felt for the energy pulsing within and around him. He tried to focus it into his hands like he had against Amok. With a mental Pow! he released the power and a massive bright purple beam crashed through the top layers of bricks and continued on, plowing into another building hidden in the forest.

Boom!

An explosion rocked the island, sending shockwaves rolling into the river. The sound of the cataclysm echoed off buildings a half mile away. A cloud of dust and debris rose into the air, forming a small cloud over that corner of the island. Using his control of gravity, Oran anchored himself and Cobalt in place against the buffeting of the blast wave. He was startled because he had not realized he could use his gravity control to manipulate other things than himself.

"A bit of overkill, don't you think?" Carl quipped.

"That's going to attract some attention," Oran grumbled. "And that cloud is going to pinpoint our location for any interested parties."

"That's alright. I warned the PRU we'd be out here," Carl assured him. Now Let's try that again, without the God Almighty Boom! Think tiny thoughts."

"Right ... tiny thoughts."

Oran spent the next two hours trying not to destroy the island too much. He discovered he could adjust the type of energy he unleashed, ranging for electricity, lasers, even gamma bursts. His most powerful blast, and the one he found easiest to produce, was the mysterious purple pulse that reminded him of vortex produced at the Hypertap accident.

As a break from slinging powerful pulse blasts, Carl tested his other powers. Lifting debris weighing more than a ton was easy, two tons took some effort. If he used his gravity manipulation, he could lift at least ten times as much. Carl timed him running at over 30mph. He even talked Oren though condensing his nimbus into a force field able to withstand all of Cobalt's energy attacks, but only part of his physical blows. Oran was actually energized by his grandfather's blue bolts.

"Alright, I think that's enough for now." Carl looked at the demolished landscape surrounding them. "I think we have a basic idea of what you can do. And what we need to work on before you are safe to let out in public."

"Hey!"

"We've also found a few limitations you'll need to keep in mind. But we can train around those." Carl said. "I think it's time to head back to my place. You ready?"

'Let's go."

The meeting with the FBI the next morning was pretty uncomfortable. Agents Oshima and Finn were unhappy with me.

"Why didn't you wait for the police, Mr. Bry?" Agent Oshima asked for the fifth time.

"I told you ... someone broke me out of the chair just before the abductors were going to kill me. I couldn't see anything because of the hood they'd put on me. They rushed me out of the building and told me to run. Then they went back into the building. I got the hood off and ran. As I'm told the whole building was destroyed not long afterwards, it looks like it was the right move."

"And you have no idea who it was that rescued you?" Agent Finn inquired. It sounded like she was as tired of the repetition as Oran was.

"No." Oran answered.

"Or what happened in the warehouse?" she asked again.

"No." he repeated.

"Don't you think this has gone on long enough?" Carl interrupted. "Oran was the victim. I'm sure he is as anxious as you are to find the abductors. He just doesn't have anything more to tell you."

Finn looked to Oshima. She looked convinced, but he just looked unhappy. "Fine." His voice was hard. "Please contact us if you think of anything else." Then the agent stood and walked away. Finn was left to lead Oran and Carl out of the office.

Once they were back at the factory, Oran finally asked. "Should I have told them the truth?"

"That is a question every super that maintains a secret identity has to ask themselves. How much lying can you stomach? Every time you go out in costume you are lying to the world. Every time you tell your mother or your friends, or your wife. That you are going to a party or a meeting or a business trip ... you are lying. It is the consequence of that decision. The important part is to not let that one pervasive lie start you down the path of other dishonest decision. Thinking it is ok to help yourself to some of the criminal's cash or framing a crook the police just can't get a conviction on. That's not the path of a hero. Can you accept this one lie or should you decide to be open about your heroing, and take the consequences of that decision?"

"There's a lot more to this hero stuff than I had thought." Oran complained.

"And your just getting started," Carl said witha laugh. "Now, let's talk costume ..."