Wednesday, April 7, 2010

"How was your day?" Tetyana asked. She was the only one in the apartment when he arrived.

"Surreal," he muttered.

"More so than usual?" She handed him a smoothie, still cold and frothy. He took a slurp and smiled. The flavor memory carried powerful positive associations. Her smoothies had been one of the best things about living in this troubled family for Oran.

"It was certainly the weirdest day in in school I can recall." Possibly in either life, he added silently.

"Care to tell me about it?" She sat down across the bar from him. Oran looked into her dark blue eyes and saw real concern. Always a sucker for a pretty lady, even if she is way too young.

"I guess the events of the past few weeks have caused me to grow up some. Everyone is saying I've changed and no one knows what to make of those changes. Myself included, if I'm being honest," Oran mused.

"I've seen changes. That is not a bad thing. At your age, I was different girl every other day. It is nature." She reached out and cupped his cheek. Her hand was so very warm. "Be who you are. That changes? Be the new you. You are a good person to be."

When she reached forward, her long sleeve pulled back revealing a slight discoloration on her wrist. Oran noticed it. He realized he had seen similar discolorations in the past, though not often. Pope thought they might be signs of a particularly accident prone domestic worker, or they might be symptoms of some sort of abuse. He decided to keep a closer eye on her, having heard that confronting abuse victims often put them on the defensive.

He tried to change the subject. "Are things going to be easier for you now we are all back in school?"

She just smiled and replied, "A domestic goddess' work is never done." She waved as she retreated into the utility room.

Oran watched her, wondering who might have been mistreating her. Jock and Eric sprang to mind, but it could be a boyfriend or some enemy. He had no idea if she had a life outside the apartment. The old Oran had never paid that much attention to her.

After finishing the smoothie, Oran realized he was no longer hungry and had no real desire to endure another uncomfortable dinner with the Coleman's. In his room, he changed into some running clothes thinking a workout was in order. He grabbed the bag with his costume hidden in the false bottom just in case he wanted some real exercise. On his way out he shouted to Tetyana, "I'm going out for a run. I won't be here for dinner."

She just waved in response.

It was almost 5 p.m. The streets and subways would be packed. He crossed into Central Park, heading for a wooded area Oran's memories told him would likely mostly deserted, even at this hour. The area was said to be frequented by criminals and dangerous sorts. In the past he would have avoided the area because of that reputation. Now he was somewhat excited by the prospect of another encounter.

He pulled up his hoodie and started jogging towards the target spot. The park was crowded, but as he neared the remote woods the crowd thinned dramatically. Rounding a copse of trees, he found himself alone. A quick perusal with his enhanced vision showed no one was in sight. Grabbing the mask out of his bag, he slipped it on. This was followed by the tunic and the tights, with their integrated boots. Oran noticed the hidden lifts and subtle heels built into the footwear. Carl had suggested it as a discrete way to physically differentiate Pulsar from Oran. Never too fond of his short stature, Oran had not complained.

Once in costume, Oran shot into the air as fast as he could without creating a disturbance at his launch site. He was out of sight of the park goers in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately the faster he flew, the brighter the energy trail he left in his wake. He found out later a tourist had actually gotten most of his takeoff on camera, as the video became a fifteen minute sensation on the net.

Oran flew to the top of tallest support the George Washington Bridge and deposited the bag with his running clothes, minus his wallet and phone which he tucked into the hidden pocket in his tights, into a utility locker. Feeling guilty about popping the lock on the door he made sure to leave a hundred dollar bill to pay for damages.

Looking up, Oran realized what he wanted to try. How high can I fly? Let's find out.

He took off straight up. Looking down periodically he was able to estimate his altitude. In seconds he was above 50,000 feet, the edge of the troposphere. He paused, taking stock of his condition. He was not cold. He felt no discomfort due to lower air pressure. He stopped breathing and waited for a count of 500. Nothing changed. During that time he was able to detect a number of radio signals in the air. He cataloged any air traffic that might be encroaching on his planned trajectory. After almost eight minutes he still felt no urge to breathe and no adverse effects. He decided to continue upwards.

As the air pressure decreased, Oran found he was able to increase his flight speed. Soon he was at the upper edge of the stratosphere, more than thirty miles above the world. As he paused again he discovered no change in his condition. He had left the majority of the radio traffic below, though there were still a significant quantity of signals at this altitude. Another five minute pause and he decided to continue. At about sixty miles he stopped again. The air, what little was there, was much colder. Looking up the darkness of space was unbroken by cloud or hint of color, save for the sharp white light of the sun off at an angle. Looking down, Oran could not see the whole globe, but the curvature of the Earth was evident.

He was tempted to keep going. But practicalities argued against such a course. He was not yet certain enough of his abilities to trust them in the more energetic ionosphere. The effect of leaving the Earth's gravity well also concerned him, especially with no one he could call on for help. Then there was the possibility of running into some satellite or other orbital junk. While he thought it likely he could avoid that sort of accident, if it happened the cost could be more than he could afford to pay. I guess I'll just have to be content floating at the edge of the atmosphere, looking down on the Earth below.

He had no idea how long he stayed up there. Eventually he decided it was enough for a first trip. But there will be others, many others, he promised himself.

It was dark when he returned to the top of the bridge to retrieve his gear. He found that his phone had not been damaged by the trip, which surprised him. He had expected it to have exploded in the near vacuum or frozen in the sub-arctic temperatures. Instead it was untouched, as were the plastic cards in his wallet. I guess my nimbus includes protection for things close to my body, he hypothesized. Which is good because this costume is not rated for space either. I'll have to talk with the designer about that.

As he flew lazily over the city, more to avoid returning to the apartment than with any real purpose in mind, he noticed flashes on Typhoid Island. Zooming his vision, he saw two supers wrecking the remains of the ruins he had left after his last practice session with Cobalt. They were familiar. Bombshell and Oddball, of Youngblood, he recognized. What are they doing?

Still not wanting to deal with the fallout from his school day, he flew down and landed on the a dozen yards from the duo.

They had stopped their activity and watched him land. "Hello? I come in peace." Oran held out his hands at arm's length. Slowly they advanced. He noticed they spread out as the came forward, creating enough distance between themselves they could not be taken out easily by a single attack. They stopped about twelve yards away. Good tactics. Decent teamwork, the old soldier admired.

"Hello. Peace is good. I'm Bombshell. This is my brother, Oddball. Who are you?" She was a tall, striking blond wearing a red and white uniform which included a cowl that covered her upper face, but left her long hair free. A utility belt circled her slim waist. Oddball looked like a giant, humanoid armadillo, complete with spiked shell and a long tail. His claws were enough to give Oran pause, knowing his physical defenses were much less effective than his energy shields.

"Hi. We meet last week, I think. The Amok incident?" Oran offered.

"I thought that was you," Oddball said. His speech was somewhat garbled due to his odd mouth structure. "You've got a costume now, but the bright white hair and the pulsing purple energy field are pretty distinctive."

"Do you have a name yet?" Bombshell asked. "The superatzi are calling you Pulsar, which isn't bad."

"Yeah...I saw that. I don't really have anything better, and I like the space connotations for the name. I figured Captain Clueless, while more honest, might not inspire confidence in the public."

"Or fear in the hearts of the wicked," the were-critter said. "I kinda like it though, CC."

"Says the dufus who chose the name Oddball," she chided.

"I think Pulsar will do until something better comes along." Oran wondered if his quip might turn into an unwanted nickname.

"Nice to meet you," the two offered with a smile.

"What brings you to Typhoid Island?" the newly christened Pulsar asked.

"Power training. Our mentor suggested we worked to extend our upper limits." Bombshell replied. She gestured to the ruins that were left after Oran and Carl's last session. "Though it looks like someone got here before us and didn't leave much standing."

Through dint of great effort, Oran managed not to look chagrined. "So what have you been doing?"

"Making big rocks into smaller rocks." Oddball demonstrated by lashing out with his tail, smashing a cinder block into fragments and dust. "Great for releasing tension, but not much of a challenge."

"How about this?" Oran gestured at a larger piece of rubble, a mixer of bricks and iron. Using his control over gravity, he floated the block and start it circling them. "A moving target?"

Bombshell smiled and unleashed a focused explosive blast that hit the floating debris, shattering a section. "Yes!" she pumped her fist in victory.

Oddball curled into a three foot wide ball, his tail wrapping around his spiky shell. He started rolling, then bouncing. He ricocheted off a tree and careened into the gliding brickwork. His momentum caused a large portion to crumble, but his muffled "Crap!" showed the impact caused him some pain as well.

"That may not be the best attack on reinforced walls, bonehead," the blond girl offered as her twin rolled to a stop and straightened next to her.

He turned to Oran and gestured, "Your turn."

Smiling, Oran glanced skywards, making sure nothing was overhead, and dramatically threw his arm up. He reversed the gravity on the remaining rubble, causing it to fall into the clouds above. All three watched as it accelerated upwards.

"How are you going to catch it when it falls?" Bombshell inquired tentatively.

"It's not going to fall," Oran assured her. "And it won't hit anything on its way out of orbit either."

"Fuck!" Oddball swore.

"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Bombshell suggested. "If something goes wrong, if you miscalculated, if that thing does fall, it could really hurt someone. You should probably avoid doing that, especially over a crowded urban area."

Oran considered. He was fairly certain that the rock was not coming back down. But she was right too. He had not needed to take the chance just to show off. "You're right. I'll be more careful."

"You up for a spar?" Oddball asked. "No throwing people into orbit."

"Maybe if we start slow and see how far we can safely ramp it up?" the sister cautioned.

"Sounds like fun," Oran agreed. He had done some sparing with Cobalt and had learned how to concentrate his nimbus into a protective shield. It wouldn't stop a full force attack form his grandfather, but he thought it would be enough to stop these kids' attacks.

"I'll go first!" the brother said then spun around to smack Oran with his tail. The blow knocked Oran off his feet, but he was able to roll back to his feet, gaining distance from his animalistic attacker.

"You're fast," Oran commented as he unleashed a low-powered pulse blast. He had spent hours practicing this attack with Cobalt on this very island. He could now produce a blast that would roll a watermelon rather than shattering, or atomizing, it. Oddball dived out of the way.

"Too slow!" the blond replied, closing the distance to attack with his claws. Oran tried to redirect the attack with his forearm, only to find his old hand-to-hand training was not up to facing someone as fast as this fellow. The claw raked across his chest, sending him back a dozen feet.

This time, Oran took to the air, rising out of Oddball's reach. "Now what are you going to do?"

The blond rolled into a ball and bounced himself at Oran. Expecting this, Oran released an omnidirectional pulse that caught the boy in mid-air, where he could not dodge, and hurled him in the nearby river.

Oddball swam to the shore, where he rolled onto his back, spitting out the half of the East River he had swallowed. "Do you have any idea how foul that is for someone with enhanced taste buds? Not cool."

"Sorry?"

"I think we'll declare that one for Pulsar," Bombshell announced. "How about you try me now?" She rose into the air on a jet of energy from her feet and hands.

"Shall we?" Oran held back and let her attack first. She sent an explosive blast towards him which he was able to dodge. He sent a targeted pulse back at her, which she flew right into. It knocked her back a ways, but did not seem to hurt her. She's tougher than her brother, at least against energy attacks, but slower, he decided.

Curious as to how he would withstand one of her attacks Oran braced himself and took her next attack on his arms. He could feel his body absorbing the energy, but the extra absorption that his nimbus offered was not nearly as effective against the concussive energy of her attack as it was against the more radiant energy of Cobalt's beams.

"Come on," Bombshell complained. "You didn't even try to dodge that one."

"Nope. I was testing my defenses."

"I think he just likes you hitting on him," Oddball teased. "Pulsar and Bombshell, flying above the trees ..." Both fliers bombarded him with attacks from above as he quickly balled up and bounced deeper into the island's interior.

Forty five minutes later Bombshell pulled a device out of her utility belt. "Time to head back, Odd," she said.

"Awww..." her brother whined.

Oran landed next to the twins and held out his hand. "It was nice sparring with you. Much better than wrecking things on my own."

"Yeah, that was fun," Oddball transformed into a tall teen dressed in an earth-toned costume with a vaguely totemic mask. He took Oran's hand and pumped twice. "Not sure I could actually hurt you if I tried, but it was fun basically playing tag."

"Nice meeting you, Pulsar. I still think you should contact Youngblood. You're our age. You're new to heroing. We can help." She took his hand and gave a firm shake. "Like you said, it's better than being alone."

Oran waved as they flew away, Bombshell carrying her brother. Super powered teenager drama, just what I don't need. He thought. Though they seem like enough nice kids. Smiling, he flew back to the secluded area of Central Park and changed back into the sweats.

"Oran?" his mother called. She was sitting in the living room, reading some files.

"Hey, Mom," he replied as he sank onto the other end of the sofa. "Sorry I missed dinner. I trust Tetyana passed on my message."

"Yes, thank you for letting me know. I am a bit concerned that you're freerunning after dark."

"I only go to well-lit places. I know you worry, but I am careful." Oran recalled the original's responses from similar conversations in the past. Looking back he did not think the original was nearly as careful as he should have been.

"Right," she offered, her disbelief evident. "How was school? Eric said something about you getting in trouble at lunch? What happened?"

"No trouble. Some kids were teasing me. I teased back. Pretty basic teen banter, really. Ms. Navarro stepped in and suggested we might have been straying into inappropriate language. The end. No counseling, no detentions. I don't think it even lasted long enough to be considered a conversation, much less a reprimand."

She looked at Oran for several seconds. He looked back, his expression open. It really was no big deal, though that Ms. Navarro is certainly someone worth giving more thought.

"Right," she finally said. "It's after eight. What are your plans for the rest of the evening?"

"Read ahead for tomorrow," he replied, ticking off items on his fingers. "Make sure nothing is due. Or if it is I have it ready. Go over my projects to see what I will be doing on Friday. Maybe check a few things online. Then to sleep by eleven."

"I'd prefer ten thirty. Ten would be even better. Sleep is important, and I don't think you get enough."

Another universal, Pope thought, remembering his wife having similar conversations with their daughters when they were in high school. Mariela really is a good mother. She reminds me of my Pam, and there is no higher compliment.

"No worries," he replied aloud. "Good night."

"Good night."