New World Disorder

Chapter Six

"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."