Chapter 16 (1/2)
It turned out that there were a significant number of hoops one had to jump through to even apply for crisis training. Before anything, Dan would be subjected to an in-depth background check. Marcus seriously doubted that Dan's cover story would hold up to the scrutiny. His upgrade paperwork, at the very least, would be revealed as a forgery.
There were also exacting physical requirements. Dan supposed that upgrades made meeting them less difficult, but it still startled him to realize that he barely met the threshold. He couldn't even see the sense in it. It wasn't as if every volunteer would be shifting rubble.
Furthermore, the training course was a week long and demanded a hefty admittance fee. Nothing about it was guaranteed, even after acceptance. It was entirely possible to fail and have to reapply.
”It's like they don't want volunteers,” Dan muttered furiously. He sat in Mercury's lab in front of a spare laptop, scanning the application for a Disaster Response license. There were multiple organizations who coordinated crisis relief around the country, but all required a government issued license to participate. It was almost considered an occupation rather than an altruistic pursuit. Indeed, some people managed to make it their source of income.
”How many people get frightened off by all these requirements?” Dan pondered aloud.
”Better a single competent professional than a horde of well-meaning imbeciles,” Mercury declared loudly. The doctor was seated beside Dan, calmly watching his plans die.
”Quantity has a quality of its own,” Dan shot back, parroting a phrase that he'd heard somewhere before.
”Yes, a low one. That's precisely what I said,” Mercury replied, leaning smugly backwards in his chair.
Dan searched his mind for a rejoinder and came up short.
”Shut up.”
”Good intentions alone will not suffice,” the doctor continued mercilessly. ”Good intentions do not make you competent. They do not make you capable. They do not make you safe. We learned that decades ago.”
Dan's lips were so pursed that he resembled a prune.
Mercury glared at him. ”These safeguards are in place to protect people from altruistic fools like you, stumbling around in the dark without a clue.”
”There's nothing wrong with wanting to help people,” Dan protested indignantly.
”By all means, help away!” Marcus declared with a dismissive wave. ”But don't complain about a few perfectly reasonable restrictions that have been put into place to weed out the useless chattel. I'd trust a man being paid for his service over an idealistic volunteer any day. Motivated self-interest easily trumps well-intentioned do-goodery.”
”You have an incredibly low opinion of people,” Dan observed dryly.
”My opinion of people is the byproduct of a life spent among them. You'll feel the same way if you live long enough I'm sure,” Marcus remarked, his voice losing some of its edge.
After a moment, the old man sighed. ”Personally, I think you should give up on this idea. At the very least, wait a few days until you've calmed down. It's obvious that what happened in Atlanta is currently impacting your mindset.”
”That's—” Dan faltered. He wanted to immediately dismiss the claim. To loudly and confidently declare his ability to withstand some truly horrible shit without blinking. The doctor had no idea the kinds of things that he'd seen! Dan had grown up in the age of the internet, after all! He opened his mouth to speak, ran the words through his head, then stopped.
It felt like the argument of a small child. Just hearing it in his mind made him cringe. If he vocalized the thought, what was left of his ego might collapse on itself like a neutron star. He was just Dan, he had always been just Dan. He wasn't special or powerful or unique, and the fact that he had to continually remind himself of that was physically painful.
Time to grow up, Dan.
”That's probably true,” he admitted.
Marcus managed to school his features into something resembling understanding. ”It's perfectly normal for you to feel restless. You've been displaced from your home, and are still coming to terms with the world around you. There is nothing wrong with that, so long as you temper your reckless stupidity.”
Dan winced at the blunt assessment. The doctor meant well, he just sucked at conveying it. That had to count for something.
”Never flinch at the truth,” the doctor commanded sternly. ”You can't hide from what is. You've been here for a month. You still need time to adjust. I suggest that you continue to better yourself. Make some more friends. Look for a hobby. Find some familiar ground to stand on and get back into a routine. It will help.”
Dan shook his head wildly. ”That's, like, the exact opposite of what I want! Seriously Marcus, I understand what you're saying, but I need to do... something. Something more. Something that matters. I can't just fall back into a— a passive routine again. That's not who I want to be. I want to be better than that.”
”There is nothing wrong with routine,” Marcus snapped. ”There is nothing wrong with familiarity. There is nothing wrong with accepting your limits. Only a fool strives to be more than he can become!”
”I don't know what I can become,” Dan elaborated, ”and that's precisely the point.”
Mercury shook his head helplessly. ”You have an opportunity here, Daniel. There's a perfectly happy life available at your fingertips. Why not take it?”
”Why does it matter?” Dan demanded somewhat churlishly. ”You've already admitted that you'll barely be inconvenienced even if my origins are discovered.”
”You remind me of a less intelligent version of myself at your age,” Marcus said frankly. ”I too was painfully naive, blindly altruistic, and determined to make my mark on the world. I too thought public service would bring me some vague form of perennial satisfaction.”
”Oh, how ominous,” Dan replied with a huff. ”I don't suppose you'll actually tell me what you did?”
Marcus glared at his dismissive tone. ”I'll tell you that it ended poorly.”
”Don't draw parallels where there aren't any,” Dan replied quickly. ”Whatever mad science you cooked up in your past, I doubt that it was as simple as disaster relief. Thousands of people volunteer for this all around the world.”
”People who were born in this dimension. People who are already accustomed to the way that the world works. Idealism died in the 60's, Daniel. And the job still takes its toll on them.”
”I refuse to entertain your sick notion that there are no good people left in the world,” Dan told him.
He thought of Margaret, the kind old lady, concerned for a stranger.
Dan straightened his back and looked Mercury in the eye. ”I know for a fact that it isn't true.”
”Of course there are good people,” Mercury scoffed incredulously. ”There wouldn't be any volunteers if there weren't.”
Dan deflated. ”Then what—”
”Are you prepared to see the darker parts of our world, Daniel?” the doctor interrupted. ”Are you prepared to pull corpses out of burning buildings? Are you ready to witness mothers crying over the bodies of their children, of husbands weeping for their spouses? People die every day. You can't stop it. Nobody can stop it. Have you ever had to face that? Have you truly internalized it?”
”That's not—”
”Do you honestly believe you can face the devastation and come out unscathed? You, who still believes in superheroes. Who thinks that good intentions are a substitute for proper training. Who wants, desperately, to be special? How long could you tolerate cruel reality? How long before it breaks you? There are no idealists left in the world Daniel!”
Mercury finished his rant with an angry bellow. He was red in the face and heaving, and Dan watched cautiously as the old man fought to catch his breath. Dan mulled over the entire conversation while he waited, examing Mercury's words as dispassionately as he could.
The doctor had made some unflattering accusations. That Dan was naive, idiotic, reckless, self-sacrificing, the list went on and on. They weren't all baseless. It hurt him to admit it, but there it was. Dan was naive, he was overly optimistic, he occasionally believed things that had little basis in fact. These things were true.
This final rant, though, felt off. Dan was many things. Many unfortunate things. But fragile was not one of them. Dan did not break easily. It was one of the few things that he could actually say with certainty. He hadn't even realized it before now.
Here he was, infinitely far from home. Here he was, stranded in a strange land with no hope of leaving. Dan had not broken. He moved forward. Slowly, haltingly, tripping over every step, but forward. He'd had his moments of despair, sure, but crying in a corner only mattered if you didn't get back up again.