Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 21

“I don't like it,” General Philips, looking through the one-way glass at Nina Price.

“Out of curiosity, General, is it her you don't like or the fact that a woman can bench-press more than Captain Rogers?” Peggy asked dryly as she flipped through the file that would be sent to the higher-ups.

“That's not the issue at hand and you know it, Carter,” Chester growled, scowling at his liaison. “Rogers, Barnes, hell even Winston... they're all at least human. Now I have to put up with this running around my base.”

Neither of them seemed to catch the way Nina twitched in the observation room.

“Debatable, sir,” I chimed in from where I was calmly sipping at a coke while leaning against the far wall. “Our humanity, I mean.”

Phillips shot me an irritated look. “If I wanted your opinion, soldier, I would have asked for it. Since you seem to have something to say, though, make it worth my while.”

I shrugged, still not quite adhering to perfect military discipline even after several months. “While we're at war, you won't find many people arguing over the necessity of soldiers like us. After it's over? There'll be plenty of critics accusing you and the government of playing god by trying to make a better human being.”

“What's that got to do with her?” Phillips pressed, waving at Ms. Price.

Who was quite a sight at the moment. The sun set only a little while ago and she was in fine form. Her eyes were glowing, as were strange marks on her skin. Her ears were peaked, her incisors elongated and supernaturally sharp, and the nails on her fingers similarly extended and pointed.

“My point is that it'll be awfully tricky to write a legal document that includes Steve, Bucky, and myself in the acceptable side and puts her-” I gestured with my half-empty bottle to the vampire-werewolf woman. “-on the other side.”

Phillips chewed unhappily on that statement for a long moment.

“A person is smart, they can understand the nuance between a psychotic vampire working for the Nazis and a woman who was cursed before she was even born and has done nothing wrong being in a bad position. People, though? People are dumb, stupid, panicky animals who attack anything they get scared of.”

There's something decidedly funny about paraphrasing that line back at him, considering which actor played him in the movie.

Chester Phillips wasn't a perfect match for Tommy Lee Jones, just as a note. Neither was Steve for Chris Evens. Oh, they were close, no doubt, but it was very much within a standard deviation of a casting choice. In fact, it was close enough that I could almost see General Phillips in a perfectly pressed black suit with dark sunglasses talking about an alien threat... but not quite.

“I don't like being lectured or dictated to by the men under my command, soldier,” Phillips glared, turning back to regard the supernatural creature. “I've also got higher-ups breathing down my neck to transfer her back to the states for observation.”

“Experimentation would be a more accurate term, I believe,” Carter chimed in, much to the General's ire.

“Sending one American citizen, patriotic soldier, and innocent woman to the labs like that makes it real easy to justify doing it the second time around, General. That's all I'm saying,” I explained, draining my coke and resisting the urge to crack a storage seal on my emergency supply.

Shut up. I was an important and valuable asset in the war effort. I deserved a few luxuries.

“More and more these days, I'm convinced you, Rogers, Barnes, and the good Captain here were put on this Earth to make my life more complicated,” Phillips grumbled. “What I hate more than that, though, is the fact that you've got a point.”

A bit of tension left both Carter and I.

Phillips was, for all of his bluster and preference for traditional military operations, a good and reasonable man. He was also intelligent and, like anyone at his rank, understood politics at least a bit. Hence why I was mostly-sure that I wouldn't need to signal Steve and Bucky to break Nina out of here. With Dino's help, of course. After the woman's childhood friend had gotten over the shock, they'd reconnected pretty well.

And the rest of the squad had made sure they'd be available for alibis as well, just in case.

But I meant what I said, and it was the truth, too.

When you started throwing people into locked rooms against their will for the sake of finding out what makes them tick, you can justify doing the same thing to pretty much anyone. Once again though, even if Phillips griped and grumbled about us, the level of shenanigans he tolerated from us spoke of at least some affection.

Or, at the very least, enlightened self-preservation.

After all, Erskine was dead. Without the scientist himself to question, any post-war inquisition into the matter of the supersoldier program, and there would be one, would involve Phillips as the principal actor. If things went badly for him, he'd be labeled as the American Mengele, a modern Dr. Frankenstein more focused on winning the war than on staying true to the human race. Especially when newtypes started coming out of the woodwork, I'm sure some conspiracy theorist was going to connect Project Rebirth and their 'sudden' existence.

For bonus points, flouride in the water supply would probably get mentioned.

Some might call that a pessimistic outlook on the future.

Those same people probably forgot the fact that the American public had called social security numbers the biblical Mark of the Beast when they'd first been implemented.

A person is smart. People are dumb stupid, panicky animals.

“So what do you suppose we do with her?” The General asked finally, unhappy resignation in his tone. “Since you're from the future and have all the answers.”

I ignored the biting sarcasm and shrugged. “Put her in the unit. It's not like she didn't destroy one German jeep with another one. Or help us tear through those Nazi reinforcements. Face it, sir. We need another heavy hitter with the monsters we've been running into.”

Another twitch from Nina, this one more neutral than the prior one.

Sorry, but it's the best I can do. There's no way to just let you off the hook. Right now your choices are Weapon or Experiment.

“You want me to send a woman into combat? Even one who's apparently part werewolf and vampire?” Phillips asked, his tone rising, but unsurprised.

“It's about sixty years early, admittedly, but women start running combat missions in the early twenty-first century and do perfectly fine. Besides, it's not as though we actually have many options, sir. As strong as Bucky and Steve are... we're punching above our weight class here. Red Skull's monsters get a lucky hit in and we're done,” I continued, setting my glass down on the nearby table.

“You seemed to be able to handle things perfectly well,” Phillips replied, scowling.

“I've probably set my recovery time back by a month,” I admitted. “I needed both boosts, but using two at a time does damage. That limits my staying power and the amount of time I can stay at that level.”

General Phillips huffed, and was quiet for a long moment. “You're lucky you've shown the kind of results you have. If I didn't have something to stand on, I'd have to turn her over even if I wanted to do otherwise.”

Captain Carter exhaled deeply in relief even as I kept a stoic facade.

“Dismissed,” Phillips growled. “And tell Rogers and Barnes they can stop LISTENING AT THE DOOR!”

Carter hunched as she visibly restrained laughter at the sudden shuffle in the hallway and I sighed as I shook my head.

“Don't worry, General. I've got a meeting with someone next up, maybe I'll be able to make your life easier,” I grinned impishly.

“I'll await with baited breath and quaking terror in my soul at the thought of any of you trying to help,” Phillips stated bluntly.

This time, I chuckled as I left.

That was a good one.

“So we're good?” Steve asked, stepping into place beside me.

“Barring someone deciding to interfere from the highest levels, we're good.” I nodded.

“And how likely is that?” Bucky asked, his eyes narrowed. Even if I'd been more obtuse than Steve, I could have seen that the thought of the American government, his country, turning someone into a guinea pig for unethical human experimentation struck a little close to home.

I waggled my hand as we walked. “Given how much science and technology I've handed them? And how much Roosevelt and Wilson like us? At least, how much I think they do? I'd say relatively unlikely. There's always some asshole, but Phillips is riding high after everything we've done.”

Steve sighed in relief as Carter stepped up beside him. “I'll get to working on her formal induction paperwork, boys. If one of you could give her the good news?”

“On it,” Bucky stated, making an about-face.

“You said you had a meeting that might help on the political side of things?” Carter asked, raising a brow at me.

“A certain former ambassador has asked for a face-to-face,” I explained. “Apparently, some of the remarks I made to FDR found their way into his ears and he wants details.”

“Former ambass-Ah.” Peggy nodded, considering the reveal. “Well, even if he's diminished after the horse's ass he made of himself, he's still powerful enough to make things easier on the General. I suppose we'll take any port in a storm.”

“I don't get it,” Steve admitted, looking between us. “Who's Ray meeting with?”

“I'll leave you to explain things, Peggy,” I nodded at her, then thumbed down a hallway. “I've got places to be and people to suck up to.”

Giving a polite laugh, the woman waved me off even as she began explaining to Steve the relative infamy of the next box on my docket for the day.

I sighed and continued down the corridor, making my way towards the designated meeting room. Stopping briefly in front of the pair of guards, we traded salutes before I showed ID and was allowed into the room. On the other side was a very stereotypically American bureaucrat cum government functionary. Small eyes set into a full face that, in a younger man may have seemed more balanced, but with his dramatically receding hairline made him look somewhat toe-headed. The thick wire-frame glasses didn't help matter.

On the table though, was something that confirmed the scent I'd smelled in the hallway, something that filled my nostrils and lifted my spirits as neurons associated with memory triggered from the olfactory stimulation.

Chuckling, I slipped into the seat and immediately pulled a piece of pizza onto my plate like a starving animal, stopping only to grin at the man across from me. “You spoke to Fred Duncan.”

Joseph Patrick Kennedy Sr. shifted slightly, offering me a thin smile as he nodded. “I did. He mentioned you had made a comment about not having pizza at the stakeout you'd performed.”

I took two quick bites of the triangle of cheesy goodness and popped the top on one of the nearby cokes sitting in a bucket of ice water. Taking a pull from the glass, I closed my eyes as I felt nirvana approaching.

“I have to wonder at how popular this dish becomes if you're eating it with such relish,” Kennedy stated, humming thoughtfully.

I swallowed. “Pizza and coke are perhaps the iconic American food experience in the late twentieth century and early twenty-first century. I could name at least six different major, multi-million dollar franchise restaurant chains that operated branches in my hometown when I was growing up. Pizza, coca-cola, and a movie night with your friends is at least as much a part of growing up as a ball park frank when you go see a game.”

Joseph's gaze narrowed and his expression turned speculative and thoughtful. “You really are from the future, aren't you?”

I took another sip of the latest fix for my addiction to wash down the pizza in my mouth. Admittedly, it wasn't the same. The tomato sauce was chunkier than I was used to, the toppings had been cooked in the cheese rather than on them, and the crust wasn't seasoned nearly enough, but...

It was pizza.

Moreover, it was pizza that I hadn't made.

There was just something special about getting 'delivery' every now and then.

“I hardly think you would have gone to all this trouble buttering me up if you didn't believe my story,” I stated, eating slower now that the initial rush of nostalgia was gone.

Kennedy nodded, leaning back in his seat. “I've seen some of the information you've been doling out, the technology and advancements that we're making, but... there's something about you. You don't strike me as some kind of idiot savant caught up in a fantasy.”

I had to bite back a particularly venomous retort at that, not because the backhanded compliment stung, but because of the man who'd made it. “Believe it or don't, I really couldn't care less. Still, you had questions. One moderate favor to be redeemed at a later date for each one, that's my price.” He opened his mouth. “Secondary and tertiary questions for the sake of clarification don't count, neither does anything I offer up incidentally as part of a greater explanation. I know the value of what I have, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be draconian about it.”

Joseph Kennedy nodded thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. Then, stiffening, he reached down and pulled a large reel-to-reel tape recorder from his briefcase. “I hope you don't mind? Franklin was kind enough to arrange this meeting, but wanted a copy of the minutes.”

I finished chewing and swallowed. “And given the situation, having a notary or clerk take shorthand is a liability. Go ahead.”

I'd argue that having an audio recording you can copy is less secure than someone listening to a wild story no one in the public will ever believe, but the government has its own logic.

The older man nodded, plugging the device in and hitting record. “This is Joseph Kennedy, interviewing Ray Winston on the subject of future events. In your meeting with President Roosevelt, you mentioned my son John became president and was subsequently assassinated? Followed by my other son, Robert, during his campaign some years later?”

I nodded, clearing my mouth with a swirl of coke... which probably didn't really 'clear' anything given the substance in question. “I'll treat that all as one question and give you a bit of a bonus, even. Your son Joe Jr. dies when his plane is shot down in Operation Aphrodite in August of this year. The explosives they'd planned to drop went off prematurely and killed all onboard the aircraft.”

The declaration hit the older man like a physical blow, making him almost fold as he took his glasses off to brush at his eyes.

I gave him a moment, even summoning the tact not to continue eating while he was grieving the potential loss of his child.

“I... when I heard your story, I thought it was odd that John had become president...” Joseph stated wetly, clearing his throat and nodding. “I... to think that I would have had to bury three of my-”

I looked away and the man stilled abruptly, his glasses hitting the table between us with a clatter.

“Tell me.” He ordered, his head in his hands.

“Kathleen, nineteen forty-eight,” I stated. “I don't know the specifics, but it was a small plane, a flight to the French Riviera for a vacation. They hit extreme turbulence in fog and, by the time they realized they were in a dive, it was too late to pull up. If you get in contact with her while you're here in Britain, you should tell her husband to be careful. He died in France a month after your son.”

“Any others besides John and Bobby?” The older man asked hollowly.

“No,” I shook my head. “Remarkably, all of your remaining children make it past the year two-thousand. I think it was... Jean, who lived the longest? I remember her dying a year or two before I did. Twenty-twenty, I think?”

Kennedy seemed to draw some strength from that, sitting up properly even if he leaned back a bit too far and didn't mind the creases in his suit as he dragged one hand over his face. “I see. Little Jeanie... she'd be... in her nineties? Ninety-two or three, then.”

I nodded, that sounded about right, even if I wasn't sure. “You'd have been proud of her. She was Ambassador to Ireland in the nineteen nineties. She helped negotiate a lasting peace between Ireland and the United Kingdom over Northern Ireland and the border. She also created a non-profit dedicated to including people with disabilities in society. A lot of your children and grandchildren did good work in that area, actually.”

I said it without judgment, as much as I could anyway, but the man's eyes sharpened anyway.

I knew and he knew I knew.

He looked away. “Tell me about my sons.”

“If any of them go into politics, I'd suggest staying away from open-top vehicles. After what happened to John, I don't think there was ever a presidential motorcade that used them again. He was killed in Dallas, nineteen sixty-three. The exact details of who committed the assassination range pretty widely between likely suspects and conspiracy theories. The most likely person who did it, the one who was arrested for it, was a man named Lee Harvey Oswald-”

I went through the whole spiel again, running through the most and least-likely theories as a highlight reel. Joseph seemed morbidly disgusted by the media circus around his son's death, but paid attention nonetheless. He seemed to agree with me that, if Robert had stayed on as Johnson's AG and worked with Hoover after John's death, they wouldn't have been involved in it. Bobby was never one to play things close to his chest, after all, and the young man had quite the temper.

Robert's death was equally full of conspiracy theories and just as wearing on the man.

“I outlive Joey, John, Bobby, and Kathy,” he muttered as the whole sordid tale grew to a close.

“Only barely with Bobby,” I stated. “You suffer a stroke in... sixty-one or sixty-two, right before John is killed. It's pretty severe, although you're probably familiar with the state you'd be in after that much damage to your brain.”

His jaw clenched.

“After you can't dictate her living conditions, she gets better. Her siblings start visiting, she starts speaking again. Even walking, if with a pronounced limp,” I state.

That seemed to cut through the anger and flush his face with shame. “You must think at least some of this divine retribution, if you know all that.”

I shook my head. “That's probably why I'm a deist at best. I don't like the idea of punishing the children for the sins of the father.”

Joseph snorted, nodding distractedly. “There are... other things I wanted to ask, if you don't mind answering them.”

“As long as it doesn't cross too much into geopolitics, I'll do what I can. I thought John was a pretty decent president, even if I didn't like how he approached the Space Race, and Bobby was... well, he would have been a damn sight better than Nixon, at least.” I sighed gustily. “Fucking Nixon.”

“Nixon?” Kennedy asked intently, no doubt curious about one of his son's potential opposition candidates.

“Not really relevant to this discussion,” I waved him off. “What's your next question?”

Kennedy took a steadying breath, and sighed. “Joseph McCarthy. I'm considering closer ties with him and he's dating my daughter.”

I stared at the man for a long moment, drained my coke and reached for another with the resolve most would grab for alcohol. “Thank god you brought pizza.”

“Oh?” Kennedy asked, frowning.

I popped open the next glass bottle. “At least this way I'll be too busy eating to break your jaw.”

At least I managed to get Kennedy’s political support behind Phillips.

~~~

As promised, a Marvel Industrious update!

Still working on the next one, I should have it out either Saturday or early Sunday with the new December Poll.

Hope everyone had an enjoyable Thanksgiving! And be careful if you're going out Black Friday!