ArchivedLogs:A Meeting of Minds
| A Meeting of Minds | |
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| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-06 Rasheed and Norman have a meeting. Discuss plans, technology. Expose their geekiness. (Part of Prometheus TP.) |
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"You're a difficult man to pin down, Dr. Toure." Norman Osborn rarely leaves the confines of Oscorp. Which only made making this little meeting all the harder to arrange -- but Osborn is a persistent man. As an engineer, Mr. Osborn knows that the solution to any problem is simply a matter of pressure and time; Ms. Lambton provided an excellent opportunity to apply the former. Now, Rasheed Toure finds himself in Osborn's work environment -- a corner office with two walls that are floor-to-ceiling glass; an organic desk -- a book-case full of manuals on engineering, chemistry, and military history -- and a mantle with several grotesque looking masks. Osborn himself has risen to his feet to greet Dr. Toure. He is dressed smartly, as always; a handsome man in his mid-40s. Extraordinarily healthy for his age -- strong, broad-shouldered, with a grip like iron. His smile is effortless and charming; he is a man both accustom to dealing with people and accustom to getting what he wants from them. "First, let me apologize for inconveniencing you in this matter. I realize you are extraordinarily busy. I would not interrupt your work if it was not important." Rasheed is dressed smartly, as well; of an age with Osborn but composed along sharper lines, his suit, though impeccably tailored, hangs on his wiry shoulders like a coathanger, and his handshake, though strong enough, is just a smidge too /brief/, his smile just a bit too thin. Clearly People is not Rasheed in his element. "Mr. Osborn. Of course. I am glad to make the time." It's not really all that effortless. Or charming. But it's polite, at least, when he answers, after a brief look around the office. Shortly after releasing Rasheed's hand, Osborn returns to his desk -- a slim laptop waits. He flicks it open; the machine produces a gentle purr. He turns it, then, to face Rasheed -- even as he moves to sit. On the screen is the schematics of a drone -- modified. Shortly after Osborn sent the initial drones -- and schematics -- to Rasheed, Rasheed returned a request for another shipment of drones with /these/ modifications. "There are several pressing concerns I wish to bring up," Osborn begins, "including an offer I'd like you to consider. But first, I wanted to talk to you briefly about /this/." He leans back in his chair. "Please, have a seat. I am /fascinated/ by your desired modifications. The modified drones have already been shipped to your facilities. Free of charge," Osborn adds. "And that wasn't an act of charity on my part. The modifications your offices have made are worth the cost of the drones -- several times over." Rasheed glances at the laptop screen as he folds himself into a seat across from Osborn. His hands fold in his lap, shoulders set at a bit of a slump. "Concerns," he echoes, with -- a brief frown of concern. "Ah, yes. I think you'll find that their maneuverability and targeting alone gain quite a lot from -- not to mention the security or the drones' AI. I didn't expect quite such a prompt turnaround, though." Though he doesn't sound like he's /complaining/. "I'm quite passionate about adaptability, Doctor. When I see a better way to do things, I /embrace/ it." There is a certain relish with which Norman relates this feature of his personality. "I'm already having the majority of your changes incorporated into our baseline models. What fascinates me is /how/ you came up with these changes. And in such a short period of time...!" Norman leans forward, hands folded on his desk. And then: "Ms. Lambton mentioned that you might have a bit of help in this regard. She also mentioned that you're considering whether or not this 'help' is worth the extra trouble. She mentioned you've suggested cutting your losses. May I be bold enough to make an alternative suggestion?" "It is true," Rasheed says, without preamble, "Our tech team worked with a powerful technopath in studying the drones and drawing up the recommended changes. His abilities far outstrip any I have encountered, technologically." And Rasheed, it might be surmised, has encountered /many/ mutants. "Please, Mr. Osborn. What did oyu have in mind?" "You are familiar with my work, Dr. Toure? In designing mutant countermeasures. It is difficult," Norman explains, "and often times, quite challenging. Many of the technologies required do not even yet /exist/. Your project has done --" he pauses, as if searching for the right word -- "*interesting* work in the field of weaponization. But in some regards, you are limited -- by its very nature, your work must be deeply private. This makes many things -- difficult for you." He reaches forward, pressing a few keys on the laptop. Schematics flicker by -- unusual machines. A formula for what appears to be some maner of bio-adhesive; another for a type of 'floating grenade' with a peculiar pumpkin shape. Another for a large-scale urban drone. "We've enjoyed the fruits of you and your associates' labor, and put them to work in designing more 'publically' available mutant countermeasures -- but we, too, are limited. Our work in the realm of anti-telepathy devices, for example. Or even mutant-identifying devices -- we suffer from the lack of available test subjects. And /you/ suffer from the inability to be public -- and, of course, your security issues." "In short, Dr. Toure, I think we might benefit from a very careful trade of resources. I want your technopath. And I /require/ telepaths. Low-grade ones, ideally. In exchange, I'm prepared to offer you access to some of the best mutant countermeasures available. Indeed," Osborn adds, a certain edge to his smile. "I think working together to produce telepathic countermeasures runs in /both/ our interests." "Training in psionic resistance is required for anyone working in our facilities, before they come anywhere near a lab. And even that can only go so far. Against a determined attack, it's no help at all. If there were technology to defend against these things --" Rasheed's voice colors with intrigue, long bony fingers unfolding to drum together. "It would be a boon." He watches the images flick by with the same quiet interest. "Test subjects we have in plenty. The technopath, though -- you have to understand what an enormous security risk this individual is. His mind is like nothing I have seen. He /will/ get through any security you have. And after that ensuring he does not release sensitive information is -- well, an ongoing challenge." "Several of my scientists have surmised that it may be possible to shield psionic signals through -- are you familiar with Van Eck phreaking, Doctor? It's a method of 'picking up' electric signals from a monitor and interpreting them to reassemble a picture from some distance away. It's even possible -- under the right conditions, and the right equipment -- to pick up the electric signal of a key-press event. To even /interpret/ the key. Some interesting theories concerning telepathy being a form of this -- 'catching' these signals and re-interpreting them -- have been put forward by my specialists. Professor Parker has made a few intriguing suggestions as to how these signals may be /blocked/, or even scrambled -- or, perhaps, even fired back. One of the devices we wish to test -- a machine capable of sending a signal, or 'scream', which can only be heard by those sensitive to such signals. The result, we hope, would be painful enough to expose telepaths. The equivalent of a psychic 'DoS' attack." He's talking shop. Norman throttles himself back; these are things which clearly fascinate him -- and as much as he'd like to babble about the technology with Doctor Toure, that's not what he's here to do. "I've heard a little. Not much, but Ms. Lambton kept me abreast of some of the dangers associated with him -- we'd need a comprehensive report before we took him, obviously. But my intention is to keep him in a shielded room -- one through which no signals can penetrate. No contact with technology more complex than a number 2 pencil and a notebook." "Mmm. There is the tricky part, though. His powers seem to work more intuitively than from a deep breadth of knowledge. And communicating with him can be difficult, at times. Without hands-on access to the technology he is working with, his utility may be quite low. But granting him that access --" Rasheed's lips thin, his head shaking. "I do have a number of telepaths," he allows, "who we may soon be completing our cycles with. I can send you dossiers with their abilities -- the ones we would be willing to lend out. You can see if any meet your specifications. With the psionically adept there is such a wide range of nuance in how their abilities manifest, it might be helpful to -- well. Some things that we have found to work excellently with one individual prove nearly useless with the next." "Ah. That /is/ tricky," Norman agrees, and one can already tell that he is attempting to untangle this problem -- his brow creased in thought. At his heart, Norman is an engineer -- problems are his raison d'tre. But he allows this to slide, for now -- engineering challenges are for later. For now, he is here to talk about a business opportunity. His smile soon returns, full-strength. "That would be /ideal/, Doctor Toure. And yes -- we haven't had many test subjects, but we've noticed -- the only constant among them seems to be a failure for consistency. It's quite fascinating -- or at least it would be, if it did not create so many near insurmountable challenges. Still -- I look forward to meeting them. With your help." Now, suddenly, he's rising -- offering his hand to Doctor Toure. "I should add -- your experience in matters of neurology and its intersection with psionic ability is something I'm /deeply/ interested in, as well. With your permission -- I would like to forward the work our specialists have been doing to you -- for your thoughts and feedback. Designing telepathic countermeasures is one of our highest priorities. Some of my people suspect that unlocking this puzzle may even lead to a failsafe method to identifying mutants from a distance -- something that would prove /revolutionary/." "Near insurmountable," Rasheed echoes, and for the first time his smile looks warmer, more natural. "But only near. All these problems can be solved, given enough time to apply the right minds to them." He stands, too, a little slower, to take the offered hand in a quick shake. "I admit, working with those with psionic abilities has been utterly fascinating for my studies. Watching how their minds relate to others --" His head shakes, slightly, and instead of going down /this/ tangent he simply agrees: "I would be delighted to see the work your people have been doing. Such a technological leap would be incredible." "Only near," Norman agrees, and his smile is effortless as ever. "But all problems inevitably yield beneath the application of pressure -- and time. And minds agile enough to know where best to direct them." A card, then -- one directly from his jacket pocket. Crisp, white. Oscorp's logo, along with a phone number. Nothing else. It has the look of a card that is almost never given out. "My people will send the documents over. If you need anything -- and I mean /anything/ -- do not hesitate to call. My personal number," he informs Rasheed, and with it, the implication is carried that this number is not to be given out. "I suspect that we will enable each other to do marvelous things." Rasheed takes the card, glances down at it. His head tips in a small nod. "In that, I have no doubt. Good day, Mr. Osborn." His smile is quick. He pockets the card as he turns to go. | |
