ArchivedLogs:Research Ethics

Research Ethics
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Jax
In Absentia	2015-08-12 "A knife on its own is just an object; in the hand of a sentient being, it can make art, or save lives, or kill."
Location <NYC> Stark Tower - Midtown East
A gleaming beacon of modern architecture shining bright amidst the industry of Midtown, Stark Tower serves as headquarters to one of the largest tech corporations in the world. The offices and boardrooms of Stark Industries and any number of satellite companies, subsidiaries, and nonprofits are homed here. To the public what draws most visitors is not the business but the science -- the first two floors of the building hold an extensive museum dedicated to technological innovation. As well, guided tours three days a week are open to the public, to be shown through both the museum and, more notably, through (select parts of) the dozen floors dedicated solely to R&D.The building itself is as eye-catching inside as outside. The soaring lobby atrium extends upwards, bright and glass-walled with perpetually bustling balconies ringing each floor. All visitors must pass through the lobby security checkpoints to be signed in. The technology integrated into the building, from the interactive holographic displays that help guide visitors to their destination to the quiet AI that remembers visitors' preferences upon repeat visits to the basement arc reactor that powers the entire building, are quiet reminders of the company's dedication to innovation. Behind the door standing half open (its brand new brass name plate reads "Bruce Banner"), this expansive office looks almost completely pristine and un-worked in. An L-shaped work station with space-age curves and holographic displays occupies only one corner of it. A sitting area with a coffee table takes up the opposite corner, and across from it a sideboard with a glossy black digital coffee machine, water cooler, and even a small liquor cabinet. A small open space near the desk and the window sports a ficus tree, book shelves, and a couple of cardboard boxes. Bruce himself looks almost lost in this space. He wears a pink pinpoint shirt, a tie with complex geometric designs in matte and satin black, its broad full Windsor knot impeccable, and neatly pressed black linen trousers. All of his raiment shows significant wear, only barely not fraying at the seams. He stands at his desk, flicking listlessly through the a menu tree. Jax looks a /lot/ lost by the time he's made his way to Bruce's office. There's a certain timidity as he peeks inside, unsure even with the name plate on the door. He raps on the doorjam, three small knocks. "'scuse me? Mister Banner?" The tone of his molasses-thick drawl is uncertain, too. There's a bloodred metal dragonfly humming along with him, and he's frowning briefly (dubiously) at /it/ before looking at the office again. "... B said this'd -- show me the way, I -- think --?" One hand lifts, scuffing gleaming rainbow-flecked black nails through vividly bird-of-paradise coloured hair. He's dressed just as brightly, bright blue and black-mesh UFO pants, silver and blue sneakers, a black tee shirt reading 'believe in faeries' dotted with purple and blue stars, studded rainbow bracelets on his wrists. Despite it being daytime and indoors, he's also wearing very large mirrored sunglasses. Bruce starts, looking up to stare blankly at the door for a moment. "Ah! Yes, that's--ah, you're B's dad, then." His intonation lifts very slightly at the end, but not quite enough to make his words sound like a question. Merely uncertain. A little surprised. "Please, come in." He picks up and dons his black-rimmed glasses and waves his guest in as he crosses the room. "Call me Bruce." This as he offers his hand and a small, shy smile. "Oh -- oh good. Then it -- then it knew. How to..." Though Jax looks ever so slightly disconcerted by /this/. He pats the dragonfly gently on the head, though. Pat? Pat? Good robot. And then extends a hand (heavily scarred, calloused, one finger missing) to accept Bruce's handshake. His own is firm, his grip (in noticeable contrast to his child's) starkly warmer to the touch than might be expected. "Yeah! S'me. B's my -- I'm B's dad. Jax. S'a pleasure." His hands drop back in front of him, fingers fidgeting with the wristcuff on the opposite wrist before he gestures around the office with a quick lopsided smile. "S'place don't look hardly lived in at all." Bruce returns the handshake firmly, the skin of his hand soft and cool to touch. "Pleasure to meet you. I..." He studies Jax's face, brows furrowing just a touch, and only for a moment. "Ah, please have a seat--if you'd like?" This with a tilt of his hand to indicate the couch. "I started on Monday, but have hardly spent any time in the office at all. More just bouncing around the building, pinball-fashion." He chuckles nervously. "Can I get you something to drink?" This as he glances at the over-engineered coffee machine. "I think this can make cappuccinos and the like, but I've only used it for plain old coffee so far. Also have water, mediocre lemonade, and...Scotch? Cognac...and something else." Squinting at the liquor cabinet now. "Oh, gosh." Jax shakes his head with a small laugh. There's something of a bounce to his step as he heads over to the couch; even once seated one of his legs continues to bounce, restless, his fingers drumming against his knee. "S'a bit early for drinkin', I think. An' I ain't never sure if caffeine is gonna be /doin'/ nothin' or not these days. Lemonade sounds great, though. Even mediocre. I'm kinda like a hummingbird when it comes t'sugar. -- You likin' it here, so far? B's been fair in love with the place since workin' here." "I think Tony has kind of skewed my notions about when and how much people who do drink ah...drink." Bruce removes two tall glasses from a cabinet in the sideboard, then opens the next panel to reveal a mini-fridge. In it, below a bank of tupperware, a pitcher of water stands beside a pitcher of lemonade. He removes the latter and fills both glasses, bringing one to Jax and keeping the other. "I ah...am not sure? I've never worked in a corporate setting before, and I'm frankly still wary of it." He sits down across the corner from Jax. "But I certainly appreciate having adequate equipment and supplies. Also, the people--the sheer concentration of talent and the energy in this building is pretty stimulating. B, for example--such a remarkable young person." He takes a small sip of his lemonade and sets it down. "I really appreciate you coming to see me, and..." One hand lifts to adjust his glasses, though they appear to sit fine on his nose. "I just don't want this to turn into some sort of elephant in the room, so--and I'm sure it doesn't surprise you--I know about you from the news. I also don't put much stock in mainstream media's journalistic integrity, so..." He splays his hands, palms up, in front of him. "I'm not making any assumptions about what kind of man you are." "Thank you." Jax bobs his head as he takes the glass, fingers curling around it and promptly continuing their drumming. A brilliant smile lights his face after this, wide and proud. "B's brilliant, ain't she? Mister Stark hired her on personally, y'know. Only jus' through high school an' the things she's done already --" A deep blush floods his cheeks. "... I can't even wrap m'brain around a fraction of it," he admits, "but I'm so proud'a her --" The blush deepens, after this. His head bows, mirror-lensed gaze aimed down at his glass. "It don't surprise me, no. S'a rare person these days /I/ actually gotta out myself to." A small crooked smile touches his lips when he looks up. "I appreciate it, though. Thank you. A lotta folks assume -- well. All /kinds/'a things. Ain't most of 'em charitable." "Absolutely brilliant," Bruce agrees. "I've admired her work for a while without knowing it was hers. Tony has always had an eye for extraordinary people. He owes as much of his success to that as to his own intellect and daring--and I would not scoff at either of those." He tugs at the cuffs of his shirt to straighten them. "In general I have found the news a poor basis upon which to form opinions, but at least it has given me the context to understand why B suggested I talk to you. I mentioned to her I had an interest in developing technology that could generate energy shields." "Oh -- oh. Right, yeah, B said --" Jax nods, pausing to take a long swallow of his lemonade. Then standing abruptly, still a little over-bouncy, pacing away from the couch towards the workspace. The wall. Back to the couch. "Is that a -- thing you think you could -- I mean, s'it just hypothetical right now, or do you think that's actually -- possible?" His cheeks flush again, brilliantly red. His hand tips up, a faintly prismatic bubble fluttering to life around the glass of lemonade he is holding. "... I mean. Possible -- for technology t'do." Bruce almost flinches when Jax stands up, then relaxes, turning in his seat to face his guest while he paces. He sits up a little straighter and stares at the bubble around Jax's lemonade. "Extraordinary..." he murmurs appreciatively, pushing his glasses up yet again. "Ah...it is only hypothetical at the moment, but I wholeheartedly believe that technology can accomplish this." He picks up his lemonade, then puts it back down without drinking from it again. "No, that's reductionist. Let me rephrase: I wholeheartedly believe that technology can accomplish almost anything imaginable, but accept that immediate feasibility depends in part on extant models, techniques, etc. And I believe--no, I /know/ that we already have the foundation upon which to build this kind of technology." He draws a deep breath. "That is no guarantee that I, or anyone else, will succeed, of course. But your ability could inform this sort of research, give us something to emulate." Jax lowers his hand. The lemonade stays where it is; at certain angles it looks almost like it is floating, though at others the translucent soap-bubble-esque wall around it is easier to see. "Where would y'even start with replicating -- you know, s'kinda strange, I guess, I spent kinda a while," there's a faint blush returning to his cheeks, though his tone is light enough, "workin' with -- researchers studyin' up on what I do but I don't -- actually /have/ a real solid idea of -- where folks even /gone/ with practical applications of it. Not in most cases, anyway." There's a small shrug, here. He looks back over towards Bruce. "-- What do you think would be done with it? I mean, if you did manage t'figure out how to do somethin' like I do. How would that get used?" Bruce looks briefly perplexed, and then his face goes ashen. "That--what those people did defiles the name of science," he says, his voice soft and calm. "I don't know what they did, or intended to do, with their findings, but I could speculate more broadly on the application of such technology." He rubs at his temples with the index of middle fingers of each hand. "Just off the top of my head, it could benefit spaceflight--manned and unmanned--and other kinds of extreme environmental exploration, and in general improve our ability to send scientific instruments places they might not otherwise survive. It could revolutionize vehicular and structural safety features. If widespread enough, it could obsolete firearms. And..." His eyes fix on the levitating glass. One of his hands drops to his side, clenches into a fist. "...if the military got hold of it, they'd turn it into a weapon." "I know /some/'a what they done," Jax admits, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, "there's actually been some pretty fantastic advances in gettin' more efficient solar power on account'a --" His teeth scrape against his lower lip, brows furrowing. "... an' one kinda awful, um, laser weapon -- thing that --" His fingers knead at his neck a little harder, head shaking. "But m'sure there been other things I didn't even know -- an' with the shields I had no idea what directions nobody was even lookin'." He drops his hand, fingertips playing lightly against the surface of the bubble. "They'd want t'weaponize everything, for sure. Who needs better ways t'explore the world when you could jus' kill each other faster? I -- don't want that." His voice is quiet, but very firm. Very faint and very fleeting, the light in the room shivers. "I mean, I know this company got a lotta contracts with the military, but if that's -- s'enough death in the world already without /me/ helpin'." "No amount of peaceful and positive technological advancement can justify their techniques." Bruce's voice remains low and precise. "And ethical research techniques can in no way redeem the building of weapons. I..." He looks down at his hand, opening it as if with a great effort, and then closing it again. "I am ethically opposed to violence, and told Tony I wouldn't work on any military contracts, but that doesn't mean what I do for this company won't find its way into the weapons divisions. But..." Raising his eyes to meet Jax's. "...what if it were for my personal research? I have my own lab--here, yes, but it isn't connected to Stark R&D. “That said--” Bruce frowns, rubbing at one of his temples again. “If I succeed, whether on my own or on a Stark project, the knowledge will get out there. Even if I don't publish my findings, the technology can be reverse-engineered and, ultimately, weaponized." He stands now, walks up to Jax, studies the bubble surrounding the glass intently. "But, as I said, we /have/ the foundation for this technology now. I would rather beat the military to it, and see it used to explore and protect." Then, ducking his head slightly. "Though I can also empathize with not wanting to be a party to such a project. You are a wiser man than I." Jax's arm curls around his chest, fingers wrapping around his upper arm. There's a faint glow beginning to light beneath the tattoos that sleeve his arms; backlit, the ink takes on a somewhat stained-glass resemblance. "I don't know how much wise has t'do with nothin'. I jus' -- spent enough'a my time around violence, it don't --" He swallows. "/I/ don't --" Again, his words break off. His energy hasn't faded, more /jittery/ than anything else, a continued unsettled bounce on his toes even while standing in place. "S'good that could come of it, too, though. That part's true enough." The smile he gives Bruce is small and uncertain. "S'pose that's the constant balance we gotta find, ain't it? Been strugglin' with it since I manifested. S'pose you go far enough in fields like this, s'gotta be a constant struggle for y'all, too. Or. Well. /Should/ be." His voice slips more wry; his fingers have curled loosely inwards, one thumb rubbing slowly over the scarred nub where his smallest finger should be. "The ethical implications of scientific research tend to be more localized in, say astronomy or geology." Bruce's gaze travels down Jax's arm in evident fascination. "But I am a biochemist and a particle physicist. Advancements in my fields have and will continue to spawn weapons of mass destruction. I knew this when I undertook to study them, and I swore I would not create instruments of violence." He looks down, takes off his glasses. "I have kept to it so far, and I have no intention of doing any different." "Everyone in the government likes to make a fuss 'bout how folks like me, we /are/ instruments of violence jus' by existing. Or -- that's what they say, right? Why they like to try an' legislate us outta havin' any right to --" Jax shrugs. He reaches out to tip his hand up underneath the glass of lemonade, letting the shield vanish and the glass nestle neatly back into his palm. The ink on his arms glows deeper; starts to shift and move, twining and coiling against his skin. "Only the very first thing they /always/ want t'do when they get their hands on us is figure out how t'turn us into weapons." One hand lifts, fingers scrubbing up underneath one side of his sunglasses. "What else have y'worked on? Before now?" "You're not weapons, you're people." Bruce fiddles with his glasses, not looking up. "The government sees your abilities first--if it ever sees anything else--and it doesn't much like to share its comparative advantage in violence." He puts his glasses back on, delicately. "But what they do not understand--or, worse understand but ignore--is that even your abilities are not weapons unless you choose to use them as such. A knife on its own is just an object; in the hand of a sentient being, it can make art, or save lives, or kill. Only in the last would I call it a weapon, though the object remains the same." It's Bruce's turn to pace now, though, self-conscious, he only makes one circuit to the sideboard and back. "During my postdoctoral fellowship at CalTech I worked on cataloging subatomic particles. Later I joined a team at MIT researching anti-rejection drugs--ah, that is, pharmaceuticals that aid in implant retention...but you're not exactly looking for a CV, are you?" He smiles, embarrassed. "I did some work around radiation shielding for a while, but most recently I was in an independent project that explored various things that effectively amounted to biohacking. Our primary goal was to tweak the human body's regenerative capabilities for more rapid healing." He does finally take a sip of his drink. "That...ended in failure, though." "S'a whole lot of us -- me included," Jax says with a soft laugh, "we didn't even know /how/ t'use our powers as weapons, really, not till Prometheus learned us right good. And these shields -- it's only a part of what I can do. I -- it ain't a thing I'd never want back in..." A small furrow creases his brow. He looks downward, into his glass, swirling the lemonade within it. "Well. /Anyone's/ hands, honestly. But." At his side, his own hand flexes slowly. When he looks back at Bruce it's with a quick smile. "Oh, /gosh/. Regenerative -- s'too bad t'hear that failed, {I'm sorry.} S'/more'n/ a few folks I know who might be interesting to talk to about that one. But..." He pauses, here. Takes a small sip of his lemonade, teeth clicking against the glass. "I'll think about it," he says, finally. "You ain't in, like, no -- hurry, are you?" Bruce nods. "What I've read of your abilities has largely come to me through rather dubious sources, and while I certainly suffer from an overabundance of curiosity, I also respect your privacy." He drains the rest of his lemonade and sets the empty glass back on the coffee table. "Thank you--for considering it, after all you've been through, and given your very reasonable concerns with regard to the potential for misuse." A shadow passes over his face, and he bites the inside of his cheek. "I was so sure we had it, too. I still do not understand why it didn't work, but I need to put it behind me. As for whether I'm in a hurry..." His smile comes out a little bashful, eyes downcast again. "Many of my colleagues might say so. But I like to imagine I have learned some measure of patience, even if only by pouring my energy into other things by way of distraction." He looks up again, gives a shallow nod. "Take your time." "Feel like around here there's /plenty/ t'pour your energy into, at least. Think every week B's got somethin' new an' excitin' t'come home an' bubble over about." Jax drains his lemonade, fidgeting awkwardly with the glass as he hovers on the edge of turning back towards the door. "... what was it like at MIT?" This question is more abrupt, a flush swiftly darkening his cheeks. "Are people there..." He trails off, looking down into his empty glass. "I have gotten that impression, yes." Bruce chuckles, glancing over at the window overlooking the city. The question draws his gaze back, and he looks faintly puzzled. "MIT? With the caveat that I haven't been there in about ten years, I liked it well enough. It was full of brilliant people with exciting ideas. That said..." He stretches out a hand for Jax's emptied glass, eyebrows slightly uplifted. "...people there weren't nearly as progressive or original as they liked to think. A lot of the 'I-don't-see-color-or-gender' sort, but that's probably most American universities these days." His head tilts ever so slightly. "B is headed there, then?" Jax takes two bouncing steps closer, setting his glass into Bruce's hand with a quick nod of thanks. "... I got a feelin' even the faux-progressive colourblind nonsense don't always extend so far as not seein' -- /blue/." He pulls in a deep breath. When he lets it out, the lights around them shiver far more noticeably; this time, with a flutter of faint purple-blue whorls of light that skitter around the room and then fade out. "Yeah. She's so excited. An' I'm excited /for/ her, just --" He smiles, small and crooked. "Y'know. College. I think I got the usual parent-worries an' -- then a whole heap on top." Bruce gives a noncommittal hum. "A decade ago, mutant allyhood had a certain cachet there, though my samples were skewed heavily toward the transhumanist set. Either way, I do not think she will find genuine acceptance from the majority of any predominantly human group..." Even so saying, his eyes skid sideways nervously at the shuddering lights. "...Though at MIT she might well receive more fetishizing than outright hatred." He pauses, lips pressed into a line. "I don't suppose that alleviates your concern in the least. I wish I could honestly reassure you, but..." He sets the glass in his hand down on the coffee table, beside the other one. "All I can say is I hold out hope some small number of her peers will value her for her vision, passion and intelligence, not her color or shape or genome." Jax blushes again, nodding along with this. "... I went t'art school," he says with a small wrinkle of his nose, "all the cool kids liked t'call themselves allies, too, but -- it was." He shakes his head, wraps his arm back around himself. Then extends his hand, instead. "'pologies. Thank you. I -- won't take up no more of your time. I'll be in touch, though, yeah? Good luck with --" He glances back around the barely-settled office. "Alla this." "I appreciate the discussion we had, and it's the kind of thing that needs to happen among scientists more often." Bruce clasps Jax's hand and shakes. "Thank you again, and I hope to see you around." He glances out the window at the view of Manhattan. "Though ah, probably not the randomly bumping into you on the street sort of way. Have a good day."