thefirststark | (no subject)

(no subject)

Factory Building #3 doesn't stand out much from the dozens of manufacturing sites in southern California. The two things that distinguish it most? That it was build after the war ended, when so many other factories were being shut down. And that it's in Whittier, more than a little off the beaten path. It had been a bit of pork brought home by Congressman Voorhis, something that Howard was glad to take advantage of. And the fact that Voorhis was gone and replaced by a newcomer named Richard Nixon wasn't important. Everyone in the district wanted the jobs, after all.

The location wasn't perfect. The nearest full scale airfield was a good drive, meaning that planes would have to be towed on substandard roads for testing. And those same roads didn't make the drive there an easy one. But Howard was still pleased with the factory, with the labor pool, with the cost of the construction, and the government contracts that went with it. Specifically, the B-35. The next generation in long range bomber.

The staff was all abuzz today. Howard's visits to the factory were rare. He generally trusted his managers, and usually had somewhere else to be. That he was making an inspection left everyone eager. Or nervous. Was there something wrong? Was there someone even more important coming? Or was he just being a boss and pulling the sort of surprise inspection that other bosses love? All anyone knew was that he arrived through the private garage and went to his office unseen.

They didn't know that he had left the office and gone into another dimension for a while. Or that he was bringing back a guest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What, and you thought I was just another pretty face?" she asks, still smiling. Sometime she needs to show him the shirt she has with no I will not love you long time printed boldly across the front. She thinks Howard would either laugh himself silly or blush until he passed out, one of the other.

"We tried hydrogen slush a while back, but it doesn't so much burn as it does ignite and promptly explode, which was a little counterproductive."

"We?" He knew she dabbled, but didn't realize it had gone that far.

"Hydrogen is off limits these days. Too many people remember the Hindenburg." Yes, there is also the hypothetical use of hydrogen in fusion reactions, but that would be too much for a simple engine.

"We in a general sense," she says, shaking her head with a laugh as she stands with her head tilted back to look up. "I'm not generally allowed to handle powerful explosives. Some people think I'm reckless."

"Electricity and explosives don't get along. Or better yet, they get along too well.

"How are you controlling your energy, by the way?" He's not worried. Just curious.

She lifts the cuff of her shirt to show Howard the bracelets on both wrists, looking for all the world like simple link bracelets. "There's a dead high-capacity lithium-ion battery in each link that touches my skin. I should be fine for a couple of hours. Can't output any of it safely without grounding to something directly, but that's not a problem."

Unfortunately, showing the bracelets also means showing the scarred skin of her forearms. It's smoothing out, though, thanks to scar-treatment lotion.

"Do the batteries recharge?" Leave it to Howard to focus on that.

"Oh yeah. You just have to put them in something that charges up," she says. "These I got out of cell phones."

"Interesting." He files the idea of successful recharging of batteries for later.

All around them, a host of metalworkers, electricians, technicians, and plain old factory workers - most of them men, most of them white - do a thousand things to slowly create a plane.

"I'll let you examine it later," she chuckles, leaning over. "I think your workers might get ideas if I start giving you jewelry off my person."

"Very true." More than a few have noticed the attractive young Oriental woman, though they never look for long. And any racist thoughts about their boss being with her are wisely kept to themselves.

"Let me point out some highlights of our new bomber."

"Relax, it's not like I'm not used to men staring at me," she says. Given she has her shirt collar open several buttons down, and that is not an isolated occurrence, Noriko is quite used to it.

"Go for it. I'm all ears."

This time, Howard is not doing the sales pitch. He gets very technical with talk of lighter metals, new engines, advances in welding, and the difficulty of flying while laden with massive amounts of explosives. He sounds excited about all of it.

Noriko listens closely this time, obviously processing the ideas with the ones later present in her time. "What kind of alloys are you using?"

He lists steel and aluminum alloys mainly, each cutting edge for the time. "If I could get one ounce of vibranium, just one ounce, it would help a lot. But no such luck."

She looks over at Howard with a brow quirked.

"You know a classmate of mine has vibranium tattoos all over him, right?" she asks, though she is careful to keep her voice relatively quiet.

"I didn't know that. Or that you could do that. How does he have access to any vibranium?" Maybe by her time, the Wakandan monarchs aren't as protective of their one natural resource.

"Not a clue, but I'll ask," she says. "Who knows, if he can get you some I'll bring it along to you sometime."

"I would love to have some. But I would have to be very careful how I use it. It's one of the few metals regulated by Washington. They aren't looking to let anyone else play with it."

"Washington can get the hell over it," Noriko says bluntly. It's pretty clear she has zero admiration for the way her government handles their problems. (The whole registration and internment idea, even if it was never accepted, it really bugs her. A lot. On multiple levels.)

Howard merely raises an eyebrow at Noriko's comments. He doesn't care much for regulations, but he knows what side of the bread the butter is on.

"Let's talk later about the vibranium."

"You keep looking at me when I say things like that like you can't believe how I have these opinions," she says, expectant.

"Well, I suppose I don't. Or rather, it's surprising you are willing to say them.

"Though in this case...you are aware how connected I am to Washington, right?" He gives her a smile to show he's not trying to be too provocative.

"What can they do about me not liking them, take away my birthday?" she asks. Though it is a very real possibility--figuratively, but unhappily speaking--in her world, Noriko has long lived by the idea that she will not kowtow to anyone. Including politicians.

"I know how connected you are to your Washington, and maybe it's better than the one we deal with," Nori shrugs. "And I like you, which is why I'm not concerning myself overly with the practical loopholes of things that are, at the moment, theoretical." Which basically boils down to: if it can't be done here, remember Washington has no say in the bar.

"We'll discuss away from here." But the look on his face says that the wheels are turning. The trick, he might admit later, is striking a balance between what he can do, what should do, and what he has to do. "And Washington isn't that bad. On the whole. Most days." Pause. "Sometimes."

"Keep going and we'll land on a word we actually agree on," she says.