(Adapted in part from live RP.)
"Diana, we have a problem."
Walking into the Manor, he pulls off the coat and tosses it over the back of a nearby armchair. Reaching into one of the pockets, he pulls out a small crystalline box, turning it in his hands for a moment, the stormy blue-grey eyes staring intently at it as if he can pick out is secrets by osmosis. Whatever secrets its holding, however, it doesn't seem inclined to give them up. Walking over to a low table near the front doors, he places it on the wooden surface before heading for the passage to the lower-level labs.
"Yes, sir. I have the events of the evening recorded for your review." The feminine voice speaks from hidden speakers in the walls, at perfect conversation level.
As he steps into the lower level, the lights flicker on automatically and the petite golden shape of the holographic AI pops up next to his desk in her usual businesslike pose.
Walking over and dropping into his seat, he blows out a breath, his head leaning back as his eyes fall closed. For a long moment, he simply sits there, thinking.
Wondering what?s taken them this long.
He and Pont had started what they referred to as the Ranger project seven years ago. At first, it had been a game - two men playing at kid's fantasies, ideas gleaned from comic books and brought into the real world. Even the testing of the first prototypes had been more for fun than for something practical.
He had known it would work - he hadn't anticipated just how well.
The two of them - from the moment the project had been conceived - had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it a secret. The designs and project data they kept secure, safe, separate from the rest of the company's works. Tests conducted in remote locations, precautions taken so that they wouldn't be monitored, even to the point of monitoring satellite activity in orbit.
It was nearly a year after the project began that things went beyond theories and testing.
Of course, he hadn't expected to be able to keep his involvement a total secret. In the whole of the world there might have been four defense contractors capable of producing the Ranger suit. None of them made the claim.
Of course, you can see something all you want, but until you have it for yourself you're not going to know how it works.
He'd begun to suspect that others know...or at least suspect.
"Start playback at time index 00:25."
Sitting up straight and opening his eyes, he directs his attention to the monitor as a video stream starts. The perspective is a bit odd - looking up, into the face of a lovely girl, black hair a stark contrast to light features, focused on something not visible on the feed. A moment later he hears his own voice, talking to her. "Marketin', public relations...what else is it ya do, Ane?"
He watches as she settles back into her seat, his attention on the monitor. Even now, looking at it from a more objective standpoint, knowing what he's looking for, he has to admit she keeps a definite, very deep reserve. There is nothing more to be seen now than there was then. "Things I regret. Things that keep me alive and keep me off the streets."
"And are ya still doin' 'em' De t'ings ya regret, dat is." His own voice, softer than its usual playful, devil-may-care tone, but he's not interested in that at the moment.
He watches the look on her face - whether in reaction to what he's asking or something else, he's not sure. "Yeah."
He'd known the answer to that question before he asked it. He recognizes - all too easily - the look of someone with a burden of secrets and guilt.
"Den ya should fix dat, don't ya t'ink?"
She snorts, a twist of lips revealing cynicism hard as jade. "Sure, yeah. Just wipe it all clean and move right along like nothing ever happened. That's worked so well for me before." Her smile is dry, brittle. "Trust me, handsome, I'm on my own in this one."
"Yeah...heard dat one b'fore, too." There's a sharp sound as the audio picks up the sound of his glass making contact with the table. "O'course, Ah c'n tell ya dat as long as ya t'ink yer alone...well, ya are."
He winces to himself. That hadn't sounded cheesy or anything, not at all. For the first time in a while, he makes a mental note to keep the deep talk out of future conversations.
In public, anyway.
For a long moment she's quiet, simply looking at him with an odd expression...like maybe she hadn't really been seeing him before. "You're right." The quiet laugh, even heard on speakers, raises gooseflesh along his arms. "Isn't so easy to let anyone in when you figure it's only you that you have left to trust."
He hears the clink of glass in the background as he refills his own. "Dat's not de hard part, lettin' some'ne in. De hard part is knowin' who t'trust...an' how far ya c'n trust 'em."
Even as the words play to his hears he's cupping his eyes with his hand. WAY too deep, Ed.
"I's not hard t'tell ya got secrets, chere."
(Continued in next post.)
"Diana, we have a problem."
Walking into the Manor, he pulls off the coat and tosses it over the back of a nearby armchair. Reaching into one of the pockets, he pulls out a small crystalline box, turning it in his hands for a moment, the stormy blue-grey eyes staring intently at it as if he can pick out is secrets by osmosis. Whatever secrets its holding, however, it doesn't seem inclined to give them up. Walking over to a low table near the front doors, he places it on the wooden surface before heading for the passage to the lower-level labs.
"Yes, sir. I have the events of the evening recorded for your review." The feminine voice speaks from hidden speakers in the walls, at perfect conversation level.
As he steps into the lower level, the lights flicker on automatically and the petite golden shape of the holographic AI pops up next to his desk in her usual businesslike pose.
Walking over and dropping into his seat, he blows out a breath, his head leaning back as his eyes fall closed. For a long moment, he simply sits there, thinking.
Wondering what?s taken them this long.
He and Pont had started what they referred to as the Ranger project seven years ago. At first, it had been a game - two men playing at kid's fantasies, ideas gleaned from comic books and brought into the real world. Even the testing of the first prototypes had been more for fun than for something practical.
He had known it would work - he hadn't anticipated just how well.
The two of them - from the moment the project had been conceived - had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it a secret. The designs and project data they kept secure, safe, separate from the rest of the company's works. Tests conducted in remote locations, precautions taken so that they wouldn't be monitored, even to the point of monitoring satellite activity in orbit.
It was nearly a year after the project began that things went beyond theories and testing.
Of course, he hadn't expected to be able to keep his involvement a total secret. In the whole of the world there might have been four defense contractors capable of producing the Ranger suit. None of them made the claim.
Of course, you can see something all you want, but until you have it for yourself you're not going to know how it works.
He'd begun to suspect that others know...or at least suspect.
"Start playback at time index 00:25."
Sitting up straight and opening his eyes, he directs his attention to the monitor as a video stream starts. The perspective is a bit odd - looking up, into the face of a lovely girl, black hair a stark contrast to light features, focused on something not visible on the feed. A moment later he hears his own voice, talking to her. "Marketin', public relations...what else is it ya do, Ane?"
He watches as she settles back into her seat, his attention on the monitor. Even now, looking at it from a more objective standpoint, knowing what he's looking for, he has to admit she keeps a definite, very deep reserve. There is nothing more to be seen now than there was then. "Things I regret. Things that keep me alive and keep me off the streets."
"And are ya still doin' 'em' De t'ings ya regret, dat is." His own voice, softer than its usual playful, devil-may-care tone, but he's not interested in that at the moment.
He watches the look on her face - whether in reaction to what he's asking or something else, he's not sure. "Yeah."
He'd known the answer to that question before he asked it. He recognizes - all too easily - the look of someone with a burden of secrets and guilt.
"Den ya should fix dat, don't ya t'ink?"
She snorts, a twist of lips revealing cynicism hard as jade. "Sure, yeah. Just wipe it all clean and move right along like nothing ever happened. That's worked so well for me before." Her smile is dry, brittle. "Trust me, handsome, I'm on my own in this one."
"Yeah...heard dat one b'fore, too." There's a sharp sound as the audio picks up the sound of his glass making contact with the table. "O'course, Ah c'n tell ya dat as long as ya t'ink yer alone...well, ya are."
He winces to himself. That hadn't sounded cheesy or anything, not at all. For the first time in a while, he makes a mental note to keep the deep talk out of future conversations.
In public, anyway.
For a long moment she's quiet, simply looking at him with an odd expression...like maybe she hadn't really been seeing him before. "You're right." The quiet laugh, even heard on speakers, raises gooseflesh along his arms. "Isn't so easy to let anyone in when you figure it's only you that you have left to trust."
He hears the clink of glass in the background as he refills his own. "Dat's not de hard part, lettin' some'ne in. De hard part is knowin' who t'trust...an' how far ya c'n trust 'em."
Even as the words play to his hears he's cupping his eyes with his hand. WAY too deep, Ed.
"I's not hard t'tell ya got secrets, chere."
(Continued in next post.)