Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 15 (Patreon)

“-and this one, what I don't understand is where the dividends from the earnings are going to be deposited,” I asked, tapping a piece of paper before handing it over to the suited man.

Dean Richards, the attorney and financial expert Howard had recommended for me, adjusted his glasses briefly as he looked over the document I hadn't yet signed. “Ah yes, we'll be putting those earnings into a holding account briefly before reinvesting them into other areas. Specifically, I think... yes, the funds will be reallocated to investing in the companies you've marked... here.”

I accepted the other piece of paper he gave me in return and looked over it, skimming over the list and nodding. It was simply a list of companies I recalled doing very well in the long-term over the next twenty or thirty years. “Alright, that looks to be in order.”

Without further ado, I retrieved the first document and picked up a pen to sign it with a small flourish.

“I think that finishes things up?” I asked, looking back up at the man.

He adjusted his glasses and, after taking the document in question, slipped it into the folder with the others I'd signed. Humming thoughtfully, he carefully picked up the remainder of work that was placed around the table between us before nodding. “I believe it does, Mr. Winston. With this, I should be able to put your financial affairs in order and prepare them for when you leave the service after the war. The only other matter of note would be if you'd like to draw up a living will. I only bring the matter to your attention due to the rather dangerous line of work you're currently involved in.”

I gave the man a humorless smile and nodded. “I suppose it's not out of the question that I could die.”

Even if I doubted it, personally. It was one thing to attribute my confidence to youthful arrogance, but I knew just how random and unforgiving the weapons of modernity could be. My main worry wasn't really bullets, grenades, and tanks from enemy soldiers. No, it was the uncaring fate of bombs, heavy ordinance, and other saturating munitions.

I was most capable against threats that I could actually see coming and respond to. That was obviously true for most people, but most people probably couldn't take out a battalion with a ream of office paper, a ballpoint pen, and a combat knife.

I could.

What I couldn't reasonably be expected to counter was an extreme-range sniper rifle bullet, a heavy artillery bombardment, or a strategic bombing campaign. I mean, once my chakra pathways healed, I could likely bury myself under a few dozen feet of earth and transmute some of that into concrete, but that was enduring such an assault. It wasn't countering it.

In theory, at least, I could get to the point where I could counter such threats. That would take an enormous amount of preparation, build time, and attention from me, but I could eventually do it. At the current time, though, if I decided I needed to be in a conflict of arms, it was best for me to focus on the smaller-scale strategically important battles instead of the theater-altering clashes of armies.

 Oddly enough, I was safer running special operations missions against literal goddamn monsters than I would be storming the beaches at Normandy later this year.

That still didn't mean I was immortal or anything, though.

“Go ahead and draw up something and, if it's ready before I leave, I'll sign it. If not, leave it with Peggy Carter and I'll get it back to you whenever I can,” I replied. “I want to leave basically everything to Erik Lenssherr.”

The attorney nodded and, after spelling out the name, we shook hands one last time before I stood to leave and-

-was immediately greeted by a familiar face.

Or, rather, faces.

Howard Stark's smiling one and Harry Truman's rather more restrained one. The Senator, I'd come to learn, wasn't a man who smiled often while on the job. I wouldn't go so far as to say he was dour or anything, but he took his position and responsibilities seriously. The exceptions seemed to be for press-related events, where he could crack a smile with the best of them. On the other end of the spectrum, though, he could be surprisingly friendly and gregarious while he was off the job.

“Howard, Senator Truman,” I greeted the two men, raising an eyebrow. “I'm going to assume that, given our surroundings, this isn't either an accident or a courtesy visit.”

Howard chuckled at that. “Yep, sorry about that Ray, but we've gotta have some big-boy talk.”

Truman grunted and heft a briefcase as he pushed through to the office we'd just been using. “Indeed, Technical-Sergeant Winston. Your country needs your insight.”

I refrained from sighing and, giving one last nod of appreciation to my attorney, followed the men back into the room. Shutting the door behind me, I looked at the two men as they sat down. “Going out on a limb here, but since you're here Senator Truman and not some nameless bureaucrat or special agent, whatever we're going to be talking about is both extremely high profile and politically sensitive as well as urgent.”

Harry gave me a level stare and nod back as he opened his case. “You'd be right about that, son. FDR's briefed the Russians and British about the Skrull and we need you to verify your report again before I head up to meet with Churchill.”

I gave a minute shrug and stepped forward to accept the folder he handed over. “I'll do as you say, sir, but I don't think I'll have all that much to add since I wrote the report a month ago.”

 Howard sighed and turned towards Truman. “Told ya' so, Harry. To hear the kid tell it, Skrulls were a pretty big secret even during his time.”

I nodded absently as I read the few pages I'd type up on the green aliens back in Washington. “Most of what I know comes from the one government report that was declassified before I had my soul ejected to an alternate universe to be raised by ninja.”

Howard visibly quelled the snickering from the outlandish statement, but Truman couldn't crush the twitch in his eye. Flicking my gaze upward, I gave him an understanding nod.

It came out of my mouth. I know exactly how crazy it sounded, trust me.

“So... anyway, Skrulls are space communists, kind of. People were still divided on whether they had some kind of low-level psychic thing going to recognize each other or if it was pheromone-based, like insects. But the important takeaway is that they can recognize each other even while in shapeshifted to look like their target.” Frowning, I grabbed a pen and started making corrections here and there. Someone had decided to take a few of my warnings more euphemistically rather than literally, and that just wouldn't do.

“Do you think they would ally with Stalin?” Truman asked intently.

I barked a laugh and shook my head. “Ah, no. Or, at least, not legitimately. You have to understand that the Skrulls' ability to shapeshift is what made most mode-er, well, analysts from my time consider it very likely that they had a largely equal distribution of wealth and power outside of whatever leadership structure they had. The term 'space communists' is at least something of a joke... which they removed from the report...”

I sighed and added that back in, underlining it twice for good measure.

Goddamn paranoid assholes making them out to be real communists...

“And you still think their aims here were scouting?” Truman asked intently.

I nodded. “Even in the twenty-twenties, humanity wasn't really developed enough as a species to warrant more than a few sabotage groups every now and then. Skrulls would replace key individuals in industry, politics, or the bureaucracy and try to cause chaos by disrupting them. It seldom worked, because most developed nations had learned to watch for changes in personality and demeanor that would indicate a possible body-snatcher. The problem was that authoritarian regimes tend to have leaders that... lets be generous and say they're more fluid than democratically-led countries.”

Howard snorted, drawing a mild glare from Truman before clearing his throat and stepping into the conversation. “Ah, so... anything come back to you on their technology? We found the spaceship and put it in a Faraday cage like you suggested, but while I can decipher some of the stuff Hydra's pumping out, this is way too far out of my wheelhouse.”

I grimaced and leaned back twirling the pen in one hand as I thought over the question. “I know absolutely nothing about Skrull technology for certain. All of that was highly-classified at a governmental level and I was pretty much a normal guy before my life went insane.”

Howard nodded, sighing. “Yeah, that's what I thought you were going to say. Worth a shot, though. Me and my team will have to stick to carefully poking around.”

Humming, I nodded to myself. “The only thing I can do is sketch some rough outlines of twenty-first century technology and outline each device's uses. It probably won't help all that much, but it might give you a better jumping-off point for some of the alien technologies.”

Howard lit up at that, grinning. “Literally anything would be a huge help at this point instead of stumbling around blind, Ray. That'd be... ah, what was that word you used? Sick, yeah. That'd be sick.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” I asked, keeping a pleasant smile on my face.

Truman grimaced and looked between us before committing to whatever he was thinking about. “The problem is quickly becoming that the British and Soviets want access to the craft. They were pushing for it to be moved to a more internally-accessible area, but with the war still on we were able to shut that down fairly quickly. As it is, we've moved the entire cache out west towards the site you pointed us at outside of Roswell.”

 Yes, it was low-hanging fruit, but sometimes I couldn't help myself.

“FDR is more cooperative with Churchill and Stalin than many in the government would like,” Truman stated with a frown and drummed his fingers across the desk. “I was hoping for any ammunition you could give us to shut down talks about sharing any of these advancements with other governments, especially the Soviets.”

I scrolled through my mental rolodex of information, considering the question. “I feel like I should preface what I'm about to say with the caution that the Soviet Union, for all that it's somewhat a parody of a nation rather than a real, functioning political structure, does have some legitimately brilliant minds working under its aegis and could make a number of very real contributions to the advancement of human technology.”

“Your advice is noted, Technical-Sergeant,” Truman stated formally, putting his elbows on the table and laying his arms flat as he interlaced his fingers. Although he didn't prompt me further, the expectation of a real answer was clear on his face.

I sighed.

“That said, it's hard to counsel actually cooperating with the Soviets. Especially knowing how they plan to govern post-war Eastern Europe,” I elaborated, rubbing at my chin. “They very much embody the 'house that paranoia built,' and their governance strategies and lack of free expression have already led to millions of deaths in the Holodomor and elsewhere. It's incredibly telling that, when the Nazis first crossed into Ukraine, that they were welcomed as liberators... before they started filling mass graves.”

Truman and Howard were silent, letting me talk and ruminate as I shuffled around ideas in my head. Eventually, something clicked into place and I nodded. “The war, as it is now, is in a closing spiral. Stalingrad is over, Leningrad is in the process of winding down, the battle of Kursk was in forty-three and ended all hope of stabilizing the German offensive. At this point there's really no hope Hitler has of legitimately winning the war, or even managing a 'peace with honor' scenario. What I'd say is, you need to bring that point of view to Churchill. He and FDR are personal friends as well as colleagues. Analysis or development of alien technology, at this stage, is just a side-show. It's unimportant to the actual war effort itself.”

Truman looked at me speculatively, nodding slowly. “I think that's a point Franklin will agree with. It will certainly simplify negotiations, at the very least. Likely, it will help us put off any major decisions until the peace treaty has been signed. Stalin won't appreciate that, but with the situation as it is, there aren't many avenues to press.”

“What I'd personally advise in the postt-war period is to attempt to condition access to the alien ship, corpse, and technology on the adherence of the Soviets to the Atlantic Charter. If you frame it not as withholding access to the technology, but on conditioning it to terms that were already agreed to, then FDR is less likely to object. I take it he still believes that Stalin is a good-faith actor?”

Truman grimaced. “It's more complicated than that, thankfully. Reviewing the Soviets' history has removed some of their credibility in Franklin's eyes, but the pragmatist in me agrees that there's not a huge amount we can do to dislodge him from Eastern Europe short of a military campaign.”

I nodded in understanding. There were, sadly, some things that just couldn't be changed. “Hence why I recommend attempting to use the alien technology to at least keep the borders open to some degree. After the Iron Curtain broke apart in the nineties in my time, western nations saw a flood of experienced and talented individuals in a number of fields. We called it 'Brain Drain.'”

Howard chuckled, drawing our attention back to him. “So you want to set that up to happen forty years early, then?”

I shrugged, a small grin on my face. “It's not my fault if living under communism is a nightmarish hellscape that anyone sane would want to run from.”

Truman made a sound that was almost a laugh as he coughed into a fist to cover it.

 Once he got over his 'fit,' Truman took a deep breath and nodded. “It's certainly an interesting strategy, and one I'll take under advisement, but I'll admit to being concerned about Soviet spies as a result of accepting more immigrants.”

“You're going to get those either way,” I replied bluntly. “The only way to fix that would be to get rid of the Soviet Union entirely, and I don't think that's an option.”

Truman paused for a moment, too quick for Howard to pick up on it, but more than enough for me to do so.

Looking towards Howard, I made a decision. “So, are you sticking around London longer or...?”

The genius perked up and grinned. “Ah, they want me back stateside to take the lead on the alien stuff, so I'll be heading out next week, a few days after you guys ship out for your next mission, actually.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds good. I was looking at doing a little forging later, picked up a bit of vibranium in the British Museum. You want to take a look at it before I get down to it?”

Howard chuckled and rose, slapping his hands together. “Well, don't mind if I do! You'll get me those diagrams, future boy?”

“As soon as I can,” I promised.

“Then if I'm not needed anymore?” Howard asked, turning to Truman, who shook his head. “You kids have fun, then.”

Once Howard was gone, I turned back to Harry Truman.

The silence between us was heavy as I picked my pen back up to finish marking up the report on what I'd written about the Skrulls. “You looked like you wanted to ask me something in private.”

Harry grimaced, but nodded. “Tell me... how do you rate your chances at making it look like Hitler had Stalin killed?”

~~~

And done!

This chapter isn't really action-packed, sadly, but it sets up some things happening in the bigger-picture that need to be kept in mind.

Next up is one last chapter of Winning Peace, which may or may not squeak in before the month's out.

In any event, I'll have both that and the poll for June up in a few days, so look forward to that!