I hopped into Jimmy's truck, securing the case between my legs. Then we were off. Since it was around noon on a weekday, traffic was surprisingly light. Most of the rush was either earlier in the morning or wouldn't hit until the evening commute. Jimmy prattled away, talking about a gearbox he was rebuilding in his garage, schoolwork, classes he was looking forward to. I perked up though when Jimmy mentioned Chinatown offhandedly.
"What's going on there?" I asked. "I saw some super powered mob enforcer smashing up storefronts."
"Oh man, Chinatown's a complete shitshow right now," Jimmy said, pushing his glasses up as he changed lanes. "There's this crew called the Dragon Lords, led by the White Dragon. Guy's got this whole dragon-themed costume with flamethrowers and steel claws. His outfit's been going at it with the Tiger's Claw, which is one of the more traditional outfits in the neighborhood. We figure the White Dragon's probably a patsy for someone. Uncle Tony says we're staying the hell out of it. Last thing we need is to get caught between that weirdo, whoever's pulling his strings and the superheroes."
I shrugged. "Seems wise enough."
Jimmy continued talking, but my mind drifted to the conversation I was about to have with the AIM cell. Should I tell them about the fact that I planned to break into the Stane facility or keep things vague?
The arguments lined themselves up neatly in my head. On one hand: I needed help. Real help. Not just consulting, but actual expertise in areas where I was dangerously out of my depth. The contemporary network environment, cameras, physical infiltration, specialized equipment and a support team. All things I needed and I couldn't wing it without.
On the other hand, bringing in partners meant splitting the take.There were things I wanted to keep for myself. The Iron Monger, if Stane was building it at the Long Island facility. Blueprints for the Iron Monger as well as potentially some Guardsman blueprints. Those were my tickets towards bigger and better things that would eventually propel me out of this life.
AIM probably didn't have much access to Stark's hardware. If I offered them first pick on some of what I acquired, manufacturing equipment, weapons prototypes, research data, hopefully it would be valuable enough to get their support without giving away what I really wanted.
The Iron Monger was the key variable. If I could keep that off their radar entirely, spirit away any blueprints or hardware components before they knew it existed... Yeah. That could work. They'd get enough to make it worth their while. I'd get the help I needed and keep the crown jewels.
The real question was whether I could pull that off.
The ride continued apace. Apart from a sudden pang of loneliness when Jimmy talked about his family (something about his mother's cooking and Sunday dinners that hit harder than I expected), nothing else eventful happened. The familiar rhythm of highway driving and Jimmy's easy chatter filled the space, making the trip pass quickly.
We pulled into the same nondescript office park and parked in front of the glass doors of Meridian Biotech Solutions. The parking lot was more crowded this time, with several bland sedans and a couple of work vans occupying spots near the entrance. Jimmy killed the engine and we both hopped out of the truck, the DRC case heavy in my hands as we strode through the glass doors.
The lobby was exactly as I remembered it. Sterile, corporate,and utterly unremarkable. Jimmy nodded at the blonde receptionist behind the desk, who looked up from her computer screen with that same practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said smoothly. "Here about the quarterly samples again?"
"That's right," Jimmy confirmed. "Patterson's expecting us."
She gestured toward the security door without missing a beat. "Please proceed through."
We passed through the narrow hallway and took the elevator down. My ears popped twice during the descent, and when the doors opened, Rosa was waiting in the corridor. She was wearing safety glasses pushed up on her forehead and had what looked like carbon scoring on her lab coat sleeve.
"Jimmy," she said with a nod, then turned to me. Her posture was controlled, professional—maybe a bit more guarded than I'd expect for a routine equipment inspection. "Quince, right? Good to see you healed up from that mess in the warehouse."
Her eyes immediately tracked to the case in my hands, and I saw some of the tension ease from her shoulders. "What've you got?"
I set the case on a nearby workbench and cracked it open. Rosa leaned in, her expression shifting from professional wariness to genuine interest as she recognized the chunky prototype railgun. Her guarded air softened, replaced with enthusiasm.
"Is that DRC hardware?" she asked quietly, but there was an underlying excitement in her voice.
"Yeah. Probably acquired in '78," I said. "So not exactly cutting-edge, but I thought AIM might be interested in taking a look. Non-invasive examination only."
Rosa's eyes lit up. "I used to work for them, but wasn't cleared for this projet. Would love to see what they've been up to...."
Well isn't THAT interesting?
She shook herself. "You're going to have to ask Patterson though, I don't have the authority to make this type of call."
"Fair enough."
Rosa excused herself and walked to an intercom mounted near the corridor entrance. She kept her voice low, but I caught Patterson's name. A few minutes later, Dr. Patterson appeared, looking as methodical and composed as I remembered. He examined the railgun with the practiced eye of someone who'd seen plenty of questionable acquisitions.
"DRC prototype," Patterson said, not quite making it a question. "You're looking to have us examine it in exchange for...?"
"Information," I said. "I need expertise on computer systems and network security. Specifically, I need to understand how a large corporate facility's network architecture might be set up."
Patterson raised an eyebrow but said nothing for a long moment. He was probably used to prototypes of dubious provenance.
"Non-invasive examination only," I added. "X-rays, measurements. Nothing that leaves traces that could be detected."
Patterson studied me, then glanced at the railgun again. Finally, he nodded. "Acceptable. Rosa, take a look at the gun. Standard non-invasive suite." He turned back to me. "For your information needs, I'll have you talk to Becca. She handles our cybersecurity and knows more about network architecture than anyone else in the cell."
Rosa was already pulling on gloves, her expression one of barely contained excitement as she carefully lifted the railgun from its case. "I'll take good care of this," she said. "Give me about two hours for the initial examination."
Patterson gestured for me to follow. "Come on. Becca's probably in the server room arguing with Darrell."
We headed deeper into the facility, leaving Jimmy to watch Rosa work. The last I saw of both of them was Rosa grabbing the case with the railgun in one hand and gesturing animatedly with the other as she led Jimmy toward one of the automated manufacturing rooms. Through the reinforced glass window, I caught a glimpse of robotic arms and precision machinery before they disappeared inside
We walked past several laboratory spaces, technicians in blue beekeeper suits moving between workstations with practiced efficiency. Patterson led me to another elevator at the far end of the corridor.
As the doors closed and we began descending, I couldn't help but ask, "How big is this facility, anyway?"
Patterson glanced at me with a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Big enough for our purposes."
The non-answer was delivered so smoothly it was clearly practiced.Message received.
The elevator descent was shorter this time, maybe one floor down. When the doors opened, the atmosphere was noticeably different. Cooler, for one thing, with the distinctive hum of climate control systems working overtime. The corridor here was narrower, more functional, with exposed cable trays running along the ceiling and the steady thrum of electronics vibrating through the walls.
Patterson led us to a reinforced door marked only with a small placard reading "SERVER ROOM." He punched a code into the keypad, and the door clicked open.
The server room beyond was a maze of equipment racks and blinking lights. The temperature was almost uncomfortably cold, and the white noise of cooling fans created a constant background buzz. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I could hear two voices, one male, one female, engaged in what sounded like a heated technical debate.
"completely missing the point"
"if you'd actually read the spec sheet instead of just assuming"
"Are things always this contentious?" I asked quietly.
Patterson's expression didn't change, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "Always. Darrell handles systems integration, Becca handles security. They've been arguing about whose domain is more critical since the day we hired them." He paused. "Personally, I think they just enjoy it."
We moved deeper into the room, weaving between the equipment racks. The server room opened up in the middle, revealing a workspace with two desks pushed together, each with its own terminal. A rolling whiteboard was covered in network diagrams and hastily scrawled notes. The woman (Becca, presumably) was short with ginger hair in a pixie cut, perched on a rolling chair at one desk with one leg tucked under her. The man (Darrell) was Black with a neat fade, standing and pointing furiously at the whiteboard.
"-completely ridiculous paranoia!" Darrell was saying, his voice carrying the exasperated tone of someone who'd been having this same argument for quite some time. "It's a bioreactor control system. Temperature monitoring, pH sensors, nutrient feeds." He wiggled his fingers mockingly. "Oooooh, the yeast is Turing-complete and someone's gonna use it to write malicious code... spoooooky."
"The control protocols, genius!" Becca shot back, her face flushing. She was perched on a rolling chair, one leg tucked under her, gesturing at the whiteboard. "You hook that bioreactor PLC into the research VLAN, and suddenly anyone who compromises a research terminal can pivot straight into the bioreactor's operational systems."
Darrell threw his hands up. "How else are the researchers supposed to monitor fermentation parameters remotely? You want to make Davis walk down to the server room every two hours to input data then walk back upstairs to the reactor like it's the dark ages?" He paused. "Davis is one scary lady. You want to explain that to her?"
Becca rolled her eyes. "Davis is a perfectly normal bio grad student. Anyway-air-gap the new bioreactors. Sneakernet the data over to the research network manually. Keep them separate."
"That defeats the entire point of having networked systems!" Darrell turned to Patterson, apparently hoping for backup. "Mike, please explain to her that we built this infrastructure so people could actually use it-"
Patterson held up both hands in a warding gesture. "I'm not getting in the middle of this again."
Becca spotted me and Patterson, and her expression shifted from irritation to curiosity. "Who's the new guy?"
"Quince," Patterson said. "He's here about a consulting arrangement. Needs your expertise on corporate network architecture."
"Corporate?" Becca's eyebrows went up. She glanced at Darrell. "We're tabling this for now, but don't think it's over."
"You do that," Darrell muttered, turning back to his server rack. "I'll be over here making sure the actual research can happen."
"Corporate network security. What kind of corporation? Bank? Defense contractor? Research facility?"
"Research and development," I said carefully. "Large facility, multiple security zones, lots of proprietary data. I need to understand how the network architecture would be set up. What kind of segmentation, what access controls are on the network and on the machines, that sort of thing."
Becca's expression sharpened with interest. "You planning a penetration test or a break-in?"
"Does it matter?" I asked.
"Legally? Yeah." She grinned. "Practically? Not if you don't get caught. Pull up a chair."
I pulled up a chair, mind racing. This was the decision point. I could stay vague, keep my cards close-but vague meant vague help. Generic advice that might not apply to what I was actually getting myself into.
The Iron Monger suit (and its technical drawings) were there. Probably. Along with older Stark projects, and whatever else Stane was working on, guarded by layers of security. And I was one guy with some technical skills, a few connections, and meta knowledge. Going in blind was suicide.
I needed real help. That meant giving them something real to work with.
The downside was obvious. tell them it's Stane, and suddenly this wasn't just a consulting arrangement. It was a partnership. They'd want a cut of whatever I found.
The alternative was worse however. Stumbling around the Stane facility with half-assed planning and getting caught because I was too paranoid to ask for proper help.
Besides, I'd already brought them the DRC railgun. I already had established myself as someone who could acquire interesting hardware. Might as well lean into it.
My final assumption(unconfirmed but likely)was that AIM wanted Stark's tech badly enough to make this worth it for them.
"Actually," I said, "I can be more specific about what I'm looking at. It's the Stane International facility on Long Island."
The room went very quiet.
Becca's eyes sharpened. Darrell stopped whatever he was doing with the server rack and turned around. Patterson's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle straightening, like a jackal catching a scent.
"The old Stark International facility," Becca repeated slowly. "As in Tony Stark and his bodyguard. That Stark International."
"Currently under new management," I said. "Stane orchestrated a hostile takeover a while back. The company's in flux, security's transitioning, and I think there's a window. I need help understanding their network architecture,and maybe physical infiltration support."
Patterson moved closer, his demeanor sharpening into something more focused. "And in exchange?"
"Priority choice on anything I acquire," I said, meeting his eyes. "Stark tech, research data, prototypes...."
Darrell whistled. "Shit, that's ambitious."
Patterson coughed. "We don't have much of Stark's tech. Stark International did an annoyingly thorough job of locking AIM fronts out of their supply chain." Patterson said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Most of our Iron Man-related work is based on reverse engineering and partial data. We have some materials from Dr. Mordius's work in the late sixties, but even that is fragmentary."
Yahtzee! I cheered internally. I suspected this, but confirmation is good.
Patterson smiled briefly. "We also have access to the mind-machine interface technology from the Iron Man suit, Another AIM cell" a sardonic smile flickered across his face "acquired it from Hammer Industries and were kind enough to share. Justin Hammer certainly isn't complaining."
He paused, then leaned against the desk. "It's also dangerous," Patterson said quietly. "Their security protocols are formidable, even in transition. And if you're caught—"
"I'm aware of the risks," I interrupted. "Which is why I'm here. I've got technical skills, but I don't know about corporate infiltration. I need partners who know what they're doing."
Patterson was quiet for a long moment, his eyes distant. Then he glanced at Darrell. "Your assessment?"
"If he's serious?" Darrell said slowly. "This could be huge. Stark tech is..." He trailed off, making a gesture that encompassed everything around us. "We've been reverse-engineering their scraps for years. Actual prototypes, actual research data wouldn't go amiss."
Becca was watching Patterson closely. "But Stane's in charge now," she said. "Different management, different protocols."
"Precisely," Patterson agreed. "Which changes the calculus." He turned back to me. "What's your timeline?"
"Still in the reconnaissance phase," I said. "I've got facility maps, security documentation, some information on their badge system. But I need expertise on how it all fits together."
Becca shrugged. "I don't know much about physical infiltration, but I do know networks." She smirked. "That's what got me here in the first place, poking around where I shouldn't have been." She leaned forward. "From what I know about how these environments are set up, they'll have a connection to ARPANET. Most of the big defense contractors do, and Stark wouldn't have been different. Stark did get out of weapons though, so they may have gotten their ARPANET access pulled."
Darrell coughed. "Unlikely. They went out of the way to set up the infrastructure, and even if Stark wasn't doing weapons anymore, they still do work for the US government. Not worth the efficiency loss to play politics. Secondly, Stark International-"
"Stane International now," Becca cut in with a smirk.
Darrell rolled his eyes and continued. "-back into the weapons business, and a big shot like Stane would want the primary facility hooked up."
Becca raised a finger. "Assuming the ARPANET connection is in, it's going to be airgapped from critical systems" She stared at Darrell pointedly.
Darrell groaned. "Our connection to the AIM intranet is airgapped, that's a completely different use case then the bioreactor!"
Becca plowed forwards, ignoring Darrell's misery. "In summary, while you probably could sneak in over ARPANET, you wouldn't get much interesting from doing it."
I shrugged. "What would I get?"
Becca gestured dismissively. "Some emails. Administrative memos. Bits and bobs of unclassified data. Nothing worth the risk."
She perked up suddenly. "Wait-what about the MILNET connection?"
MILNET. I remembered reading about that. In my timeline, it was split off from ARPANET in '83 for military traffic. Had to be earlier here, given the advancement...
Darrell shook his head. "They'd have one. Stane's doing DoD contracts, so they'd need it. But MILNET is for unclassified defense traffic. Same problem, anything actually valuable isn't hooked up to MILNET."
"So basically," I said slowly, "remote access is a dead end."
"Pretty much," Becca confirmed. "If you want the good stuff, you're going in physically."
I groaned internally. So much for the easy way.
"Alright," I said, pivoting. "Assuming I get physical access, what am I looking for? How do they actually store classified project data? Design files, technical specifications, that kind of thing?"
Becca leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, that depends on the facility. My misspent youth involved poking around in a few defense contractor networks." She smiled slightly. "I actually got into a Williams Innovations database back in the day."
Darrell snorted from across the room. "Williams Innovations. Wasn't that basically a Maggia front by the end?"
Becca shrugged. "That was the rumor. Never found proof of it in their systems, though. Most of what I saw was boring day-to-day stuff—payroll records, shipping manifests, equipment maintenance logs. The really interesting data was airgapped, like I said."
"So where would Stane keep his classified project files?" I pressed.
Darrell turned away from the rack. "I used to work at Grumman's main office on Long Island, actually. Different facility, but same general setup." He gestured vaguely. "Classified data gets stored in the main computer room. Big mainframes with disk arrays for active projects, tape libraries for backups and archives."
"Disk arrays?" I said, trying to keep my tone casual. "Not primarily tape?"
Becca jumped in. "Disk got cheap enough a couple years back that most places transitioned active storage over. Faster access, no load times, way easier to work with when you're actively developing something. Tape's still king for backups and long-term archives, but if someone's working on a project day-to-day? It's on disk."
I processed that. My knowledge on the tape to disk transition was fuzzy but I could have sworn it happened later in my timeline.
"How much storage are we talking about?" I asked.
"Depends on the system," Darrell said. "But a typical modern mainframe setup might have anywhere from twenty to fifty gigabytes of hard disk storage across multiple drives. More if they've invested heavily in newer hardware."
Twenty to fifty gigabytes. In 1984. As primary storage. In my world, that kind of capacity wouldn't be standard until the late 80s, early 90s.
"And tapes?" I asked.
"Nine-track reels, mostly. Standard format is 6250 BPI, about 170 megabytes per reel if you're using optimal block sizes." Darrell walked over to where Patterson had set down my blueprints. "They'd have a tape library for backups. Daily, weekly, monthly rotations. Plus archived data from completed projects, stuff that's not being actively modified."
"So if Stane's actively building something," I said slowly, "the current design files would be on disk."
"Yeah. The tapes would have backups, older design iterations, maybe finalized manufacturing specs that aren't being touched anymore." Darrell tapped the blueprints. "Tape libraries are going to be easier to physically access. It's just a climate-controlled room with racks of reels. But you'd be getting backups, maybe a few days or weeks old. You want the bleeding-edge current version of whatever Stane's working on? That's on the HDDs."
Patterson spoke up. "That assumes Stane is following standard practices. He may have additional security measures for particularly sensitive projects."
"True," Darrell conceded. "But the basic system would be the same. Active data on disk, archives on tape. Show me the computer facility layout. I can probably tell you where the disk arrays would be versus the tape library, and what kind of access you'd need for each."
Patterson was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he glanced at Becca, then at Darrell.
"Show us your blueprints," Patterson said finally. "Let's see what we're actually dealing with."
I coughed. "I didn't bring them with me today. You have any availability later this week?"
Patterson checked his watch. "Thursday afternoon. Two o'clock."
"That works," I said.
"Good." Patterson's tone became businesslike. "Bring the blueprints. Facility layout, computer room schematics, security documentation, anything you have. We'll need at least two hours to do a proper analysis."
Darrell added, "If you've got any information about their hardware, mainframe models, disk systems, anything like that, bring it too. The more we know about what we're dealing with, the better."
"I'll bring everything," I said.
Patterson nodded. "Thursday at two, then. Same entrance procedure as today." He gestured toward the door. "Rosa should be finishing up with the railgun. Let's go see what she found."
As Patterson and I headed for the door, Becca's voice rang out behind us. "You know, just because Grumman did things a certain way doesn't mean Stane does."
"I worked there for five years," Darrell shot back. "I know how defense contractors set up their facilities—"
I could hear the smirk in Becca's voice."Exactly. You're bound to certain preconceptions. Stark's always done things differently, and from what I hear, Stane's even more paranoid. You can't just assume-"
"I'm not assuming anything! I'm giving him a baseline to work from-"
"A baseline from what, the Hyborian? Things have changed, old man-"
"I'm twenty-nine and-"
Patterson closed the door on their argument, the soundproofing cutting off Darrell's indignant retort and the hum of the server room. His expression remained neutral, but I thought I caught the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
"They do this often?" I asked as we made our way to the elevator.
"Daily," Patterson said. "They're both excellent at their jobs. They just enjoy bickering."
We rode the elevator up in silence. When the doors opened, Patterson led me down another corridor to one of the automated manufacturing rooms I'd glimpsed earlier. Through the reinforced glass window, I could see Rosa and Jimmy standing near a workbench covered in equipment.
Rosa was talking animatedly to Jimmy. "It's an interesting approach to building a small railgun, to be sure. Clever, actually. Bien hecho. Though they cheated their way around some things—"
Spanish slipped in when she got excited about something. I didn't notice that last time I met her, but a firefight is hardly conducive to getting to know people.
Jimmy interjected. "Cheated?"
"There's a plug for an external power supply. Now there's a capacitor in the gun, but without the external supply, they wouldn't be getting very many shots off."
She traced a seam along the barrel. "Secondly, look at the barrel design. This looks like it's a pretty early-stage prototype. I'd assume they're further along by now. The barrel is meant to be swappable. Probably because rail erosion is still a problem they're trying to solve."
Patterson studied the weapon. "Makes me wonder who they were selling this to.."
He glanced at his watch. "Thursday at two still work for you?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'll bring everything."
Rosa carefully placed the rail pistol back into its carrying case. "Thanks for bringing this in," she said, glancing at me with genuine appreciation. "It's... good to see what they've been working on. Even if I'm not there anymore."
I lifted the case off the desk. "Glad you enjoyed it."
Patterson straightened. "Rosa, write up your findings on the railgun. Might be interesting." He looked at me. "I'll walk you both out."
Jimmy and I followed Patterson back through the facility's corridors to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, just the hum of machinery and the occasional click as we passed each floor. When the doors opened to the lobby, Patterson extended his hand.
"Thursday," he said. "Don't be late."
I shook it. "I won't."
The receptionist barely looked up as Jimmy and I passed through to the parking lot. The afternoon sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the asphalt. Jimmy unlocked his truck and we climbed in.
"So," Jimmy said as the pickup's engine rumbled to life. "You get what you wanted?"
I paused for a second, then responded. "Yeah. I think I did."