Time to go to work
Steve insists on lunch before the meeting, and he and Tony bully me into actually eating it. Tony teases me about my fan club and the efforts to develop my brand. I hate it when he's feeling playful and he has limited targets. Steve gets some of the snark, but it's mostly for me today. The problem is that Marketing wants to use my new weapons in their branding efforts, and I don't want anybody to know what I have until I have to use them and there's somebody who will tell the internet watching it.
Branding. Pah. I feel like a cow with a big ol' branding iron aiming for her rump.
"Why not use your helmet?" Steve says practically, and I consider that, perking up.
"Marketing suggested it, but what they showed me looks like clip art," I say, slouching a bit.
"Sit up straight," Tony directed me. "They can always jazz it up a little. They work for you, remember."
"So I can tell them to bugger off?" I say, perking up.
"No. Eat your cheesecake."
I didn't realize that I wanted it until Tony stabbed his fork at it.
After lunch, the five of us went up to the conference room and the dogs stretched out in front of the windows. Although there's not assigned seating, it's just like school where everybody has a favorite seat. It looks weird with just the three of us, but Nick joins us just as we start to bicker over nothing in particular, then the others take their seats and Peter joins us by Skype.
Nick starts off by recapping what we know about Night Terror, which is pretty much what I heard the night before, with the added bonus that it was thought that the team was mobile, with no fixed lair. I frowned; making a lab with the complexity that the two scientists would need mobile would be difficult and time consuming to set up each time they moved. I looked over at Bruce who was evidently thinking the same thing. He speaks up and voices these concerns to the team.
"Maybe that's why we haven't heard of them or their weapons before," Sam says logically. "Maybe their research is slow because it gets interrupted."
"Our doctors are of the opinion that Sess's work is achievable. I think he's probably sitting on it until Namitar is ready with his part of the evil plot. The docs don't know if what he wants to achieve--keying disease to a specific individual by use of DNA-- is even possible," Nick informs us.
"I think we need to act as if it is achievable," Steve says. "Find them and shut them down."
"I don't disagree," Nick said. He lets the group talk about it for awhile, then we get our assignments, mostly concerned with locating the team and gathering intelligence about them. Bruce and I are tasked to work with the medical staff (Bruce) and Research (me) to figure out responses to the venom Sess is said to be working with and getting R&D to work on protective clothing, air filters, the like.
"This isn't really my area of expertise," Bruce fidgeted. "I'm not into toxins."
"But you can talk to the doctors, you speak their language," Nick pointed out. "Harrington, what do you know about venom?"
I suppressed a snort; Nick knew I'd do homework. "There are three types of venomous snakes," I said, sorting the memories of what I'd read into a context. "Opisthoglyphs, which are rear-fanged snakes--their venom flows down grooves in the fangs while they eat and most aren't really dangerous, with the exception of the boomslang and the twig snake. Then there are the proteroglyphs, the fixed-front fang snakes, also known as elapines. This class contains some of the most dangerous snakes in the world--cobras, kraits, mambas, coral snakes. They hang onto you and chew to envenomate." I ignored the 'ew's' from the table. "Solenoglyphs or viperines are the final class. It contains rattlesnakes, vipers, cottonmouths. Their fangs fold to the top of their mouths when not in use, so they can both chew like the proteroglyphs but also open their mouths almost 180 degrees and strike with a stabbing motion.
"Elopines' venom is neurotoxic, which means that it paralyzes muscles in the respiratory center. Victims die from lack of oxygen, but on the bright side, if they can be put on a respirator, they recover as the venom wears off and there's usually no tissue damage. The viperines--true vipers and pit vipers--are another story. Their venom is hemotoxic, necrotizing, and anticoagulant. A neurotoxin component may be found in rare cases as well. The blood doesn't clot or can be broken down and there's tissue death. There are about twenty different enzymes that can be found in snake venom, although no one snake has all of them, usually between six and twelve of them in most snakes.
"Antivenom or antivenin as it's also called is made from snake venom, which is probably why Sess was hunting them when he was bitten. Hunters get paid per snake. The snakes are milked in the lab and large quantities of the venom are needed. Snakes all want to be left alone, but some of them, like the fer de lance, get really aggressive when provoked into defense. After collection, the venom is diluted and injected into an animal like a goat or horse, which builds up immunity to the venom as the strength of the venom is increased. Then blood proteins--antigens--are harvested, spun down in a centrifuge, and the serum is purified, ready to use. The antivenin works by getting the venom to release the receptor site so that the acetylcholine molecules can act normally, which is to say, making muscle movement possible, and the antivenin and venom are both excreted. Each kind of venom requires its own antivenin.
"If too little antivenin is used, the venom will still be blocking receptor sites, so therapies like respirators will be needed. Too much, and the antivenin will shield the receptor sites like venom, although the antivenin, unlike venom, will eventually release. If this happens, problems like paralysis can occur. Because the amount of venom per bite varies from snake to snake, and even in the same snake in different conditions, administering antivenin is kind of like playing Russian roulette. Each venom has been assigned an LD50 value--"
"What's that?" Peter asked.
"A dose which is lethal in 50% of test subjects. For obvious reasons, LD50 is really a crude measurement when applied to venoms, but it does provide a helpful starting guideline. The inland taipan from Australia can inject up to 110 milligrams of venom per bite, enough to kill a hundred people."
"Jesus," Clint muttered. "I'm never letting my kids go camping."
"It's not all bad," I say. "Snake venom is used to produce medications for blood pressure and clot busters. The really exciting work is being done with cancers and Parkinsons and Alzheimers." I look around the table. Everybody's looking at me with varying descriptions of disgust, even Bruce. "What?" I ask, spreading my hands palm up.
"We need to know what we're up against," Nick says sternly to the table, although it's clear he's still squicked out.
"We really need to take that guy out," Natasha said to hearty agreement.
"I don't disagree, but I think the other one, whatshis name, Namitar, is the one who's more dangerous. We don't know enough specifics, but if this guy can take weaponized bacteria or viruses and target it to specific individuals... Anthrax. Ebola, even more common diseases like tuberculosis, measles could be fatal or highly incapacitating, and anti-vaxxers are gaining ground... Smallpox might have gone missing after the Soviet Union fell. The news that scary diseases are taking out public figures would be demoralizing and panic-inducing, all without actually producing a public health crisis. And somebody's DNA isn't that hard to get. A hair off a lapel. An accident where somebody is made to scrape the inside of the cheek. 'I'm so sorry, here's a tissue--' and somebody is walking away with epithelials. A dental assistant, even easier," I say.
Steve rubs his forehead. "What a nightmare."
After general agreement, the meeting breaks up. Thor and Sif catch up with me and tell me that Sif's going home to Asgard both because Thor's going to be tied up with this thing and there's a risk for people who are close to the Avengers, and will take my medical records with her. I thank her, tell them that I hope she'll be able to come back soon.
Then it's down to R&D. The heads of the departments are interested in the challenges, focusing on that rather than the ookiness of the biological concerns. "You'll be the easiest to outfit," Cam Morrison said, who'll be working on the filters. "You and the kid in the spider costume. You've already got a full-head covering; maybe we can make your voice distorter into a combo filter thing."
"Bring us your helmet," Brenda Gonzales directed. "We've got a glass with micropores that is very thin. It will protect you from something being thrown on your face through those narrow openings, allow some air circulation. Most stuff won't be able to get through the pores, although it all depends on the size of the particles..." she tunes out.
"I'm not the most important person," I feel obliged to point out.
Marissa Black, the overall head of the department, smiles at me. "No, but you're one of ours." I smile back. "And you won't be upset if we experiment on your gear." I laugh. It's true, I don't mind being a guinea pig.
I head off for my workshop and this time it's back to issues in the new quinjet. I'm making notes about upping filtering and juicing the medical AI up by a lot--maybe have a chemical shower? I'm big on those-- when my computer chimes with a request to Skype from Peter.
"Hey, Pete," I say, accepting instantly.
"Hey, Emma. Listen, Can I ask you a question? Well, more than one," he corrected, and I nodded, attentive.
"I know I'm not the most experienced person on the team, and there's the high school aspect to consider, but I'm worried about our ability to handle this."
"You think you won't be taken seriously if you speak up?"
"No, not really, it's just..." he squirmed. "I have some information, but I'm not sure how helpful it will be."
Ah. "Why don't you try it out on me?" I suggest, and his face brightens, then he looks offscreen and yells he'll be just a minute. "My aunt," he said hurriedly. "There are some supers here in New York I've been working with here and there. One hangs out in Hells Kitchen, so I don't know if he'd be useful unless Night Terror hit the neighborhood. But the other guy is kinda weird. He can, like, do magic. He might be able to help. Just a sec, Aunt May!" he hollers.
"How about I tell Nick, then he can get in touch?" I ask, and Peter nods fast, then signs off.
I smile. He's a good kid. I'm saved from having to call Nick by his appearance on my doorstep.
"You've got a nightingale floor," he said, looking around. "And the special glass. I do not recall signing off on that expense," he said. I feel the intensity of his stare like the eyepatch is staring too.
"I got it because I was willing to be a lab rat," I say. "Every now and then they come outside and throw stuff at it trying to break it. And I paid for my workshop myself, remember. I got a discount on it."
Nick snorts a laugh and looks around. "Cameras, audio, probably alarms," he said.
"Are you asking me or telling me?" I goad him, and he laughs.
"I'll find out your secrets," he said, and I smile. "Tell me what you've got," he says, and I recap my conversations with R&D. Then I tell him about Peter's call. I can see him shuffling through responses until he makes his choice.
"I'll give him a call." he finally says, then shakes his head. "I'm worried about the kid out there without support. There are a lot of weirdos out there, especially in New York. That guy in the bat costume. Wish we could move him out here, but he refuses."
I new how he felt. I thought we had responsibilities toward Peter since Tony had actively recruited him, but there was only so much we could do. His equipment was top-notch, his aunt was a caring guardian, and he had an unusual amount of common sense for a teenaged boy. There was no way we could keep him from being a crime fighter, Tarzaning around New York on spider webs instead of vines.
Nick leaves and I get on the horn with the quinjet engineers, explaining the new challenges. After a lengthy, colorful bout of swearing, they say they'll see what they can do, and I hang up with a smile. My job isn't too bad; I just tell people they need to do the impossible, they swear at me and get to work.
When we get back to the apartment after dinner, I let the dogs in and take an envelope off the door that's been stuck on with tape. Inside is a clever line drawing of my image. A few lines suggest the figure with helmet, cape fluttering in a breeze, hands in gauntlets on hips. It manages to be both modern and classic. Marketing is going to just eat this up. I go up to the rec room where Steve is at one of the tables, reading reports.
"Thanks," I said, showing the envelope. "This is fantastic."
He pinked a little. "How did you know it was me?"
"You were studying art before the war, weren't you?"
Before he can reply, the envelope is rudely plucked from my hand and Tony inspects the drawing. I drop my head back and address the ceiling. "You're so pushy," I complain. Tony nods, acknowledging this.
"I think I'm jealous," he said, then Sam, Wanda and Vision come over to see too. They examine it and exclaim over it too.
"If being the Sentinel of Liberty ever wears thin, you've got another career lined up," I say under the commentary, and Steve smiles a little.
It's a nice way to end a challenging day.