The Level 3 access card felt insignificant in my hand, a flimsy piece of plastic representing the entire bureaucratic control structure of S.T.A.R. Labs. Dr. Chu escorted me into the Applied Physics wing. This area was humming with the low, stressed whine of high powered computational devices. The air was sterile and slightly metallic.
We arrived at a spacious, glass walled control room overlooking a massive containment bay. Inside the bay, illuminated by cold white light, sat the prize: the twisted, chrome wreckage of the automaton that had attacked Metropolis. The metal was alien, dense, and visibly unstable, shimmering with residual, high energy entropy.
"The core issue is heat dissipation," Dr. Chu stated, gesturing toward the main console. "The metallic structure exhibits anomalous thermal runaway when exposed to standard electromagnetic shielding frequencies. We can't analyze it without risking a localized explosion. Dr. Finch's team has been attempting a phased frequency modulation, but the system keeps overriding the input."
Finch, a man whose expensive suit looked as rumpled as my discarded pajamas, glared at me from across the console. He was the classic academic rival, immediately defensive against intellectual intrusion. His team looked exhausted, slumped over their stations.
I ignored Finch completely. My mind had already processed the visual data, the atmospheric readings, and Chu's brief explanation. The problem wasn't heat dissipation or frequency modulation. The problem was poor system design based on Earth-centric assumptions.
"The system isn't overriding the input, Director," I corrected Chu, my voice utterly calm, the lack of accusation making the statement far more dismissive. "It's responding precisely as it was designed to. You are treating the alien alloy as a passive conductor of heat, but its crystalline structure suggests it is an active, resonant filter. The anomalous frequencies you are using for modulation are being absorbed, amplified, and re radiated as excess kinetic energy. You are, quite literally, feeding the instability."
Finch scoffed, pushing off the console. "Nonsense. The structural analysis shows standard metal to ceramic molecular bonding. This is a dissipation issue, pure and simple. We need to increase the magnetic shielding integrity."
I finally glanced at Finch. My arctic blue eyes settled on him for a single, devastating second. "Your analysis of 'standard' bonding fails to account for the quantum entanglement inherent in its creation. The metal is not bonded; it is interstitially linked across non contiguous structural planes. Magnetic shielding simply tightens the thread of the field, causing the entire nano lattice to tear itself apart. I saw the weakness in your initial patent application three hours ago, Doctor Finch. Your methodology is flawed."
Chu stepped in, her hand resting firmly on the back of my chair. "Dr. Ashford, if you have a solution, you have five minutes to demonstrate it before I remove you for insulting my lead researcher."
"Five minutes is ample time to correct seventy two hours of poor modeling," I replied, sitting down at the central terminal.
I pushed Finch's team away from the keyboard without asking. My fingers flew over the keys, a blur of motion driven by pure cognitive efficiency. The data I needed was not in their project files; it was in the system's core operating parameters.
I accessed the containment bay's thermal regulatory software. I did not attempt to increase cooling. Instead, I rerouted the system to monitor and catalog the emitted by the alloy. I needed to know the metal's natural 'language.'
I bypassed the magnetic shielding input. Based on the initial thermal runaway data, I calculated the precise inverse phase shift frequency necessary to cancel the instability. It was a complex sequence requiring a dynamic, oscillating input, not a static field. I coded a six line subroutine to generate this counter frequency, timing its introduction to the containment field with millisecond precision.
I pushed the new subroutine into the live system.
Finch shouted a protest. "He's running an untested script! It will destabilize the field!"
"It will stabilize the field," I murmured, watching the data stream.
On the console, the graph monitoring the alloy's residual energy output dipped sharply. The chaotic thermal spikes vanished, replaced by a flatline of perfect stability. The metal, previously shimmering with contained violence, dimmed slightly.
A collective sigh swept through the control room.
Dr. Chu stared at the monitor, then at me. "The thermal signature is flat. The containment is stable."
I rose from the chair. "Stability achieved. The containment bay is now safe for physical analysis. You can thank Dr. Finch's initial data set, which, though fundamentally misinterpreted, provided the necessary parameters for the correct inverse solution." This was a diplomatic flourish, necessary to secure continued access.
Dr. Finch, now visibly subdued and wary, took a cautious step forward. His pride was damaged, but the scientific reality of the stable alloy was undeniable.
"Who are you?" Finch demanded, his voice low, betraying a mix of hostility and grudging curiosity. "I checked the system. You aren't in the staff directory."
I turned to him slowly, giving him the attention he craved only now that I had proven my superiority. I extended a hand, the gesture intentionally abrupt.
"Dr. Ryan Ashford," I introduced myself. "Theoretical and Applied Nano Physics. And you are Dr. Finch, Lead Researcher on the now stable extraterrestrial alloy project. It is a pleasure to finally engage with your data."
Finch ignored my hand, crossing his arms. "Theoretical. Of course. You don't have a lab here."
My smile was small and utterly predatory. I lowered my voice, using the silence of the now relieved control room as a backdrop. This was the moment to establish psychological dominance not through insult, but through offering a superior form of collaboration.
"No, Dr. Finch, I don't have a lab yet," I conceded. "But I have the perspective required to see past your immediate methodological biases. Your team has seventy two hours of intimate data on that metal. Data I require to build the next generation of materials science. The solution I just implemented was complex, but it was essentially a remedial correction of an initial error."
I looked around the room at his defeated team, then back at Finch. "Here is the reality: Your team is excellent at data acquisition and execution. My mind is unparalleled at pattern synthesis and predictive modeling. We can continue this relationship as rivals, where I correct your failures publicly and you resent my presence. Or, we can engage in a symbiotic intellectual partnership where you feed me the raw data, no questions asked, and I provide the theoretical breakthroughs that guarantee your name is associated with Nobel level work."
I softened my gaze slightly, playing the cooperative genius whose brilliance simply requires the support of dedicated researchers. The Artificer was open to the idea of a subordinate.
"Think of me as a computational engine, Dr. Finch," I suggested. "You provide the fuel of the raw data, and I output the solutions that secure your legacy. I am not here to take your job. I am here to ensure your job actually succeeds. The choice is entirely yours."
Finch remained tense, but the appeal of being attached to guaranteed success was a powerful narcotic. His wariness shifted from hostile defiance to guarded, tactical self preservation. He managed a tight, reluctant nod.
"Good," I stated, turning back to Dr. Chu. "Now that the local political friction is resolved, Director, we can return to the resource requirements."
Chu's gaze was now purely analytical, stripped of all skepticism. She knew she was in the presence of an intellectual anomaly. "You corrected a seventy two hour problem in three minutes. What do you require?"
This was the opening I needed, the moment to pivot from crisis management to resource acquisition.
"My requirement is direct and essential to the future of S.T.A.R. Labs," I stated, gesturing toward the stabilized alien wreckage. "The solution I just provided is a temporary measure. The extraterrestrial alloy is too unstable to be the focus of the next twenty years of research. The future is in replication, not analysis."
I walked back to the control room table, my focus entirely on Chu.
"I need a dedicated, restricted lab space, fully equipped with Level 4 Nano Fabrication Clusters and a Class 10 Clean Room Environment. This cannot be a shared space. It must be my own."
I let the demand hang in the air, allowing the necessity of my next project to drive the acquisition.
"My goal is the development of the Adaptive Density Material I referenced earlier. A nano structural composite that can instantly shift its mass and rigidity. A material lighter than air until it needs to withstand a blast radius, then becomes denser than osmium."
I articulated the vision with clinical precision, focusing on the inevitable financial returns. "This material will revolutionize every single industry you care about: aerospace, deep sea exploration, military hardware. It will generate twenty years of proprietary patents for S.T.A.R. Labs, guaranteeing market dominance and perpetual funding, far exceeding the value of simply analyzing that pile of scrap metal."
Dr. Finch, despite his earlier humiliation, could not stop himself. He stepped forward again, compelled by intellectual curiosity.
"Adaptive Density?" Finch queried, his voice tight with skepticism. "That is a theoretical absurdity. The energy input required to manipulate density at the quantum level is prohibitively high. The phase shift alone would require megajoules per square centimeter. The material would simply disintegrate."
I turned, giving him a measured, superior look. "That is precisely where Dr. Finch's Earth centric bias resurfaces. You are assuming the phase shift is a brute force energy expenditure. It is not. It is a resonant harmonic manipulation of the material's intrinsic field. The material doesn't store the energy; it channels the energy inherent in localized gravity and kinetic movement. It requires negligible internal power, only a computational trigger. It is a far more elegant solution than you can currently imagine."
I didn't wait for his response, allowing my confident dismissal to hang in the air. I returned my attention to the Director.
Chu's ambition, her fear of missing the next great patent, was palpable. "What is your staff requirement for this dedicated lab?"
"Zero," I stated immediately. "I work alone. My work requires absolute proprietary security, and my methodology is not conducive to collaboration. Staffing introduces entropy and security leaks. I require a dedicated Research Lead position, reporting directly to you, overseeing the Adaptive Density Material Project."
I presented her with the ultimate strategic deal: I wasn't asking for money, I was asking for the tools to make her rich and famous. I quantified the value against her immediate problem.
"I estimate a six month window to move from theoretical modeling to the first viable, patent pending prototype," I concluded. "If I succeed, S.T.A.R. Labs gains the future. If I fail, you have lost six months of space in a secondary lab, a negligible loss."
Chu studied my face for a long moment. "Dr. Ryan Ashford. You are officially assigned as Research Lead, Adaptive Density Material Project. You are granted access to a Level 4 Fabrication Lab and the necessary computational clusters. You will report only to me. That is your position."
"Excellent. Now," I said, my voice hardening slightly, "I need the full, raw spectroscopic data on that extraterrestrial alloy from the moment it impacted the warehouse. Every single data point. I need to understand what its properties are, even if I am not replicating them. And no one is to touch my console without my explicit written authorization."
Chu authorized a technician immediately. "Retrieve the data stream for Dr. Ashford. And set him up in Lab 407 Beta."
"One more thing, Director," I added, pausing at the control room door. "I need an external drive. Something with high density storage capacity. I need to store my preliminary modeling data offline. Data this valuable shouldn't live on your local servers alone, regardless of their security protocols." This was the critical lie. The external drive was my portable hard drive containing every secret I was about to steal.
Chu authorized the technician to retrieve the drive without a second thought. She had bought into the promise of the Artificer's genius entirely. I was officially installed, funded, and granted access to the deepest technological secrets of this new universe, all within five hours of arriving in a cafe in pajamas.
My brain hummed, not with anxiety, but with pure, joyful, calculated anticipation. The Artificer had his lab, his data, his position, and his exit strategy. The next phase was construction.