Shared Interest
"Is she still out there?"
Jay nodded.
"Are we gonna send someone out to talk with her?"
Jay shook their head, and let go the Venetian blinds. They snapped back into place, hiding the OSAT Humvee and its Jeep escorts from view. Aeronwen Couch had displayed unusual detective talent in discovering the meeting — assuming her arrival hadn't just been a coincidence, perhaps triggered by the Site's recent tectonic activity — but she would not be rewarded for it today.
Today was going to be about reciprocity, and OSAT didn't play that way.
Ilse didn't wish them good luck. The hug was much more bracing, and luck had rebounded on them dramatically of late anyway.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice, everyone."
"We knew this was coming," said the delegate from Second Century. She was a squat, squinting woman with big block spectacles and a cane apparently carved out of antelope horn. Her secret society believed earlier claims that the twentieth century would belong to Canada had been thrown off by a hundred years due to temporal tampering.
"Okay," was the only way Jay knew to respond to that. They weren't a diplomat, and they didn't put much stock in prophecy either. "Well, we were taken a little by surprise."
"Can I pass out supplies yet?" the matron with the white hair that would have sent Lillian Lillihammer into paroxysms of envy wanted to know. Having Dr. Wondertainment herself in the building was almost enough to give Jay a fit as well, no matter how many times they were assured that nobody outside of Ipperwash would know. There were lines one didn't cross, and several of them were presently behind them all.
"You came with supplies?" Jay managed.
"No," Holly smiled radiantly. "But we're ready to pass them out just the same."
Jay shook their head, suppressing a smile of their own. "I don't think the engineers would appreciate it if we started opening portals before they've stabilized the superstructure."
Faeowynn Wilson stirred in her chair. She looked uncomfortable in the air conditioning, or maybe there were other reasons. "Do you have living things still inside?"
"Yes," Jay nodded. "Most of the staff, most of the anomalies."
Fae wrinkled her nose. "Is that safe?"
"No, not really. In a broad sense, because it's safer for the Veil." The words did not taste sweet.
The man in the hideous, dull-orange suit with a gavel in each hand rapped the table rat-a-tat-tat. "Point of order," he said.
"That's…" Jay sighed. "This really isn't that sort of meeting, but go ahead."
Señor Delegate merely smiled at them beatifically.
"Alright," said Jay.
A comically gravelly voice got the meeting back on track. "Been a big week down in your Lodge," King Fisher announced. The representative of an anomalous backwoods community full of oafs with mild masculinity poisoning was a barrel-chested wall of plaid and suspenders. They couldn't make out much of his face behind the beard, though there was a twinkle visible in the eyes beneath the shade of his green cloth cap.
"Yes," Jay acknowledged. "Yes, it has. So let me walk you all through what's happened, and where you come into it." They took a deep breath, and began making eye contact with each delegate in turn. There were a lot, but far fewer than Jay had hoped. "Long story short, Site-43 blew up very recently. A lot of people died. A lot of equipment was destroyed. There's still a facility down there, but it's in a bad way."
Only Faeowynn looked surprised. This did not surprise Jay.
"Is it in danger of blowing up a second time?" Diindiisi was a representative from the Kettle Point reservation, who spoke for the entirety of Nexus-94's indigenous peoples. Jay had no idea how that arrangement worked, and would have felt awkward asking.
"No. It wasn't an accident, and it wasn't enemy action. We blew it up, on purpose. For a very good reason."
The woman considered them evenly. "But we're supposed to believe you won't blow it up again?"
"Yes," Jay said lamely. "We lack both the reason and the capacity now. It was a one-time event."
The fat man with the comically large cigar and comically outdated suit at the other end of the table huffed at them in amusement. The cigar was unlit, but producing a plume of smoke that hovered over the man and was slowly spreading across the ceiling. The chairs around him were empty. "That's not a very concrete assurance. Certainly not enough that I could advise an investment."
They inclined their head at the representative for Inco, one Robert Ways Thompson, anomalous mining magnate and suspected financial thaumaturge. "Let's back up a little. We're not offering a part of Site-43 for sale. We're suggesting partnerships."
Señor Delegate spoke up abruptly. "The floor recognizes the honourable member for the Arthur Pequegnat Clock Company."
"Okay," said Jay, "that is definitely not—"
"How far would you like things rolled back?" a little man in little spectacles asked, in a little voice.
Jay blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"We could do before the explosion," he explained without explaining. "Minutes, hours, days. We could do before 2002, if you think things are really out of hand."
"I'm sorry, you're suggesting the erasure of history?"
"No!" The little man looked horrified. "No, no, no. Reversal. And only yours."
Jin-Larry Viridian adjusted his clean white tie. It somehow had the effect of a tremendous throat-clearing, and all eyes turned to face him. "It would be unwise to take them up on this offer, for multiple reasons."
Jay winced at the Goldbaker-Reinz representative, in anticipation of pain. "What's our coverage look like?"
"So long as you don't do anything to jeopardize our pre-existing arrangement? Under policy, we are obliged to pay a settlement covering the majority of your repairs. Pending an inspection, of course."
"Of course. Who do I contact to get that started?"
"It's already in motion." Viridian adjusted his cufflinks. "We deal with Overwatch Command directly."
"Okay," Jay frowned. "Who gets the money?"
"Overwatch Command," Viridian smiled.
"But they won't release those funds to us!"
"I should hope not. As my colleague has already pointed out, you're a bad risk."
Diindiisi did not looked thrilled to be described as Viridian's 'colleague', but kept quiet. Jay decided to do the same, for the time being.
"I'll send some of the guys over," Fisher growled amiably. "We'll fix you right up."
"I think this calls for something more substantial than duct tape," Diindiisi murmured.
"I think you don't know duct tape," Fisher retorted.
"And I think all you need to do is dig the place up, rotate it, and put it back again." This from the black rhinoceros seated next to Holly, haunches on the floor; it was a miracle he was able to maintain the impression of dignity in that position. "Always works for my tires."
"That's ridiculous." Pope Terence the First waved his crozier at the rhino dismissively. "The solution is obviously to restore from a backup."
"We… don't have that," said Jay. "A backup."
"We do," said the nameless little man.
"So do we," said Viridian. "But it wouldn't work."
"Why not?" Jay asked.
"Because this structure is now the fulcrum of its entire timeline. Retrocausal alteration would trigger a full cosmic restructuring. This reality would cease to be selfsame, and collapse into another. Given the presence of timeplane-unique plenipotent entities, this would be unacceptable to both Goldbaker-Reinz and our parent entity. Difficulties would ensue."
Jay broke the moment of silence that followed. "What sort of difficulties?"
"An unpleasant, brief sort."
"Hear, hear," blustered Señor Delegate.
"So, no reality warping." Faeowynn tore her gaze, with apparent effort, away from the talking rhinoceros. "I'd love to help out with any critters you've got trapped down there, but there's a few obvious problems." She raised her fingers to count. "One, you're nowhere near Oregon, and it's a long-ass commute. Two, even if we could arrange transport to the Shelter, the Supervisors would know."
"We could prevent that."
Jay was suddenly aware of the blindfolded and bleeding woman at the head of the table. Thompson was suddenly aware he had been displaced, but visibly chose not to press the issue.
"Pardon?" said Jay.
"You heard me." Mari MacPhaerson's voice was colder than usual. Almost… "We could prevent them from knowing what you're up to."
This time the silence lasted a good while longer. The Vice President of Vikander-Kneed Technical Media stared straight through Jay's soul until they responded. "You're suggesting we betray the Foundation?"
MacPhaerson shrugged. "You already are, just by holding this meeting. I'm suggesting you commit." She glanced at the other delegates, who were all studiously avoiding her gaze. "Now that you're all stunned into silence — where is William Wettle?"
Jay felt a lump in their throat. "He's safe."
MacPhaerson was nearly snarling. "Don't try to misdirect a misdirector. Where is he?"
"Under the Site," Jay muttered. "Surrounded by Telekill."
"Why?"
"Because something awful took him over, and now it's stuck inside of him."
MacPhaerson's lip curled. "How far?"
"Excuse me?"
"How far under?"
Jay shrugged, panic rising. "I don't know precisely. Chief Ibanez—"
Macphaerson was gone. Thompson was still displaced to one side of the head of the table. The chair that had been there was overturned.
"Fuck," said Jay.
"I'm starting to feel like my time's being wasted," Thompson grumbled.
"Okay." Jay gripped the table, as though they could get a grip on the meeting thereby. "Let's start again. Fae, here's what I'm proposing. We have a basically never-used system for bringing Overseers to 43. It's expensive and complicated, but we might be able to repurpose it for monthly personnel transfers. We'll never get an O5 to set foot here again, I'm pretty sure. You can send a few care specialists, we can send some techs to make fixes and upgrades Overwatch won't sign off on, budget-wise. How's that sound?"
The tanned woman was already nodding with enthusiasm. "It sounds great, if the Supervisors don't object."
"We will gently suggest that they should not," Viridian simpered, "lest their premiums suddenly rise." At the look on Jay's face, the man's eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "This facility falling into ruin would cost Goldbaker-Reinz dearly. I would prefer that not happen."
"Like I said," Holly added, "I'm happy to chip in with supplies. You might need to supply your own dentists, though. And I could spare some enthusiastic builders, too, if you don't mind garish colours."
"That's very generous," said Jay. "What do you want in return?"
"Your survival." The other woman's light eyes were momentarily hard. "We live in a pocket dimension. It won't last long if the coat catches fire."
"My offer's still good, too," Fisher said. "We build stuff to last, up at the Lodge. It's not much to look at, but neither are we."
"Thank you," Jay acknowledged.
"I've been thinking about getting us back into federal politics," said Cornelius the Rhino. His defunct political party had spent decades proposing absurd and impossible schemes, which they had been fully capable of enacting via ontokinetics. The containment procedures had been simple: just let them lose, fair and square. They always had.
"Yeah?" Jay prompted.
"I think someone ought to table legislation for the Mounties." Jay didn't know what a rhino looked like when it was grinning, but they thought they were probably seeing it now. "It's inappropriate for them to go around on foot. Defeats the entire purpose."
"I'll do you one better," the pontiff of the Lemon Party chuckled. "They never lived up to the 'Royal' part of their name. I'd propose they all be replaced with rulers-in-exile. Our national dignity demands it."
"We'd be willing to help out with some of your reconstruction," Diindiisi piped up, "so long as certain assurances are given. There's a symbiosis in fact that ought to be recognized with a handshake." Jay thought they detected a sort of impish glee, and suddenly realized they'd seen the Kettle Point representative chatting with the All-Sections Chief before the meeting. Perhaps it had been more than friends shooting the breeze.
Señor Delegate abruptly hammered the table once with each gavel. "Professor Funtastic is willing to enter into a limited partnership with you, SCP Foundation Lake Huron Research and Containment Site-43 (hereafter "you") for the provision of paratechnical expertise, in return for your provision of access to your manufactory facilities — subject of course to access restrictions stemming from emergency requirements on your part. I am authorized to negotiate this arrangement with you on behalf of the aforementioned Professor Funtastic."
This time the silence stretched on for several long seconds.
"Okay," said Jay finally.
"Speech!" Señor Delegate cried. "Speech!"
But looking around the room at the peculiar faces around them, one by one pledging to assist in some way a nasty thorn in their collective sides, Jay found themselves instead rather speechless.
Aeronwen Couch waited until diplomatic embarrassment had transitioned into diplomatic snub before ordering her driver to head back to Station 11.
She decided not to bother taking it personally.
She had long since given up caring what dead people thought about her.
