2013.05.15 - Querl Dox, I need your help

Midtown Center - Museum of Art The Metropolis Museum of Art prides itself on being one of the pioneering art institutions for the United States. It is a large travel destination and brings in persons from all over the world. At any given time there are over 300 exhibits at the art deco styled building.

Agent Coulson seldom gets time to appreciate the arts, even though he is quite the art lover, and when given the chance to select a location for a meeting with the mysterious and apparently brilliant Querl Dox, he selected a place he enjoys spending time at that everyone knows around here as "The Met".

He decided that he'd like to meet the man in question in the Gray Foundation Collection Room, currently displaying the Met's fabulous collection of Faberge eggs, on long term loan from the Gray's collection. The intricate artworks and superior craftsmanship of these jewels of art appeal to Phil's precise and poetic nature.

His normally unadorned suit has a white carnation in the boutonniere, as he blends in with most of the patrons to a high degree. He arrived fifteen minutes early, specifically to enjoy the exhibit while he waits.

At exactly (as per standard UTC, timed by the minute, if not to the second) the designated time, Querl Dox arrives. As a calculated choice, he has elected not to disguise his true appearance, though he has opted out of the usual Legion uniform. Today, he's dressed in not-very-fashionable purple three-piece suit, though from the look of it, he could use advice about tailoring and contemporary style.

He pauses, on entering, to admire the collection--while outside his personal sphere, it's quite impressive. Glancing around, the green-skinned teen finally notices his contact.

Putting on an open but slightly stiff smile, Querl approaches and, again somewhat stiffly, offers his hand. "Mister Coulson, I believe? I am pleased to meet you. My name is Querl Dox--we spoke on the telephone." He says "telephone" like someone who's practiced how to pronounce a word rather than saying it naturally.

Phil Coulson blinks a few times at the sound of his name and turns, taking in the green skinned blond young man. "Mr. Dox, I presume?" he says, hardly batting an eye at the dress or the skin coloration. In his line of work, it's hardly unusual to run into people wearing outre' outfits. "Thank you very much for meeting with me on such short notice."

He gestures toward a bench in the corner and starts walking in that direction, pausing to admire a blue and silver egg adorned with flue-du-leis for a moment. "Your recent applications to the patent office brought you to my office's attention. Outstanding and innovative work, I must admit."

Querl follows Coulson, and though he glances with mild interest at the egg in question does not show much real engagement with the art pieces. The business talk, though, gets an approving nod. "Yes, though my contributions have all been very small. Literally, in fact, I have so far been focusing on making contributions to medical technology--nano-surgical apparatus, diagnostic scanning techniques, etc. I believe you'll find that the terms of my holdings are designed to be cooperative rather than prohibitive in their design; I wish to aid progress, not to merely serve a monetarily driven agenda." There is a mildly wary tone to his voice, as if he suspects a corporate angle here.

Phil offers Brainy his choice of spots on the bench and takes a seat next to him, observing not the art any longer but the patrons, watching, noting to see if anyone is hovering too closely. He chose this exhibit for the seclusion of the seat and how anyone trying to overhear them would stand out in the traffic of the patrons.

He clears his throat tentatively. "That's a laudable sentiment Mr. Dox. What's most curious is that, despite having access to every record ever put into a computer, you have no history, no background, no curricula vitae, nothing. It's remarkable that a talent like yours should spring up overnight."

Querl sits cooperatively enough, though his own attention seems to be far more focused on the two of them, particularly on Coulson himself. However, at this line of questioning, a small smile surfaces on the young man's face. "I see. I admit that I am no longer as certain as I was of your motives, Mister Coulson. I suspected a corporate recruiter, not--" he pauses, then offers a mild shrug. "In truth, I confess I do not know whom you might represent. Still, you are accurate in your observation. I am a recent arrival to this world. I was born on the planet Colu, far from here." He gestures to his obviously not-quite-human appearance.

Phil Coulson glances over at Querl and gives him a hint of a smile and a nod. "We suspected as much. And I'm not exactly a corporate recruiter." He reaches into his breast pocket with his hand flat and nonthreatening and comes out with his billfold. He flips it open to show Brainaic 5 is identification and his badge. "I'm an agent for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. As a newcomer to our fair planet, you may not have heard of us as of yet." Phil keeps his gaze out on the crowd, particularly paying attention to passers-by as he makes this announcement. "We noticed your work, and we'd like your help, if you're willing."

Querl does little to hide the fact that tiny patterns of purple light flash across his eyes as he examines that badge, scanning for authenticity, and whatever he gets up to, when he looks up the lights are gone and he seems satisfied. "Agent Coulson, then," he says, keeping his voice appropriately low but putting some emphasis on the new title. "You certainly have my attention. Tell me, do you believe my work has defensive applications, or are you here to defend the homeland against a dangerous alien invader?" His tone is blunt but even, betraying little emotion, yet he does not quite keep a tentative expression of warring curiosity and concern from his features and body language.

Phil Coulson tucks his billfold back in his jacket breast pocket and drums his fingertips on his thighs briefly. "Mr. Dox, it was your recombinant RNA attack vector technology that I came here to talk about. How that technology basically rewrites portions of cancerous cells into antibodies to fight further cancerous development, that brought me here. If I were here to question you regarding your slightly irregular immigration, I assure you you'd see a lot more men in suits around. We believe that you possess the skills and abilities needed to aid us in a matter of national, if not planetary defense. A puzzle we could put before other scientific greats, but we have a large number of projects relating to this particular action plan, and we feel it best not to overburden any particular genius with our troubles."

He pauses briefly before adding. "We need your help, Mr. Dox. But only if you're willing." Phil squints at the crowd, apparently satisfied that no one oohing and ahhhing in the gallery is paying more than a passing startled glance, and mostly at Querl's green skin and purple eyes, rather than him.

One of Querl's golden eyebrows arches visibly at that line of discussion, and he tilts his head forward so sharply that the silvery discs of his forehead flash as they catch the light. "I am very--compelled--by this possibility, Agent Coulson. I am, for however long I am here, a denizen of this world, and as such it behooves me to conduct my affairs in such fashion as benefits the Earth. Therefore, I am most interested in how you believe my technology could be of use in protecting the planet."

Phil Coulson grimaces slightly. "I'm not sure if you're aware, Mr. Dox, that recently, we were invaded by what appeared to be an army of Kryptonians. They took out global communications, caused city-wide panic and even managed to capture Superman. Our response team got lucky, and managed to arm themselves with... 'kryptonite shot-guns' is the best word I can use to describe them."

He continues, "As you may or may not know, Kryptonite is an exceedingly rare resource and hard to get hold of in any quantity. As part of our defense plans to prevent such a thing from happening again, we'd like for you to develop an artificial alternative, something we can manufacture here on earth, or if need be, in low earth orbit, to stockpile in the event of such an attack again." His eyes are grim but he keeps his expression bland and unassuming.

If Querl's eyes flashed before, they now practically glow with intense purple light as the lenses present cascades of data pertaining to the event. It takes Querl several moments of contemplation before he responds. Then, he says, "This is... most interesting, Agent Coulson. I had not been aware of the full details. Tell me, however: where did you come by such Kryptonite weaponry? Surely the Kryptonians themselves did not arm you?" After a beat, but without waiting for a reply, he adds, "And I suppose I should ask whether Superman has been consulted on this matter."

Phil Coulson considers. "Army R&D came up with the stuff, apparently. I'd have to chase that particular question down if the answer is that important." He falls silent for a moment while he considers his answer to the second part of that question. "I have not been given the directive to try and interface with Superman regarding this particular program. We respect him, and the great works he has done for the planet, but he and SHIELD do not have any particular working relationship at this time. It's my understanding that he refrains from any official relationships with governmental agencies. And trust me, this isn't the only program that SHIELD is looking at. Frankly, I have a good deal of faith in some of the other plans we have on the table. This is a plan of last resort, naturally."

Nodding along, Querl says, "This is all most thought-provoking. I assume I am to be given time to reflect on our conversation and whether I can be of assistance to you? I would at the least be interested in examining your data to see if it is possible that I could be of help to you." He pauses again, adding, "And you might suggest to your organization that Superman might be an invaluable resource to them in a research capacity. Kryptonians, per my data, were a society of vastly advanced scientists. I would be shocked if Superman does not have similarly notable talents within that realm, and he might be the best person to consult in that case."

Phil Coulson nods. "I will take that under advisement, Mr. Dox. We'll be happy to share the research we've gathered to date, as well as the goals of this particular program. One of our greatest, rather one of my greatest concerns about this program is protecting the technology from falling into the wrong hands or being able to be appropriated by someone or something other than the officers of the law and turning it against Superman. If you have any thoughts in this area, I'd be more than willing to entertain them. As for bringing Superman on board to this project, well, it's not like I can call him, or even take out an ad in the Daily Bugle. If you happen to run into him at some point, please invite him to make my acquaintance." He slips a business card out of his pocket. "Please let me know here where I can get you our files, I check my email twice daily."

He stands and offers to shake Querl Dox's hand. "Thank you for your valuable time, Mr. Dox. I shan't take up any more of it today."

Querl takes the card, nodding, and slips it into his coat's inner breast pocket, rather like he's seen on the old vids. "You have made a very compelling case for your cause, Agent Coulson. A moment--" He rummages in another pocket and comes up with a business card of his own. It bears the name "Querl Dox," as well as a green foil "B5" symbol," and contains a telephone number and email address. "This should suffice for contact information," he notes. "I assure you my servers are quite secure, so there should be no concern about your data falling into the wrong hands. In addition--well, if I meet Superman, I assure you I will present him with your contact information." He shakes hands, if a bit stiffly, and rises. "Thank you for the meeting. I will be in contact soon."

Phil Coulson nods and takes the card. "My thanks." He then drifts off into the exhibit, planning on browsing for awhile and perhaps even making it to Impressions, Fashion and Modernity exhibit before heading out to work.

Querl, for his part, glances around only once and then makes his way directly out. If any who knew him saw him, they would doubtless recognize the look on his face: this is the "Brainy is thinking" face, and it heralds a long night ahead of many, many ponderings and (no doubt) no small number of calculations.