Nelson and Murdock. Law firm located in heart of one of most crime-ridden districts of Manhattan represented small office on first floor of simple five-story building. Still inside taxi I swallowed NZT pill. World instantly acquired crystalline clarity: street sounds formed into ordered symphony, and colors became deeper and richer.
I pushed door without knocking. Ring of bells above it sounded clear, distinct note, cutting through tense atmosphere. Inside I found exactly whom I sought. Plump, slightly disheveled man in glasses, Foggy Nelson, gesticulated, arguing about something with tall, neatly trimmed man in perfect dark burgundy suit. Matt Murdock. He also wore glasses, but impenetrably red glasses for blind. He stood motionless as rock, and seemed to listen not only to his partner, but to beating heart of city itself outside window. Excellent, both in place.
Noticing me, men stopped their argument.
"Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, I presume?" I asked, smoothly approaching them. Under NZT's effect my every movement was calculated and devoid of fuss.
"Correct, and you..." Foggy began, curiously looking me over.
"I am without appointment. I have very delicate question requiring personal consultation, and I confess, I hoped for luck to find you in place." Both men frowned slightly. I understood that should not drag this out further. "Question concerns patenting one of my inventions."
"We do not work with such things, unfortunately," Foggy answered with sigh, and I knew this. "We primarily specialize in criminal law. Lawyers for 'little' guy, so to speak." He spread his hands.
"You are primarily honest lawyers. And this is important," my voice sounded calm but convincing. "I studied your track record. Incredible perseverance, ability to find loopholes in law and, most importantly, empathy for client. I need exactly such professionals for consultation. I do not need patent attorney. I need strategists. Truly, I will not take much of your time. Just enlighten me on number of aspects, naturally not for free, and I will leave you."
"What do you think, Matt?" Foggy addressed Murdock who had been silent until this moment.
Blind lawyer was unspoken leader of their tandem. All this time he did not move, but I felt his attention. This was not just listening. His head was slightly tilted, and I felt gaze on me more piercing than any sighted person. He analyzed my pulse, breathing rhythm, heat emanating from my body. Apparently, what he "saw" pleased him.
"I think we can spare hour of our time, um..."
"John. John Thompson," I introduced myself.
"Yes, Mr. Thompson. What specific questions interest you? As my colleague said, this is not quite our specialty, but on general questions we can enlighten you."
"Excellent! Before we proceed to discussion of bureaucratic side, I would like you to study brief description of technology." I handed Foggy pre-printed sheet with concise but comprehensive description of "Proteus."
He, already by practiced scheme, began reading it to Murdock. With each line read his voice became quieter and more amazed, and eyes bulged. I saw how they begin to understand. Understand potential.
"This..." Foggy exhaled in shock, finishing reading.
"Revolution," Matt finished for him. His voice was calm, but steel notes were heard in it.
"Fabric that EVERYONE will be interested in!" Foggy jumped up and began pacing circles around cramped office. "Light and effective armor for soldiers! This is multi-billion dollar contract with Department of Defense! Protection for police officers across entire country! This is connections with police departments! Private military companies! This is huge market!"
"And you have not even mentioned aerospace industry yet," Matt added, not changing position. "In theory, this material can become light and cheap protection against micrometeoroids for satellites and ship hulls."
"Industrial giants like Stark Industries, Hammer Industries or Roxxon will choke for this technology!" Foggy continued, his face flushed with excitement. "We are talking not about millions, but billions of dollars! Ballistic protection market is already estimated at tens of billions. Your 'Proteus' can capture significant part of it! Just selling production license or exclusive contract with government can bring hundreds of millions per year! Matt... Matt, we must take this case! This is not just case. This is kingdom, and he brought us keys to it!"
Yes... There it is. I saw this in their eyes, amplified by NZT's effect. In Foggy's dilated pupils flickered not just greed, but rather amazement at sight of "golden ticket." Chance to break out of this routine where they spent entire lives languishing in Hell's Kitchen, working with small, often insolvent clientele. This is certainly worthy of respect, but unlikely what Foggy really wanted. However, everything depended on Matt. And he is not one who works for money. But nuance was that "Proteus" can really save lives. And Matt will hardly be able to ignore this aspect.
"Exactly," I nodded. "Too valuable technology. That is why I am here."
"Patent law..." Matt began, his voice calm, as if he was discussing weather. "Bureaucracy in this area is slow and methodical, Mr. Thompson. To start you need to file provisional application. This is quick and relatively cheap step, it fixes priority date. From this moment no one else can patent same technology. This application gives you one year to refine invention and prepare main documentation."
"Year?!" I stared at lawyers in shock. "Year to prepare papers?"
"This is only first step," Matt grinned. "Most difficult stage is preparing and filing complete, non-provisional application. Here you already need to compose most detailed description of technology, drawings, diagrams and, most importantly, 'invention formula,' legally verified text that defines what exactly is protected by patent. This is incredibly delicate work. One wrong word and loophole size of truck will remain in your patent."
"So if I file provisional application and as soon as it is accepted, immediately file complete one?" I asked quite reasonable, as it seemed to me, question.
"Imagine mountain of papers height of this building," Foggy answered instead of Matt with shrug. "Your application is one sheet somewhere at foot. Patent office experts will spend several years studying it, comparing with existing patents, asking questions, demanding clarifications. This is standard bureaucratic dragging. They will not touch your application until its turn comes."
"So entire process from complete application to receiving patent takes..."
"From two to five years," Matt cut off.
"Too long..." I shook my head. "What is strange. This is one of those developments that the earlier they enter use, the better for all parties. Is its potential not obvious? There must be ways to speed up process."
"They exist," Matt confirmed, raising three fingers. "Path one: official. Expedited examination program. Pay patent office about five thousand dollars, and term for reviewing your application is reduced to twelve months."
"Still too long."
"Path two: political. Lobbying. If you decide to work with government, then conditional general from Pentagon or influential senator can 'ask' office to review application concerning national security on priority basis. This can reduce term to six months. But such 'request' always comes packaged with unspoken obligations."
"And third option exists?" I asked with interest. Six months is still long term.
"Yes. Attracting industrial giant to your side. Fastest but also riskiest path," Matt's tone became warning. "If you show technology to conditional Stark and propose partnership, his lawyers, best in world, will be able to prepare perfect application and, using corporation's influence, 'push' it through all instances in three to four months. From minuses... will have to share control and profit. And this is if you are lucky and you do not 'accidentally' fall out window of your newly acquired penthouse."
"Shit," I delivered verdict. "And if I create my own company? Will this help speed up process? Well, conditionally, I create company, register patent to it, then it is simply bought out entirely. My goal is to get as much money as possible in as short time as possible."
"Mmm..." Matt thought for moment. "Mr. Thompson, creating company is not acceleration method. This is critically important requirement. Conditional US Army will not conclude billion-dollar contract with 'guy from garage.' They do business with legal entities. Having registered company is basic requirement for entering big leagues. Everything we said earlier was implied taking into account that you have or will have company."
"Yes, you by the way are thinking correctly about sale!" Foggy perked up. "Much simpler and cleaner to sell whole company that owns patent than patent itself as separate asset. This eliminates bunch of tax and legal complexities."
Months... Years... This will still take time. And time for me is unaffordable luxury. In world where new alien or divine threat may wait around corner, or another genius psychopath, need to act with speed of bullet.
"If go directly to players from big leagues, ignoring this slow bureaucracy? Directly show them technology and set price tag?" I asked, my NZT-boosted brain feverishly calculating options.
"Minimum month for negotiations and technology verification. Maximum... three hundred million," Matt answered without hesitation. "But I think no need to say how risky this is? You can simply be eliminated, and technology taken."
Only three hundred million... Plus risks. No. Need to look for workarounds. Or... Make them find me themselves. And come with offer, not with weapons.
"Need to think..." I said. "And from your side I ask same. But for start, probably preliminary patent application is enough. To fix priority date."
About fact that this application, by keywords, will be immediately tracked by everyone who cares, from Pentagon to Stark Industries, I prudently kept silent. Especially since this was exactly what I needed.
Nodding professionally, Foggy and Matt proceeded with processing. Procedure was simple. We described "WHAT" but did not reveal all secrets of "HOW." For "Proteus" we indicated general principle: fabric consists of aramid 3D matrix and non-Newtonian fluid with silicon dioxide nanoparticles. Described in detail how fabric transitions from flexible state to solid under kinetic impact.
But key points, so to speak, "secret sauce," I naturally did not reveal:
No exact formula of polymer stabilizer that keeps nanoparticles in suspended state. No exact size, shape and surface treatment method of nanoparticles. No exact temperature, pressure and holding time during vacuum impregnation of matrix.
As result, application turned out detailed enough for lawyers to recognize it as "describing invention," but it lacked several critically important variables. This was like detailed treasure map but without key to chest. Any corporation, gaining access to this text, will spend years on R&D trying to select these variables. And I already had ready, working product.
Having finished with document, Foggy uploaded it to patent office online system. After few seconds official notification with application number and priority date came to email. Done. Flag is set. Whoever needs it got alarm signal, but cannot see all my cards. Formally I have year to decide what to do next, and all this time my intellectual property will be under basic but reliable protection. However, I definitely will not need year. Count will go by weeks, if not days.
Thanking men and taking their business cards, I shook their hands.
"Welcome to big leagues, Mr. Thompson," Matt said with barely noticeable smile.
I called taxi and left office. Had not yet put smartphone in pocket when it vibrated. Gwen.
"I agree..." was first thing she said. Voice sounded quiet but firm. She meant joining our team.
"Excellent. Where shall we have wedding then?" I could not resist stupid joke to dilute slight tension.
"You..." indignation mixed with something else was heard in her voice.
"I know. Handsome, smart and unbearable," I smiled. "But seriously, this is not phone conversation. I appreciate your decision. Can drive to University now. Peter said you seem to be there?"
On other end of line silence hung for several seconds.
"Yes. I am in laboratory. Waiting then."
Ending call and stepping from building porch onto sidewalk, I momentarily went blind from bright daylight. World under NZT was kaleidoscope of excessive information, and at last moment my brain isolated key anomaly from this stream: pretty blonde with shoulder-length curly hair walking toward me unnaturally twisted heel and began clumsily falling directly in my direction.
Her trajectory was flawless. Brain, spurred by NZT, gave command before it managed to process it. Step forward, body turned, arms move to intercept. I carefully caught girl by waist, stabilized her and immediately removed hands.
But my palms already transmitted information. Density of her muscle fibers. Hardness of abdominal press under thin fabric of dress. This was body not just of trained girl. This was body-weapon.
"Oh, thank you so much!" she showered thanks with charming smile, straightening hair. "Rare these days to meet man ready to extend his strong helping hands and save fragile girl! I am Helen, by the way. And you?"
This was all, of course, wonderful. Beauty fell into my arms herself. But my brain already finished analysis.
Hypothesis: Agent.
Motive 1: Patent. Probability: Low, too little time passed.
Motive 2: Murder of fake Fisk. Probability: High.
Affiliation: SHIELD? CIA? FBI?
Goal: First contact, assessment, possibly recruitment.
All these thoughts flashed through head in less than second. In reality my face did not flinch.
"John. John Thompson," I introduced myself, calculating options for further dialogue. But fortunately or unfortunately, at this moment powerful motorcycle stopped nearby with quiet rumble. Girl in black leather suit and helmet.
"Is this Nelson and Murdock law firm here?" she addressed me. Voice, distorted by helmet, was even and professional.
"Yes," I nodded.
Girl on bike removed helmet, and at this moment my brain not just froze. It experienced cascading failure of all previous hypotheses, which immediately changed to terrifying revelation. Red curly hair to shoulders. Piercing green eyes. Suspiciously timely. And... again I am object of attention, although seemingly girl would find it easier to address another girl.
If not for hair color, I would think they are sisters. Fuck. They are sisters. Sisters by Red Room project. Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova. Two Black Widows working for different agencies. SHIELD and CIA. And their assignment, judging by fact they not just followed but went for active interaction, was much more serious than just "feel out ground."
I noticed how Yelena's face tensed when Natasha removed helmet. Natasha, in turn, did not raise eyebrow, obviously recognizing sister and instantly assessing situation. Two best spies in world, sent for my soul, accidentally bumped heads on assignment.
From absurdity of situation I could not hold back. I laughed. Not hysterically, but sincerely, from heart. Yes, by rights I should be worried and afraid. But... screw extra stress. If they wanted to remove me, they would have done it long ago. And since they are playing games, I can also allow myself little fun.
"Do I have something funny on face?" Natasha asked charmingly tilting head sideways. Her voice was like velvet but with notes of steel.
"Kha-ah, no-no," exhaling, I raised hands in conciliatory gesture. "Just remembered joke." Noticing interest in their eyes, albeit obviously feigned, I pulled from memory first one that came up, adapting it. "Eric loved to joke very much, and when his friend was run over by train, at friend's funeral, he congratulated him on moving..."
For several moments silence reigned on street. And then Natasha laughed loudly and infectiously. Professionally. These damn feminine charms...
"Oh, my taxi!" car pulled up to us. My salvation.
Without saying goodbye, I quickly opened door and sat in back seat, leaving two best spies in world alone with their cockroaches and failed first contact.
"Let's go," I threw to driver.
Car moved. In rearview mirror I saw how two women, similar as sisters, look at each other. And I... I needed to think very, very well.