1003/Vis-a-Vis RICHARDS

Vis-a-Vis RICHARDS
Date of Scene:	06 April 2020
Location:	Lobby - Four Freedoms Plaza
Synopsis:	Reed, Foster, science!
Cast of Characters:	Reed Richards, Jane Foster

---

Reed Richards has posed:
While the ground floor of Four Freedoms Plaza is almost always bustling, today it seems even more active than usual--in no small part due to an area near the center of the lobby cordoned off from the public.

There, three comfortable-looking chairs are positioned to face each of the others, and a slew of lights are nearby to illuminate the scene for a trio of cameras.

Within the cordon near the chairs, Reed Richards signs a number of autographs and poses for pictures with visitors to the building. "Thank you, thank you," he says cheerfully to a young girl. "I look forward to reading about your inventions one day!"

"Mister Richards?" someone else within the cordon calls, a middle-aged man with a guest lanyard about his neck--Milton Hawthorn, science journalist. "If you don't mind, we should get the interview started. This should be an excellent piece for 'Hypothesis Now!'. It'll really speak to a lot of people."

"Oh?" Reed asks, his head turning nearly 180 degrees around to listen to the speaker. "That's good to hear, Milton. What's the focus again?"

"We're going to do some comparison work--the old guard and the new, and how they're approaching scientific problems in radically different ways," the journalist responds.

Reed frowns. "Ah. I'm sure the initial explanation we got seemed less ... confrontational? than that. But I suspect I'll get along well with my conversation partner. Has she arrived yet, by any chance?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The Old Guard. Somewhere, Jane is resisting putting her face into her hands. It would disrupt the pretty work of the makeup artist, especially in applying that extra dusting of powder to set whatever they have added to her features to resist the glow. Being a winter shade of pale at the best of times has disadvantages where it involves the brunette, but she puts up with their kindly intentions. The habit of trying to stroke one of her long, dark strands of hair from her face fails when it's already pulled back into a messy updo, half-up and half-down, the sort of imperfect elegance all the rage these days.

Yes, Doctor Foster is here, wearing the easygoing smile that confronts the public sphere she has courted for a few years now. Somewhere, her social media team is busily observing the numbers and making tweaks and adjustments to a string of posts prepared to go out via various channels. Nothing should phase her quite so much these days, having hobnobbed with the living greats and a few dearly departed.

But nerves. Her fingers uncurl from the water bottle in hand and she hands it back to the waiting assistant. "Thank you. Everything where you want it, and do you want to send me out yet?" she asks warmly, able to suppress the swarm of bees in her stomach. Butterflies would be kinder. It's not the assistant's fault her mind is spinning like the whirlwind of the galaxy in open space. When indicated, she takes her first step and every one thereafter to join Reed is light, graceful, a purposeful stride to confront the world.

It's good no one hears the knell in her head, ringing like bells.

Reed Richards has posed:
After continuing to sign several more autographs, his arm extended out to the edge of the cordon to accomplish the task while he stands in front of his chair, Reed offers a polite smile and nod to Jane. "Dr. Foster. Reed Richards."

His arm retracts to normal human length, and he offers a handshake. "I'm a fan of your work. Like many, I think that your analysis of spatial distortions will open doors to really revolutionary ways of looking at the universe."

Meanwhile, Milton the journalist takes his seat and gestures for the two to do the same. "Thank you both for being willing to participate in this conversation series. With each issue, we're hoping to highlight some differences in perspective, methodology, and opinion on some important science topics. I think that readers will find this particular conversation especially exciting--after all, Mister Richards, you've been a cornerstone of science for the last several decades. And Doctor Foster, you've been turning astronomy upside-down with some groundbreaking resaerch recently."

"Are you suggesting that we're going to have some sort of political talking head-style argument?" Reed asks, an eyebrow raised.

"No, not at all," Milton replies. "I was just setting the stage, since Doctor Foster comes from a different scientific tradition than the one from which you emerged. At least, I'm assuming that's the case--would that be fair to say, Doctor Foster?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The cordon keeps people back, but it doesn't stop Jane from engaging with them. Truly, she delights in seeing all the scientific minds come to visit. A hand raised in a warm wave matches well to a sunny, beaming smile. "What a fantastic turnout, wouldn't you say?" It's a science joke, but an honest assessment.

"Doctor Richards," Jane offers once she gets closer to the chair, clasping Reed's hand. Her own isn't lily white and the recipient of boundless spa treatments, but her shake is firm and appreciative. The slip of her blazer sleeve hints at a golden bangle around one wrist, the other sporting a dainty chain hung with a pretty constellation stamped on a metal lozenge. "I would say this sort of opportunity only comes around once in a blue moon, but we've been trying to put the phrase to rest in the astronomical community for years now."

Milton earns her warm smile as she swivels and drops into a seat, arranging herself with the long-practiced habit. Knees together, sink down, lean in. The latter expressing an interest comes totally naturally, the business of listening a keen one. "I think it's safe to say you have revolutionized my thinking in more than a few areas, what with your contributions for the past several years. We stand on the shoulders of greats, and yours are quite broad indeed. Every generation has its breakthroughs, its mavericks and its movers-and-shakers who revolutionize the way we approach the discipline. I, of course, benefit a great deal from the likes of Doctor Richards. But before him, another array of brilliant minds and their contributions stretch back to Curie, Maxwell, Linnaeus, Newton, Copernicus."

She names them with fondness, selecting a smattering probably familiar to the audience. "As with our unsung heroes, those whose names grace faded papers or slip out of sight. So our traditions spring forward from one another, as we break the earth for a new generation ahead of us. I've seen some of the developments coming from our young minds." She looks up to Reed and inclines her head. "Some close to home, some scattered widely over the world. And what they are doing is breathtaking and humbling."

Reed Richards has posed:
Milton nods eagerly in response to Jane's statements. "Thank you, Doctor Foster. It's certainly true that we cannot--and should not--forget about or snub those in whose footsteps we follow. But is it not also true that we must also seek new paths, new routes, to discovery?"

Reed smiles to Jane. "Thank you," he says quietly. Then, he glances to Milton. "If you don't mind me making this more of a conversation, I'd like to ask Doctor Foster a question. Doctor: if you were going to recommend colleagues to the readers of this magazine, who might you suggest? People whose work is, like yours, cutting edge in really incredible ways?"

Milton purses his lips and clears his throat, his hands on his lap.

Jane Foster has posed:
Thank goodness, not having to build up foundations on all the scientific minds scattered somewhere. She might end up horribly embarrassing someone. She runs her fingers lightly over her wrist, happy to listen to some detail to the inquiry. Her smile doesn't shift under the questioning from Milton or Reed, giving both her full attention. "No, we should not cease to brave those new paths ahead of us. There are always questions for which we have no answers, and require different avenues to reach them. A bit of both, I would say."

Jane's expression softens with thought, the question laid before her a difficult one. "I would encourage you to find your passion. What interests you is an excellent compass to guide you into the field. Science is not the province of a few. Science is a human experience. We all share these traits. Think about it. If you are dazzled at rainbows playing on the floor when a sunbeam passes through a window or curious about the latest reusable rocket technology based on renewable energy resources. These are part of a common language that anyone can learn."

With a pause, she gestures to the audience. "There is no time limit on who you can look up, either. Einstein is just as relevant today as you, Doctor Richards, or the bylines you don't recognize but by savvy, fascinating authors. This magazine gives a platform for a lot of people out there performing fascinating work, and every one of them is worth checking out. So look for the scientists engaged in those fascinating topics, whether it's the backyard astronomer taking advantage of cloud computing to search for exoplanets in the habitable zone or some really astonishing work being done to collect microplastics on the beaches of remote Pacific islands. Fame isn't the only indicator you need.

"It's so important to build that confidence in the public, so they can pick up a paper or scroll their favourite website to learn about what we and others do in the world. So kids can feel inspired to tinker and stretch their wings. You get that by heading for familiar shores or unknown ones," she concludes.

Reed Richards has posed:
"Indeed," Reed says, turning to look at those standing along the edge of the cordon. "This might be the most important thing you'll hear all day here, folks," he calls out.

"Forgive me," Reed quickly adds, looking back and forth between Jane and Milton. "It's not that I'm not taking this seriously. I'm very much in support of everything that Doctor Foster has said so far. It's just that I'm not sure I was needed here--although I'm more than happy to serve as a cheerleader for the message that Doctor Foster's providing."

"I'm so glad you asked," Milton replies. "I'm curious about your statement here. You claim to be supportive of other scientists, but you have a notorious reputation for rejecting grant proposals from independent scholars."

Reed offers an expression of bewilderment. "I'm not sure how you reached that conclusion, but it's not the case. The proposals are highly competitive, and there are /many/ inspired scientists and engineers out there. We offer as much funding as we can, but--"

"But you overwhelmingly fund research that has no practical value while overlooking potentially paradigm-shifting projects," Milton interjects.

"That is a specious claim," Reed says. "But I would be happy to have a third party analyze the data set of the last decade of proposals submitted. So long as they are willing to sign an NDA on sharing the details of any individual proposal. I can't break the confidentiality of those proposals."

He turns to Jane. "Doctor Foster, I'd be more than happy to have you sit in that capacity or to recommend someone who you think would be interested in the study. You don't have to answer now--I apologize for putting you on the spot."

"Oh, please, Mister Richards," Milton says. "You're just leaning on Doctor Foster's goodwill here."

"It's Doctor Richards," Reed replies, "since you keep conflating my actual title with my 'superhero' name. And I don't think either of us should speak for Doctor Foster or about her as though she weren't right here."

"Fine," Milton grumbles. "Doctor Foster. Perhaps you can save us from this derailment."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane, finder of missing Asgardians and examiner of stars, puts her hand to her knee. Her protest to Milton is a direct one. "An unnecessarily claim to make about Doctor Richards and his work. Science as a discipline represents a collaborative effort and an incredibly solitary one at times. That might lead some to believe it's a cut-throat field, but that simply isn't the case."

As Reed explains about proposals and competitiveness, she adds, "I think we all know that funding for scientific endeavours isn't where it should be in this country. Is it fair to expect one foundation, no matter how well endowed, to shoulder the burden? You've hit upon an important point, sir. We do not put enough money into ensuring important proposals move forward, especially among disadvantaged communities, minorities, or fields that aren't sexy."

There's a subtle emphasis, room for rue to be caught by more canny viewers and certainly painted with clarity as she continues. Her gaze travels to Reed. "Let's face it: I have the advantage as an astronomer of dazzling images sent back by probes like Voyager or Cassini. Never mind a very tall blonde Avenger being certain prestige." Might as well face the elephant in the room, even if he is miles away.

"But talk about someone developing a bacterial 'stew' to reduce unrestricted pollution outflows poisoning waterways in less-developed areas? How does that get attention?" A gentle wave of her hand raises the query and leaves room for answers. "Or a host of other ideas that don't have the backing of a big name university or prestigious sponsor?" She nods to Reed, not singling him out. "I disagree, Mr. Hawthorn, that the Future Foundation needs to take responsibility alone for project rejections or abandonment. While I would be honoured to offer my expertise for viable alternatives, maybe we have a golden opportunity here to talk about how scientific literacy and R&D needs a greater platform. How you, as a journalist; this magazine; Dr. Richards and I collectively could support that. I know for me, scientific passion really started when my parents had issues of Popular Science, Scientific American, and National Geographic in the house. It was Sagan and Attenborough on television. What are -we- doing to advocate for more private and public engagement? I'm sure for every five proposals you approve, you have a hundred you wish you could handle. Where do they go? Are they getting the right focus they deserve or are they consigned to a pile because we haven't made enough channels to go around?"

Reed Richards has posed:
Quiet for a moment, Milton slowly nods. "Yes. You make your case well. I apologize. I wish that had been the explanation from the beginning, but you're right to call us both out on our avoidance of the issue."

Reed opens his mouth to speak, but Milton continues.

"Scientific literacy certainly is a key knowledge base and skill for everyone to have these days, especially given the sheer breadth of information one is expected to encounter and navigate--from extradimensional physics to artificial intelligence to net-positive energy consumption."

Reed narrows his eyes and holds up a hand, expanding it to the size of a foam sports fan's hand. "Wait." He looks into the distance for a beat. "Of course. Milton Hawthorn. Hamilton W. Thorn."

Milton shifts in his seat.

Reed sighs. "You applied for a grant about a decade ago, didn't you? But it was rejected for being unsafe."

"It was /perfectly/ safe, in theory! I just needed the capital to develop a prototype and--" Milton exclaims, but is interrupted by Reed.

"Look. We don't need to bring that back up. I just wish you'd been honest. Doctor Foster and I both could have consulted with you if you'd wanted to return to that project," Reed says, glancing to Jane for confirmation.

"I'm out of the lab these days. That rejection was my last resort, so I turned to science journalism to keep food on the table," Milton says, his obvious anger tinged with sadness. "But when I was assigned here, I tried /so hard/ not to let it get to me." He looks to Jane. "I really am sorry, Doctor Foster. None of this was meant for you. I cannot sing your praises enough. I mean that."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane isn't going to groan. Nope, she is not. Instead, she clasps her hands politely in her lap and allows the gentlemen to suss out another kind of duel. A bystander, she knows better than to hurl herself into harm's way except when actually needed to do so and uphold a byzantine code of ethics. There is, nonetheless, a granule the size of Long Island buried in her psyche that resonates with compassion most of the time.

"Mr. Hawthorn, I feel a lot of empathy for you. Rejection letters can feel like personal losses. We sometimes need to choose between a great idea and the basic necessities of life. Truly, I'm sorry that anyone, be it you or someone in our audience has to be forced into that position," she replies softly. "It stands as a firm point that deeper investments in innovations and education are fundamental for us. Look at how Wakanda, for example, puts STEAM at the forefront. That includes the arts, which I champion just as warmly."

She blows out a breath through parted lips, and gives Reed a long-suffering sort of smile. "I don't envy you this, you know." Nope, not even when on camera. "The moral guidelines and the ethical structure to make those choices. What is an acceptable margin of risk, in your eyes? Where do you draw the line, even when you perceive great potential in an idea that could lead to major improvements or fill a gap in our existing tech? Is that something you can discuss, or is it a case-by-case basis?"

Reed Richards has posed:
Reed offers a much warmer smile in return, and he nods in understanding. "Doctor Foster ... if there's one truth that I've held onto, even more than to the fundamental principles of the universe, it's that I will not help anyone charge headlong into danger. I did that once, and it was the greatest tragedy of my life--even if it also led to all of this." He waves at their surroundings.

"If I'd thought that Milton's proposal was safe enough to fund--and if it had been as competitive as the others that year--it would have been funded. But it wasn't. Maybe a different investor or agency would disagree. But I could not do it, and I have no second thoughts on that."

Milton runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat. "Okay. I think I owe you both an apology. I've been incredibly unprofessional, and I worry that it's going to affect any remaining conversation we might have. Would you both be amenable to a rescheduling, where I have the chance to start offer and give you the conversation you were promised? I'll even talk to my editor about having a different facilitator here, if you're worried that I'll allow things to ... collapse ... again."

Jane Foster has posed:
"When opportunities fall into our laps, we need to assess more than the immediate gain. All humanity might profit from a discovery, but is it the -right- path?" The question hangs in the air between Reed and Jane, raised by the much younger brunette. "I believe, wholeheartedly, we have an obligation to ensure what we design or develop benefits humanity. It should not hurt it. Charging headlong into anything other than a luxurious feather duvet seems to be asking for trouble."

She raises her hand to slip behind her nape, and another brief flash of the pretty golden bangle glimmers like the weregild of a covetous dragon benignly sloped to her wrist. She hardly takes notice of it, catching herself in mirroring Milton's gesture. At least to a degree. Back her hand falls into her lap, and she grins briefly in spite of herself. Too young in some ways, and wise in others. She is not the girl who stared in awe at a rainbow in the sky from a few years ago. The Battle for New York stands between that shadow and this one.

Another look for confirmation to Reed follows. "I would be more than willing to resume this chat. Naturally our schedules could prove the challenge, but I can move appointments around. It's not an opportunity I wish to squander." Her shoulders straighten a little as she sits back into the seat a bit, easing into a more casual position. "No need to punish you for wanting answers. Whatever else comes out of this, hopefully it cleared the air. Doctor Richards? Is that too presumptuous of me? Obviously, your time is valuable and I leave the final decision with you. But as far as I'm concerned, no harm and no foul here."

She glances at the audience out there. "Other than some of them having to truck back, but I can go talk to them for a bit and give out some signatures or stroll on a Star Walk with them after to make up for it, if they aren't mobbing our good doctor here." Another delighted grin is truer to self, full of sunshine.