milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It's been seven years since the passage of the IIGA. Seven years since the assassination attempt. Seven years since Vincent Navarro had given Gabriel Tam his professional medical opinion and warned him in no uncertain terms what the results of his remaining in office would likely be.

He doesn't regret his choice.

Still, things are becoming more difficult, these days. He does his best to cooperate with Navarro's continued recommendations, working with his ever-efficient assistant Mark Jiang to make time for the additional treatments and the now-compulsory pulmonary rehab sessions (which take place in his office, in secret, as much as possible), to listen to Regan and reassure her as much as he can. Even so, it's difficult sometimes. Today was one of the harder days - and there's still a dinner party to endure tonight.

Gabriel makes his way slowly into the bar and to an armchair seat by the fireplace. He'll just rest a bit here, before he goes. Just for a while.

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He nods cordially back.

"Nĭ hăo."

"Er, hello." Odd that the bar didn't translate that from...Chinese?

He really should make an effort to learn some foreign languages, given LA's ever more diverse population.

"A pleasure to meet you," he adds. "I don't believe I've seen you here before, Mr...?"

"Howard Stark, Los Angeles, California. And you are...?" He almost adds the year, but that always feels just a bit strange.

"Gabriel Tam," he replies. "Currently I live in New Mayfair, on Londininium, although I'm from Osiris and represent its people."

"I see." Pause. "No, actually, I don't. Are those cities on an alternate Earth? Or off Earth entirely." That would explain the cut of Mr. Tam's clothes. Clearly fashionable and formal, but not anything like Howard would see at Brooks Brothers.

"Ah, off Earth entirely, I'm afraid."

Especially considering how long it's been since Earth was a viable world, in his universe.

"We're from a series of planets that were colonized by ships sent from Earth quite a while ago. The year's 2528, where I'm from."

He sounds almost apologetic.

"1947. By my calculations, about 10 to 15 years from any sort of viable space program." Even with Operation Paperclip and all those Nazi...sorry, German scientists like Zola coming into play. "It's always good to know that manned spaceflight has a future."

"It does, and we've the work of those who came before us to thank for it," he returns, smoothly - but his smile is sincere, even though slanted by a scar on one side of his face.

"My company isn't there yet. But we plan to be." Howard smiles back, dreaming of sending men into space, and maybe, if he's very lucky, going into space himself. (That would drive the board of directors insane, wouldn't it?)

"You said you're a congressman of some sort?"

"Senator," Gabriel agrees. "In our Parliament."

"Your company, you said? What sort of company is it?"

"Stark Industries. Formerly Stark Aviation. We still specialize in airplanes, but we diversified a good deal during the Second World War." Which he can't imagine the people of the 26th century would have forgotten, any more than Howard would have forgotten the Crusades. "And we actually have a fair amount of dealing with your predecessors in the Senate of our time, in the United States."

"Some things never change."

He sounds wryly amused, now.

"I was supported in my first campaign by a company that specializes in ships. Bentley Aeronautics."

"There's a brand of automobile in Britain called Bentley, but even in my time, they're part of another company. It couldn't be the same firm." Could it?

"I'm not sure. Inspired by, perhaps?"

He wouldn't put anything past Andronicus Ji Crowley, but it's not like he'll ever have the chance to ask him now.

"It would be nice to think that something has a lifespan of centuries." He wishes that his firm could be around that long, but it's hard to wrap his mind around it.

"We've dabbled in supporting candidates for higher office, but at the end of the day, we have to work with whoever wins, so we tend to stay on the sidelines." Or to make gifts to both sides.

"It would indeed."

Gabriel coughs, discreetly reaching for a handkerchief as he does.

"A sound business strategy," he adds, when he's caught his breath. "Yours?"

"I helped develop it, but I leave the specifics to my managers. No offense, but sometimes it makes sense to stay away from politicians. Unless there's a request for a command performance."

Howard wonders about that cough, but isn't going to ask.

"None taken."

His slanted smile is wry.

"Believe me, I'm well aware of the vagaries of my colleagues these days. I wasn't always a politician, after all."

"What did you do before hand?" It will be interesting to see if, in the future, all the elected officials are still lawyers.

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