Spider-Pet Pt. 02

Getting to the airport was as simple as hitching a ride on a helicopter bound for LaGuardia. Juggling his suitcase through six different checkpoints was a bit more complicated, especially in broad daylight. One great thing about not wearing his suit was that it made him just a bit more difficult to spot from the ground, and people rarely looked up without a reason. As soon as the copter passed near a private airfield on the east end, Peter dropped off one of its lower skids and tucked himself away in a secluded alcove. Better to avoid too much attention, especially given what he had to put on to board...

The heat in his cheeks had nothing to do with the unreasonably sunny day when he exited into the open air. Peter spotted the plane almost immediately, ringed as it was by armed personnel bearing Sable International patches. They saw him soon enough, one muttering into a wrist mic as the others moved to give him a path to the plane. One with a mostly-shaved head and sunglasses walked up to the front and nodded to him.

"Parker?"

Peter nodded, glancing around uncertainly.

He waved Peter toward the entry ramp on a sleek, silver jet, letting him go first, dragging his suitcase behind him. The large case clumsily clomped about as he dragged it up, muttering apologies the whole way. The security team didn't say a word, stoically attending to their duties while one of them escorted him to the main cabin. He was grateful nobody commented about the collar. Aside from a few flight attendants and more security, he didn't see any other passengers, which would be more unnerving if he didn't know how difficult it was for Silver to trust people.

Speaking of whom...

Peter cleared his throat. "Is uh...is Ms. Sable on board?"

Shaved-head briefly glanced his way. "No."

"Gotcha...cool, cool..."

All this way and she hadn't even been there to meet him. Peter sighed hard. She had a country and a corporation to run. All things considered, her having off-time was probably even rarer than Spider-Man taking a day off. He couldn't expect much personal attention on this trip, especially if it actually was a professional opportunity. So he grabbed some water and a book he packed and settled in for a long flight. They were going non-stop to Symkaria, which meant around a twelve-hour trip. At least he had plenty of leg room.

Between chapters, meals, and naps; Peter had plenty of time to turn his stomach inside-out with anxious thoughts and anticipation. Silver hadn't gone into any detail of what he could expect from this job, or anything else during his time in Symkaria. She just laid the opportunity on the table and he came running. God, why? What was he even looking for?

In the weeks since that night with Silver, he'd felt like he was stuck, in more ways than one. Maybe this could be a little impromptu vacation of sorts, if the task didn't prove too stressful. Eh, who was he kidding? He was Peter Parker. With his luck, it'd turn from a minor inconvenience into a world-ending catastrophe inside a week.

It was with this cheery thought that he entered a fitful sleep for the remainder of the trip, only waking when he was shaken by one of the attendants telling him to strap in for landing. Touchdown was smooth enough, though given how many crashes he'd been in, Peter never quite felt safe in any aircraft he couldn't quickly bail out of. He was glad for the chance to stretch his legs, though one of the security personnel was quick to hand him a fur-lined coat. Right.

It was still January, wasn't it? And with Symkaria's position in the mountainous Balkans, it was already bound to be cold. As soon as he stepped out into the crisp, clear air, he squinted at the bright dusk sun glaring in his eyes. The exit ramp led directly to the runway, where a long white limo waited for him and the security team, most of whom were already waiting with it. All this, for him? He'd be flattered if it wasn't so intimidating.

As soon as Peter stepped up to the door, one of the guards motioned for him to hand over his suitcase. He did. A door was opened. He stepped inside. His heart dropped a bit once again when no one greeted him except more security. Silver must've been waiting all the way at—holy shit was that a real castle?

At the pinnacle of a large slope stood Castle Sable, the headquarters of heads of state and mercenary kings both. Or queens, in this case. The imposing structure was a series of stone towers ringed by structures that kept some of the traditional aesthetic while incorporating much of the tech Sable International was known for. Solar panels made up most of the sloped roofs. Antennas and satellite dishes adorned the parapets. Helicopter pads were built into some of the towers. One near the top was twice the size of the others, he guessed for housing Silver's VTOL jet.

The limo pulled up to the front gate within ten minutes of leaving the airfield, Peter barely hearing muffled exchanges through the front divider. Then they were moving again, right into an underground garage lined with top-shelf automated security—laser grids, motion sensors, at least two thermal-imaging cameras. Getting in and out of here would not be like infiltrating the NY Grand, that's for sure.

Security motioned him toward automatic double-doors at the lit end of the garage. Three of them escorted him through a series of hallways that, between the white-paneled walls and fluorescent lighting, were almost blindingly bright. Those halls led to an elevator. One of the guards used a security pass to enable it, and then they were going up. The gauge read fifteen by the time they stopped, and the doors opened to permit them into a massive, open space with high-vaulted ceilings at least three stories up.

Peter's jaw dropped when he saw what was inside.

Robotics, computers, 3D printers, holographic AutoCAD stations—this whole room was every engineer's wet dream. It took everything he had not to run up to every station like a little kid and take a closer look. It wasn't unoccupied either. Scientists in plainclothes and white coats alike lined every bench and computer, the unceasing din of discussion and collaboration hitting a nostalgic chord in him hard. A chord that was almost immediately tainted by regret. This was what Otto's lab had felt like...a long time ago, it felt.

Sighing, he followed his escort to a structure at the far end, what looked like a tower of sorts, and entered an elevator that took him to the control room. When the doors opened, he froze for the briefest instant. In plain, functional clothes, with her hair up in a tight bun, was Silver Sablinova. She was in intense discussion with two of the other engineers, and so didn't notice his arrival until at least fifteen seconds later.

Peter hadn't stopped staring the whole time.

That only got worse when she finally looked at him. Those eyes...

He'd almost forgotten how piercingly blue they were. They flickered with something that tugged at her lips for an instant before she turned to the security chief and gave him a nod. Peter's escort vanished into the elevator, one of them almost shoving him out when he just kept staring. He blushed fiercely, even more so when her eyes flickered to his neck and twinkled mischievously. Finally, Peter forced his legs to move and tentatively approached her.

"Mr. Parker," Silver greeted. "I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"V-Very," he stammered, muscling his voice into something coherent. "I really appreciate you bringing me out in such style. I mean, I can probably count the number of limos I've been in on one hand, and uh...not always because I was invited."

"I can imagine." She smirked coyly. "Peter—do you mind if I call you Peter?"

He coughed softly. "No."

Her smirk widened. "I'd like you to meet René Guillame and Erina Volstoka, two of my most talented project leads."

Peter stepped forward and shook the hand of a balding man who looked in his forties (reminding him a little too much of Otto) and a woman with dark hair and eyes who stood a good head shorter than Silver.

"Hi," he said. "Peter Parker."

Erina smirked. "We know. She's been gushing about you since she announced the offer."

Peter blinked. "Gushing?"

Sable gave her a look.

Erina cleared her throat. "Well er, compared to other hires, at least. Your work in cybernetics and neural imaging is, well, revolutionary, so we're told."

Peter froze and looked at Silver uneasily.

She shrugged. "I only tell the truth. Though perhaps not all of it." She leaned in a pinch. "Can't have you getting too much of an ego."

Ah, so she'd left the specifics out. Well, that worked well enough credential-wise. But an introduction like that left him wondering exactly what project those skills would make him look good for.

"You mentioned you'd go over the details in person?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Silver said, nodding to a computer. "There is a new system we're trying to integrate into our public engineering, a means of combining traditional welding with precision robotics."

Peter bent over the screen and frowned in concentration. "It's a neural interface."

René nodded. "Designed to integrate remote prostheses with the mind of experienced welders who are, perhaps, no longer physically able to continue their profession. We understand you have some experience with this class of biotechnology."

"Some," Peter admitted, "but I was only one part of the team who worked on it. Most of the more integrated bits were finished by the others."

"Nevertheless," Erina said, "it makes you uniquely qualified to help with QA and bugfixes."

"True." Peter glanced at Silver, who was noticeably silent. "I'd need a closer look at the specifics to know how I can help."

"Indeed," Silver said, waving him over. "Follow me, and I'll explain."

They entered a second-story corridor that overlooked the workfloor, mostly deserted but for a few security personnel. The door to the control room locked behind them.

Peter frowned. Apparently this was a private portion of the orientation. So he asked the question that had been nagging at him. "You didn't bring me here for a public works project, did you?"

She stiffened a bit. "Sadly, no. If you are able to stay long enough, I would prefer to have you weigh in on it nonetheless, but..." She frowned. "I'm afraid your true task is much more sensitive." She pulled a disc-like device from her belt and tapped its side, projecting a holographic interface that displayed several guns. "Sable International has been working on a prototype identification friend-or-foe interface—an IFF—for handheld firearms. The system is designed to work hand-in-hand with an ID chip implanted in every security officer and Symkarian soldier, a virtual firing pin if you will."

"So only your people can use them."

Silver nodded. "If seized by an outside force, they are utterly useless. Moreover, these weapons will be unable to fire if targeting one of our own, at least reducing—if not eliminating—friendly fire."

Peter frowned. This all sounded fine in concept, but where was the catch? "I've never worked on anything like this. What do you need me for?"

She scowled sharply. "The project has developed a persistent...bug. One I've attempted to fix numerous times yet keeps reappearing in different ways." She swiped her finger over the interface, showing several side-by-side recordings. "The 'friend' designation is mistaken for 'foe.' A classification that should not exist at all."

"Wait, meaning what?"

"Watch."

She started the recordings. Almost at once, each weapon fired randomly, to the alarm of the testers.

"Wait...they auto-fire when they see an implant?"

Silver nodded gravely. "The intended function is entirely flipped, and no matter how we attempt to fix it, the same issue keeps arising."

Peter stared at the looped recordings, his expression turning grave as he slowly turned to Silver. "You think someone's doing this on purpose."

She met his eyes. "Both I and Symkaria have many enemies—rival nations intent on conquering us, terrorists and criminals who see our technology as an opportunity, even rival factions from within my own country who would like nothing more than to supplant me. Any one of these would benefit greatly from such a disastrous malfunction. Weapons that are hardwired to kill our own soldiers? The political fallout of that alone would devastate any credibility I have with my people."

"Not to mention make you vulnerable to invasion."

"Precisely." Silver sighed and closed down the projector. "I need you to help smoke out this saboteur, if they exist. And if not, to be another pair of eyes that can finish the project."

He shrugged. "Why not just...scrap the project? Eliminate that vulnerability altogether."

"Because if there is a saboteur, they could simply go to ground and wait to cause more damage elsewhere."

Peter nodded slowly. "The devil you know."

"Exactly."

Peter frowned. "I don't know, Sable...I can't really say I'm comfortable working on weapons like this."

She arched a silver eyebrow. "And why is that? You develop weapons of your own in service of your city, your people? With your power, they could easily be used to kill, yet you go to great lengths to ensure they are not." Her lips pursed. "So do I. That is why I started this project. War is ugly and costly, and it will always end in blood. But if I could save just a few from accidents that could be avoided, is it not worth a try?" When he didn't immediately answer, she stepped in a bit and fixed her eyes on his. "I called you because I need someone with a moral compass unswayed by money or coercion. If someone has infiltrated this project, then someone I trust deeply has betrayed me."

Peter's gaze flickered between her eyes. "You barely know me."

Silver was silent for a moment. "I barely know Peter Parker. Spider-Man, on the other hand...he has proven his ideals—and his mettle. You toppled Octavius, your own mentor, when he proved untrustworthy." Her frown deepened. "And made even harder decisions for the greater good. If I cannot trust you, I can trust no one."

Peter didn't answer for a long time, staring at the ground. Then he shook his head and sighed. "Y'know, sometimes you make it really difficult to argue with you."

Silver smirked.

Another sigh. "Okay. I'll take the job."

She grinned. "Splendid." She waved him toward her as she strode down the hall. "Come. You've had a long flight. You'll need time to acclimate, get your bearings. And I imagine you've worked up an appetite."

Almost on cue, his stomach growled softly. Peter cleared his throat. "I could eat something, yeah."

The next room they entered was an atrium of sorts, with more elevators. Security and civilian staff alike greeted her as she passed with Peter in tow. A few of them gave him more than a lingering glance. He felt hot under the collar—literally. Did they know what it meant? Or did they assume it was just an eccentric American fashion accessory?

Silver motioned him into an elevator, and they were finally alone.

He tugged at his collar and muttered, "Can I take this off?"

She grinned and side-eyed him. "Not on your life."

Peter swallowed, feeling the collar's mild pressure as the doors opened. A lavish, airy room greeted them on the other side, with satin curtains draped over diamond-clear windows. Tiled floor with marbled patterns adorned the main floor, while hardwood steps led up into a smaller enclosure with a medium-sized table. On it was a wide spread of meats, cheeses, and dishes he couldn't begin to deconstruct.

Silver waved at the steaming table. "Take your pick, Peter."

The coy look in her eye implied both seat and meal. So he swallowed and looked around for the head of the table. Peter planted himself right beside it.

Silver grinned and sauntered over, leaving behind her lab coat on a hook while taking his off...a little more forcefully than necessary. He hadn't seen a single other person since entering the elevator, and this food had clearly been prepared for them in advance.

"Um." Peter cleared his throat. "Are we alone?"

She smiled and sat next to him. "We are."

He didn't understand why he'd felt so uneasy this whole time, at first chalking it up to nerves, but now...

"Why didn't you call me?"

Silver blinked at him.

"Text me? Email?" Peter sighed. "I mean, I know you're busy. I know you have responsibilities, but...it was weeks, Silver. No contact, no...hint that you were even..." Another sigh. "I don't know. I didn't really expect anything after...that night. Or, at least, I tried not to. It just..." he swallowed, "it hurt to think that after all that, you just..."

"Forgot about you."

Peter's lips pursed as he nodded.

Silver leaned back in her seat and stared at the table with a frown. "I never forgot. In truth, I spent many days looking for an excuse to see you again. Because I do have responsibilities, to my company and my country. I never meant to be so silent, Peter." She sighed. "But part of me felt...guilty, afterward."

Peter stared at her uneasily.

"As if I'd exploited you in a vulnerable moment."

"...oh."

"I feared that if I contacted you..." Her head shook. "I don't know what I was afraid of. I suppose it felt...awkward to reach out without some pretense, given how suddenly we parted. Though I doubt it felt any less sudden or awkward, me reaching out like I did."

Peter's face heated as he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I mean...I didn't really mind that part."

Silver's lips curled teasingly. "Given how much you drooled the first time you saw me in it, I expected nothing less."

His face burned.

Her smile faded. "But still...after a week or so of putting it off, reaching out without some other context felt...wrong."

"I...see. I think."

"I'm sorry for making you wait."

He met her eyes and smiled a little, tentatively reaching out for her hand. Silver took it without hesitation, squeezing gently. His thumb rubbed over her calloused palm, admiring its texture.

Then his stomach growled again, and she snickered uncontrollably.

"We should probably," he muttered.

"Yes." She smirked as she reached for one of the pots. "I imagine you'll work it off soon enough."

Peter blushed hard enough to make his ears turn red, but the grin never left his face.

Her smile faded a bit as she dug in. He noticed but didn't remark on it. If she had something to say, she'd say it. The table was silent for a while, interrupted only by the clanking of utensils. Silver swallowed and poured half a glass of wine for herself before offering some to Peter. He nodded slightly. Her eyes flickered to his while she poured.

"I'm curious," she said. "What were you up to when you got my package?"

Peter cleared his throat, trying not to burn up again. "I was uh, movin' into my new apartment with Miles—uh, he's my roommate, kinda." He frowned. "His dad was killed by the Demons last year, and ever since, me and May—my aunt—we've kinda been looking after him and his mom." His jaw twitched. "Though...guess it's just me now."

Peter briefly debated telling her about the other reason he was mentoring Miles, but even if he trusted her with that, it wasn't his secret to tell.

Silver smiled and shook her head slightly, staring down at her plate. "You remind me of my father. He too had an eye for talent."

Peter glanced her up and down. "I never said anything about—"

"Please. I saw the look in your eye when you said his name, the pride. And you wouldn't be moving in with him if you didn't trust him. I know how you value your privacy." She held her glass up to him. "Good for you, finding a protégé."

He eyed her uncertainly.