Chapter Text
For one woman, 1975 was the beginning of a new Era.
Her work in the past decades was paying off, even if her boss hadn’t seen the extent of it yet. Her greatest invention, the portal testing chamber, had become the gold standard. The existing portal technology was already well beyond what the folks at Black Mesa were even dreaming of – and she wasn’t just guessing, corporate espionage was a forte of hers. Zero point energy field manipulation, while never progressing beyond lifting small objects directly in front of the user, had been thought impossible by most of Black Mesa’s top “experts”.
Even larger-mass teleportation was still in Aperture’s favor. The Borealis Project, while largely considered a failure by those who worked on it closest, had proven the possibility of teleportation, and the remoteness of Arbeit Communications, whose acquisition she’d managed, had kept the worst of it a secret. Even the few Black Mesa spies she’d caught didn’t know. And she knew how to get them to squeal.
This new hire at Black Mesa. He was cute, naïve, still seeing himself as the man who would guide the world to greatness. All of the idealism, and none of the experience to boot. She knew the drill. Start off cordial, try to befriend him, juuuuust long enough to get him to show any weaknesses he had.
He’d even visited Aperture a few times. Each time he’d found something to comment on - always just the thing to get on Cave Johnson’s nerves. Johnson’s strategy, nine times out of ten, was to copy another well known Johnson (who people quickly learned to never ever ask him about), that is to say, get right in their faces. Too close for comfort. Had he and Breen gotten any closer, they might have kissed. That would be fun to see.
She thought about that way too often. Breen talked a big game, but Cave Johnson’s mouth was a beast unto itself. That sad excuse for a man would never know what hit him. Was it healthy, normal, to be thinking about her boss and his rival making out passionately? Yes, she decided one day as she took a drag of a well earned cigarette. Yes it was.
Oh, but things got heated all the time, of course. For all his talk of “evolving humanity beyond its basest of impulses”, Breen was more than happy to indulge in a shouting match with his rival over the phone. She’d taken the liberty to write down some insults she thought of throughout the day. What could she say, it was great stress relief.
In the past, her way to cope with whatever Cave Johnson had thought to do that day (and there were many of those days) was to find a closet she’d snuck an old couch into, and scream as loud as she could into the pillows. Over time however, that strategy (and her vocal cords) began to work less and less. Thankfully, now she had her own brand new punching bag.
As far as she knew, the two rivals had never come to kiss each other. Or if they had, she hadn’t gotten to watch. What a shame, she thought. Her insight on this man, however, had come to pay off. She’d learned the ins and outs of what made this man tick. And she’d learned to play her cards right.
“Doctor Breen”, as he always insisted on being called, certainly knew how to talk to important men in suits. Securing contracts, making connections, slow incremental steps, even she recognized he had a talent there. But even he fell victim to that age-old need to be known. Anyone, if they talked just the right game, could string him along whatever path they wanted, and he’d go willingly.
So why didn’t Caroline do the same? She’d been the impetus and the drive to acquiring Arbeit after all. Even after Cave Johnson would go on to keel over with his lunar fascination, secrecy became the modus novus operandi aperturae. But therein was the true difference between the two: while Breen understood the value of confidentiality, or rather that it had some non-zero value, Caroline understood that secrecy was meaningless without obscurity. No one would ever try to investigate you if they did not know who you were.
She’d cut her teeth on Aperture’s operations and ownership of the Arbeit facility, its existence and location kept secret even to most employees of Aperture, and the extent of its research kept secret to most who worked at Arbeit. Cave had let her turn it into her own little playground, perfect for thought experiments and ideas that even her boss might not have approved.
It was her idea however, long after Cave Johnson and his ways, to run Aperture on that principle. You never quite know who you’ll have to hide this from later on, she insisted. If time travel exists, they’re already listening in.
Caroline ended up being far more right about that, and about Wallace Breen, than even she could have imagined back in 1975.