Alone in his office, Giovanni clicked through Ariana's slides once more at his own pace. With his free hand, he made tallies on a pad beside the computer keyboard, circling and noting the occasional sum. Reviewing presentations like this one took up an annoyingly large part of his schedule these days, but this project was unlike any other he'd been asked to manage.
As the son of Madame Boss, Giovanni could theoretically exert his control in any vector of the Rocket Corporation and its subsidiaries. At his mother's urging, Giovanni focused on the merchandising aspects of the business. He was a public face of both her fashion and her technology lines, visibly participating in the competitive Pokémon-battling circuits while wearing the most expensive lines from R-Style fashion and flashing the newest trainer-targeted accessories.
Behind the scenes, he applied his experience to brand deals, sourcing, and marketing. He knew his way around some of Miyamoto's Pokémon capture prototypes, but that was as far as he'd ventured into the Rocket Labs.
Limited experience acknowledged, what Ariana was suggesting sounded ludicrous.
Alongside the presentation, Giovanni had also pulled up Ariana's staff profile and recent time cards. She was a diligent employee, but not a prompt one, with several late clock-ins and even more late clock-outs. She had no Pokémon registered. No infractions. Made and received no outside calls. The last time she scanned to leave campus was over two months ago, so she didn't seem to have much in her life except her work in the lab.
How did she get mixed up with Miyamoto?
During their meeting and Ariana's presentation, Giovanni had watched Miyamoto's face. She frowned at all his questions. Whenever he'd asked Ariana to elucidate, she'd writhed in her seat, projecting tells of discomfort Giovanni had picked up on over the years. Miyamoto's interest in the project was a bright red flag.
Miyamoto was ready to champion the cause, but she also wanted to rope in Giovanni, and she obviously preferred he not get mired in the details.
Was she that confident it would succeed, if only he would approve it? Or was she hoping it would fail and she could leave him holding the bag?
Giovanni weighed these considerations against Ariana's assertions, made in charts and computer-generated models. There was value here, he thought.
His tallies on the pad represented the fully-realized elements before him: the custom hardware and a user-interface program for visualizing and sequencing genetic structures, a library of genetic material, a few already-sequenced specimen genomes, and some of the proven genetic resonance technologies all presented lucrative opportunities.
If he could secure those commodities for the benefit of Rocket Corp, he could justify investment into the project. The idea of actually running the proposed experiment was a bit grotesque from Giovanni's perspective, but a small factor in the overall valuation. If it would ensure Ariana's cooperation on the other features, she should be allowed to try. And if Miyamoto hoped to set him up for failure, presenting a catalogue of monetizable successes would make a neat turnabout.
Satisfied with his conclusions, Giovanni sat back in his chair. He reached for a particular desk drawer and paused with his finger touching the knob. Persian was curled up atop its scratching tower looking very much asleep, but one ear sprung up and cupped towards Giovanni. He chuckled quietly and pulled the knob. The drawer whispered open.
Persian was on its feet. It leapt from the tower to the floor, and from the floor to the surface of Giovanni's desk.
"Prrr?"
"Of course."
From the open drawer, Giovanni pulled a bag of treats. He offered a few to Persian, piece by piece, then stroked the Pokémon behind its rounded ears.
He thought again of Ariana, and of the note on her profile: no Pokémon registered. It wasn't that uncommon, especially for people who spent so much time at work in professional building, but still… Giovanni smiled down at Persian. It sprawled indulgently under its trainer's firm strokes; fur flurried in the air after each one. Its front paws flexed, one and then the other, extending and contracting needle-sharp claws. In his whole life, there had been no bigger payoff to an investment than the one he'd made in Persian. Every bit of care and attention he put into the cat paid out tenfold in...this feeling, he thought, as the Persian nuzzled its head into his cupped hand.
Giovanni felt that way, to some degree, about each one of his Pokémon. They did incredible things that he could not, and he respected them for it. But they also sought an emotional connection, forged through cooperation, that fulfilled him in a way his relationships with people never matched. Earning a Pokémon's trust earned you its power. Without duplicity.
Based on her lifestyle and her scientific aims, Ariana didn't seem interested in that transaction. Perhaps he might have viewed it as a weakness in her character had it not reminded Giovanni of another woman in his life.
His mother, Madame Boss, never cared for the company of Pokémon.
Outside the office window, the sun was sinking on the horizon. As the sunlight dimmed, automatic lights came up in the office
Giovanni stopped stroking the Persian and gave it two light pats on its exposed belly. "Come on. Let's go get some dinner." He stood to leave and the Persian followed.