Per 
“He’s had a bad day.”
The secretary glanced at the door, and then back at Senior Researcher Yen apologetically.
Don’t make it worse, implored her eyes.
Researcher Yen smiled politely back as she picked up the pen to sign in on the clipboard. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she lied gently, in equally hushed tones.
The look that the secretary gave Senior Researcher Yen wasn’t a good one, to say the least. Researcher Yen, however, cheerfully signed in on the clipboard on the counter, smiling crisply at the secretary’s softly shaking head, and sat down in the waiting room.
The secretary tried to catch Yen’s eye again, to warn this nonchalant creature that incurring the Site Director’s wrath was not¬ a good idea, but Yen firmly ignored all attempts made, instead pulling up an email on her phone.
Of course the Site Director wouldn’t be pleased. Researcher Yen wasn’t an idiotic airhead who made impulsive decisions; she knew exactly what she had been doing. She had kept her nose carefully clean over the past nine years, waiting for the right time to cross the line, and when the opportunity arose two weeks ago, she discreetly composed a friendly email to the I2A2.
She supposed that they had responded by emailing the Site Director. This wasn’t the ideal situation, of course—she had hoped to negotiate a beneficial deal first, so she could have a chip in her favor when she made the case to the Director. But the fact that they had responded at all, instead of wiping their databases for cognitohazards, was a good sign.
- * *
“Sit.” The director gestured towards the chair opposite him. He wasn’t quite glowering at her just yet, but the tension in the room was palpable.
Researcher Yen crossed the room, and before she had even made herself comfortable on the spindly office chair, the director had firmly gripped his monitor and wrenched it around so that Yen could see the screen.
“What’s this?”
Researcher Yen looked.
“It’s an email,” she responded dryly. She glanced at the screen quickly again, to double-check. “From the International Institute of Anomalous Art.”
“And what does this email say?” the Site Director asked, his voice dangerously curt.
Researcher Yen brushed aside her bangs coolly.
“To Site Director James Gantley,” she read. “We of the International Institute of Anomalous Art have hereby received the initiative from Foundation Researcher Julia Yen to create a cooperative exchange of Foundation and Institute research on the subject of anomalous art, more commonly referred to as anart. We have sincerely considered the terms of contract, and would be willing to agree on these terms given these three changes:
“First, we refuse to disclose any information on works of anart created within the last 80 years. While your suspicions that the I2A2 would not cooperate without some protection of the anart created at our Institution are correct, we believe that 50 years is too short of a time frame. Several of our professors and many of our alumni have created work before 1970, and we are blatantly unwilling to hand over these works.
“Second, all anart of current I2A2 students will be returned to the I2A2. If this cannot be done due to the nature of the artwork, a contract of lease must be signed, allowing the Foundation to possess the work on a loan, to be returned to the I2A2 at a later date.
“Lastly,
“The Foundation has a long history, surpassing that of our Institute. We understand that you must have extensive documentation and research on many works we have previously been unable to examine, in addition to pieces that we are unaware of. We look forward to the exchange.
“Thank you, the International Institute of Anomalous Art.”
Researcher Yen looked up expectantly.
“What do you make of all this?” Director Gantley asked, carefully keeping malice out of his words.
“Well, I think it’s brilliant,” Researcher Yen said flatly. “I don’t know what you expected me to say. You know as well as I do that I wrote the proposal. As for these changes, they don’t bother me at all. In fact, they might be for the better. Consider their second amendment—"
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant,” Director Gantley looked lost for words for a moment. “I meant, who gave you the permission to reach out to a Group of Interest? Moreover, to conduct such negotiations with them?”
Yen blinked slowly at him.
“You did.”
“I—”
“Two weeks ago, reluctant as you were, you agreed to my appointment as the supervisor of the cooperative research. I asked you, at the time, whether I could use any of our resources during this project. You responded, and I quote, ‘As long as it’s not something ridiculous or extravagant, and doesn’t interfere with how our site functions, you can use anything’.” She gestured at the email. “This exchange is meant to be a strictly digital process. No task forces need to be deployed. Nothing will be physically transferred. If you think you can’t even spare researchers, I’m willing to conduct this exchange by myself.”
“As if I’d let you!” Director Gantley slammed a hand on his desk. “I still can’t tell what your intentions are. This isn’t what I agreed to! I thought you intended to conduct new research with them, not to hand over all of our old research!”
“Huh? But this, this is new research!” Yen insisted, nerves fraying slightly. “I’m not giving them our old research, we’re combining our data sets so we can see new trends in anart history—information on how pieces are created, what sort of properties are found in anart pieces in certain time periods—things like that! Of course, if we have relevant research that would progress our findings, we’d share that, but otherwise Foundation information is classified as usual.” She swallowed. “Us and them, we have a similar goal. We want to contain anomalous art. They want to preserve it, especially the pieces from LSKDHJSLDKHJFLSD. There’s bound to be a wealth of overlap, don’t you think?”
The hopeful look on Researcher Yen’s face didn’t seem to convince the director.
“So you want to carry out this exchange so we can…contain things better.” Gantley raised an eyebrow icily. “I wasn’t really under the impression that we were struggling to contain anart, of all things.”
Researcher Yen frowned.
“Don’t you see? Yes, you’re absolutely right, anart is probably the easiest type of SCP to contain, but look,” she pointed again to the screen, where the I2A2 wrote out their second request. “Do you understand the implications of this?”
She didn’t wait for a response. “This is what I’ve been trying to work towards since I first found out about the I2A2. Look at the wording—possess the work on a loan? That’s what a museum or a gallery would do! If the Foundation and the Institute established a gallery-artist relationship, it’s almost guaranteed to have a mutually beneficial outcome.
“Think about it. Anartists can’t be killing off their audience or driving them insane on the regular. Sure, some of them might want that, but the vast majority want their audience to stay alive and sane. I’m guessing that they can’t control the anomalous properties of their works with precision yet, or they don’t have containment procedures that make the work safe enough to exhibit.
“If the I2A2 handed over artworks for us to safely contain and display, we wouldn’t need to throw away lives and waste time in securing the pieces. We could safekeep their artworks, and if they insist on exhibiting it, we can create our own gallery where the works can be safely shown to the public as long as we bullshit some science for the anomalous effects.”
