SotF: 1.1.1 - Portland
Shadows of the Forge
This is a continuation of “Shadows of the Forge,” an “intuitive rust” story. The previous chapter is here:
Portland
The rain drizzled sorrowfully through the blossoms of moss-laden trees onto the ancient Volvo’s cracked windshield, smearing the city’s reflection as they passed from neighborhood bungalows and pocket gardens to downtown Portland’s gleaming towers. Ezra hunched over the wheel, his knuckles white, squinting through the rain. The car smelled like rain, and it smelled like him, and the years they had spent together.
Iona stared out the window into the side mirror. She shifted in her seat. She never could quite get comfortable. "Ez," she continued cautiously, "are you sure you’re okay with this? I know when you’re holding back.” The neighborhoods were disappearing behind them.
He grunted noncommittally, eyes fixed on the traffic, fingers drumming too quickly on the steering wheel. "I’m sure, Iona.”
The Volvo lurched to a halt at a red light, rattling like it was personally offended by their conversation. Iona looked over at Ezra, whose brow furrowed. She felt her heart tense as she braced herself for what was coming. He clearly had more to say.
As they waited, a commotion erupted in the street beside them. A disheveled man emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley, his movements erratic and jerky. His tattered clothes hung loosely on his gaunt frame, and his eyes darted wildly, revealing the telltale signs of Fentanyl addiction. With a sudden burst of energy, he stumbled into the street, right in front of a sleek, autonomous taxi.
The taxi's advanced collision avoidance system engaged, bringing the vehicle to a smooth stop. Unfazed, the man began to gesticulate wildly, shouting incoherently at the sky, his words lost in the din of the traffic. He turned his attention to the taxi, slamming his fists against the polished, self-healing polymer exterior.
Iona watched the scene unfold with a mix of horror and fascination. The taxi remained motionless, its liquid display fanning light back and forth, assessing the situation and determining the best course of action. After a moment, the display swirled into a bright purple and a firm, empathetic voice emanated from the vehicle, "Oliver, it's okay. You're safe. Remember what we talked about last time? Deep breaths, in and out. Let's focus on getting you the help you need."
The man, apparently named Oliver, paused his assault on the taxi. His eyes widened in recognition, and his breathing began to slow. The AI continued, "I have alerted your caseworker, and they'll be here soon to assist you. In the meantime, let's move to the sidewalk. It's dangerous to stand in the middle of the road."
Oliver nodded, his shoulders slumping as he allowed the taxi's gentle guidance to steer him to safety. As he stepped onto the sidewalk and the taxi pulled away, a sleek, electric ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics emerged, their movements calm and practiced. They approached Oliver with care, speaking to him in soothing tones as they assessed his condition and prepared to transport him to a nearby treatment facility.
As the light turned green and the taxi merged back into traffic, Iona couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and admiration for the way the AI had handled the situation. Ezra, however, seemed less impressed. "Great, so now even the taxis are playing social worker. Wonder how much data ForgeStone had to scrape to pull that off."
Iona bristled at his cynicism. "It helped him, didn't it? Maybe there's more to this technology than just profits and control."
Ezra shifted gears and gave a noncommittal grunt as the light turned green and the old car jerked forward. “You know what I just can’t understand? It’s why you are choosing a direction that’s so alien to you. Like why you couldn’t find a job at some… I don’t know, non-profit. Or the medical sector. I dunno, somewhere you’d be using tech for good? That’s the Iona I know. The one I write my songs about. Your last job had everything: creativity, and purpose, and social justice. ForgeStone is the opposite of all that."
Iona’s face threatened to burn, her throat tightening. “You don't have to love it," she managed. "Just support me. Or don’t, I guess.” She blinked hard. “I think it’s finally a chance to build something real. That’s purposeful. It’s the kind of opportunity I see people get, but never dreamed for myself. The real deal, Ez. You know I’ve bounced around since I left the service, now at least I get to put my skills to use in this apprenticeship.”
Ezra said nothing. The moment stretched.
“Besides, the new job is totally creative, thank you very much. And ForgeStone scored highly on all diversity and workplace happiness watchdog sites,” she said. She hated that she felt she had to justify everything to him. Hated it more that she continued to do it.
Ezra shot her a sidelong glance, inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled the same way "The real deal…” He repeated, then shook his head.
The car crawled through the Pearl District traffic, past towering skyscrapers adorned with vibrant holographic advertisements that cast an eerie glow on the rain-slicked streets. The morning crowds were adorned with sleek AR glasses, teeming in the coffee shops that lined the street, their orders efficiently processed by automated baristas. A mannequin stood in a boutique window, half-clothed in cutting-edge smart fabrics that shifted colors and patterns based on the viewer's gaze. High-end restaurants, equipped with robotic chefs and virtual dining experiences, were empty and dark, their once-human staff replaced by cost-effective automation.
When Ezra spoke again, his voice was softer and more melodic. He improvised a tune, in a rough sing-song:
“You and me, we have what’s real,
Abundant home and love of what’s just.
But I guess that’s not enough,
You want to go and Rust.”
Tears threatened to start, now. How dare he make a song about this! She wanted today to be different. As they wound through the Pearl District, Iona dabbed at her eyes with a knuckle, pushed the anger out of her voice and said, “Ezra, that’s not fair. I’d be overjoyed for any opportunity that you thought was worthwhile.. This is my chance to guide that tech in the right direction.”
The cracked leather creaked as Ezra shifted in his seat. He leaned forward and gazed outward and upward through the windshield at the massive edifice above them, whistled lightly through his clenched teeth.
“They pulled up to the hulking corporate titan,” Ezra narrated, doing his best impression of a 90’s true-crime television show host. “A steel and glass behemoth of ugly, abrasive angles hulking over this city like some shiny, spiny parasite. Few know what depraved and morally bankrupt things happen therein…”
He turned to Iona now and dropped the voice, “They’re not building the future here, they’re siphoning it away… and I’m worried they’ll siphon away everything that makes you, you. Everything you love about yourself. Everything I love about you.”
Iona bit her lip, tasting ferrous blood, as Ezra's disapproval filled the car. She wanted to scream, to cry, to make him understand. This wasn't just a job. It was a chance to be something more, something beyond Ezra's narrow vision of her as his partner (and secretary and cheerleader).
"I need you to trust me," she said, her voice small against the rain's steady beat. "I know it's different. But it's not going to change me. Not going to change us."
The words felt hollow, insufficient. How could she make him see? The city blurred past, a reminder of all the ways she'd let herself be defined by him.
Ezra's silence was suffocating. Iona stared out the window, afraid to look, afraid to see pity or anger in his eyes. Or worse, indifference.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I'm not asking for permission, or even support, really." she whispered, as much to herself as to him. "Just... that you don’t make this harder than it needs to be."
His sigh carried the weight of unspoken arguments. "Never would," he muttered.
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