This is part of a series. For all “Shadows of the Forge” chapters, go here:
ForgeStone Headquarters
Conversation died swiftly as over a dozen curious glances landed on her, but no one extended a welcome. She scanned the faces, hoping for a friendly smile, a nod of acknowledgement... anything. But all she found was a sea of strangers, ranging in age and height and build and gender, each wearing a hexagonal badge on their temple, the same soft neon green as hers.
The room was surprisingly immense, for one so high in the tower. It seemed to Iona more like a repurposed hangar than a traditional conference space. Exposed girders and massive support beams stretched upwards, disappearing into the shadows that clung to the vaulted ceiling. Workbenches cluttered with monitors, tangled cables, and gleaming machinery lined the walls. Somebody had tried to cover the lingering scent of machine oil with bathroom air fresheners.
A man in a pristine white coat approached the front of the room, a tablet in his hand. "Alright folks, let's get started," he announced, his voice crisp and efficient. He gestured to a row of hypermodern-looking chairs that had been set up in the center of the vast room. "I'm Dr. Kaushik, your coordinator for the next few weeks. I see we have one more…" His eyes flicked over Iona, a hint of disapproval marring his otherwise neutral expression. The ID badge at the side of his head pulsed a vibrant violet. "Ah, Ms. Weaver, I take it? Better late than never, I suppose."
Heat prickled Iona's cheeks. She mumbled an apology, sliding into an empty seat at the back, between two other apprentices.
The orientation began with a barrage of project overviews, company policies droned on by Dr. Kaushik, a man whose neatly trimmed beard seemed perpetually furrowed in concentration. Iona struggled to keep up, the names and acronyms swirling in a confusing vortex. It was clear that a lot was expected of them, and yet, no one had told her how to find her feet in this swirling corporate cosmos. In front of Iona, a broad shouldered man in a too-small oxford cloth shirt sat hunched over his keyboard, recording away every word from Dr. Kaushik.
To Iona’s left sat a lanky, pale figure with shock red, curly hair and a crooked grin. His long legs jutted out awkwardly from under the desk, and as Dr. Kaushik droned on about “interdepartmental synergy,” he caught Iona’s eye and rolled his eyes ever so slightly, amusement passing between them.
On her right sat a woman with sharp green eyes and a gleaming golden nose ring. Her arms were folded across a worn leather jacket, contrasting the sharp designer clothing of many of the other apprentices. The green-eyed girl, whose name Iona silently hoped to learn soon, gave a huge yawn, stifling it behind a manicured hand. Iona offered a sympathetic smile, a small gesture in this overwhelming environment. Perhaps, she thought, there were others here who felt as lost as she did.
Then a hush fell over the room as a lean and long figure stepped to the front. A middle-aged man with impeccable posture, he radiated an air of authority that cut through the nervous chatter. His impeccably tailored suit moved with the grace of money and power well spent, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. Even so, his eyes remained sharp and focused as he scanned the collection of nervous faces before him.
"Apprentices, welcome to ForgeStone," he began, his voice surprisingly soft, a calculated contrast to the sterile corporate setting. He cleared his throat, “I’m Tom Ellis, the Chief Financial Officer here.” The subtle rumble of his voice added a hint of theatrical weight to his words. "Now, I know you've heard the spiels about innovation, and pushing boundaries, and all that. But let me tell you something true: I'm not just some executive spouting buzzwords."
Tom shared that his path to ForgeStone wasn't easy. He wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had to claw his way up the ladder, rung by rung. ForgeStone recognized his talent and drive, and that's what brought him here. He wasn't handing them a sob story; he was laying out the truth. Success wasn't about pedigree, it was about hard work and the hunger to prove yourself. And that’s why the apprentice program was created.
"We needed new blood. The world is changing fast, and what got us here won't get us to the next level. That's why we created this apprenticeship. You're not just here for experience," he continued, his voice rising slightly. "You're here for a chance to make your mark on something extraordinary, something that will change the world."
Tom leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "All eyes are on ForgeStone for our AnimaB: But what we’re working on now is going to make that look like the telegraph machine, soon enough.” Some of the other apprentices smirked through the visors of their Animas. Iona felt the absence of any enhancing tech on her face, other than her badge. A prickle of insecurity ran down her spine. Was this some kind of test? Did they already know? “What goes on in these labs...well, let's just say it's the stuff of science fiction made real. But it takes a special breed to work alongside those minds. Grit. Passion. An unwillingness to accept the way things have always been done."
He paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Was this just another corporate pep talk, or was there something more to it? A thrill of anticipation danced down Iona's spine. Then, Tom continued, his voice taking on a challenging tone, "Which of you is ready to question the status quo? Who here hungers to be a pioneer, not just another cog in the machine? Because that's what this is about. This apprenticeship is your chance to prove you have the right stuff. Are you ready to fight for your place at the table? To dedicate yourselves to something bigger than yourselves?"
His gaze swept across the room, meeting each apprentice's eyes in turn. Iona felt a familiar pang of doubt. Everyone else seemed to vibrate with excitement, their eyes gleaming with ambition. She glanced down at her hands, suddenly self-conscious about her worn khakis and faded button-down. Since leaving Army Air SigInt, she'd bounced from job to job, never quite finding her footing. She'd thrown the application at ForgeStone on a lark, a desperate attempt to break the cycle. Did she even belong here, surrounded by these brilliant tech minds? A small voice whispered in her ear, a voice honed from years of self-doubt: imposter.
But then, Tom's words echoed in her mind: fight for your place at the table. She straightened her back, a spark of defiance flickering in her chest. Maybe she wasn't a coding whiz or a hardware engineer, but she was capable. More than capable.. Her experience in Signals Intelligence honed her mind for the intricacies of hidden messages and encrypted signals. She could analyze patterns, crack codes, and find meaning in the seemingly meaningless. She had the discipline and focus honed from years in the military, and a quiet determination that wouldn't be easily extinguished. Perhaps that was what they needed here too. Raising her head, she met Tom's gaze, a flicker of challenge in her own eyes.
Tom's voice trailed off, leaving the room hanging on his final question. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation, before a figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the conference room. Tom smiled, “Ah, here is our founding engineer Ava Gray, who will be your primary point of contact.”
In stark contrast to Tom's polished charisma, Ada Gray embodied a utilitarian efficiency. Her hair, a mousy brown streaked with silver, was pulled back in a tight bun, framing a face etched with years of dedication and a hint of annoyance. Her dark-rimmed glasses magnified eyes that seemed to hold the simmering impatience of a thousand late-night coding sessions.
As she moved to stand beside Tom, a collective sigh of deflation rippled through the room. The hopeful energy Tom had ignited seemed to dim under Ada's withering scrutiny.
This is part of a series. For all “Shadows of the Forge” chapters, go here:
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