Isaac’s attention shifted towards the owner of the new voice, relieved to have become somewhat less of a focus of Maria’s as she too turned her notice to the older man.
The new arrival, ascending onto the stage, was clad in a buttoned up knitted sweater of a checkered pattern, khakis, and square toed loafers. Compared to the rest of those present, just his choice in attire would have him standing out. However, while his clothes did much to soften his appearance, his frame did him no such service.
With a body more akin to that of a bourbon barrel with legs, the man dwarfed most in height and size both. Sinuous muscle stood prominently against what skin, of a similar tone to the aged-liquor his figure brought to mind, lay exposed; denoting a strength that belied his age.
“Eli,” Turning to face him, Maria growled, pointing accusingly towards Isaac, “He’s hiding something and if whatever it is has him acting like some corporate HR-bot, I want to know what it is. Now.”
While Maria turned her growing frustration onto Eli, Isaac was spared a moment to look her over as well; realizing that in his reminiscence he hadn’t so much as spared her a real first glance.
Short at 5’5”, Maria was diminutive in comparison to Eli’s looming figure, or even Isaac’s own height. However, height meant nothing in the face of her stubborn intensity, a personality perfectly reflected in the effect her work provided her body. Hardened and sculpted musculature crafted an envious if not intimidating sight, often times overshadowing her… vertical challenges.
A fitted burgundy long-sleeve highlighted the contours of her frame and the glowing hue of her skin. The colour further drew the eyes away from her beige cargo pants and thick boots of a rusted colouration, to the lustrous black of her hair and the rich green of her eyes.
“As does myself, everyone currently here and those yet to come, Maria.” Eli replied, his tone amiable and calm, “We all desire to know what exactly has Isaac calling all of us in at such an hour. But we should also be mindful of the fact that this meeting was brought to our attention by Isaac and will move at whatever pace he believes is necessary.”
Maria glared at Eli, his eyes wrinkled and curled in reflection of the genial smile slightly obscured behind his thick salt and pepper beard, before turning her ire upon Isaac once again.
Glare still firmly affixed, her nostrils flaring in repressed emotion, “Fine. I’m not going to pretend I’m going to like waiting but, fine.” She huffed, frustration made plain, already turning away from Isaac and stomping down the stage.
“Thank you, Maria.” Isaac spoke towards her receding form, hoping that his appreciation was heard.
“She’s not the only one harboring concerns over this sudden event, Isaac.” The words drew Isaac’s attention to the presence beside him.
Eli’s genial disposition had been replaced by a familial worry, making his weathered features all the starker. The older man had been a part of Isaac's life for as long as Ray and likely knew more about him than anyone alive in this world.
An incredibly personable and compassionate Psychologist and Therapist, Dr. Elijah Barbeau was the preeminent expert in “Eclectic Therapeutic approaches in regards to the modalities of Cognitive, Behavioral, and Developmental Psychology,” or as Eli liked to say, “People just pay me to be a very good listener and have some nice conversations.”
Despite his taste for understatement, Eli had traveled the world, assisting in the establishment of psycho-therapeutic clinics, appearing before clinical departments and psychological conventions, and helping whoever he could...
Like Isaac.
Shortly after starting university Isaac had stumbled upon the man, waiting for a train, on his way to a symposium on “Personal Wellness in the Therapeutic Setting.” Never having been the one to spark up a conversation, Isaac found himself being drawn in by the man’s warm personality, and before his introverted propensities could realize, they were already talking. To Isaac’s embarrassment and Eli’s amusement their discussion would consume the duo so completely that they ended up missing their respective line.
But Isaac felt they had both gained something a little more valuable from their unawareness.
Following that sole conversation, Isaac and Doctor Barbeau would have thousands of meetings; sometimes merely engaging in exchanges for the sake of having a mutual to speak to and others… others unveiled and evaluated pasts that Isaac believed best forgotten.
Elijah had helped Isaac immensely and, when he was finally ready to create his company, he could think of no one better to assist the kinds of patients the company would make their focus.
That compassion for those Eli cared for, was made all the more apparent by the disquiet darkening the age worn creases of his face and chilling his eyes - so often filled with warmth - as he gazed at Isaac.
“I am well aware that there are concerns Doctor Barbeau,” unable to look at Eli, Isaac replied, focusing his attention on the crowd, “However, that will all have to wait until I say what needs to be said,” his voice dropped a couple octaves, becoming nearly inaudible above the din of the crowd, “no matter the reactions my words may incur.”
Isaac kept looking out at the crowd as Eli spoke, “I had believed this occasion would not be a good one, however,” Elijah continued, his tone perturbed, “if you’re referring to me as “Doctor Barbeau,” I don’t think there is anything I can truly imagine causing you to distance yourself to such a degree.”
The older man grabbed Isaac by the shoulder, muscling Isaac to face him, “Are you okay Isaac?” Elijah asked, his voice one reminiscent of fatherly concern.
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It took every fibre of willpower Isaac had to not collapse into Eli’s arms at his word, to merely give into the emotions battering at his being and let it all flow out. However, he was long past allowing himself another moment to decompress, not when every face here wouldn’t be afforded the time to truly process what was to come.
Meeting the eyes of the man Isaac cared for just as deeply as he assumed Elijah did him, Isaac smiled, “No, I’m not,” he turned away from Eli to once again gaze out towards the crowd, “But everyone will need me to be.”
They stood in companiable silence for a moment, Eli’s hand still resting on Isaac’s shoulder when he felt a squeeze, “Then I’ll just have to stick around to make sure you are.”
Isaac remained silent as the seconds ticked by and the room continued to fill.
―――――――――
“Must have gotten here just when Tia said,” Isaac mused, watching as a lone woman frantically searched the rows of chairs for an empty space to sit.
Looking at his wrist pad Isaac surmised that a little over three and a quarter hours had passed, with hundreds of bodies writhing in their seats like a hive of ants, the massive room having filled nearly to capacity in the meantime.
He was alone on the stage once again, having assuaged any lingering worries of Elijah’s and convincing him to take a seat in the foremost row. Eli now sat beside Maria, Paltridge, and a handful of other department heads and senior employees.
Having snuck in earlier, Paltridge had avoided Isaac’s sight and even went as far as flinching when they happened to look at each other, “He saw exactly how much this is affecting me, even caught the brunt of an outburst he didn’t deserve. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s looking at me in a different light now.” Isaac thought, eyes panning over the rows of people, “I should probably start thinking of his reaction as the rule rather than the exception once all is said and done.”
The seconds continued to tick past, there was no reason to wait any longer, no more employees to stall for, yet Isaac remained frozen still against the stage’s central podium. His hands errantly traced the edges of the podium, gliding over swirling patterns of leaves and flowers embossed on its wooden structure.
Despite having steeled himself for what came ahead as best he could, Isaac still hesitated under the pressure of tearing down the veneer of peace these people lived under. There would be no going back. Once Isaac began to speak, he wouldn’t stop until he was done; and when he was… “Everything is going to change.”
Isaac removed his hands from the podium, now clammy with sweat, moving instead to tap on his wrist pad and activate the theatre room’s mic and internal speaker system.
He looked out towards the crowd, took a deep breath, and set in motion a speech he loathed to give.
“I’d like to start by thanking all of you for coming under such short notice,” Isaac began, “There is likely an intimidating number of questions you all would like to ask. But they will have to wait… In fact, I would implore you, that no matter what you hear, you remain as composed as you can manage until I am finished.”
The crowd shifted in their seats, a susurration of hushed voices buzzing up from the rows as Isaac’s words elicited a bevy of interpretations in their minds.
He sighed before continuing, “Roughly two months ago I increased the pace of development for the upgraded version of our Cradles, the project that all of you came to know as Enuma. I made this change under the statement that, “New, exceedingly lucrative, contracts had been made available to the company; necessitating an uptick in development time to confirm the projects feasibility…” Isaac paused, looking into the eyes of the crowd, “I lied.”
Isaac raised his hand, trying to stymie their growing agitation, as gasps escaped the crowd, “I lied,” He reiterated, “No such contract exists. Instead, I was contacted by a member of the United States’ Armed Forces. They reached out to warn me that tensions in the Pacific were greater than reported, that negotiations were deteriorating…”
The crowd was silent as a barren arctic shelf, not even the sound of a breath escaped they were so frozen still, “That war may well be on the horizon. They were well aware of our company’s purpose, the successes we have had, and… our recent goals with project Enuma. They reached out, to me, because they saw us as their best hope in the possibility of a worst-case scenario.”
The speech halted, exhaustion creeping into Isaac as he watched a faint terrible realization come over the more astute members of the crowd. He released a shaky and emotion laden breath, willing himself to continue, “We operated under the expectation that we would have more time, that better nature would triumph. We were wrong… I was wrong. Today, the worst-case has arrived. I lied, hoping that none would ever have to know. But I cannot lie any longer.”
“I am sorry. I am sorry that I misled you all and even more mournful for the burden I must request you take,” Isaac barreled on, unwilling to stop for fear of losing the strength to continue, “But our work is even more paramount now, than it was before. We stand on the precipice of a cataclysmic event that will end this world as we know it, and while our work will not prevent this, it will not save our world… it will save us.”
“Loathe me, curse me, place every ounce of your dread and misery on me; I know that it is more than well deserved! But do not allow the emotions my lies have invoked to mislead you any further,” Isaac laid his emotions bare, “While the circumstances driving our work has changed, the value of it has not. With the success of Enuma you can save not just yourselves, not just your loved ones, but more lives than you could ever fathom.”
Isaac’s speech trudged forward despite growing fatigue, feeling his energy and passion beginning to wane, “I cannot force you to do what I ask, I can’t even find it in myself to be angered if you were to turn your back on me and Enuma. After all I’ve hidden, to order you to work would be even more abhorrent than what I've withheld. Whatever the case, all I can do is as I have, devoting every ounce of myself to completing Enuma for all of our sakes. But I fear it may be too much for me alone. So, I must beg that you help me finish this and hope that the people who started this war’s stupidity - as well as my own in misleading you all - won’t lead you all to lose everything…"
"Please... help me finish this.” His voice trailed off, no more impassioned words remaining to be said.
Isaac surveyed the chairs in the wake of his speech, finding that the listeners appeared to be in a fugue state, so much information overwhelming them entirely. They remained locked in their seats, faces paralyzed in varying different rictuses of emotion, eyes glassy as their brains struggled to comprehend what had happened… and what would happen.
Slumping into the podium, Isaac struggled with his own emotions; doubt being the largest among them.
His employees’ lack of reaction was worse, in his eyes, than if they had charged the stage and called for his blood.
Isaac was left relying on the same thing that clouded his decision making and led them to this very moment… hope. Hope that his words reflected his remorse and conviction, hope that his people would choose to finish what was started in the face of a coming war, and hope that there would be enough time to succeed.
Isaac noticed the first signs of stirring within the crowd and felt his heart leap into his throat. “Time to see if hope will pay off… or if it deserved to remain buried at the bottom of Pandora’s box.”