"Nicholas, over here! Grab a seat!" Liam O'Shea, the Deputy Director of the research institute, waved Nick toward the front of the room.
Seeing Liam calling his name, Nick quickly waved back and tried to play it cool. "No thanks, I'm good right here."
The night was a victory banquet for the research team, and the guest list was a "who's who" of high-ranking military officials and institute brass. Nick, technically an external consultant, was tucked away at a table with David and a few other engineers. It was a comfortable spot, but Liam was dead set on pulling him to the head table.
"Get up here," Bill Dye added, backing Liam up. "You're one of the biggest contributors to this project; you've more than earned a seat at the main table."
"Professor Dye, really, I'm fine," Nick said, shaking his head. "I'm with the young guys here; we actually have things to talk about."
Sitting at the head table was a massive honor, but for a twenty-two-year-old, the idea of spending three hours trapped between generals and senior academics sounded like a slow-motion disaster.
Director Kai stood up and gestured impatiently. "Stop stalling. We can't kick this thing off until you're up here."
"Come on, Nicholas," Denzel Maddox urged. "The top brass will be here any second."
Even David gave him a nudge and a grin. "Just go. It's just one dinner; it'll be over before you know it."
Realizing that making a scene by refusing would look more stuck-up than just going, Nick gave in. He turned to David and the others. "I'm heading into the lion's den. We'll grab a real drink later."
"Count on it. Don't expect to walk out of here sober tonight!"
Amidst the laughter, Nick made his way to the front. Bill pointed to an empty chair right next to him. "Sit."
Nick took the very last seat at the end of the table. "I'll stay right here. Best view of the exit."
"Look at you, no ambition," Bill teased, though he was laughing with the rest of them.
A few minutes later, the room went formal as the Welcome March began to play. A group of older men in dress uniforms, their shoulders heavy with silver stars, filed into the hall. The crowd stood and applauded as the generals and their aides took their seats.
The opening remarks came from an Air Force General—a surprisingly soft-spoken man with a sharp, dry wit that had the room laughing throughout his speech. Then it was Bill's turn to represent the team. He kept it brief, thanking the brass for their support, summarizing the breakthrough, and reaffirming the team's commitment to the next phase of development.
Once the formalities were over, the food was served, though at a head table like this, the chopsticks barely moved. It was all about the conversation. The generals were clearly intrigued by the kid sitting among the grey-beards. After Bill gave them a quick run-down of Nick's resume, the praise started flowing.
"I want to dedicate this first toast to Professor Dye," the General said, raising his glass. "Without your persistence, we wouldn't be looking at these results today."
Bill stood up quickly. "Thank you, sir. But this belongs to the whole team and the support from the top. We couldn't have moved this fast without you."
"Everyone played their part," the General agreed, his eyes scanning the table until they landed on Nick. "And that includes you. Young man, Nicholas, this second glass is for you."
Nick scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. "Sir, I don't deserve that. I really didn't do that much—"
The General laughed and shook his head. "Son, don't be too modest, or people will start thinking you're just showing off. I know the tech. I saw what you did in Miami. Professor Dye told me that without your core logic, we'd still be spinning our wheels. And the fact that you walked away from nine-figure foreign contracts to keep this tech home? That says a lot about your character."
"Thank you, sir. We're just getting started," Nick said. He raised his glass and downed the wine in one go.
"I like this kid," the General said, looking around the table with a grin. "He's got fire. What do you think—should we just recruit him into the service right now?"
"Works for me!" Bill joked.
The table erupted in laughter, and Nick felt his face turn bright red, completely unsure of how to play along with the "direct recruitment" talk.
As the banquet hit its stride, the atmosphere became more relaxed. "Nicholas, relax," the General told him, noticing the kid was sitting perfectly straight and pretending to be fascinated by the centerpiece. "Eat something. We soldiers aren't that stiff once the cameras are off."
"Thank you, sir," Nick managed.
"He's a rare talent," Denzel 'complained' to the group. "Professor Dye and I have tried to recruit him into our PhD program a dozen times. He looks at us like we're trying to kidnap him."
"Haha, it's natural for someone his age to have hesitations," the General noted. He turned to Nick. "But that just means we need to do a better job explaining our special recruitment tracks. Nicholas, what's the hold-up? Be honest with us. We want to know what the next generation is thinking so we can do better."
Great, Nick thought, how did we get back to me?
He realized he couldn't dodge the question. "Sir, honestly, I've loved the military since I was a kid. I almost applied to the Academy during senior year. I'm a huge gear-head; I spend all my time reading up on equipment and tactics. That's actually where this drone tech came from—it was an idea I had after reading some defense news a few years back."
"Professor Dye and Professor Maddox have been great," Nick continued, "it's just... I have a few specific goals I want to hit on my own first."
"Oh? What kind of goals?" The General looked genuinely interested. Everyone at the table leaned in. They wanted to know exactly what was going on inside the head of the kid who had just handed the Air Force its newest sharp weapon.