The Lawless One and the End of Time

by Lonnie Pacelli

“You’re meant to be more than a shipyard worker,” his imaginary friend said. “You’re meant to be more.”

  ‘You’re meant to be more’ echoed in his head as he drove to the loading dock with his pallet. Then he heard the foreman’s voice. “I said rice pallet! This is wheat! Come on Caleb, stay focused!” Caleb took the wheat pallet back hearing his imaginary friend repeating, “You’re meant to be more.”

  That phrase.

  It haunted him constantly. Every time he clocked in to work, every time he faced ridicule from his brothers, every time he saw a guy driving a convertible sports car with a beautiful woman sitting next to him, her hair blowing in the wind. He believed he was meant to be more, he just had no idea what or how.

  LSE

  2034

  T his wasn’t Paul’s first time in London. While at Academy, Paul and the debate team he led traveled there for a debate competition. He had very fond memories of London and looked forward to coming back. Paul deplaned at Heathrow and boarded a bus to his dormitory at London School of Economics. Paul sat down next to a man about his age. The man tried to push himself toward the window, reminding Paul of Bert and his not liking to be touched. Paul leaned toward the aisle to give him space. The man continued leaning away from Paul, his eyes cast out the window. As the bus headed east on M4 towards LSE, Paul pulled a bag of Bavarian pretzels from his backpack, opened it, and crunched down on one. He then tipped the open bag toward him. “Want one?” Paul asked.

  “Yes,” the man said, pulling one pretzel from the bag. There were no words uttered the rest of the bus trip, just Paul tipping the bag towards the man, the man grabbing a pretzel, then the synchronous crunching of the two men eating. Yes, he was just like Bert, and Paul knew how to make him feel comfortable.

  The bus pulled into the LSE dormitory stop, and Paul offered the man one more pretzel, then stepped off the bus. About an hour later after he had settled into his room, the door swung open. It was the man from the bus. He had gotten off at the wrong stop so had to find another bus to take him back to the dormitory. Paul extended his hand, “I’m Paul.”

  “I’m Harry, your roommate.”

  “Yes, we’re roommates, and we both like pretzels. I guess we’re both a bit twisted.” Paul joked, wondering if Harry would get the pun.

  “Good one!” Harry chuckled. Roommate relationship off to a good start.

  Deciding to give Harry time in the room by himself to unpack and get used to his surroundings, Paul went for a walk around campus. Despite the campus being in the middle of bustling central London, many of the streets around campus were pedestrian-only. As Paul walked the campus in the cloudy damp weather, he thought about his parents back in Naples, his time at Academy, his new roommate, his friend Bert, and his cousin Caleb. He was worried about Caleb and his unhappiness about working at the shipyard. “I need to stay in touch with Caleb,” Paul thought. Walking by the library, he thought about how many big-boy steps it would take to get from the library to his dormitory. He started the calculation in his head and elongated his gait, to the amusement of onlookers.

  Dorm at Home

  2034

  B ert looked at the schematic he had drawn for his new study. “Do you want your desk over here?” Bert’s father asked. One square on the graph paper equaled eight centimeters of floor space. The desk was 24 squares long and must be 12 squares from the wall. He got out his tape measure and measured 96 centimeters from the wall. “It goes here,” pointing to the 96-centimeter mark on the tape measure. “Oh, and remember Paul is going to call me from LSE at 2:00.”

  Throughout his last year at Academy, Bert and his parents had talked a lot about what Bert would do after graduation. He had the grades and aptitude to attend university. The concern was the magnitude of change and how Bert would adapt. They discussed many options, including Bert going to LSE to be with his pal Paul. They decided that Bert should attend Naples University which was a 30-minute bus ride from home. He would attend classes, clubs, and social activities at NU but would live at home. A new study was set up in their home which simulated a dorm room. They decided to move Bert from his old room at the apartment to teach him to improve his skills at adapting to change, ensuring the study was laid out differently than his old room. Bert accepted the change and painstakingly laid out how his new study would look on graph paper, ensuring everything would have its place. His new study even had a small refrigerator, which Bert thought was a great addition to the room. To ensure stability during his college years, Bert’s father accepted early retirement and became a cybersecurity consultant. With Bert’s older sister already at university in Germany, Bert and his parents settled into their new normal of life.

  Along with their discussions about where to attend college, Ryan and Hayley talked with Bert about what to major in. He clearly loved history and was exceptional at recalling facts, but what would a history major do in a post-college career? It was more important that he get a degree to build confidence in a subject he was passionate about. So Bert became a history major and took classes to help Bert with life skills and social interactions.

  At 2 p.m. sharp Bert’s phone rang. Paul’s picture showed on the screen. “Hey, Paul!”

  Her Name is Laura

  2037

  B ert and Paul talked every Sunday at 2 p.m. Naples time since starting college three years ago. Paul always called Bert, and Bert would make sure he was prepared for Paul’s call. Bert had the same routine. He would go into his study at 1:55, get a bottle of water from his mini-fridge, sit in his beanbag chair, and wait for the call. Paul knew how important it was to Bert that he be on time and not miss a Sunday call, and Bert was thankful for Paul’s dedication to their friendship. The calls were mostly small talk about classes, family, and clubs. Then Bert threw in a curve.

  “I have a girlfriend; her name is Laura.” Bert said.

  “Dude! Tell me about her!”

  “She’s 21, just like me. She was sitting by herself eating lunch at the student union. I sat down at the table next to her and she started talking to me—it was more like she was talking at me. She went on and on for 15 minutes, then told me her autism made her nervous around people, which caused her to talk too much. She must have been real nervous, but I didn’t mind. It was easier on me to not have to talk so much.”

  “What’s she like?” Paul asked.

  “Short brown hair, brown eyes, a little shorter than me. She’s a math major and wants to be a math teacher. She found out she had autism at 17. She never had friends growing up, she has never been to a birthday party other than her own.”

  “That’s sad, Dude.”

  Bert continued. “She was teased a lot growing up. Her parents didn’t understand her, they wanted her to be normal. She said she could tell I was like her and just knew I would be nice to her and wouldn’t tease her. I told her I knew what it was like to be teased and to me she was perfectly normal. I thought about how you were so nice to me. I was nice to her like you were nice to me. On Saturday I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes.”

  “That’s amazing! Happy for you, man.”

  “She’s coming over for dinner tonight at six. Mom and Dad are meeting her for the first time. They’re excited to meet her. Dad is making eggplant parmigiana. I’m making tiramisu.”

  “Sounds great. Let me know how it goes!”

  “OK, I should go now. Talk to you next week.” Bert said.

  “Good luck with Laura!”

  Choosing to live at home and go to Naples University was a winning formula for Bert. In the three years since starting at NU, he maintained a 3.8 grade point average and took a part-time job at the school library. At the urging of his parents, he did something in his freshman year that he thought he’d never do. He joined speech club. His first speech assignment was to deliver a five-minute presentation about any topic he wanted. With his love of history, he decided to talk about the September 1943 Four Days of Naples battle. He prepared for 12 hours and wrote out extensive notes,
fearful he would forget facts. He tossed and turned the night before the speech, worried about messing up his speech and being embarrassed. The next day he showed up at speech club with notes in hand and butterflies in his stomach. He was third in line to go. As the first two speakers went he felt the anxiety build and the slight drip of sweat roll down the side of his face onto on his collar. Then it was his turn. He slowly walked to the podium and looked out over the 30 classmates comprising the audience. As he panned left to right he remembered a Bible verse his mother told him the night before, Psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God. He imagined himself being still, calm and quiet standing in front of God, sensing that God would be with him through his speech. He felt a quiet peace come over him, the butterflies in his stomach dissipating. He then delivered a perfect speech on what happened during the 1943 uprising in Naples against the German forces occupying the city. He never looked at his notes; only relying on his memory. He finished in exactly five minutes, then heard an enthusiastic round of applause from his audience. For Bert, this five-minute speech was a turning point in his life. It was five minutes of him being the center of attention and speaking authoritatively on a topic without stammering or panicking. It was the first of many outstanding speeches he would give in his lifetime.

  Harvard

  2037

  P aul had encouraged Bert to join speech club for weeks. Paul knew how good it would be for Bert to conquer his paralyzing fear of public speaking, and that it would open up opportunities for him later in life. Paul saw potential in Bert that most others didn’t see. He just needed support and encouragement which Paul was gifted in supplying.

  Paul maintained a 4.0 grade point average in his first three years at LSE, culminating in a BSc in economics and politics. Paul was active in debate club, continuing to hone his ability to craft arguments and deepen his ability to influence others through his use of words. He did private tutoring for fellow LSE students in math, history, and political science. He regularly volunteered at a local shelter for homeless teenagers, tutoring them in science, technology, and math as well as serving meals and offering encouragement. He went on dates, but after a couple of times out with a girl he would lose interest and break it off. His ability to develop and maintain close one-on-one relationships was his Achilles heel. Bert was his only real friend; others were just acquaintances. He simply didn’t care.

  Paul’s interest in politics continued to grow through his three years at LSE. While he didn’t consider himself a politician, he was drawn to make the world a better place. He was deeply concerned with the ten-ethnarchy world structure and saw it as being ripe for corruption, with so much power being consolidated in so few people. He decided that if he were ever to enter politics, he needed a law degree, and he needed to get experience outside the Europe Ethnarchy. He’d always been fascinated with the idea of living in the United States. He applied to five law schools but one was his favorite. He wanted to be a Harvard man, and Harvard was where he ultimately went. Going to Boston, it turned out, would be an ideal choice for what he was to do after he graduated.

  Solving Loneliness

  2037

  T he phrase “You’re meant to be more” haunted Caleb for three years since graduating from Academy. His life was shipyard worker by day, partier at night. Sometimes he partied with friends and acquaintances, sometimes at home with his imaginary friends. While he enjoyed his time out with other people and the occasional female conquest, he loved his world of imaginary hologram friends most. In his hologram world he controlled everything; who he was friends with, when and where they would appear, what they would do.

  What he cherished most was unconditional acceptance, even by people who only existed in his imagination.

  Caleb looked up to his cousin Paul, he was someone who was going to make something of his life. They occasionally talked on the phone, mostly about Paul reassuring Caleb that he was not a failure at life and if he wanted to do something other than being a shipyard worker, he should pursue it. Caleb talked with him many times about his fascination with holograms. Paul encouraged Caleb’s fascination, but also saw warning signs that Caleb was slipping more and more into an imaginary world, one he seemed to prefer over the real world. During one of their discussions, Paul decided to probe deeper on Caleb’s obsession.

  “What do your hologram friends give you that real friends don’t?” Paul asked.

  “They like me for who I am. They don’t judge me. They are around when I want them and gone when I don’t. I could be in a room full of real people and still feel lonely because no one pays attention to me. I never feel lonely with my hologram friends.”

  “I can see how you’d feel that way. I feel lonely at times too. It’s painful.”

  Paul had an idea. “We’ve talked about how you’re not happy at the shipyard. You’re fascinated with the idea of hologram friends. There are certainly other lonely people in the world. How can you use hologram technology to help others who struggle with loneliness?”

  The question gave Caleb pause. He never thought about creating something that would help others overcome loneliness. And how could he make money at it? Could this be the answer to his ‘You were meant to be more’ dilemma that had haunted him for years?

  After about a minute of silence, Caleb responded. “I never thought of it like that. I need to think about it.”

  Once again Paul knew just what to say to his cousin. “OK, let me know if you want to talk more. Talk to you later, Cuz.”

  “Later.” Caleb hung up, still rocked by Paul’s question. He typed, “How do I solve the problem of loneliness and make money at it?” on his phone and set it as his screen saver. He grew determined to find the answer.

  Doppio Time

  2037

  S al looked at the clock in his room, 10 p.m. Time for a doppio espresso with two teaspoons of sugar. Sal was studying for his last final before graduation. He put two scoops of kopi luwak coffee beans in the grinder. He liked the eccentricity of drinking kopi luwak, the beans being harvested from the feces of the civet cat and 20 times more expensive than average coffee beans. Sal drank kopi luwak coffee partly for the taste, partly for the image. He ground the beans to a fine consistency, dumped the grounds into the espresso machine basket, tamped the grounds, added two teaspoons of sugar, and brewed the sugar and coffee mixture. The espresso dripped into a waiting cup, forming a beige crema head on the brew. He brought the cup to first his nose, smelled the nutty aroma, and then to his mouth. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as the mix of bitter, sweet and velvety crema slowly trickled across his tongue and down his throat. Like a Pavlovian dog drooling at the sound of a bell, his doppio was a signal that he would be up another four hours studying.

  For three years at Columbia, Sal survived on four hours of sleep a night, thanks to his Sunday through Thursday evening doppio fix. Friday and Saturday evenings were reserved for drinking and adding pictures of women to his phone, which now numbered over a hundred. None more than a couple of hookups, then off to the next.

  As Sal wrapped up studying for his last final, he recalled the meeting with his advisor at the beginning of freshman year; how she condescendingly told him there was no way he would get his Ph.D. in seven years. Getting his bachelor’s in three years was the beginnings of proving her wrong, which he desperately wanted to do. He aced every class, attacking the hardest classes like a bull seeing a red flag. He was out to prove himself as the best. His father, whom he so despised and hadn’t talked to in three years, lived in him. The person he hated the most was precisely who he was turning into.

  In his second year of undergrad, Sal took an elective class on organ-on-a-chip technology. OOC was a microfluidic chip that simulated a human organ’s function. Originally used in drug testing, OOC technology had advanced to the point where a chip could be implanted in a person’s body to replace lost functions in major organs. The technology and its possibilities fascinated Sal. What if this technology had been available when hi
s mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer? Could it have saved her? Could she still be alive today? He couldn’t get the questions out of his mind, and they fed his determination to be the person to find cancer’s cure.

  Organ-on-a-Chip

  2041

  C olumbia’s department of biomedical engineering was preparing a public relations piece to tout the groundbreaking research its faculty and students were conducting. Sal’s organ-on-a-chip project was one of three featured projects. During Sal’s four years of graduate work in biomedical engineering, he passed all the required classes in biomedical signals and controls, biomedical measurements, and statistics just fine. Organ-on-a-chip technology, though, captured his fascination ever since he first studied it in undergrad. He read everything about OOC that he could get his hands on. He received a grant to further study OOC, resulting in research findings that caught the interest of the medical community.

  At 2:45, the interviewer and her cameraman showed up at the lab. “Are you Sal?”

  Sal looked up and saw his interviewer, a striking brunette in her late twenties, and no wedding ring. Sal nodded.

  “I’m Elise Thompson. I’ll be interviewing you for the biomedical engineering PR video.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sal said.

  “Here’s how it’ll work. We’ll stand at this counter together with your rat subject in front of us so viewers can see it. Does it have a name?”

  “He.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a he, not an it.” Sal took a strong affinity to his lab subjects. He also liked putting Elise off balance with the trivial correction.

  “Sorry, does he have a name?” She didn’t see the point in making a big deal about ‘he’ versus ‘it’ but didn’t make an issue of it.