The Lawless One and the End of Time

by Lonnie Pacelli

  “Can I get you something?” Paul asked as he shut the door and walked toward the kitchen area.

  “Just water.”

  “Grab a seat,” Paul pointed to the conference table then reached into the fridge for two bottles of water.

  “I need your help with two things,” Paul started in as he walked to the conference table, handing Caleb a water. Caleb waited for Paul to continue.

  Paul took a sip of water. “Our intel in Russia identified a top-secret program that Chairperson Popov is personally overseeing. He’s creating a network of space-based directed-energy weapons capable of pinpoint-accurate strikes from up to 10,000 kilometers. Popov recruited scientists from around the world, including the United States Space Force to design and oversee its development. Intel says they’re close to launching the weapons, how close we’re not sure. Popov calls the program Zeus.”

  Caleb listened intently, wondering what Paul could possibly be thinking that Caleb could help with.

  Paul continued, “We have a list of key men and women working on the program. I need you to help us dig up information on them that we can use to extract intel on Zeus.” Paul wasn’t specific with “dig up information.” but he didn’t need to be. Paul wanted Caleb to see who visited DarkRooms, so Paul could blackmail them in exchange for intel.

  “What type of information?” Caleb asked.

  “Anything they wouldn’t want loved ones, family and friends to see.” Paul said. Caleb’s suspicion was confirmed. “Can you help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, now for the second ask. I want you to assist our cyberintelligence unit as we get intel, using what you’ve learned on HoloMate however it can be helpful.”

  “Assist them with what?”

  “Seizing control of the network.” Caleb took a sip of water, taking in the second ask. This was far more serious than surveillance work or even digging up dirt. This was about hijacking a space-based weapons network. Paul continued, “First step is for you to meet cyberintel director, Dominic Natalizio. He’ll tell you what you’ll do. I’ll have him contact you.”

  “OK.” Caleb’s initial shock was giving way to a bungee-jump type of thrill; excitement, fear, angst, and anticipation. “I’m happy to serve, Mr. Chairperson.”

  “Good.” Paul got up from his chair, signaling the meeting’s end. He walked Caleb to the door. “Say hi to your parents for me,” Paul said as they walked past the framed dented folding stool on the way out the door. “I wish I could tell you the same,” Caleb thought.

  The next day Director Natalizio called Caleb, giving him more detail on the program and the list of 37 program personnel Caleb was to research. The list included name, height, weight, eye color, hair color, ethnicity, last known address, picture, spouse, children, passport number, and pictures of unusual body markings. Searching HoloMate by name or picture would most likely be useless, as most DarkRoom patrons used aliases and some kind of mask to hide their face. He would have to rely on unusual body markings as an identifier. He scanned each body marking into HoloMate, hoping for a hit on at least one. Three matches came up, including a 43-year-old man from Bridgeport, Connecticut named Aaron Riccio, also known as Daddy219 in the DarkRooms. Caleb’s DarkRoom search for Daddy219 yielded a treasure trove of encounters, mostly with young Asian boys. Caleb called Natalizio. “I think we got a hit,” Caleb said. “Aaron Riccio.”

  “Do you have video?” Natalizio asked.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Send it over, I’ll take it from here.”

  “On its way.”

  Natalizio hung up, then accessed information about Riccio from cyberintel’s database. He was the father of two young girls, married for 13 years, a deacon in his church, with a sterling reputation as a computer systems engineer. Riccio’s employer was listed as MDC International, based in Moscow. He temporarily moved his family to Moscow to work on what was thought to be a weather satellite project.

  Paul watched one of the hologram videos of Riccio that Caleb had sent, repulsed at what he saw, but even more by what he heard--boy after boy wailing in terror while Riccio had his way. He turned off the video. “We’ve got our man,” he said to himself, then went into the bathroom and puked.

  Two Europe agents paid Riccio a visit at his Moscow home one evening while his wife and girls were visiting family in Bridgeport. They told him about the DarkRoom videos, which he vehemently denied. The agents then showed him the videos, at which point Riccio began crying uncontrollably. Riccio was the director responsible for Zeus’ software that controlled targeting and weapons selection. The agents calmly told him the terms of the deal. Riccio was to provide weekly updates on Zeus’ progress as well as weekly code drops of targeting and weapon selection source code to the Europe Ethnarchy cyberintel. In exchange, cyberintel would then run the code on its simulator to ensure authenticity. If the code was proven authentic, cyberintel would pay him 5,000 hera and not make his DarkRoom holograms public. If the code was not deemed authentic, payment would not be made but, more importantly to Riccio, one of his DarkRoom holograms would be sent to his wife and made public. Riccio was just the type of person Natalizio wanted, and he got him.

  Goat Milk Squares

  2061

  D r. Rhona MacLurig, CEO and synthetic biology scientist at SynFoods in Glasgow, Scotland had been experimenting with synthetic biology for 18 years. Sal had heard of their work in creating synthetic food and requested a site visit to better understand their research. He and MacLurig sat in a small taste-testing room next to her lab. “What do you think, Senator?” She asked.

  “It tastes like a ham and cheese sandwich,” Sal said. What Sal was eating wasn’t real ham, cheese, or bread. It was produced in a lab.

  “What you’re eating is a genetically enhanced product where the DNA sequence of natural foods is replicated in a lab and colored, formed, and texturized to look, feel, smell, and taste like the real thing. It’s still experimental but is showing a lot of promise.”

  “I’m familiar with the technology,” Sal said. “What I’m mostly concerned about is whether it can be produced inexpensively and in large enough quantities to feed millions of people.”

  MacLurig took a sip of tea. “It’s a tradeoff of function versus form. The more we try to make something look, feel, smell and taste like the real thing, the more complex and expensive the manufacturing. Producing something that looks, feels, smells and tastes like a chunk of cheese is much more time-consuming and expensive than producing something with the texture and visual appeal of a square of tofu and a slight taste and odor of cheese. The nutrients are there, it just doesn’t have the aesthetic qualities.”

  “How much more expensive and how much longer?”

  “Ballpark is about ten times the cost and five times the manufacturing time.” MacLurig got the message that Sal was not at all interested in the aesthetics of the food.

  “Do you have a sample?” Sal wanted to see if he could choke one down.

  “I have one that we engineered from goat milk.” MacLurig got up and went into her lab, coming back with a white plate containing two squares of what looked like gelatin. Sal picked up one of the squares. It was cream colored, spongy and jiggled slightly as he picked it up. He brought the square to his nose, picking up a very faint dairy smell. He put the square in his mouth, squeezing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The texture reminded him of tapioca pudding with pearls that popped as he pressed his tongue, the taste like room-temperature milk.

  “It’s disgusting.” Sal spat out what was left in his mouth into a napkin.

  “It’s function over form,” MacLurig reminded him. “It takes some getting used to.”

  “How about the nutritional value?”

  “Three squares supply a day’s worth of nutrients. Eat one in the morning, one at noon and one in the evening with plenty of water and you’ll feel full like you’ve eaten three meals.”

  “What’s the shelf life?”

  “With t
he right additives we could get it to an unlimited shelf life.”

  “Are the additives safe?” Sal asked.

  “Nothing that your synthetic killer cells couldn’t handle,” MacLurig said with a smile, coyly deflecting the question back to Sal and his own work as a scientist. She didn’t know how safe the additives were because they hadn’t been tested extensively.

  Sal looked down at the uneaten second square sitting on the plate. He shook the plate slightly, watching the square wiggle from side to side.

  “I need to talk with the chairperson, this could be viable. Can I take this with me?” Sal pointed to the second square, now still on the plate.

  “Sure, I’m here to help. When do you go back to Rome?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “If you’re available, maybe we can have dinner about seven, I promise no goat milk squares.” MacLurig said.

  Sal had been devoted to Zola for over two years. Even though they weren’t married, Sal hadn’t had a romp with another woman since he had started seeing Zola. He quickly reasoned it was only dinner.

  “Sure, you choose the place,” Sal said.

  “I’ll message you the address later this afternoon.” MacLurig sent him the address to her apartment in downtown Glasgow, where they had dinner and never made it to dessert. Sal couldn’t help himself, but this time he didn’t put a picture on his phone.

  Sal called Paul’s assistant to schedule time with him the morning after he got back from Glasgow. The two met in Paul’s office at ten. Sal sat down at the conference table in Paul’s office, pulled a plastic container from his backpack, and set it in front of Paul.

  “What’s this?” Paul asked.

  “Taste it.”

  Paul opened the container, the cream-colored square jiggling as he pulled the top off. Paul grimaced at the sight.

  “Why?”

  “It might be our answer to famine.”

  Paul reached in the container, pulled out the square, and smelled it. He could see the pearls in the square. He put it in his mouth, squishing the square in his mouth, breaking the delicate pearls and getting the faint taste of goat’s milk.

  “It doesn’t taste like anything, and it feels gross in my mouth. What is it?”

  “Synthetic food.”

  “How nutritious is it?”

  “Three a day with water gives a full day’s worth of nutrition.”

  Paul pondered what he was taking in. A gelatinous square of gooey nothing with goat milk pearls engineered in a lab was supposed to be the answer to famine in the ethnarchy?

  “Who makes it?” Paul asked.

  “A company called SynFoods in Glasgow.”

  “Does it come in anything other than goat milk vomit?”

  “Possibly, but we need to balance function with form.” Sal liked how MacLurig phrased the tradeoff messaging, so he used it with Paul.

  “Right. What’s the shelf life?”

  “Indefinitely.” Sal didn’t want to tell Paul about the additives required to make it safe.

  “You’re the scientist, what do you think we should do?” Paul wanted Sal to commit to a plan of action.

  “We should do our own trial for three months, consuming only SynFood, then decide if it’s effective.”

  “Three-month trial? Who’d participate?” Paul asked.

  Sal thought about it for a moment, then Paul answered his own question.

  “If you say it’s safe, I know exactly who should participate.” Paul did some quick math. “Get 27,000 squares to Brussels in two weeks,” Paul said to Sal, not asking even if it was possible to do. Paul got up, opened the door to his office, and yelled to his assistant, “Let’s put another item on the senate session agenda.”

  SynFood Trial

  2061

  T he senate met two weeks later in Brussels. Paul administered the agenda for the day-long meeting, working his way through to the last item--Famine. Paul opened the discussion.

  “Our colleague Senator Carlotta had a very interesting meeting with a company called SynFoods in Glasgow. They have an innovative product that can supplement our food supply and still provide the needed dietary nutrients. They claim the product can be taken on its own with only water and no other food source. Senator Carlotta and I both tried the product and he recommends we conduct a three-month trial before we certify its use across the ethnarchy. I am asking the senate to affirm conducting a three-month trial of the product, then we will evaluate the results before proceeding.”

  Paul then motioned to the senate caretaker, who wheeled out a cart with 100 SynFood squares. He and three helpers then passed out the squares to Paul and each senator.

  “This is what we’re talking about,” Paul said as the jiggly squares were given to each senator on a napkin. Paul was the first to eat his cube.

  “Come on, it’s not going to kill you,” Paul said.

  The senators started eating their squares, some swallowing without issue, others grimacing while they ate, a couple spitting them out, grossed at the consistency.

  “Reactions?” Paul asked.

  “Does it come in other flavors?” one senator asked.

  “It can, we just need to balance function with form.” Paul used Sal’s description that he borrowed from MacLurig.

  “It’s kind of nasty,” another said.

  “It’ll take some getting used to,” Paul wasn’t sure he could ever get to a point of liking it, but he might just be able to tolerate it.

  Discussion and debate continued for an hour. To the general population, the fear of famine was the single most important issue affecting their daily lives. Food shortages were becoming a nearly daily occurrence, and senators were under intense pressure from their constituents to do something about it. When Paul saw the discussion waning, he decided to close the topic and put it to a vote. Paul had voting ballots ready for the senate caretaker to distribute. The senate, including Paul, voted 90 to ten to conduct the three-month trial.

  “The motion passes,” Paul said. “Before we adjourn, we have one more piece of business. We’ve already chosen 100 people for the three-month trial. Every senator, myself included, will participate in the trial. As you exit, you’ll be given a box with a 90-day supply of SynFood squares.”

  Collective groans. Paul snapped back.

  “Senators, you just voted to proceed with the trial, so what’s good for others should be good enough for you. I am expecting full participation. If you don’t participate, I’ll tell your constituents that you thought you were too good to take part. That won’t play well for you.”

  The senators left the session, picked up their boxes, and left amidst grumbles, not looking forward to the next 90 days.

  Three months later, the senate reconvened in Brussels, focusing solely on the topic of SynFood. The senators and Paul held to their word and ate only SynFood and water for 90 days. Dr. MacLurig also attended the session to hear the feedback, expecting to fend off complaints about the product. The feedback astonished her. Senators reported feeling stronger, more alert, having greater energy levels and clearer thinking. Any texture and flavor issues went away after a few days, and some even seasoned their squares with favorite spices to counter the blandness. Even though during the trial they only ate SynFood, all of them agreed the best alternative was a hybrid SynFood/traditional food diet. The senate asked MacLurig to create a manufacturing and distribution plan for the Europe Ethnarchy, as well as an agreement that MacLurig would ensure the Europe Ethnarchy’s needs would be met before considering supplying to any other ethnarchy.

  SynFood ramped up its production to 100 million SynFood squares a month, not nearly enough to accommodate the Europe Ethnarchy’s population of 700 million citizens. Paul looked to Sal and his experience running MD Biometrics to work with SynFood to grow its production ecosystem. The senate knew Sal was the one making SynFood a success, but the general public saw Paul as its famine savior. And it made Sal furious that Paul was getting the credit for his work, something he
didn’t want to be involved with in the first place.

  The Dedication

  2066

  C aleb switched on his HoloSpecs and started his report. “This is Caleb Todd, CEO of HoloMate, reporting on day 15 following the assassination attempt of Chairperson Ambrosi and Senator Carlotta.” Caleb personally took over the reporting of the shooting of his friends Paul and Sal, reporting status from the hospital each morning, noon and evening. Billions around the world tuned into Caleb’s HoloMate channel to hear about the beloved chairperson. “I just spoke with the doctors treating the chairperson and senator. The chairperson has been declared brain-dead. The senate has requested he be kept on life support for seven more days. If he shows no signs of recovery he’ll be removed from life support. I should caution you that the likelihood of recovery from brain death is extremely rare. We can only hope and send good thoughts, but it doesn’t look good.” Even though the senate requested keeping Paul alive for seven more days, Caleb didn’t hold much hope he’d survive. He talked with the doctors enough to know that recovery from brain death was virtually impossible.

  Caleb continued, “At four today I will be at the Jerusalem Capitol Complex where Israeli President Dichter will commence the Peace Monument dedication.”

  After the peace treaty was reached between Israel and Palestine, Dichter commissioned a monument to be built honoring the Europe Ethnarchy for its role in brokering the agreement. Paul, Sal and Caleb were to attend the ceremony on the day they were shot. Dichter wanted to hold the ceremony while Paul was still alive, even if he was brain-dead, rather than after his death.

  Caleb continued with a brief update on Sal. “Senator Carlotta is awake and aware, able to communicate through writing on a whiteboard.” Sal’s jaw was unrecoverable; what remained after the shooting was completely removed. “He’s being fed through a nasogastric tube through his nose into his stomach. This is Caleb Todd, see you at four.” Caleb turned off his HoloSpecs, his hologram disappearing from the channel.