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Sep 13th, 2024
Halldor Haraldsson settled into his seat, the cramped space a stark reminder of his towering stature as his knees ground into the beige plastic of the seat in front of him. He closed his eyes; scenes from the confrontation replayed in his mind, stirring up a storm of 'what-ifs.'
"You once journeyed with me from Oslo to Copenhagen, reshaping your life on the wings of your faith in me," he had pleaded. "Aarhus is merely the next chapter in our adventure, a necessary leap towards our ultimate destination in Magnus. That unshakeable belief you held in me—I need it now more than ever. You've been my anchor since I was eight, and I've never once failed you."
Amber's retort was a poignant mixture of awe and sorrow. "This notion of the world plunging into chaos is a construct from the complex patterns you've become engrossed in," her voice fractured, yielding to the weight of unshed tears.
"I'm at a loss for words, my love," he confessed, his voice heavy with desperation. "Convincing you seems an insurmountable task. This goes beyond us; it's a matter of survival. Your safety is my utmost concern. Please, I implore you, come with me. Your seat on this flight is reserved, a testament to my plea—trust me once more. You've been my steadfast companion since childhood, and I've never led you astray."
"Despite being financially independent, you were awarded a full scholarship," she argued, her disappointment palpable. "They've received more than their investment's worth," he retorted sharply. "I've authored 27 papers under their banner."
"You had a luminous path in academia, and yet, you're casting it aside."
"My creations surpass the ordinary—they're not designed to become obsolete. My patents are acquired only to be suppressed. However, this cycle of suppression is on the brink of change."
She shook her head, disbelief clouding her features, and walked away, her steps echoing a silent goodbye.
As the plane lifted off, the vacant seat beside him became a haunting emblem of their diverging paths, a silent witness to the chasm between his fervor and her skepticism.
As the plane ascended, Halldor's thoughts drifted to the beginning of his and Amber's story, starting when he was just eight years old. Amber, then a 14-year-old cheerleader, had entered his life as a babysitter, swiftly becoming the focal point of his youthful daydreams. Yet, beyond the fantasies, a genuine friendship blossomed. He became her unofficial tutor, translating her homework into concepts she could grasp without robbing her of the chance to learn, while she demystified the enigmatic world of female perspective for him, a realm as bewildering to Halldor as mathematics were to her.
As the years unfolded, the bond between Halldor and Amber deepened, evolving in complexity and intimacy. While Halldor's feelings may have ventured into the realms of romance, their relationship remained firmly rooted in a profound and unshakeable friendship. Yet, a pivotal moment arrived when Halldor, at the tender age of 16, prepared to embark on his university journey in Copenhagen.
Their goodbye was steeped in emotion, a poignant blend of anticipation for the future and the sorrow of impending separation. Amidst the tears and heartfelt promises to stay connected, they shared their first kiss—a fleeting moment that encapsulated years of unspoken feelings and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. This kiss, tender and bittersweet, marked a significant milestone in their relationship, sealing their farewell with a promise of continued connection despite the distances that would soon lie between them.
In the first three years at the University of Copenhagen, Halldor embarked on an academic journey that was nothing less than phenomenal. He possessed an innate understanding of the formation and interaction of molecules, enabling him to perform mental calculations that most could only achieve with the aid of a computer—if at all.
His relentless pursuit of knowledge led him to simultaneously tackle triple majors in Materials Science and Engineering, Chemical Engineering, and Computational Materials Science. Achieving this impressive feat within merely three years, Halldor not only set a remarkable standard of academic excellence but also became a source of inspiration and admiration for both peers and professors alike.
This extraordinary accomplishment can be attributed, in part, to a unique genetic trait passed down from his mother, which allowed him to thrive on just three hours of sleep per night. Despite this advantage, the rigorous demands of his ambitious academic schedule dominated nearly every moment of his day, leaving him with little time for rest or social interactions.
As a result, the once constant and close-knit communication between Halldor and Amber began to wane. The intensity of his studies and the physical distance that university life imposed on their relationship led to less frequent and less involved exchanges.
Reflections on Amber intertwined with thoughts of his mother, particularly her painful demise.
Torunn Haraldsson, a titan in the realm of high finance, possessed an uncanny ability to navigate the complex currents of global economics with unparalleled acumen. Her foresight into the 2008 economic downturn not only cemented her reputation as a financial savant but also significantly augmented her fortunes, as she adeptly shorted the market at its precipice. Torunn's brilliance was not confined to her professional endeavors; it was a familial trait, shared and manifested differently in her son, whose affinity for science mirrored her own mastery of economics.
In 2020, at the age of 50, Torunn's routine medical examination revealed a harrowing diagnosis: Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM), a ruthless and inoperable brain cancer. Despite early detection and her access to the world's most esteemed medical professionals, the prognosis was grim. The aggressive nature of GBM meant that, within weeks of her diagnosis, she faced a rapid decline, necessitating permanent hospitalization with an outlook of merely two to three months to live.
Taking a leave of absence and continuing his studies remotely, he spent months by her side. As though compensating for all the years of lost sleep, she was awake only a few hours each day, yet he remained steadfastly by her side. When conscious, her mind was still sharp.
She had looked around, as if she had been expecting the hospital room to materialize into something familiar, and had wiped drool from her mouth with the sleeve of her hospital gown. Halldor offered her some water in a small paper cup.
"Son, I've said this before, but I want you to listen closely," she began, her speech disjointed, jumping subjects erratically as if trying to compress her vital advice into the little energy she had left. "You love puzzles as much as I do. The lifeblood of civilization is currency, and all the world's currencies depend on those bloody US idiots. The entire system is on the brink of collapse. Collectively, the world owes more capital than exists. Learn the patterns, follow the money, and you'll identify the people who truly understand what's happening. Make connections, make yourself indispensable to them."
"I will, Mama," he said, though he wasn't sure she heard him. The effort had exhausted her, and she soon drifted back into slumber. She had always been a dynamo, so full of energy, but now, he would forever remember her as the frail, failing woman in the hospital bed.
She woke briefly, startled by a thunderclap in the middle of the night. "Follow the money," she whispered before dozing off into a sleep from which she was not to awaken.
The dawn found him studying, occasionally glancing to see if she was awake, when an almost forgotten voice stirred the room, "Halldor? It's been so long."
He looked up to see Amber—by his quick calculation, now 27—standing in the hospital doorway. Her appearance was a study in understated elegance, clad in a tailored blazer and straight-leg trousers that whispered of quiet professionalism. Minimal jewelry lent her a touch of grace without pretense. In that moment, she was the embodiment of strength and serenity, a calm presence contrasting sharply with the sterile hustle of the hospital. She was a far cry from the cheerleader image that danced around the periphery of his memory.
She started to run to him but stopped short when she finally registered the form in the bed. "OMG, Mrs. Haraldsson?" she whispered, her voice tinged with genuine uncertainty.
Halldor nodded solemnly, his gaze shifting momentarily to the figure in the bed before meeting Amber's concerned eyes. "Yes, it's Mama. Glioblastoma," he said, the weight of the word hanging heavily in the air.
Amber's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Halldor. I had no idea," she murmured, moving closer but still maintaining a respectful distance.
He managed a weary smile. "It's been a tough few months. We found out shortly after she started having headaches."
"How have you been holding up?" Amber asked, her concern evident.
Halldor shrugged, a tiredness creeping into his voice. "I've been here every day, trying to make the most of the time we have left. It's all we can do, right?"
Amber nodded, her eyes softening with empathy. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know. I can't even imagine what you're going through. Do you want to be alone, or can I wait with you?"
"You are one of the few people I never want to be alone from," Halldor responded, his tone imbued with sincerity, far from any pretense of a line.
She pulled over a chair, and upon sitting, she draped her arm around his shoulder, resting her head gently against his neck. They exchanged a few words, but mostly soaked in the solace in silence.
She was still with him when, the next afternoon, it became apparent that his mother had taken her last breath. Halldor cried openly, his grief pouring out unchecked, while Amber held him tightly, offering silent support and strength in the face of his profound loss. Her presence, a steadfast comfort, underscored the depth of their rekindled connection during this pivotal moment of sorrow.
The kid behind him kicked his seat again, jolting him back to the present, and he noted that the flight was half over.
During the first week at the hospital, Halldor had been commuting across town to his family home for the occasional shower and change of clothes. But as time progressed and his mother's condition demanded more of his presence, he rented a hotel room close to the hospital for convenience. He spent barely an hour a day there, some days not at all. Yet, after his mother's passing, he found himself retreating to that small refuge, a space to grieve away from the clinical environment of the hospital. Amber, understanding his need for both solitude and support, followed him, ready to offer comfort without the need for words, just her presence providing a silent anchor in his sea of grief.
A few days later, in a hotel room illuminated by the dim light of dusk, two miniature bottles of vodka deep, drunken melancholia enveloped Halldor. "I'm an orphan now. I'm all alone," he slurred, the words heavy with despair.
"You have me," Amber replied, her voice a steady presence in the haze of his sorrow.
"When I return to Copenhagen, which I'll have to do soon, we'll just drift apart like last time," he said, the inevitability in his voice a dark cloud looming over them.
"I could come to Copenhagen with you," she suggested, her words trailing off into a question, laden with hope and uncertainty.
"I'll be studying all the time. What would you do?" he asked, skepticism tinting his words.
"You could rent or buy a house near campus, and I could keep it nice and tidy, cook you dinner. Something like a wife, without the paperwork," she said with a smile, dead serious yet playing it lightly, offering a vision of a shared future amidst the ruins of his current despair.
"Come, sleep on the idea," she enticed, hoping to draw him out of his spiraling thoughts. Noticing the complete lack of reaction—neither good nor bad—it was clear he had missed the innuendo. With a mix of concern and determination, she added, "Your grief needs an outlet. Come, let's find out if we're compatible." Her words, carefully chosen, aimed to offer both comfort and a chance to explore the potential of their rekindled connection, a lifeline in the midst of his overwhelming loss.
Reflecting on that pivotal moment, he remembered how, at nearly 21, he had finally lost his virginity. He used to joke that he had been saving himself for her, and her promise to tutor him took on a wholly different meaning that night. The day after, filled with a sense of newfound purpose, he had reached out to real estate agents in Copenhagen. Although there was no immediate rush to return—he had enough expertise to teach most of the courses he was taking—his eagerness to embark on this new phase of his life was palpable.
It was during this period of reflection, his mind wandering through memories of anticipation and change, that the flight attendant's voice had pulled him back, asking if he wanted a drink, momentarily grounding him in the reality of his journey back to the beginnings of his new life.
Back in Copenhagen, three significant changes diverted him from his usual academic routine. First, he moved into his new home, conveniently located just three blocks from campus, marking the start of a new chapter. Second, adjusting to life with Amber presented both challenges and joys as they navigated their new living arrangement together. Third, he took to heart his mother's dying wish for him to "follow the money," dedicating time to unravel the complexities of global finance, a task that intrigued and consumed him. Despite these diversions, his natural aptitude meant that even minimal effort on his studies continued to yield better results than the full effort of most students, a testament to his exceptional capabilities.
In the shadow of his profound loss, grasping the void left by his mother, Torunn, he sought comfort in the familiar territory of science—where logic and inquiry provided a sanctuary from his grief. Motivated by a desire to comprehend the world that had so enthralled his mother's intellect, he plunged into the complex ballet of the markets, at the crossroads where mathematics and finance converge. He uncovered a rich lineage of mathematicians who had ventured into economic territory, applying their insights to unravel its intricacies. The introduction of computers in recent decades had transformed this field, enabling swift hypothesis testing and trend analysis, weaving extensive mathematical insights into the very essence of market dynamics.
However, as he delved deeper, a discernible pattern emerged from the apparent disorder—a deviation in expected trends unaccounted for by standard models. Leveraging his deep understanding of fluid dynamics, he proposed that markets mimicked turbulent flow, governed by undercurrents invisible to traditional economic models.
To transition this theory from the abstract domain of science to the concrete world of finance, he embarked on a personal market venture. Starting with modest investments, he applied his fluid dynamics-inspired model, predicting market shifts that eluded those dependent on conventional forecasts. Initial success was gradual, but with persistent refinement, the model began to yield promising outcomes.
Remarkably, the markets resonated with his theory with startling precision, enabling not only the validation of his hypothesis but also the accumulation of significant investment returns. Thus, he wasn't just adhering to his mother's guidance; he was blazing a new trail, merging the rigidity of scientific theory with the unpredictable flux of high finance. This amalgamation of fields, rooted in the sorrow of loss yet driven by the legacy of intellectual brilliance he inherited, signaled the dawn of an unparalleled foray into economic science.
By 2023, his financial landscape had transformed significantly. He was the steward of his father's estate, his mother's fortune, and his burgeoning financial empire. Despite this wealth, he lived modestly, earning far more than he spent. His assets were predominantly liquid, a realization that, if his mother's predictions held true, necessitated a strategic shift. He understood the importance of securing his fortune in assets that were tangible, useful, and defensible. This insight prompted him to consider investments that would not only preserve but potentially enhance the value of his holdings in a volatile world.
His relentless pursuit uncovered peculiar disturbances in the market's flow—aberrations reminiscent of "seed stones" in fluid dynamics, around which significant ripples emerged. This analysis revealed a constellation of influential figures whose actions skewed the market's natural rhythms. Central to this was Magnus St. Sere, a titan in the global elite, whose financial maneuvers had begun flouting conventional logic.
Magnus's strategic divestment from stocks, coupled with aggressive acquisitions across a spectrum of manufacturing sectors—including a notably sharp pivot towards defense production—painted a picture of a man bracing for an unprecedented storm. To him, these were not random acts of speculation but calculated preparations for a cataclysmic shift. He seemed to be fortifying his empire against a market collapse so severe it threatened to obliterate the very foundations of the global economy.
This revelation was more than an academic curiosity; it was a clarion call to action. Magnus St. Sere's actions, interpreted through the lens of his own theories on economic fluid dynamics, suggested a future fraught with instability and upheaval. For him, understanding the wizard's moves was not just about predicting market trends; it was about preparing for a world on the brink of transformation, a world where the traditional rules of finance and commerce might no longer apply.
Armed with this insight, he stood at a crossroads. The path forward would require not just the application of vast scientific knowledge but also a foray into the realm of strategic foresight and innovation. In a world shadowed by the prospect of radical change, the journey was about to take a new direction—one that would see him navigate the tumultuous waters of a shifting global landscape, guided by the wisdom of his late mother and fueled by his own unquenchable thirst for understanding.
In the burgeoning warmth of spring 2024, the monumental second triple major in Nanotechnology, Quantum Mechanics, and Renewable Energy Engineering was concluded, marking another significant milestone in an unparalleled academic journey. During six years of rigorous study, not only had the vast seas of knowledge presented been absorbed, but substantial contributions to the field were also made, authoring an astounding 27 papers. This prolific output starkly contrasted with the normative academic trajectory of peers, who typically managed to publish a single paper per major, if at all.
Exceptional achievements and evident potential to significantly impact the scientific community caught the attention of the University of Copenhagen's administration. When the intention not to pursue further formal education was expressed, the university was taken aback. Recognizing the magnitude of what could potentially be lost—both in terms of future contributions to science and the prestige his presence lent the institution—they scrambled to devise a proposition compelling enough to reconsider his decision.
In a decisive exchange with the University of Copenhagen, terms were laid out with unequivocal clarity. Allure of prestigious positions, financial incentives, or academic laurels typically offered to retain talent of his caliber did not sway him. The request was singular and stark in its simplicity: unfettered, unregulated access to a manufacturing lab for the summer months, free from any strings or obligations. The demand was not for accolades or promises of advancement but for the autonomy to explore, experiment, and create within the sanctum of a space where ideas could take physical form.
This bold stipulation—couched not as a negotiation but as a stipulation for consideration to remain engaged with the institution—reflected a deep-seated need to transcend the theoretical bounds of academia. The tangible and the tactile were sought, a place where the rubber of intellectual pursuits could meet the road of real-world application and innovation. The vision was not just to contribute to the existing body of knowledge but to challenge and expand it, leveraging the university's resources to bridge the gap between what was known and what could be discovered.
The university, faced with the potential loss of a mind that had already proven its worth through groundbreaking research and prolific academic contributions, was compelled to acquiesce. Terms were unorthodox, pushing the boundaries of the traditional academic engagement model, but they underscored a mutual understanding: the value brought to the table was immeasurable, and providing the means to explore capabilities was an investment in the future of science and technology itself.
Thus, an agreement was struck, one that granted the freedom desired within the confines of the university's manufacturing lab. It was an arrangement unprecedented in its trust and empowerment of a student, an acknowledgment of a unique position at the intersection of academic brilliance and practical ingenuity. As the summer approached, the lab awaited, a crucible within which theories and prototypes would be tested, challenged, and ultimately realized, marking the next leap in a remarkable journey of discovery and innovation.
He had found himself at a critical juncture, thoughts oscillating between the bold certainties of economic predictions and the tangible realities of scientific endeavors. The undercurrents of the global economy, as interpreted, pointed towards an inevitable collapse—a vision of the future that found an unlikely echo in the actions of Magnus St. Sere, The Great Dane, The Wizard of Wealth, the self-aggrandizing creative genius and trillionaire whose financial movements seemed to presage a world on the brink.
In this climate of impending upheaval, the peril of concentrating efforts too narrowly was recognized. The realization dawned that the future, and indeed survival, might hinge on aligning with those who were already preparing for the seismic shifts ahead. Magnus, with his vast resources and strategic positioning within industries critical for post-collapse recovery, emerged as a pivotal figure in calculations. To align with Magnus was to ensure a place at the table in whatever new order rose from the ashes.
Then he had explained everything to Amber:
"Everything seemed on track, Halldor, but what are you doing?" Amber's voice broke through the calm, her confusion palpable. "You're giving up everything we dreamed of for... what? These theories? These people?"
He could see the struggle in her eyes, a mix of disbelief and concern. "Amber, the math behind this—it's solid. It's more than a career move; it's about survival."
"But at what cost?" she countered, her frustration growing. "You're working with people who've let you down before. I've been planning our future, attending those mixers and gatherings, introducing myself as your fiancée. And now, you're chasing after madness."
"Solaris doesn't matter, they are just a stepping stone. I am using them to get to Magnus and to be in the right place to have the materials I need when everything falls apart."
"'When everything falls apart', you sound like a madman. People have been predicting doom and gloom forever, but it doesn't happen like that."
He had no simple reassurance to offer, only a heavy silence that spoke volumes. The chasm between their expectations and his choices had never been so clear. The path envisioned was intricate and fraught with uncertainty. Central to the strategy was a breakthrough in solar technology—a vision of solar cells so advanced that they could revolutionize energy consumption in high-demand applications, such as aviation. Magnus's recent acquisition of a significant stake in the Aarhaus branch of Solaris, a company that had already buried his pioneering solar sheeting technology, presented an avenue. If he could infiltrate Solaris, leveraging next-generation solar innovations as a Trojan horse, a position as an indispensable asset to Magnus in the post-collapse world could be secured.
The idea to adapt solar cells as a coating for fighter jets, potentially doubling their range, was revolutionary. Yet, it was still embryonic, a concept cradled in the realm of potential rather than reality. The immediate goal, therefore, became to perfect the manufacturing process for clear square panels. This would be the masterstroke, the entry point into Solaris, and by extension, into Magnus's inner circle.
The summer granted unfettered freedom to pursue this goal within the university's manufacturing lab. With access to copious resources and no external interference, progress exceeded even optimistic projections. What emerged from those months of intense work was not just a prototype but a beacon of potential to contribute to the radical transformation of energy utilization in advanced technologies.
In the grand chessboard of global economics and power plays, the move was set. The clear solar panels, while vulnerable to being sidelined by corporate machinations within Solaris, were merely a means to an end. In the chaos anticipated, traditional concerns over patents and intellectual property would become moot. Eyes were fixed on a horizon beyond the immediate, where the value of innovations would be recognized not for their commercial viability but for their necessity in the arsenal of a world rebuilder like Magnus.
Thus, the summer labored not just in pursuit of scientific breakthroughs but in laying the groundwork for strategic insertion into the epicenter of post-collapse recovery efforts. In a world teetering on the edge of radical change, he was positioning not just to survive but to thrive and shape the future.
Negotiations with Solaris unfolded with an ease that bordered on the surreal, a testament to the company’s eagerness to harness genius. Conditions, laid out with the precision of a chess grandmaster plotting the endgame, were met with little resistance. Central to demands was placement at the Aarhus branch of Solaris. Ostensibly, this location was chosen for its logistical convenience—a mere stone’s throw from Oslo, facilitating easy travel. Yet, beneath this practical veneer lay a strategic positioning, aligning closer to the spheres of influence that would be crucial in the tumultuous times anticipated.
Negotiations around the rights to solar panel technology were equally shrewd. A shared ownership model was proposed, a concession that, on the surface, appeared to give Solaris the upper hand, granting them the authority to potentially sideline the technology. This clause, seemingly a significant compromise, was, in reality, a stroke of foresight. In the world envisioned—one reshaped by economic collapse and the dissolution of current legal and corporate structures—the concept of patent rights and ownership would be rendered obsolete. Willingness to cede control over the solar panels was not a loss but a calculated maneuver, underscoring focus on long-term objectives over immediate gains.
The demand for an exorbitant salary was the final piece of the strategic puzzle. Setting the bar high served multiple purposes: it reinforced the perceived value of contributions, creating a narrative of indispensability, and it tested Solaris’s commitment to securing services. When Solaris counteroffered with 75% of the initial figure, acceptance was given, a move that lent credibility to demands and solidified the position within the company. This negotiation was not about the money, per se, but about establishing terms of engagement on his own terms.
And now, still hoping he could convince Amber to join him eventually, he compartmentalized his sadness, loneliness, and worry, and prepared to begin the next step.
Now just days shy of 24, he exited the airport cab, gaze lifted to survey the sprawling expanse of the Solaris Aarhus facility. The structure stretched before him, a vast layout encapsulated within a four-story edifice of stark utilitarian design. Its sheer size was imposing, yet the building's exterior offered nothing in the way of inspiration; it was a monument to functionality over form, its square, block-like architecture echoing the industrial pragmatism that defined its purpose.
Towering at 190cm, his presence was as striking physically as it was intellectually. An aura of determination was carried, the stature commanding attention in any room entered. The hair, a rich shade of chestnut, fell in wavy locks that added a touch of youthful vigor to the appearance. But it was the eyes that truly set him apart—a piercing blue that mirrored the depth and clarity of the Norwegian fjords, reflecting a relentless curiosity and an intensity that could both challenge and captivate those around.
As he stood there, the sounds of the Bay's waters lapping against the nearby shore reached his ears, a subtle reminder of the natural world's rhythms amidst the hum of technological advancement. With a deep breath, he reached for the door, poised to cross the threshold into Solaris Aarhus. This moment was more than a physical crossing; it was a leap into the unknown, into a realm where theories, innovations, and the very future would be tested.
For him, the unremarkable façade of the Solaris building belied the significance of what lay ahead. Here, in the heart of Aarhus, not just taking a step into a new job or a new role; stepping into the crucible of his own making, where dreams, intellect, and resolve would forge the path forward. The journey ahead was fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but driven by a vision of a transformed world, ready to embrace whatever lay beyond those doors.
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