Nov 19th, 2033
Even though they lived in the same mountain, Richard only saw his father for a few moments a week and during longer one-on-one visits a couple of times a year. But by now, he had learned that a meal invitation meant he was about to switch jobs.
He couldn't imagine what there was left for him to learn. He knew how to operate and rebuild much of the power plant, the sewage treatment plant, and how it connected to the houses. His father had been teaching him skills necessary for the survival of civilization.
Six months ago, he had finally been given a job in the mountains in a warm area. He had started setting up machinery for the new Starlink project, an endeavor utilizing Elon Musk's Starlink satellite and Magnus St. Sere's quantum computer to create a communications network that spanned the seven known safe seats of civilization. In essence, a new Internet was being born, linking the intranets of these regions. Richard had worked his way up through the few scientists involved, and finding this work very rewarding. He was loath to give that up.
As he walked deeper into the mountain than he normally ever went, he tried to envision what new task he was taking on now.
Every time Richard saw his father, he appeared to have aged far more than one would expect. With minimal introductions, they sat down alone at a large dinner table, which, to Richard's eyes, looked Viking-inspired or, knowing his dad, actually might have been made by Vikings. His father spoke at length, and Richard listened intently, saying little until his father paused.
"You're sending me away? I have a life here. I have a girlfriend. People depend on me. I'm not like you," he said, hoping to inflict some sense of guilt.
"Honestly, I'm shocked and a bit disappointed that you hadn't figured this out already. For three months, you've been working on the Starlink project. Haven't you guessed its purpose? Yes, I can see in your eyes that you have. It's easy to extrapolate that you're the perfect ambassador now that I'm too weak and ill to handle these journeys," his father said, looking at him with deep sadness and exhaustion. Honestly, his father looked like he wanted to lay down and die. His stubbornness and unfinished work kept him animated, albeit minimally.
"Dad, wouldn't a scientist make more sense?" Richard asked, fidgeting in his seat.
"Of which field? You know enough about many subjects," his father replied, smiling slightly. "More importantly, you learn fast, and you can really turn on the charm when it suits you." He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
"But we have seven spokes for Starlink. Why not send out six specialists?" Richard argued, his hands flitting nervously over the arms of his chair.
"They would make terrible diplomats," his father pointed out, shaking his head. "More importantly, they're needed here, and quite likely would opt to stay at the place we send them. Travel is quite dangerous, and one long trip with a streetwise jack-of-all-trades is better than six trips with people who don't fully understand how the world has changed." His father leaned forward, locking eyes with Richard.
"Don't I have any say in this matter?" Richard asked defiantly.
"Your visa expires in eight days, and I have no intention of renewing it," his father said, his voice cold. "You have until then to get your affairs in order, and then you're off to see the wizard." He leaned back, closed his eyes as if in pain.
Richard shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his father's words settling heavily upon him. Outside, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the room. The ticking of the wall clock was a relentless reminder of the dwindling time he had left. He knew he needed to act quickly to prepare for the uncertain journey ahead.
Once his job was done, his dad dozed in his seat. Richard noticed the perspiration on his hands and wiped them on his jeans before cracking his knuckles to loosen them.
Richard had always lived in luxury, and when the world went to hell, it seemed everything had been handed to him. Yes, he'd worked hard, but opportunities like his were rare these days. His father owned him, and there was no denying that. Nonetheless, it hurt that his father hadn't made an effort to spend more time with him over the past year. Richard felt like a cog in a giant machine, an essential cog, arguably, but necessary and not particularly loved. He was just another useful tool. Perhaps his father wanted him to feel disposable to make leave-taking less painful. After all, Aldus was usually three steps ahead.
With a determined shake of his head, he dismissed the distracting thoughts and realized he needed to find Freya. They had been together for about four months, and he had barely picked up a word of Icelandic. Her thickly accented English was nearly indecipherable to his Scottish ears. And to add to the frustration, she could scarcely understand his English either.
The looming prospect of the conversation pressed down on Richard. Having to use Luka as a translator only added a layer of awkwardness to the ordeal. But there was a silver lining; he would only need to go through with it once.
In a haze of his own troubles, he sought out Luka to explain the bombshell his father had dropped. As he vented, the weight of his own departure clouded the realization that Luka, too, would be losing a friend. He wasn't prepared to face that reality just yet. But Luka, with a warm heart and a clear understanding of the stakes, agreed to help without hesitation.
"He does love you, you know. You are the last of your line. If nothing else he is protecting the lineage." She was trying to be comforting but it was not what he had wanted to hear.
"You never know, he might still have a child. Dad always did like his chippies," Richard was deflecting.
"No, he can't get it up anymore."
Richard looked shocked, even though he had once suspected it. "You and him?"
"What? Oh, ick," Luka sounded revolted but recovered quickly, "No offense. We talk a lot. He's very Icelandic in his sensibilities."
For a moment, Richard entertained the thought of making a pass at Luka—what better time than just before leaving and being the end of his lineage? Then, with a jolt, he realized that his feelings for Freya went beyond mere companionship and the convenience of a warm body to come home to. It was a moment of deeper reckoning, one that shook him to his core and made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.
"Let's get this done. Shall we?"
They crammed into his 2031 black Freddie Frelsi 2e, Iceland's cube-shaped, compact, solar-powered electric car, making their way down to the waterfront where his modest home awaited.
The tiny house, adorned with white shingles, boasted a single floor that encompassed a main room with plenty of charm, a snug bedroom, and a bathroom equipped with a shower. The comfort it provided was not lost on him, especially considering many were making do in heated tents.
The evening air had an unseasonable warmth, just on the edge of freezing. It nipped at Richard's cheeks as he pulled his electric car up to the waterfront house, a final haven of peace before the tempest of his departure. The gentle drizzle streaked the windows and obscured the outside world with melancholy gray. The rain froze into droplets on his skin, adding to the chill of his unease. Freya's form emerged as a silhouette against the warm light shining from within, welcoming them to the doorstep.
Luka, ever the empath, placed a reassuring hand on Richard's shoulder. "Ready?" she asked, her voice a soft undercurrent against the symphony of rain.
Richard nodded, the gravity of the situation rooting him to the spot for just a moment longer before he exhaled a shaky breath and moved forward.
Inside, the scent of pine and the homely crackle of the woodstove set the scene—a sharp contrast to the turmoil burgeoning in Richard's heart. Freya's face, usually a canvas of peerless joy, turned to confusion as her gaze flitted between Luka and Richard. Her cornflower blue eyes, a juxtaposition to her fiery red tresses that cascaded in waves over her shoulders, locked onto Richard with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
“Gleði himnaríkis?” Freya's voice held a hint of hope, an invitation hanging in the air like the delicate melody of a lullaby.
Luka's laughter, gentle and disarming, echoed through the small space as an icebreaker. "Well, that's not exactly the kind of ice we're breaking tonight, Freya," she said, before turning her gaze to a perplexed Richard.
Richard cleared his throat, "Tell her... tell her it’s important."
Luka nodded, her manner professional as she began to relay Richard's message in the rolling, melodic language of Icelandic. Freya's expression transitioned from confusion to concern, her pale hands clasping the fabric of her knitted cardigan.
Richard spoke again, his words measured and steady, "I didn’t want it to come to this so suddenly." His gaze never left Freya's, trying to communicate all the unspoken affection and regret that threatened to overflow.
"That’s not what I said, Luka. You’re softening it.”
Luka sighed, "Richard, I said what needed to be heard. Trust me." She laid a hand on Freya's, conversing quietly in soothing tones that were a balm to Freya's wrinkled brow.
Silence spilled into the room, every second stretching into an eternity. The flicker of the flames danced across the room, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil swirling in Richard’s mind. Freya's eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill over as she nodded, absorbing the weight of the conversation.
The room was layered with an emotional tapestry, each breath a delicate thread interwoven with love, loss, and the drumming of rain against the shingles. Freya's lips quivered as she mustered the strength to speak. "Hvernig getum við þolað á meðan við vitum... How can we enjoy?" she stammered slowly in broken English, her voice a small bird in the vastness of her sorrow.
Richard's heart ached at the sound of her vulnerability, his protective instincts kicking in. "Because we care about each other," he answered, his voice soft but unwavering. "We make the most of what time we have."
Luka delicately translated his sentiment, and Freya drew a deep, steadying breath. She stepped closer to Richard, her hands finding his. The warmth of her touch was a stark reminder of what he was about to lose. Richard looked over Freya's red hair to the other redhead for a clue as to what she had actually said. Luka, however, gave away no secrets.
"You promise?" Freya asked, her eyes searching his for a sliver of hope.
"I promise," Richard echoed. It was a vow, a sacred utterance in the quiet space that had become their sanctuary. The promise of a final week together—a week to laugh, to love, to live before the inevitable wrench of separation—was bittersweet. But it was a week to harvest the joy of their union and store it away as a cherished memory.
Richard and Freya sat together on the old, comfortable couch that had been a silent witness to their shared moments. Luka excused herself, understanding that the cocoon they needed to weave now was one for just the two of them. She slipped out into the rain, leaving her umbrella behind, embracing the cleansing chill as a solace for her own heavy heart.
Richard took Freya in his arms, and they held each other as the hours trickled by, talking, laughing, and occasionally crying. Time seemed to stand still as they poured out their hearts, memories etching themselves onto the very walls of the house.
A thought had come to Richard in his sleep, and it had stuck with him into consciousness. "Off to see the wizard," his father had said. The Wizard of Langeland—not the mythical figure from the Land of Oz, but rather Count Magnus St. Sere, the teen trillionaire before the collapse. He was now possibly the most influential man in the world. Richard was about to meet with him, setting off on a journey that could determine the fate of civilization itself.
The dawn of their last week rose with a quiet whisper, the sun piercing through the rain clouds, painting a tapestry of golden hues that seemed to bless their decision. Through short days and long nights, they pledged to make each moment count, celebrating the unexpected beauty forged in the crucible of their parting.
And though the specter of goodbye loomed ever closer, they chose to fill the space between with the radiance of a love that, while transient, had burnt more fiercely against the backdrop of an uncertain world.