Jan 2nd, 2034
Magnus and Richard found themselves ensconced within the intimate confines of a small dining hall, tucked away in a secluded corner of the expansive castle. The hall, a quaint embodiment of medieval architecture with its stone walls and towering arches, bore the muted echoes of centuries past.
It was now 3 p.m., yet the table before them was laid out for breakfast, a testament to the irregular hours the duo kept following a night of prolonged festivity that had danced its way into the early hours of dawn. As each year passed, it felt like an accomplishment and not something to be taken for granted; thus, the citizens of Perfectland celebrated with appropriate festivity and stamina.
The sunlight, filtered through stained glass windows, cast kaleidoscopic patterns across the rustic wooden table, illuminating the assorted fare that lay before them. As they settled into their chairs, with the creak of ancient wood beneath them, their hunger fueled an eagerness to indulge in the meal. Plates piled high with hearty bread, cured meats, and the ubiquitous round, blue grapes awaited their attention. On the ornate china before them, two flipped eggs on thick circles of polenta were covered with a lemony cream sauce.
Richard leaned forward to sniff the topping. Impressions of zest and a musky amber left him with no inkling of what it would taste like. Heaven, as it turned out.
It was in this secluded retreat, surrounded by the silent vigil of the castle's aged walls, that their conversation unfolded—each bite punctuated by discourse, as the night's milestone put the Count in a reflective mood.
As usual, St. Sere was dressed in a fresh white suit. Magnus himself appeared less crisp within it. Richard guessed the grand host had gotten maybe two hours of sleep, if he had slept at all. He became mesmerized by watching his cuff miss the yellow sauce by millimeters on each mouthful. But as in most things, Magnus knew exactly where he was.
"I was five years away from becoming the richest man on the planet!" Magnus proclaimed, with a hint of frustration lacing his voice, the echoes of his words barely whisked away by the stone walls of the dining hall.
"The sixth richest wasn't good enough for you?" Richard replied, his question tinged with a mix of amusement and skepticism, a forkful of food paused midway to his mouth.
"Money is merely a form of power. The true essence lies in possessing and wielding power. Currency is merely a side effect," Magnus responded, his gaze intense, reflecting a man who had pondered long and hard on these convictions.
"Aren't you more powerful now?" Richard asked, placing his fork down, genuinely curious.
"In the grand scheme, yes. I am one of a handful of influencers of the remnants of our society. Yet, a king ant remains an ant. That's precisely why we—and I emphasize 'we'—need to embark on the monumental task of rebuilding humanity," Magnus said, his voice resonating with a mix of determination and a hint of desperation.
"So, you'll finally have something worth ruling?" Richard couldn't resist the tease, a light smirk playing on his lips.
Magnus sneered in response, the frustration evident. "All I needed was for governments to relinquish their stranglehold, and I was on the brink of powering the world. My patents, worth trillions, promised nearly clean, limitless, renewable solar energy, all within a significantly reduced footprint, paired with storage solutions boasting virtually no degradation."
"And then they got out of your way," Richard remarked, laughing wistfully, the heavy irony not lost on him.
"Alas, with their departure, so went the supply chain. Not to mention, transitioning to a barter system has become a logistical nightmare."
"I can only imagine," Richard empathized, the weight of such challenges apparent in his sympathetic tone.
"I was proactive. In 2024, I had the fighter jet factory operational, completely self-sustained. We built three 2-seater jets and 12 Målrettet Hår drones before the world's framework crumbled, continuing production even as the societal fabric frayed. We trained pilots—everyone worked for room and board, security, and was grateful for the semblance of stability," Magnus detailed, a sense of pride underpinning his recount of resilience.
"Dad always said, 'If you can't protect what you have, you're merely gathering it for the next tyrant,'" Richard mused, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia.
"I admired your father. He had a clear, pragmatic outlook on life," Magnus conceded, a rare moment of agreement as they shared in the brief reflection. "And he was exactly right. Step one is to be able to protect what you have. Step two is to provide for the safety and comfort of your people. Then you can put effort into creativity and the creature comforts."
Magnus added, "Tag først din egen maske på i en nødsituation." He said it in rote cadence. Richard was tired of asking him to translate and just assumed the Dane was summing up or pontificating on what he had just said.
"Danish always sounds like you're trying to swallow your tongue. Such an ugly language," replied Richard in his very undiplomatic way.
"Said the Scotsman," Magnus, the slender pale man, let out a hearty laugh, pounding the table as he did so. It was very unlike Magnus, and Richard felt properly insulted. Yet, Richard appreciated the good back and forth.
Surrounded by the ancient walls of the castle's dining hall, their conversation unfolded amid the backdrop of a world in flux. Outside, the wind whispered through the ruins, carrying with it the promise and challenge of the monumental task of rebuilding what had been lost—an endeavor that required not just power, but a vision that Magnus and Richard were slowly unwrapping in the dim light of a delayed breakfast.
"So, with the governments out of your way and having had eight years..." Richard began, a hint of challenge in his tone, inviting Magnus to fill in the blanks of what had been, or rather, what could have been.
"We were in partnership with Solaris Energy Group, who operated a manufacturing plant on the coast of Aarhus," Magnus shared, leaning back in his chair as he recounted the ventures that once promised revolutionary change.
"Never heard of it," Richard remarked casually, his attention momentarily diverted to the meat of a bird he presumed was pheasant. Given the excessive alcohol indulgence from the night before, his body was in dire need of the grease to soothe its grievances.
“Aarhus, the second-biggest city in Denmark—quite lovely, actually. And a test city for many of the solar projects that swept across Denmark until everything came tumbling down," Magnus elaborated, a tinge of nostalgia for lost potential coloring his words.
“And what exactly am I eating?” Richard inquired, with curiosity piqued more by the taste than by the origin of his meal.
“Barnacle Goose. It's excellent for 'the morning after.' Nearly as fatty as duck,” Magnus explained, offering a nod of approval towards the dish that served as their unconventional breakfast.
"Mmm," Richard murmured in acknowledgment, his taste buds satisfied by the rich, fatty flavors of the goose.
"How are you moving parts and products?" Richard asked, breaking the brief silence that had settled over the dimly lit, expansive map room of the castle, where they had retreated after breakfast to discuss logistics.
"When we declared 'Præfekturet Langeland' an autonomous entity under Denmark, we allowed ships capable of departure within three days to leave. Those that remained were confiscated. Of the ships over 100 meters, we have 17 in our fleet, including two supertankers—one of which served as your chariot from Iceland," Magnus explained, gesturing towards a maritime chart spread across the table, dotted with the locations of their makeshift navy. "We also entered into an agreement with Denmark for a submarine."
"Nuclear?" Richard's interest piqued, as he leaned closer, eyeing the detailed schematics of the vessels.
"I wish. Nuclear subs were phased out across most of the EU years ago. Fuel is a limiting factor now. I'm eager to convert them to solar power, but for that, we need to significantly scale up production, which in turn requires running the cargo ships to gather supplies," Magnus detailed, his finger tracing possible routes on the map.
"And yet you sent a massive empty ship to fetch me from Iceland," Richard remarked, half-joking, half-serious, his gaze shifting from the map to Magnus's earnest face.
"It wasn't empty on the journey there. Cargo and missions align with our routes whenever possible. And don't let it go to your head," Magnus retorted with a slight smile, acknowledging the rarity of such a personal mission.
"I don't see how it can't," Richard quipped, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
"Do you know how many rooms are in this castle?" Magnus changed the subject, a tactic to steer the conversation away from the somber realities of their situation.
"Let's skip the non sequiturs, especially when I'm feeling this hungover," Richard replied, rubbing his temples, the weight of the previous night's indulgences and the morning's revelations pressing down on him.
"There are 47 actual rooms, disregarding closets, storerooms and bathrooms. Plus, over a hundred heated sleeping quarters in the courtyard. That's enough to accommodate 312 people. A few are servants, but the rest are individuals I've gathered from all corners of the world. Thinkers and doers from across various fields. Most lack survival skills. They would have been a real loss to humanity," Magnus explained, his tone implying the significance of his actions—Richard heard the unspoken 'without me' as clearly as if Magnus had uttered the words aloud.
Magnus then delved into the technicalities of his thwarted ventures, his voice carrying the weight of unrealized dreams. "Graphene, created straight from the air using a seven-step process involving catalysts—all found in Denmark. I could have turned the tide on global warming right then and there but was constantly thwarted by governments and corporations. They were too busy profiting from ineffective solutions and controlling the population through fear. Nevertheless, we managed to build three facilities here on Langeland..."
"Even you don't call it by its proper name," Richard interjected, steering the conversation back to the present and their immediate surroundings.
"Focus," Magnus chided gently, eager to press on with his vision. "We need to scale up. Information on the graphene generating plants could be used as barter—it also opens future potential for trading the catalysts. As a nice bonus, the byproduct is oxygen, which can be used to warm the plant."
"A substantial amount?" Richard asked, genuinely interested in the mechanics of the operation.
"No, less than 10% but every bit helps," Magnus conceded, finishing off a handful of grapes. He paused for a moment, as if calculating the steps ahead in his mind before continuing. "From there, transforming the graphene sheets into nanotubes was already a known, albeit complex, process. I mention all this because graphene nanotubes are the material of the future. They play a part in nearly everything I'm undertaking here. I just need a ton more of it."
At some signal Richard didn't catch, they were interrupted by the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, drawing their attention to the entrance of the small dining hall. With almost supernatural synchronicity, two middle-aged servants entered the hall, their presence a testament to the subtle efficiency Magnus demanded from those who waited on him. They somberly cleared away the remnants of the unconventional breakfast, from the plates of food to the utensils that had been left scattered around. With a final flourish, they polished the granite surface of the table to a pristine shine before silently withdrawing. In a matter of three minutes, the meal had been cleared away and transformed into a hazy memory.
The only remaining objects on the table were the crystal pitchers of water and orange juice, which had been placed at the end of the table. It was as if the servants had anticipated the needs of Magnus and Richard without so much as a word spoken regarding their beverages. The table was left in a state of calm, as if the servants' presence had never been there. The conversation resumed smoothly, as if this moment of interruption had never occurred.
Magnus's detailed explanations of his technological advancements proved impressive, mesmerizing even, as he detailed every facet of his groundbreaking ventures with a zealous fervor - all from his memory, no notes.
"Solar cells, with graphene technology, are physically lighter, stronger, and exhibit a much higher mean time between failures," Magnus explained with an air of pride.
Richard interjected, his curiosity getting the best of him. "I'm not hearing any numbers. Tell me the bottom line of what you've achieved," he prodded, eager to hear how far Magnus's breakthroughs had taken him.
"The graphene-based cells are 31% the weight of a traditional panel, with almost 2000% more energy output at the same size, producing even a trickle of power near nightfall. There's virtually no system failure on a 20-year lifespan, and once again, almost all the parts can be mined in Denmark," Magnus elaborated, his pride palpable.
"Impressive," Richard acknowledged, barely able to contain his surprise. The potency of Magnus's technology was difficult to fathom.
"Almost?" Richard repeated, a hint of confusion in his voice.
Magnus sighed deeply as if letting go of a heavy burden. "Once we've cracked the graphene supply problem, we will find ourselves facing a new one: we will quickly run out of lithium."
Richard raised an eyebrow in inquiry, and Magnus continued. "Luckily, the bicoastal corridor with Bolivia had been completed a few months prior to the Collapse. Now that area is controlled by guerrillas. Cozying up to cartels and warlords isn't something I enjoy doing, but in today's world, I'm not sure there's much difference," Magnus concluded, his voice heavy with sadness at the reality of his situation.
As they continued their conversation over the crystal pitchers of water and orange juice, the weight of the task before them was palpable. The challenges and potential dangers were daunting. Yet, in this enclave of a medieval dining hall, within the castle's hallowed walls, Magnus and Richard steered their way towards a promise of a new dawn, built on the foundation of pioneering technology.
"Any chance of getting some coffee?" Richard inquired.
Not a muscle twitched as Richard observed. However, a female servant promptly appeared with a silver coffee urn and two delicate china cups. She poured their coffee and silently withdrew from the room.
Magnus did not drink coffee, but the cup remained in case he changed his mind. The scent did make Richard wonder, for the first time today, where the Countess was on this fine afternoon - sleeping it off or out among the countrymen.
Richard sharply inhaled the aroma from the cup. A rich, dark smell boldly announced its presence, promising delights from its source.
"Aside from generating power, storage is a major challenge, especially in this region where the winter daylight hours are limited to merely seven hours. We needed a solution. Luckily, we had these technologies in production and warehouses, awaiting the right circumstances to surpass the influence of oil companies through strategic financial maneuvers," Magnus explained.
"So, this is where the lithium comes into play?" Richard asked curiously.
"Yes, indeed. Utilizing graphene nanotubes with their electron-stacking capabilities significantly minimizes drift, reducing heat, inefficiency, and unnecessary discharge during periods of non-use. As a result, the battery can retain its charge for years instead of mere weeks. By incorporating a combination of vanadium and lithium-manganese oxide, we have achieved improved energy density, stability, and safety. We've created a battery that is lighter, more compact, has an extraordinarily long cycle life, and can be scaled up for large-scale energy storage applications. Furthermore, its charging input requires minimal regulation due to its remarkable stability. It has become the perfect storage solution for harnessing solar energy," Magnus elaborated.
Richard let out an appreciative whistle, the sound echoing softly in the vast, stone-walled dining hall. The light of the setting sun, now almost pure violet, filtered through the stained-glass windows, creating a mosaic of vibrant colors that danced across their faces and the gleaming table surface. This visual serenade contrasted with the gravity of their conversation, adding a layer of surreal beauty to the moment.
Magnus continued, his voice animated as he delved deeper into the specifics of his technological marvels, "So, with this technology, we're powering most of the country and a considerable portion of Copenhagen." His enthusiasm, evident in the vigorous gestures and the bright glint in his eyes, painted his words in strokes of hope against the canvas of their bleak situation.
Richard, leaning back in the ornate, high-backed chair, raised an eyebrow, "Okay, you are well on your way to being King ant. How does this restore the world? And how does it involve me?"
"Have you ever been to South Africa?" Magnus shifted in his seat, the question seemingly out of the blue.
"Elon? No, I've never had the pleasure. What's that, a six-month tanker ride?" Richard's tone was laced with sarcasm, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"The pirates are heavy down there. This leg is by private jet," Magnus replied, ignoring the sarcasm. The seriousness of his tone suggested the gravity of the mission they were discussing.
"Elon, is the central spoke in all this. So I'm not convincing him. What is my job there?" Richard's skepticism was palpable, his arms crossed as he awaited an explanation.
"I... am the central spoke. Elon is a means to an end," Magnus stated firmly, the annoyance at the comparison between him and Elon — often likened to Edison and Tesla — was clear in his voice, his hands clenched into fists on the table.
"Sorry..." Richard's apology was quick, sensing the tension in the air.
"You are bringing supplies, learning all you can about Starlink, then continuing on to the next 'spoke'." Magnus's directive was clear, his gaze locking with Richard's, emphasizing the importance of each task laid before him.
Exhausted and slightly inebriated, Richard felt the weight of departure looming over him. The transient nature of his existence had turned into a familiar, albeit unwelcome, companion, steering him away from any thoughts of lasting connections or romantic entanglements during his travels.
Somewhere in the background, the opening chords of 'Baba O'Riley' seemed to offer an escape, momentarily lifting his spirits. But then, like Charlie Brown with the football, reality struck fooling him again. The familiar strains morphed into the phlegmatic sounds of the Perfectland anthem. This abrupt shift jolted him back to reality, highlighting his sense of displacement with a universe seemingly amused at his expense.
Richard became aware as the anthem of Perfectland swelled from somewhere in the castle. It was a sound so ubiquitous that he barely heard it anymore. Richard couldn't help but quip, "They must owe The Who a fortune in royalties for this."
Magnus, puzzled, merely raised an eyebrow. "The Who?"
Richard chuckled, realizing the reference fell on deaf ears. "The opening bars remind me strongly of 'Baba O'Riley.' You know, 'teenage wasteland' and all that?"
The mention of 'Baba O'Riley' only earned him blank stares from Magnus.
"Your lack of cultural knowledge in music frightens, and saddens, me."
"Just as your lacking in even the fundamentals of quantum mechanics scares me. It's all about priorities," Magnus's ability to wrap an insult into a statement of fact impressed the Scotsman.
Shaking his head, Richard leaned back, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. "I remember my dad, barely ever present, spent three whole days with me and took us to the Isle of Wight Festival back in 2016. It was one of those rare outings with him. The energy, the crowd... nothing like it. So many great bands, and The Who, old but so full of energy... it transcends words. But the tambourines in the intro to our anthem—'inspired by' is as generous as I can be."
Magnus, still looking bewildered, confessed, "I have no idea who The Who even are."
Richard sighed, a mixture of frustration and longing in his voice. "I wish I had some way to play it for you." It was a moment of cultural disconnect, yet it underscored a deeper bond between them. Despite their differences, these shared moments of misunderstanding and explanation brought them closer, highlighting the vast worlds they each came from and the singular journey they were on together.
"I'll put somebody on it," Magnus finally said.
Richard wondered what he meant but didn't ask.