Timeline

By Larry Large

Timeline is set in the near future, at a time when an energy crisis has the world on edge and at the brink of financial collapse. It is the story of a young man living in Brooklyn, NY who works for a large utility company as a field technician. A tragic work accident has killed his partner and best friend. After a time off, and just meeting and possibly falling in love with a young lady, his life course begins to bend towards a new and unexpected path. Moving into a management position, and rising quickly through the ranks, he comes to know facts about his new benefactor, CEO Ed Deeb, and an outside influence only known as AL. As the story progresses, and Link learns of the history and science behind a new Alternate Power Source Mr. Deeb and AL have been working on, he realizes there is much more to the story than he could have possibly imagined, and his role in it becomes almost too much to bear. Then as it all comes into focus, Link realizes the magnitude of the crisis, well beyond the fuels and financial matters, and the fate of humanity is set upon his shoulders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098348724

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Larry Large. All rights reserved. For permission requests, contact the author at [e-mail].

Edited by A. Large.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, establishments, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First edition.

ISBN (Print): 978-1-09834-871-7

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-09834-872-4

This book is dedicated to the proposition that all life is created equal.

And I want to thank my wife Linda for understanding this was something I needed to do.

Why?

Because I think it’s supposed to be out there. For my children and grandchildren, who I love dearly, to know that they had a grandad that could write a book, or simply be creative, and that if I could do it, so can they.

But mostly because I began to write and kept hearing the story.

I think, therefore

I am

I think, therefore

I am

I think, therefore

I am

We Are

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Final Chapter

Prologue

If we were to tell a story about how we got here, would it have to start at the very beginning, say the big bang, Adam and Eve, or any of the various tales told through the ages?

What really matters when you tell a story? Are all the facts necessary, like dates, names, and geographical locations? Maybe we just need to understand what is relevant, what impacted the course of events. Of course everything matters, that’s the problem. Who wants to hear everything? Who has the time?

Simply and succinctly, it is safe to say that it all began in a way which was perfect and correct. How could it be otherwise? Space and time develop, matter forms, then intelligent life arrives. Also, let’s assume a higher power or intelligence existed prior to the origin. The Reason for the physical manifestation so to speak. Quite a heavy burden to bear really. This will validate all the religious institutions spread across the globe in one way or another.

Now we have a basis for understanding, as far as our finite senses and intellect allow, how this thing got started.

To bring the story a little more into focus let’s establish a timeline. This will facilitate the telling, allowing our thoughts to follow a flow with reference to both time and space. Could have started 6000 years ago or 350 million. These are the numbers well established in two very separate studies.

Seems like not much is real relevant prior to 6,000 years ago. Maybe there were dinosaurs. The countless dynamic geological transformations here on our home planet as well as beyond were probably powerful and awesome sites to behold, but we weren’t there to see them so why dwell on it? Simply a set-up anyway. The residual effects, leading to a beautiful life sustaining planet, are what matters now.

Let’s start there then.

So we come to be and we inhabit our world.

But what do we know?

We are cold, or hot. We are hungry. Instinctively we know food and shelter are very important.

So we hunt and we gather. We find or make a dwelling place, providing protection from the elements. Elements of a life sustaining planet which does not seem so life sustaining at times with hard rain, burning sun, strong winds, lightning. All frightening and confusing since we were enjoying all the beauty our world had to offer a moment ago.

Then as we snuggle warm and cozy by the glowing fire just discovered, another need swells up. The need for intimacy and relations with our companions of a very different physical persuasion and so the instinct to reproduce becomes very important.

As time passes our physical needs such as food, shelter and reproduction are established and remain constant as emotional, mental, and spiritual needs continue to develop, progress and evolve.

These evolving needs and instincts include fellowship. Peaceful, loving relationships with other human beings as well as the Reason we’re here.

All the while the very human characteristic of wanting more also develops and permeates these natural instincts. This leads to conflict, at times of epic proportions. Conflict between each other, between us and our beautiful mother earth, and ultimately our confliction with Reason.

Fast forward.

These days our instincts have been overdeveloped by this human characteristic of more to the point where they have become self-destructive.

For example, as we said dwellings are necessary, such as my two room apartment here in Brooklyn. But maybe I feel a need for a more substantial dwelling, something which would better suit my superficial need for more space. Of course I really don’t need more space, I want it.

Likewise, I still have a basic need for food. But quickly. With little or no mess. Preferably delivered hot with disposable utensils. And napkins.

It really bothers me when they forget the napkins.

So I have developed a need for things I really do not need.

All this brings us to tonight at O’Malley’s.

Chapter 1

Downtown New York City. This used to be the East Village where talents like Springsteen and the Ramones started out a long time ago. Dylan got his start here. Started changing the world with his music.

Tonight we don’t want to change the world, we just want to have a good time. Maybe meet a nice girl.

A quick glance in the smoky bar back mirror between the bottles of cheap liquor and I’m thinking I look pretty good with my head shiny smooth and a face full of stubble.

We’re meeting at O’Malley’s as usual for a few drinks and a few puffs. Other than a couple of old timers at the bar the place is empty. We have a small wager on a tennis match. We watch on the big screen as our man blows a two set lead and two hours take-home each.

We lose again, Abe.

My name’s Lincoln, Link to most people. Fred likes to call me Abe, especially when he’s blaming me for us losing money.

I’m usually Thinkin’ Lincoln when we win.

That was your boy, Freddy. I told you his best days were long gone. I could’ve beaten him in that last set. Get the new lines up and we’ll pick us a winner for later.

As Fred pulls up the later matches, I check my screen for messages. I see I missed one from my dad. And one from Rita. She wants to know what I’m doing tonight.

As I’m leaning back on the bar up front and looking out the large storefront window onto 7th Ave, I see people enjoying the fine dining peddled at the local restaurants. The early dinner crowd walking out, passing the late dinner crowd on the way in. People from all over the country, the world really, who’ve come to New York for what it promises. Mostly what it used to promise if you ask me. They’re living in a New York that’s full of Broadway shows and Central Park. The Freedom Tower and the World Peace Center. Tall buildings and fancy high tech autos.

And in the spaces between all that, filling the cracks and voids, is the reality of a city they don’t see. Nothing pretty. A population trying to keep its head above water.

These people drive right over the grime, cruise right by the homeless reality, never see the pain on the faces.

There was a time not too long ago when the quality of life for the majority of people was at a level that allowed for a dignified day to day existence.

There were good jobs. A government and a citizenry that had a heart. I was just a kid then, in awe of the whole thing.

Manhattan was just over the bridge, but might as well have been a million miles away. All bright lights and big city in the distance. The verve and energy flowed across the river to a warm reception in Brooklyn Heights and Williamsburg, then collided with a different energy vibrating from Flatbush Avenue and Canarsie where I grew up.

Running the streets at a young age with my friends I knew there were things lacking in my life, things wealthier people enjoyed. But I never begrudged them any of it. I was too busy enjoying my youth, the wealth of freedom and time.

I was maybe ten years old when the experts first pronounced the supply of fossil fuels were at much lower levels than previously estimated. With most financial indexes having a relationship to the suddenly skyrocketing energy costs the result was an immediate global economic depression. Slowly all the facts came out and it was worse than we all feared, until finally the experts had to admit the gauge would hit E in our lifetime. Devastation was around the corner and the inevitable breakdown of humanity began.

Today, however, improvements in electrical generation and distribution systems have resulted in substantial cost savings and the economy here has been recovering. The collapse has slowed to a stop, although at a very low level, with over half the population still unemployed and the vast majority living below the poverty line. From what I hear we’re doing a bit better than the rest of the country, and much better than anywhere else.

Now, I know something about these electrical generation and distribution system upgrades, and take some pride in helping stem the tide in our own small way. The company we all work for, CoEn, spent a lot of money upgrading the existing electrical grid and continues to develop alternate energy sources.

The recovery will be slow but there is a general feeling that the energy industry specifically, and world economy in general, is heading in the right direction.

From my spot at the bar, which is just to the right as you walk in the door, I’m watching the out-of-towners and the tourists. They have no clue what this place is really all about. What makes it tick.

I know what makes it tick. I’m one of the guys that lights up the night. It’s my job to keep all the juice flowing. At its final destination it looks pretty. Large elaborate screens flashing, fast transit, high tech. None of it works without the juice we keep flowing.

When you’re in the hole with the fiber and cable that allows the electricity to flow, it’s not pretty at all. It’s dangerous and dirty. A system a hundred years old buried underneath the streets, held together with tape and tie wire. We spend most of our time patching up and putting out fires. The illusion needs guys like us to keep it alive. So we suit up every day and go down to put back together what fell apart last night.

Anyway, what these people are enjoying does nothing for me. Fine dining with a glass of wine seems like too much trouble for very little reward.

I walk back to the middle of the barroom where Fred just found another event, a Jai Lai match. There are six screens along the wall across from the bar, with small tables, chairs and card slots. The spot is poorly lit and the bright screens pop right out at you. Fred’s sitting at a table near the end.

He likes the name of the German guy, Schlitz. He knows nothing about Schlitz, or Jai Lai, but has a good feeling.

I know a guy bets Jai Lai all the time. He says once you get a feel for it you can win on a regular basis, Fred states confidently.

Really? Who’s this guy?

A guy I know, from the Twenty Third street yard. I forget his name.

We know absolutely nothing about Jai Lai. I shake my head. We’d be pissin’ money away. Again.

Fred’s not hearing me.

It’s fifty-fifty. Either one can win the match. It’s not even about skill. The match is fixed, it’s even money either way, he says, convinced. And like I said, once you get a feel for it you can figure whose turn it is to win on a pretty regular basis.

I sit down on a stool at the bar with my back to the bartender, facing Fred, and respond, So you figure we need to start betting now, with a fifty-fifty chance, and our odds will improve the more we play?

Exactly.

Brilliant.

He doesn’t even sense the sarcasm. Never does. I need to lay it on a little thicker I guess.

I’m in, twenty times. I finish my beer.

After he swipes the card, we have another drink. Tonight it’s rum. I like rum, gives the night a rebellious vibe, like we’re pirates. Shots of rum with cold beer chasers.

I walk back up to the front, sit down at the end of the bar with a view through the two doors wide open onto 7th Ave. It’s a cool November evening with a slight breeze blowing.

It doesn’t fit that New York City should have a natural, cool autumn breeze. Seems like it should be artificially generated and delivered, for so much per cubic feet per minute, by one of the extra-large utility corporations we have around here. I’m a little surprised nobody has thought up a way to charge for cool breezes yet. Watching the branches in the two small trees out front swaying, it feels real. Nice.

I watch the older couple leaving the small café across the street. As she buttons her coat, he hails an UbrLift and in a minute they’re gone.

Moving from point A to point B is what it’s all about.

In this city, you can finish dinner downtown and you’re having coffee with dessert uptown in a matter of minutes. Very accommodating. Helps you feel like you’re enjoying your evening, your life even.

Keep moving because where you’re going is probably better than where you are.

As I’m sitting there looking out through the doors, here come Steve and Joe. I’m ready to go and glad to see them.

I’ve known Steve since he first started at CoEn, our crews had worked together on a few projects and we became good friends. We’ve been working as a team for about a year now. He’s a good mechanic.

Almost as good as my last partner, Paulie.

But Paulie’s dead.

Going in a hot hole without making sure it’s down can do that.

So now I work with Steve. We do our job, no hero bullshit. Take our time, do it right and go home. Steve’s newly married and rarely gets a chance to enjoy hanging out with the boys.

Gentlemen! Steve grins ear to ear as he and Joe take off their jackets while looking around the bar. Whoa! This place is dead. How long you been here?

Got here about eight. We’re way ahead of you boys.

Yea, Steve says, Joe had to stop off on the way over to drop off a pair of shoes. Don’t ask.

Joe shrugs, orders a beer and says, My brother had to have them back for a wedding tomorrow.

Hey Joe, I have an idea. Why don’t you buy your own pair of shoes you cheap bastard? Fred laughs while getting up to go to the bathroom. Joe says something under his breath I can’t hear.

Drink up quick then we’re out of here, I tell them, getting my jacket off the back of the chair.

We’re heading Uptown.

When gambling became legal in the Uptown area and the halls first opened my parents would go once in a while for a night out. My older sister Gen would be charged with watching me. I was eight or ten years old. I mostly remember reruns of Harry Potter shows and popcorn. She’d let me stay up until I fell asleep on the couch under the orange and blue blanket mom had knitted years before.

Our house in Brooklyn had three bedrooms upstairs and a bathroom we all shared. Family time was watching TV down in the basement Dad had finished himself, complete with another bathroom and room for a pool table.

The first floor had a living room we used when company came over, a dining room and kitchen. The backyard was small and Mom would spend a good deal of time out there gardening, reading, and hanging the laundry out to dry. I remember our block had lots of trees and parked cars up and down either side of the street.

Looking back I’m sure at first the trips Uptown were a rare treat. After a while Mom started enjoying it a lot more than dad. She began taking the train into the city with some friends or even on her own if she had no one to go with. Dad and Gen called it bingo. I didn’t understand why she’d leave us all so often. Sometimes she’d be in the kitchen the next day when I got up and I would notice she was wearing the same clothes as the night before, talking loud about how much she won, but most times she’d be very quiet. She and dad would be sitting at the kitchen table not saying a word when I walked in ready for breakfast and Dad would call me buddy.

Hey buddy, how about some bacon and eggs?

Mom would be smiling a very sad smile, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee while Dad and I finished wiping up the yolks with whole wheat toast.

Dad had suffered some long nights waiting for Mom to get back from Uptown. They said she liked to play bingo at the hall, but you don’t lose the house playing bingo, and that’s what happened.

It’s difficult to remember details, but things got worse progressively. Dad kept up a fairly good front, and Mom developed a very powerful denial so that by the time we had to move out of the house it was somehow acceptable and nothing to be worried about.

Our new neighborhood took some getting used to. We were moving into an apartment building development, a crowded cluster of eighteen and twenty story buildings.

Gen and I would be sharing a room so when we moved we had to figure out a way to decorate and arrange the bedroom furniture to be fair to both of us. I understood Gen was older and had a lot more stuff than I did, and I insisted that we leave all my stuff behind and I sleep on the couch so that Gen could still have her own room.

To this day I still play a very good victim.

I remember moving day Dad drove and I was in the middle between him and Uncle Jim. Dad borrowed the truck from work. It was used to deliver the office furniture to the jobs my dad worked on. From the truck down in the courtyard we spent the day loading the elevator and taking it up to our new apartment on the sixth floor, number 602, and unloading.

I remember thinking how strange it was that they let us drive right up the walkway with the big panel truck.

The courtyard was mostly an open space paved with concrete, a few metal benches and some trees spaced out near the edges toward the sidewalk. I wondered how the trees survived with no grass around them.

Our twenty story red brick apartment building was right in front of us. The first floor windows were covered with expanded metal security screens. There were security cameras mounted at every corner.

The overall aesthetics were similar to the detention facilities I’d seen on TV.

Uncle Jim and Dad worked together at the furniture installation company. He was not a real uncle, just a very close family friend. After the move we saw much less of Uncle Jim since he lived in the old neighborhood and then soon after moved to New Jersey.

We sold or left a lot of stuff behind. I cried when they took the pool table. They didn’t even know how to get it out of the basement without banging it off the walls on the way up and out.

Our new apartment door opened into a living room with no windows and when you walked in it felt closed in and cluttered. Through the living room turning right there was an outsized opening to the kitchen straight ahead. A small table up against the right wall had four chairs on three sides. An overhead light fixture was in the center of the ceiling. The refrigerator, sink and some cabinets were along the opposite wall. Looking into the kitchen there was a window directly ahead with the same drapes we had in the old house. And security bars, like on all the windows.

Down the corridor Mom and Dad’s bedroom was on the left, then on the right the bathroom and our bedroom, mine and Gen’s. At the end of the corridor there was a closet door on the left where we kept winter coats, holiday decorations and the ironing board when it wasn’t out.

When we finished moving in and settled down our old furniture was familiar, otherwise our new home was all foreign to me.

I made friends pretty quickly in the new neighborhood. I didn’t like staying in the small apartment and would go out to play each day as soon as I got home from school. I spent every day outside that first summer. I made friends quickly, and pretty soon we were playing stickball out front, basketball in the school yard. Or we’d change it up and spend a day playing handball or two hand touch in the park nearby. In the winter for some reason most of my friends wound up gaming in our living room.

It was a tough neighborhood and a lot of the kids wound up going down the wrong road. I was a fairly good athlete and lucky enough to find a group of kids that were into sports. This and the fact that my Dad kept popping up around the neighborhood, just to see what we were up to, kept me out of any major trouble.

When I got to high school I joined the baseball and football teams. Even made captain for both. Looking back, playing sports didn’t get me any major league contracts, but did help me stay in school.

I lived with my parents and then just Dad after my mom was gone, right through college.

For me Uptown never disappoints, probably because I don’t expect much. For one I don’t gamble Uptown. I’ve seen the potential for damage. I have no expectations of hitting the jackpot. It seems to me you start messing around with the halls Uptown you’re gonna get sucked dry, and I work too hard for my money.

And I don’t go there looking to drink too much. It’s way too expensive for that. That’s what O’Malley’s is for.

No, when I’m out I like to have most of my fun talking with some of the young ladies I might meet. I wear a nice outfit and with some basic grooming I clean up good. But I have no illusions in regards to romantic relationships, with no interest at all in any long term commitments. At the end of the night I’m happy to head home alone. This attitude seems to appeal to most of the women I strike up a conversation with.

I do have a genuine interest in just getting to know people, nice young ladies included. I like to be around positive people who know how to enjoy themselves, really know what they want and happy with what they have.

I remember one night that started off with three very wealthy young ladies stepping out of a stretch Bentley and Joe just saying hi. I overheard one of them tell Bruce, the driver, to be back by two to pick them up. By midnight we were all downtown doing shots and Bruce had quite a hard time locating us for the pick-up.

No one got hurt and we all had a good time. Like that.

However tonight feels a little different. Maybe it’s because Rita and I are not getting along. We just met three months ago. Not even at the exclusive dating stage yet. So why am I stressing?

Whatever the reason, I was feeling a little anxious as we took the train Uptown. Fred was passing around