Albert sat on Zema’s veranda watching the sunrise in the distance through one of Lushthyme City’s outer most Ghost Sectors, and half listening to Ralph and Zema talk. Albert often thought about what his grandfather had called the Found Things: the Old Cities with their Ghost Sectors, the hovering monorails that cris-crossed the continents (and ran through unexplored wilderness), and the numerous dams most of the rivers on Trinexious poured through. All remnants – proof according to his grandfather – of some lost culture the Trinexiouns had dubbed the Elder Race. Looking at the tall, reflective, metal and glass buildings of the Ghost Sector stretch into the sky, Albert could almost hear his grandfather telling stories. Stories about how he had explored the Ghost Sectors of several Old Cities in his youth. About the men and women who had died in the empty mysterious structures. Each hoping they could discover an advancement for all Trinexious. Stories about a time before the Ghost Sectors were deemed unsafe, and exploration was no longer sponsored by the governments and universities.
The stories were intended to warn Albert, but instead they had awakened the need to be aware of the world around him.
Albert had spent his early childhood in an Old City, and had seen how people had renovated and re-purposed the Elder Race’s smaller stone buildings for their own use: installing new power sources, and remodeling interiors by adding superficial walls, floors, and ceilings. Each one to five story building was open to anyone before being claimed by an individual. However, no other attention was given to the Found Things. Children were taught in primary school that they were dangerous. Most people avoided them.
Albert rubbed the faded scar on his left forearm without feeling the smooth depression that broke the otherwise labor toned skin. He always repeated the unconscious motion when thinking of his birth family. One of the worse beatings he had received from his father was when he had said that the glyphs on the old buildings were interesting. Albert had been six. But instead of making him afraid of the Found Things, he chose not to believe the superstitions that held sway over most Trinexiouns.
(Even Ralph refused to sit on the side of the train that looked out at the monorail when the tracks ran in sight on one another. He paid higher fares to have a seat way from the thing he didn’t want to understand.)
Albert pushed his thumb into the smooth depression, and thought, not for the first time or the last, that willful ignorance concerning the Elder Race was a somber error.
Albert looked back to Ralph and Zema. They were still talking about the Plague. He had hoped the conversation would turn to the usual re-counting of growing up on the farm. Albert had been hired onto the farm when he was eleven. Ralph and Albert had become friends, and shared many memories of events and adventures.
But, like the rest of Trinexious, Ralph and Zema couldn’t relax, couldn’t laugh, couldn’t not worry.
“It can’t be that wide spread. As far as I know William is the only victim in Thurvi Province,” Ralph said, not remembering Doctor Trian.
“No one knows how far or how many,” Zema said. “We hear new rumors everyday. The radio reports numbers of confirmed cases every evening, and the numbers keep going up. It seems like everyone knows someone effected, even if it is their third cousin’s, best friend’s, sister’s, seamstress. And worst of all is the rumor that families have stopped coming forward. Just yesterday the radio reported four comas were found just laying in a ally in Old Lushthyme. No one living near claimed them as family, or even admitted to knowing who they were.”
Ralph rubbed his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. He stared straight ahead into Zema’s kitchen through the glass door.
Zema’s hand twitched like she would reach for Ralph, but she picked up her drink instead.
Albert had never seen a gulf like that which separated Ralph and Zema in that moment. His chest felt split, divided at the sternum, each claiming a half. “Comas? Is that what the sick are being called? As if they’re no longer people?”
Zema looked at Albert. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it. Yes, the radio called them comas. They didn’t have names. The radio and the new papers never give names. Only numbers of comas.”
“At least you get new information here in the city,” Ralph said. His voice squeaked and rasped. “The Thurvi Province News keeps going on about us being an infection free zone.”
“The doctors and researchers don’t even know if it is an infection, or if it’s something else. And now that William is officially an early victim those reports will have to be amended, or the radio station could face government annex,” Zema said.
Albert and Ralph looked at each other and shifted in their seats. Ralph clenched his fist. Albert’s shoulders pulled back, and he stretched his neck to one side.
The sun broke the top of the tall buildings in the distance, and shone into Albert’s eyes. He raised a hand to block the light.
Zema smiled. “Time to get ready. I’ll drop you off on my way to work. My office is in a different building across campus.”
“Do you know anyone from the program we’ll be dealing with?” Ralph asked.
“Not really. But I’m sure you’ll know them well before it’s over.”
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