An enclave dedicated to the preservation of memory. It did not advertise itself – wasn’t safe to do that kind of thing these days. A suggestion of immunity – it would have the great unwashed up in arms.
‘How do they even know they’re suffering from a degenerative disease?’ asked Styron.
‘Same as everything else,’ said Bugler – ‘They have the paper records, don’t they? If the powers that be could bring themselves to go and burn some books and trash some papers the problem might evaporate in a few generations, but they won’t. Some sentimental fool believes that they are entitled to hope of all things.’
‘Hope? What use is that? Doesn’t disappointment kill them?’
‘Well, of course, slowly – it has to. They have Rememberers, glorified diarists, who keep the history for them, and they are a repository for hatred and anger as much as anything else.’
‘Hatred?’
‘Yes. There is The Conspiracy Theory to blame for all that.’
‘The conspiracy theory?’
‘Yes,’ said Bugler ‘There is a story that the thing was designed, and that it was released at strategic points which they had been mapping for years with the release of less harmful diseases onto public transport, and through nightclubs, and vaccination centers, so that the spread of it was guaranteed to be most efficacious. They wanted to get as many people infected in as short a time as possible – so the story goes.’
‘How do you know all this? I never found any of it in the archives before, and I have read around.’
‘You’ve been looking for data on The Vague?’
‘Yes.’
‘That isn’t within your remit, is it?’
‘No, neither is this conversation, is it?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘But you didn’t answer my question.’
‘Oh, how did I know so much about all that? I was a Rememberer, one of the best. I had immunity, which you obviously know, as I am here. I was one of the first to flee and one of the first to help build this sanctuary, and I still remember with absolute certainty, the notion that if the government had found out that such as us existed they would have wiped us from existence.’
‘You sound like you knew them well too.’
‘Oh yes, Styron, I knew them well. I was one of them.’
‘What do you mean, you were one of them?’
‘What I mean is, they would deliver these packages to offices like the one where I worked (which I ran), and we would walk into these public places, and we would make sure that the pathogens got well distributed.’
‘Oh, my God!’
‘You seem surprised – a lot of the men and women that I worked were immune, and that is why they were chosen for the job they did. It was trial and error, and in those early days we were all taking a gamble. You’re a result of the program too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ah, maybe another time my friend. The hour for Remembering and Recitation are upon us.’
‘Thank you,’ said Styron.
‘For what?’ said Bugler.
‘Talking to me.’
Styron smiled. Bugler was young, and he did not yet know how dangerous talking to someone was. Bugler’s memory was full of reading, not life experiences; experiences which knocked you around until you came out the end another shape than you were when you went in. This world was divided between those who remembered, and those who had been forced to forget against their will. Styron knew the camp he stood in, but he remembered more. Yes, he remembered more.
vaguecarrier 