Daniel Xonedu. 71.206.373.672.
The Global Record. Friday, October 16, 2128
Methinks I get the stench of a monstrous rat.
All through the early days of last week the web was ablaze with a frenzied to and fro of official documents as, one after another, medical facilities logged their reports about the extraordinary phenomenon that appears to be spreading in the manner of a bush-fire across the globe.
From Houston, to St. Petersburg, to Christchurch, physicians have been recording a rash, if you will pardon the pun, of identical symptoms afflicting their male patients. Tens of thousands of cases, all displaying indistinguishable pathologies. I described the symptoms in this column last week and you will excuse me if I cannot bring myself to do it again.
The traffic on the web had built to a veritable crescendo and then, all of a sudden, by last Wednesday evening, the deluge had drained away. Literally, not one trace left. No rogue bits or bytes to be scavenged that might give evidence to the lie.
All searches resulted in nothing. Nada. A great inexplicable void. No subterranean blogs. No hacks. No interference. Lo! The great delete button had been pushed in the sky .
Next thing we can expect they will be playing rousing marching tunes over the airwaves. Cheerful images of ruddy-cheeked workers will be broadcast nightly into our living rooms to stir the blood. (Or is blood even a permissible word any more?)
Meanwhile all channels of global information have filled with the disturbing news from the Mediterranean front where the bombardment continues. Muter noises are emerging from the barren fronts in the Middle Eastern enclaves, perhaps because that area continues to be largely uninhabitable since the time of the Second Holocaust and journalists are loathe to be assigned there. Nevertheless, the hardy tribesmen who roam those wastelands spend themselves just as easily as the next man. No advance in technology has yet rendered flesh and bones immortal.
My neighbour recently took the shuttle flight to New York, to sign off on some tricky unfinished business with a former wife. He tells me that life in the old metropolis appears to be surging along in its fashion . The tubes, the streets, the airspace – all continue to be a seething colony of commerce. Apart, that is, from one unusual sight. Stretched along the sidewalks outside clinics and hospitals, he tells me, are lengthy queues of men, young and old, mute and slump-shouldered, waiting to be admitted into those halls of knowledge, hoping for some cure, some explanation as to what it is that ails them.
They are protected by heavily-armed platoons of the National Guard, as are all plague carriers. Giles tells me that the thing has even been named. The name is whispered in lobbies. The Dissolution and The Rememberment.
Don’t forget where you heard it first!
Daniel Xonedu. 71.206.373.672
Retired Colonel of the Northern Armies
Retired Professor of Divinities, Princeton University