Forge Netting 7: A Fallen Palace

The Palace of Lies was a memory bar – when they discovered that most of the memories were accessible certain entrepreneurs started to capture and steal memories from peoples heads and sell them to others.

There was a certain irony to the fact that it was cheaper to buy someone else’s memories than it was to pay for your own to be restored. Brain chemistry messed with; neural pathways diverted. When the Memory Men came for them and tried to fix them now they had a whole bunch of added extras for problems.

The War On Amnesia as it came to be known was both a war against disease and a fight againt the wilful embrace of forgetfulness that some people engaged in.

The Forgetful began to organise – some of them having learned how to operate out of their aberrant states of mind. They began to strike at the Memory Centres (those havens of remembering that had grown from the Diary Bunkers). The happiness they felt in their blankness was not wanted; was marked to be wiped out.

Ruebeau was, he thought, a much different person than he had been when all this started. No one knew how long ago that was – well, no one in the ranks of the group he was a part of anyway. A memory-free world had seemed such a strange concept to people before it had arrived … but here it was. No longer was day upon day strung together in a causal chain that stretched back through time; now people existed in separated moments, each decision a set adrift island in a haphazard stream of time.

He knew that they had been chasing him for an age, that they somehow figured he was some kind of pivotal figure in this whole situation. He didn’t get it himself but he thought that it would be nice to understand it all one day, maybe. But until then he would have to keep running.

He had seen his pursuer; he had filled his memory sphere full of idents, and this one was set off a lot – at least the recog-count told him that.

He lifted up the insert tube and placed it under his tongue, began to imbibe others memories. A hunger that might never be sated; a strange hunger to have given how he had arrived where he was. A king for a day in the palace of lies.

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