I’ve made a correction in ast entires. I’d been typing Light Sphere when I really meant Lamp Sphere - it’s been corrected. Also, I corrected a statement about Marcus’s accent in yesterday’s post so that the way he speaks is at least a little more sensical.

Word Count: 20,061

“You don’t look fine,” Marcus said. “Why not come into my storage rooms and rest? There is a bench you can sit on that I brought in just for this sort of thing. I insist, please come and sit down.” Marcus put his arm around Graham’s shoulder and led him to a back room filled with boxes. In the corner of a room was a small wooden bench that matched the rest of the building. As soon as Graham sat down in the bench, he spotted on the ceiling another odd light fixture akin to what he’d witnessed in Vanessa’s home back at the border, and was tempted to reach up and grab it once more. Looking at his blisters in silence, his mind wandered, and he knew that Marcus’s hospitality could not go unrewarded. Graham stood up and ran to Marcus, who was about to exist the storage room, and forcefully spun him around. “Don’t leave yet.”

“What? Why not?” Marcus asked.

“I need to tell you something – I mean, there’s a reason I’m in your store,” Graham began. “I don’t know if you care or not, but this place, this country, wherever I am, is not my home. I’ve never seen any place like this before, and I… I need a guide; I need someone to show me how to get home.”

“Well,” Marcus said, “any one of my maps will show you the way home if you have a compass, which I can see you do in your pocket, so if you would like to buy one I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting back wherever you came from.”

“No, you don’t understand – it’s not like that. I’m lost in the sense— well, I don’t know how I’m lost. Where I come from things are different. It’s hard to explain. It’s like I’m on another planet. Your maps say Talos, but I’m from Earth. Where is Earth? Are these fake maps? Where on Earth am I?”

“The maps are not fake, and I’ve never heard of Earth. Listen, sir, you clearly are not all right. I can take you to the nearest mental health center so that you can recuperate your senses, if you’d like. I’m sure the caring staff there would love to hear your tales of this imaginary world.”

Graham wanted to shout that his world was the imaginary one, but didn’t want to offend his only possible believer, if Marcus would ever believe him. His profession dictated that he probably would not – one who spends his life charting reality must be a firm believer in it. But Graham was far from giving up. “No, I’m perfectly sane. I was knocked unconscious, I don’t know whom by, and when I woke up I was here. Not here, but miles away, in front of the border patrol’s house. They told me to find you when I asked where I was. I’ve never heard of Alteria, or Gorom, or the Oceanic Confederacy.”

“Ah, amnesia…” Marcus whispered.

“No!” Graham said, becoming destitute. “Just leave. I’ll deal with it on my own.” Graham paused, mulling over his current situation. “I have no money, though, and would appreciate it if you could, if you could be so kind, lend me a map.” Graham looked deep into Marcus’s eyes and searched for a soul within that would spare him the map. After a full minute’s silence, he’d found it, and Marcus shrugged.

“You’ll be giving me this map back, yes?” Marcus was incredibly reluctant.

“Of course. In due time, my friend,” Graham said, extending his arm to shake Marcus’s hand in agreement. Marcus shook, proving that Talos’s customs were similar to what he knew on Earth. This gave Graham great relief; he wouldn’t have to assimilate, though perhaps, he thought, the customs were similar because he was really in that coma. He pinched himself, as if this futile act would be enough to wake him from death’s slumber, and a hit a nerve, causing his whole body to jump and Marcus to look at him strangely. “Ah, sorry about that. Just excited about the map.”

“Well, you rest here and I’ll go get you my most comprehensive pamphlet. It has local and world maps. It won’t take you everywhere, but it should be good for most traveling. Where do you intend to go?”

“I don’t know. I might have a clue once I’ve got the map.”

Marcus left to fetch the pamphlet, and returned with a thick, folded piece of parchment. It looked brand new; the edges of the parchment were a vibrant cream color and upon it was fresh ink; Graham recognized the smell and texture of the ink from the typewriter’s ink ribbon back in Curie’s writing room. “Here you are, sir. Now, if you’re going to return this, I should at least know your name—”

“James Graham. Just call me James.”

“James Graham? That is quite a name there. I wonder if it is the amnesia…”

“I told you, I don’t have amnesia.”

“Well, you must be lying, or not know that you are sick. Nobody in this country has been named James Graham for decades, ever since a man by that name invented the Lamp Sphere. Do you remember what those are?”

“Lamp Sphere?” To satiate Graham’s quest for answers, Marcus pointed up the ceiling, where the strange light fixture glowed brightly, almost blindingly with pure white light. “Oh, those. I saw one of them back at border patrol. They had one.”

“Just one? They really should put more funding into border patrol. I cannot survive anymore without at least three Lamp Spheres spread across my house. If you’ve never seen them before, they are truly a marvel – arguably Talos’s greatest technological achievement to date. We are all proud of Mr. Graham for his service, but the government wants to ensure that there is only one James Graham to avoid confusion. We do not name our children James Graham, even if their surname is Graham! That is why it is strange that this is your name, because it cannot be your name, unless you are over sixty years old, which you are not. And even then, the government of Alteria would have asked you to change your name to something else.”

Graham continued to stare at the Lamp Sphere. It was securely fixated in a brass stand, hanging upside down from the ceiling. From a distance, it looked just like a light bulb, but Graham could tell that the technology on the inside what completely and wholly different than its Earthen incarnation. He desperately wanted to rip it from the ceiling and examine its contents, but knew that Marcus would never oblige. He’d have to somehow buy his own, and if the number of Lamp Spheres Marcus owned in his house was any indication of their price, they were still expensive – toys for the wealthy and for business owners. Graham could picture these Lamp Spheres all over Alteria in only a few decades, but didn’t feel like staying to find out if they’d become that much cheaper.

Nodding to Marcus in fascination with the man’s spiel, he lifted himself from the bench and took the map, which was comparable in depth to a small atlas. Opening it up, he realized that it was arranged most cleverly like a book, and as it unfolded there appeared a large world map on the parchment’s backside. His eyes immediately moved from the island continent of Alteria westward to a large patch of land that he’d spotted before – Lanford. Lanford easily dwarfed Alteria, and most other countries on the map, and noticed that the capitol city of Lanford, Lanford City, wasn’t too far from the western shore, where its pollution could easily be swept overseas to Alteria, specifically the Oceanic Confederacy and the border patrol.

That meant there was high technology in Lanford.  Either somebody or a whole group of people was producing products in factories on a grand scale, or every home in Lanford City was a wasteful pollutant. On Marcus’s map, Lanford City was drawn as a giant target with seven concentric rings. Before Marcus could leave a second time, Graham inquired about Lanford City: “Why is this city here,” he said, pointing to the target symbol, “so large?”

“Ah, that’s Lanford,” said Marcus, “one of the largest cities in the world. I have drawn it that way because of its structure. I once visited Lanford and was astonished and inspired by the city’s construction. The city itself is split into seven districts, each one inside the next. That is why there are seven rings, and that is why I have drawn it so on my map. James Graham, you astound me – first you do not know about the Lamp Sphere, and now you tell me you’ve never heard of Lanford City! Sheer madness, I say. Perhaps you truly are not from Talos.” Marcus laughed, his plump figure rattling with his laughter.

But Graham was ignoring the man’s laughter, thinking only about Lanford City. In such a large city there might be somebody who could relate to his predicament – or, better yet, provide him a means to return to Earth. It was this that Graham prayed for, for looking around the rest of the map he could see no city on Talos as large and poignant as Lanford. Gorom was a tiny speck on the massive continent of Alteria, and the border patrol building wasn’t even marked. Marcus had drawn in major rivers, but no major roads. Graham realized, after observing this, that he wasn’t sure if Talos had any major roads at all. He hadn’t seen any roads on his trek to Gorom, and surely hadn’t seen anything but a beaten path outside of the village gates.

“Thank you so much for this, Marcus. I know where I need to go. I’m going to Lanford.” Graham put the map in one of his pockets. Even folded up it stuck out, creating an uncomfortable scratching against his skin as he moved his body to and fro. But while Graham was proud of his discovery, Marcus looked at him with disbelief.

“You cannot just ‘go’ to Lanford, James.” Marcus adopted a somber look. “It is expensive, but atop this the Lanford government has placed restrictions on Lanford City. It is not the nation it used to be, and neither is Alteria. Do you have identification of any sort? You must if you are in this city.”

Graham, reluctantly, knew the answer to this. “No, I don’t.”

“How will you find your way across the ocean without identification? Who will allow you to cross? Go as you are, and you will be a moving target for the knights.”

“The knights?” Graham said.

Marcus sighed. “There is too much you do not know… perhaps you are better off not knowing. You must have met with several knights before you entered Gorom. I do not know how or why they allowed you to pass without identification, but you are lucky. If you try to arrive in Lanford that way, you will be detained, and this is certain. I can get you identification and citizenship in Gorom, and it won’t take even a day. By tomorrow, you can be off on your way to Lanford. Stay in here for the night. It is not much, and is certainly not comfortable, but I cannot put you in my house or my family will ask questions.”

Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, then ripped off a small piece of the sheet and began writing on it, then shoved the paper back into his pocket. “Just a memo to myself,” he said, smiling. “You can get out of here, but if you want to leave Gorom you will need your identification. Come back to me tonight, and I will have what you need to get to Lanford.”

Graham, puzzled, asked, “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because anyone with your name, even someone who only claims to have that name, and is still alive, is not an average man. And when you, the extraordinary man, find that what I have done for you in the future has helped you survive, then you will come back and thank me. I dedicate my life to this work – extraordinary men use my maps, and then they come back for more maps. I am sure you will be back someday, for something.” Marcus pulled the slip of paper back out of his pocket. “You should get going. I will see you when it is dark.”

When Graham exited the cartographer’s store he could already see signs of the setting sun. Marcus walked down the road and disappeared behind a corner, and Graham went in the opposite direction, taking in the sights of Gorom – what little there was to take in. He had not walked far before running into the stone wall that bordered the city. As a result of this border, he noticed that buildings were crammed together, and could not properly explain why the city was walled in the first place. The wall itself was surprisingly clean; there wasn’t a trace of graffiti or vandalism. In fact, everything was sparkling and pristine – the brass that bordered the cement sidewalks was, through whatever foul weather Gorom must have experienced since its inception, as if it were brand new. Buildings made of steel and brass shone with the same brilliance they must have the day they were assembled by so many workers, and roads carried with them not a single tire track.

This cleanliness was both strange and eerie. Who was keeping the city so clean?

Buildings became progressively fatter closer to the center of Gorom. As Graham walked the line he continuing looking for imperfections in the brass, in the steel, in the brick and wood that carved the image of the city, but found none. Everything was flawless, perfect – everything in Gorom seemed flawless and perfect, unlike where he’d come from; unlike home. Back in suburbia, everything broke. Friends moved away, family never moved closer. Dirt was not only a physical entity but also a metaphorical manifestation. Gorom was a sparkling paradise the likes of which he had never seen before. All of a sudden he was jealous.

Busy pedestrians passed him by in fluffy clothing that, after wearing it himself for several hours, Graham actually found to be quite comfortable, the only exception being the small pockets that failed at properly housing his Talos map. Although several knights roamed the streets, this was no different than home – police were everywhere, waiting in their cars for felons to make the first move.

Often times, felons were the last to make the move, and it was the cops that sprung first. Graham expected the same situation here, but never once was he stopped during his entire trek across Gorom.

He took the trolley back across town, nearby the entrance. It was getting darker; street lamps lit up early as a testament to the late James Graham’s brilliant invention. Once again, Graham wished he could take one off of its pedestal and rip it apart, if only for the sake of doing so, of satiating his curiosity about the technology in this world, if technology it could so be called. Yet there was no time; the setting sun indicated that it was time for him to return to Marcus’s shop and receive whatever the materials were he needed to gain entrance to Lanford. The trolley was perfectly punctual, and arrived right on the half hour as always.

As the sky dimmed further, it passed by blazing red and orange, royal violet, and even a flash of green before resolving to a peaceful black. The stars were clearly visible, and although Graham could not make out a single constellation he still felt oddly at home underneath these stars, which were never visible back on Earth due to the intense light pollution.

The sky was certainly refreshing, and only with great reluctance did he give up the sky to enter Marcus’s map shop. Marcus was waiting for him at the front desk.

“Ah, you are here,” he said. “Come, come over here and sit for a moment. I will show you what I have to give you.” Graham sat down on a chair Marcus had placed in front of the desk. On the desk Marcus dropped, hastily, three slips of paper, each about the size of a standard check: a green slip, a white cardstock with red lettering that required a signature of its holder, and a deep maroon slip with black lettering that was barely visible. In addition, Marcus placed a credit card-sized dog tag with Graham’s name on it and a twenty digit number sequence onto the desk.

Pointing to the green slip Marcus said, “This is a district residence card. It proves that you belong to a certain district in Lanford; you do not have to live in Lanford to belong to one of its districts – what color you are is determined by income. The white slip is nothing you need to worry about; just sign it and carry it with you always. The dark red slip is a midnight pass, and without it you will not be permitted to walk around Lanford in the hours after midnight. Now this,” he said, lifting up the dog tag, “is your master identification. If everything else should fail, this has your identification number engraved upon its surface. You will need it, I am most certain. Everybody in the world has one of these identification numbers, so you can be sure yours is unique – if you lose it, it is tied directly to you.”
Graham felt overwhelmed, but not by the identity information – by the thought of traveling overseas on a false identity, an identity created in another world for one specific purpose. For all intents and purposes, Graham had become a life that had sprung from nothing, an anomaly in the world of Talos that was beyond unexplainable. That left only one question: “How did you gather all of these identity cards without me to verify myself?”

“Ah, that’s my secret,” Marcus said. “I’m sure you have plenty as well, so we are all balanced out, yes? Take the materials, please. Now listen well again – the green card will grant you ‘free’ access to the air ships, but free is just what they say to mask the terrible conditions on the ships. Be ready to huddle close to travelers who do not have the money to pay for a first class ride.” Marcus began bunching all of the slips together and handed the final stack to Graham, who hesitated to take them. “Go on, take!” said Marcus.
“I’m worried,” Graham said, “that these ID’s might get me in trouble. Are you sure they’re legitimate? I don’t want to take something that’ll get me arrested.”

“They are legitimate. Let me say, off record, that you are not my first customer in this particular business.” He cracked a grin, which slowly grew to extend from ear to ear. “Now, it is getting late. You should rest here and leave in the morning. The trolley will take you back to the Gorom exit gates, but that is not where you need to go. A locomotive runs from Gorom to the air ship port. Ask anybody about it; tell them you are a tourist as you told me. Everything will work out fine, so long as you follow those instructions. Now, off to sleep with you.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head in satisfaction. Graham, more worried than ever before, took the slips of paper and dog tag and relocated to the storage room, where he suffered through a perfect, dreamless sleep.