Daimones
Of Gods And Men
The weather changed in the next few days, and it rained a light but persistent rain. I gave up my forced schedule of visiting technology sites as the hope to meet with the entities there was slim. After all, nothing supported the hypothesis that they favored those places rather than others. In the end, the plan was just a wild shot in the dark. It could-or it could not-bring any results. Mary and Laura agreed that, if everything was as I told them, it was more probable for the entities to get back in touch with me rather than the opposite.
Spending those nights at home was good for the morale, especially when daily visits to CERN and checking for contacts via email or via the Facebook ad campaign had produced nothing. Life at home had a pleasant and regular flow made up of looking after daily chores, caring for the vegetable garden, and maintaining our efforts and commitment to create occasions for whoever could still be alive in the region to get in touch with us. And staying together. Pure and simple.
Laura's pregnancy had been uneventful so far, and she was able to keep up with the regular pace of our scouting activities. Sometimes, it was a casual outing, just to stay together. We visited places we didn't know before and took lunch with us to spend the day outside. The world was magnificent that summer. Daylight at our latitude lasted quite long; bed time came when it was still bright outside.
We didn't mention the entities at all those days. The grief and the sadness were almost forgotten: We had all we needed, and more than anything else, we had each other.
It was only after the end of June that I resolved to go to Lausanne and visit the EPFL. Maybe it was simply due to a full recovery of my moral strength. Everyone kind of agreed with the decision: In everyone's mind, the belief that the entities were not a danger had grown somewhat stronger.
On the evening chosen for the plan, I left home around 9:30pm so as to arrive about an hour later at the laboratories when the lazy night had yet to fall and I would still have a bit of lingering twilight before dusk. I drove toward the highway, not knowing what I would find there; so far, we had only traveled on local roads from one village to the other. Yet, I didn't expect the Lausanne area to be any different from that around Geneva.
Five months of urban and road management neglect had started to leave a trace. On the highway, the vegetation separating the lanes invaded part of the asphalt, and the shoulder had become a growing culture of weeds, low plants, and shrubs. Untreated asphalt cracks widened, and green timidly spotted an otherwise dark gray cut in the countryside scenery.
There weren't so many vehicle wrecks on the highway, whi<