Unnaturals (13 page)

"But I haven't learned everything!"

Eryn shrugged. "Perhaps not, but keep in mind that no one can learn everything there is. And don't ask me questions now that you have already asked Jerome." She met Meliora's eyes and held them. Then, she sighed. "Even I don't know everything, and I certainly don't know everything he knew. Get out of here now, Doctor. Go tell your Mom and your friends. Come back later to talk to me and Theodore. You have many options to choose from now."

"But..."

"I
told
you. You can't learn everything. But if you have somehow missed learning this by now—know that you're no longer just an unnatural. Now, you have your own place in this world. You contribute—you're useful and necessary."

But this is not the only reason I stayed
.

Still, it affected her. Her position
had
changed in the world. Adi and Ivan had also graduated. The three of them spent time together, talking, laughing, and for a while no one was even looking at screens. They remembered how they had come a year ago on the southern train; Adi and Mel remembered the "
I am lonely
" messages they had sent each other. They hadn't sent any in months.

"I am to go back to Lucasta and inherit my old doc's office," Adi said. "She wants to come here and teach for a while." Adi laughed. "I don't know how Doctors Lara and Eryn will get along. I heard that there are six new recruits coming, twice our number, so both Lara and Eryn will teach People-doctoring, but Lara is so much nicer than what Eryn was when we came. There will be a discrepancy. Poor kids, if they only get one of the Doctor of People teachers."

"Poor kids if they get Eryn, you mean." Meliora said.

"Oh, no, Mel, I mean what I said! They need both the nice
and
the bad! Remember what I once wrote to you? The doctors were teaching us how to be different. It is not enough just to
be
different, Mel. If you're to be something at all, you need guidance. And, for this, you need both the nice and the bad. Just one wouldn't do it."

"Like we had Theo and Eryn," Ivan said. "One wouldn't do. Theo is going to Annabella now. Can you believe it, he met a woman from Annabella on the train—her name's Cheryl—and they want to be mates. They weren't even selected for each other by the corporation. Theo said he looked into the matching database himself and thought there wasn't a problem. He's a bit foolish, you know. He wants
her,
and he doesn't want to find a problem. If it were me, I would've let the corporation make the check. That's what they are here for. They are objective."

This was more talking from Ivan than Mel had ever heard in one go. But Ivan was happy. He was getting Theo's place, and even a person who preferred to spend his time with computers sometimes needed people to pour his happiness on, especially if he'd shared hardship with them. Now, Ivan would work on projects in the Academy and teach. Mel could teach with him if she wanted.

"I wonder, in such a case," she smiled, "which one of us would be the bad one, and which one the nice."

Adelaide laughed. "You're both nice."

Adi herself was talking more than ever. She still preferred to write messages. She'd told Mel that before she came here she was afraid to talk because she thought people wouldn't like her. They would like her now. These days, people liked their doctors. They even liked them more than a year ago.

When Mel went to Lucasta to see Mom, with a medstat of her own wheeling alongside her and keeping a watchful eye on the people in the train and the street, Mel felt it, too. People's millisecond-long looks of trust and relying, before their eyes snapped back to their computers, were warming. A little boy fell with a bicycle, and the momentary smile of the mother when the medstat treated the child, before she turned back to the dresses in a shop's window, was warming.

Her own Mom's smile was even more warming.

"You made it, my Mel! They didn't break you! Oh, Mel, I am so proud of you, I will write to everyone now! You know—they like the Erika address a lot. I've gotten so many compliments about it, even more than for my new blouse and computer. See how small the computer is, Mel? It can fit on my fingernail, I swear, but for the screen! Oh, Mel, I do need to go the mall to have my nails done. Let's go together, all right?"

"Of course, Mom," Mel said. And, for once in her life, she went to the mall with her mother and did a lot of silly things with her that she usually wouldn't care to do at all, and was happy.

Choice

Meliora's happiness lasted a whole day. The next morning, she woke up in her mother's house to her mother absentmindedly ambling through the room, silent, her computer abandoned on the table. When she saw Mel, she gave her a weak smile, and her eyes stayed on Mel's face for long. Too long.

"You know, Mel, my love," she said, "have you ever wondered where the trains go after they reach the last station?"

"They go back, Mom," Mel said quietly. "The same trains service the same stations, every day. They go back."

"No." Mom was wriggling her fingers and pacing. "No, there must be something else, Mel. A place. You're a doctor, Mel, don't you know?"

No,
Mel wanted to say,
not at all. Get your computer and start messaging, Mom, get those train notions out of your head right now
.

"I know, Mom," she said instead. "I know the place. It is where people go to die—to leave forever."

"Ah." Mom stopped pacing. She sat into a chair and took her computer into her hands, but then she played with it without truly looking at it, without humming.

"I think I should write to my friends and tell them that I am going," Mom said. "But for some reason I don't want to write. Will it be unnatural to write, Mel? None of my departed friends ever wrote to
me.
"

"Write something natural, Mom.
Be
natural—why do you want to go anywhere at all? Write about your new computer. Let's get you an even newer one today, Mom, how about that? The thoughtmotion interfaces are to be common now, you won't be unnatural if you have one, so lets..."

"You know, Mel, I don't even care if I am unnatural any more. It must be old age's freedom. Someone wrote to me about it—I don't even remember who. I just think I should go one of these days, that's all. And I don't care about messaging anyone right now. They can live without my messages. Why do we message each other so often, anyway?"

"But
I
can't live without your messages—I can't live without you! Get a grip on yourself, Erika!"

"Oh, Mel, my sweet..." Mom hugged her, patted her back, and Mel put her arms around Mom's shoulders. Mom was thin. Not fashionably thin, even though currently thinness was all the rage. Too thin. Brittle.

"Medstat!" Meliora shouted, and the machines wheeled towards them, both the house's medstat and Meliora's. They hovered close, waiting for instructions. The machines didn't know by themselves what they should be fixing; they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Mel silently stood up and walked to her old room and her bed. There was an old, dead computer beneath the mattress, and she took it in her hands and watched the screen for a long time.

It was blank. The picture of the snakes was long gone. The computer could tell her nothing.

A reminder, I just need a reminder. This, it can give me. Old Nicolas said that young Nicolas wasn't dead. Old Nicolas told me about the City of Life
.

The cleaningstat would have thrown this computer away long ago if Mel hadn't forbidden it. Perhaps even the repairstat would have tried to repair something that spent such a long time in the house broken but not thrown away. It had done this once, when Mel was six and she and Mom had forgotten to throw away an old musicstat when they bought the new one. The new one, of course, deactivated the old. But no. That was ten years ago. Things changed.

Mom's current repairstat was four months old, and it hadn't repaired anything for the time it had been here. Less and less was repaired these days. You used, you threw away, you bought new. Even Theodore hadn't wanted Meliora to try repairing the medstat she'd broken in her doctor's office last year.

"It has done its job," Theo had said. "It has served well. There is no need."

Mom had done her job. She'd served well.

"I know that someone is watching," Mel whispered, staring at the wall.

"So, know this. Don't try to stop me. Don't stand in my way, for I know what parts to disconnect or push in order to cause train crashes. I can use any computer in this city—even a cleaningstat will do—to turn off the Academy medstats at immaculate conception, early-age baby care, rejuvenation treatment, or the death chamber. I can reach out into the databases you keep about people, and mess them up so completely that thoughtmotion and hummie interfaces won't work again for at least ten years. Do not stop me. I mean no harm. All I want, since you wouldn't tell me how to heal my mother from young age and probably don't even know, is to take her away and find another way."

"Let's go, Mom," she said when she was back in the other room.

"What?" Mom raised her head from her screen. She was humming again and her eyes were jumping around normally. It didn't come at once. Mel knew it didn't come at once. But there was no turning back now.

"Go where, Mel? For the new thoughtmotion interface? Wait, I'll order a new skirt to go with it first—I'll order it on the web, and then we can pick it in the mall with the new computer. Wait! I'll order one for you, too."

"Not now, Mom."
And perhaps not ever again.
"Mom, let's go to the last station together."

***

She knew where each city's Academy was and what train to take and where to get off for any of the four. She also knew where the Art Schools and Business Training Centers were, or how to get to the underground factories and farms. As a new, fully-fledged doctor, she'd been told.

The door she'd seen on her train ride from Annabella to Lucasta on the day Great-Granddad Nicolas had died didn't lead to any of those. Neither had that door been on any of the monitors she'd watched during her training in the Academy.

"We are going to a new city, Mom. Yes, I know you've been to all four, but there were other cities tens of years ago. There is still the City of Life."

Mom got on the train with Mel and Mel's medstat, smiling in a way she hadn't smiled for years. It was the smile of indulgence you gave to your little child when she wanted something silly that you didn't want to give her but still did.

Mom must be thinking that she could go to a new city today, all right. They wouldn't have Lucastan thoughtmotion interfaces, but they'd have blouses, at least. Perhaps the blouses would even be fashionable. Foreign cities had such strange fashions sometimes.

Mel watched her message stuff like this to her friends. Then, she stopped messaging and stared at Mel.

"The last station," she whispered. "You should not be coming!"

"Now, Mom, am I a doctor or not? I know better than you."

"You should not be coming!"

Heads turned in their direction on the train; messages came to them both, asking where they were going, and why the mother wanted to go without the daughter. Would the daughter care to go shopping with the three girls right there at the three front seats, instead? The medstat could come, too. The girls were laughing at something, their eyes jumping, jumping, jumping between virtual screens. They had sent the message a moment ago, but perhaps they'd forgotten it already.

Mel wrote back to everyone, using the hummie this time, because all the while she was patting Mom's hand.

She had to message them. She'd told the watchers that she meant no harm; she wouldn't risk the people on the train becoming distressed by accidentally learning about the final leaving, or even by communicating with an unnatural. Some might wonder about it all for a whole two seconds, and where could that lead?

Perhaps to train crashes, Mel thought—to anything, basically.

"We won't be sleeping," Mel said at the intercity station. "I am a Doctor."

No questions asked. If was so different from the first time, when a newly-made adult had tried to argue with a nice lady. It
was
good to be a doctor. There were different ways to be unnatural. You could be a freak to be cured, or a figure of authority to be heeded.

In any case, she was giving it all away because other things were more important.

Out in the semi-darkness of the train, between the bare stone walls, Mom started crying. She was curled into a ball on the fluffy blue seat, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"It is dark," she said, many times, almost chanting—almost singing as a musicstat. "Oh, it is so dark, Mel."

Mel had no time to comfort Mom. She needed the train's computer, so she took Mom by the hand and almost dragged her to the front part of the wagon. She didn't dare to leave Mom alone on the seat, even with the medstat. The medstat wheeled silently beside her.

"Someone wrote to me," Mom said softy, "that once upon a time you had to pass through darkness in a boat. You had to carry a coin, to pay the boatperson, and then you went to a place where it wasn't dark but was gray and gloomy forever."

I like the tale with the singing children better
.

"This is a train, Mom, not a boat. It is going to a different place." Mel didn't even know what a boat was, but it was all right. Mom didn't know, either.

Mel removed the cover of the train's computer and reached for the buttons inside. The train's screen had been blank, but now a message appeared on it, with no sender. It was the picture that she'd seen a year ago in Nicolas' broken computer.

And, below the picture,

If you leave now, Meliora, you cannot come back.

I knew that already,
Meliora wrote.
Farewell, Academy. And farewell, City of Happiness.

She stopped the train by the door and programmed it to continue to Annabella immediately after she and Mom had gotten off. There were people sleeping on it, waiting to return home or to visit a new city. Then, she took the stylus of the door's ancient drawing interface and sketched the entwined snakes biting their tails.