Or, could it?
Did the doctor have toothpicks in the office? Mel started crawling towards the bathroom, then she remembered that the medstat had needles. There. One needle was in the medstat's hand even now, and she was lucky she hadn't stabbed herself with it. Mel circled the machine.
Each medstat carried a tiny box at its back, full of tiny metal pieces in various shapes. Meliora was unnatural, she noticed such things. She peeled the box's cover with a nail, and gripped the needle firmly in her fingers.
Years ago, when the humming interfaces had first become widespread, Mel hadn't liked them. Mom finally abandoned her typing interface and adopted the hummie, saying that it was easier than the speech interface and that she could finally look natural. Mel liked typing, though Mom said it was absolutely unnatural for children. Mom pleaded with Mel to start humming, even shouted at Mel, even threw her computer away and told her she wasn't getting a new one until she learned to hum.
Mel learned. But she didn't learn only humming. Her new computer had no typing board—and how did you type without one? So she learned to open her computer, though no one ever did that. She learned how to press tiny parts with a toothpick when no one was looking, and to make the computer produce exact words. Humming could not do this. Humming took the words from your mind and spat out something else. A toothpick—or a needle—was different. With a toothpick, the computer really understood you. Sometimes, with her fingers on the computer's warm metal, Mel thought she could even feel the computer understanding.
The medstat, the cookingstat, the servingstat, the door—they were all computers. They could all be talked to, just not necessarily in a human voice.
By the end of brightlights, Mel got treatment for her wounds, drank water, ate, and even slept.
Yet, the door didn't obey her. Neither did the windows.
Mom continued sending chatty, silly messages, and so did Mel's friends, even though Mel had stopped writing altogether.
Great-Granddad Nicolas had talked about praying to gods. Mel found an old article on the interweb and read about them.
"Gods, can I ask you to make my enemies let me out of here?" But it seemed too much to ask. She wasn't sure about this gods-thing, somehow. Gods seemed no more reliable than hummie interfaces.
Mel continued working on the computers.
She had no success with the door and the windows. They seemed to be made differently from her own computer and the medstat. They lacked the correct parts to press with a toothpick or a needle, and she simply could not talk to them, no matter how much she tried.
But Mel had one more computer. Earlier, when she had been sad, sick, hungry, thirsty, and confused, she had entirely forgotten the gift of the two Nicolases.
She took it out of her pocket. It had a typing interface, and it looked strange. Just a bit strange. She could not initially tell what was different about it.
She didn't dare type words into it. She didn't want Eryn and whoever else tracked her messages to know that she had this computer at all. Yet, she must read what was in there. Young Nicolas had deemed it important. The information might lead to him, and it might lead out of Meliora's prison.
Of course, no information could exist on an individual computer. It was all on the interweb, free to find, but you had to have the right tags and bookmarks. Otherwise, the interweb was way too big to find anything you sought.
She rotated the computer in her hands, then sighed and inserted the needle into it.
A piece of metal fell on the floor, ringing like a tiny bell, and Nicolas' computer blinked. Mel stared at the piece, then stared at the lit screen.
All computing devices had such a piece—her own computer, the medstat, the cookingstat, the servingstat, the windows, the door. The sizes were different on the different computers, and the shapes weren't entirely the same, but it was the same piece. It usually did nothing when you pressed it with a needle or a finger—and who would have thought to detach it, to break something only to see what breaking would mean?
No one natural would have. But one who would stop the interweb might.
Right now, Nicolas' blinking computer could not send messages or receive them. It showed an image on its screen, yet it could not access the image's interweb feed. The image was of two snakes, animals that only existed in the feeds and wonderful experiences, biting their own tails and linked together like two pieces of a chain.
The computer was disconnected from the interweb, yet it had information to show. It was unlike anything Meliora had ever seen.
Now, she understood. Any computer with the interweb piece still attached could be controlled from the outside. And, if the computer didn't have some physical interface attached as well, it must be controlled from the outside. That was how you locked someone in.
The door—that computer controlled from the outside—suddenly swung open. Meliora had a second to memorize the image, and another second to roughly insert the needle into Nicolas' computer with trembling fingers. This computer must die. They should not see it. They should never read anything stored in it. Nicolas wouldn't have wanted them to. She didn't want them to.
***
They were Doctor Eryn and a man Mel didn't know.
He was big, though pumped muscles weren't currently in fashion. He had long, wavy brown hair and a soft-looking long brown beard. His eyes weren't narrowed like Doctor Eryn's. He looked kind, but Mel didn't believe in strangers' kindness any more. She drew back until there was a window behind her. She was breathing heavily again, clutching Nicolas' dead computer and her living one in her hands.
He was so big, so heavy. If he slapped her, it would be worse than Eryn. Mel clutched the computers more tightly. She'd shoved the woman at the Lucastan intercity train station. It was unnatural, it was bad—so bad that yesterday she hadn't even thought of shoving Doctor Eryn. Could she shove that man? Could she hurt again?
Eryn was smiling that nasty smile of hers. The man was smiling, too, a better smile. Right. Facial muscles. Happiness. If he reached to hit her, she could shove the dead computer into his mouth and twist his facial muscles. Perhaps that would bring him unhappiness and make him weaker.
The man stepped towards her. She pressed her back to the window. In the old feeds, windows could break. But not here, not now, not in the Lucasta she knew.
He reached out, and she cringed. If she removed a part of him, would he, like a computer, become disconnected from the world? She could kill a computer, but how did you kill a human?
"Don't be afraid, Meliora." His voice, too, was kind.
Her breathing was even faster, and her heart was beating so fast that the medstat wheeled towards her.
"No, I don't want a relaxation shot. No, medstat."
"It won't listen to you." This was Doctor Eryn, smiling. Mel ran to the opposite corner of the room. The machine followed. She ran again.
"Don't run. You can't run away. Stop the machine—if you can. If you can't—let's say that what it has in that shot might make you a natural. Forever."
"Stop the machine, Mel!" the big man shouted.
The medstat grabbed her with a metal hand, its other hand shooting towards her with a needle.
Mel shoved the hand and leaped aside. The medstat grabbed her again, and she fell on her back. It leaned over her. The needle seemed to grow bigger as it neared her face.
Mel rolled aside. She jumped with her last bit of strength and threw herself at the medstat. She straddled its back with both arms and legs and scraped its back lid open. Her fingers were clumsy. Perhaps she broke the machine because it gave out a high-pitched, wailing sound. There was sweat on Mel's forehead, sweat on her hands. The delicate metal of the medstat's insides was slippery beneath her fingers.
The machine screeched, its light blinked fast—fast, faster, faster—it shook in Meliora's hands. Then, its lights faded.
Mel fell to the ground. From there, she stared at the still metal. She knew that, like Great-Granddad Nicolas and young Nicolas' comp
uter, the medstat wouldn't wake again.
The man was suddenly very close to her and put his arms around her.
"I helped it die," she sobbed against his chest, while he clumsily patted her hair. "I broke it so that I would fix what you've done—so that you wouldn't break me—it didn't want to die!"
"Oh, so you think you know what machines want now?" Eryn again. "They want nothing, fool. But you do—and obviously you want to be unnatural. There is punishment for this."
"What punishment?"
"It is all right, Mel." The man frowned at Eryn. "Doctor Eryn, stop that, please."
Eryn grinned. "Appease her all you want, Theodore, but she's not yours only. They're all mine, as you well know. Even though she won't be a real doctor."
No doctor?
"Here." Doctor Eryn thrust something into Meliora's hands. It was a box that had been on the table in the office. "Bandages. Antiseptic pads. True, we left you no food or drink, but we left you those. You couldn't even figure out how to use them. You have read old articles, all right, but obviously not the doctoring ones, or at least you didn't care to remember them. You would rather tamper with machines, instead."
"But you can be another type of doctor, Mel," the man said. "You can be, like me, a Doctor of Computers. I am Doctor Theodore 0x12A15308, by the way. My interweb address is TheoData."
"Humph," Eryn said. "Whyever this is also called a doctor."
Eryn must be the man's boss. He nodded at her words respectfully, then proceeded to ignore her. "You had several options to heal yourself, Mel. You chose to do it through a machine. This past softlights period, and even now, with the medstat, you demonstrated that you can, if you want, come work for LucastanComputerEnterprises, Inc. After training, of course."
"I can come sell cherry computers in the mall instead of being a doctor?" It didn't sound very attractive.
The man laughed. His laughter was soft and warm. "Oh, no, Mel. You can come do the real stuff."
"Humph," Eryn said again. "Regardless, you'll have to pass through me, too, girl. A Doctor of Computers is a Level 2 job, just like a real doctor. You'll need skills that everyone at Level 2 needs, no matter their position—inept as you are in acquiring them. Oh, and by the way, do send a message to your mother, I am tired of messaging her for you."
Mel did, and Mom answered.
Mel looked straight at Doctor Eryn. "Is this a message from my real mom?"
"Yes, Mel," Theodore said.
Eryn laughed. "Yes. For now."
"Doctor Eryn," Mel said. "I hate you."
Eryn laughed again.
Mel sent a new message. Mom replied that she'd begun to worry when Mel hadn't written for two hours, but two messages had made her happy again.
Happiness is important, Mel my dear, don't forget.
I won't forget, Mom, Mel wrote. She meant it.
The computer was shaking in her hands, and she knew that she'd never, ever again neglect to message Mom like she'd done in Annabella. She'd never allow others to take her away from Mom—or take Mom away from her.
Academy
They told her to board the first brightlights train to southern Lucasta on the next day.
"Which train exactly?" Meliora asked. "There are ten different train tracks, which means ten possible routes to the south, and that number of routes is only if you don't change the train and track on the way."
Theodore roared with laughter. "Observational precision! This is exactly what we need!"
Really? Was this a good thing? A few days ago, Mel would have kept that knowledge to herself. No one remembered train tracks and train routes. They just hopped on a train, any train, inserted their money card in the slot and pressed the button on the screen for where they wanted to go. They received the information for times and transfers on their computers and, if they got lost, there were always the train employees to press the buttons for them, and the LucastanTransport, Inc. feed.
"Humph," Eryn said again, the ugly crooked smile back on her face. "It is unnatural, girl. Never forget that—UN-NA-TU-RAL. But figure out which train it is, since you're such a know-it-all."
They left her. When she got home, she hugged Mom so hard that Mom's breathing stopped. Mel put her on a soft armchair, and the medstat rushed to her. Mom had become pale, but the medstat fixed her up.
"It is all right, Mel, my dear." Mom laughed. "This, of all things, is not unnatural, you know? HarrySteR4539 just messaged me, saying that if, at my age, I didn't have such weakness spells, that would be unnatural."
"He might be wrong, Mom," Mel said quietly.
"Oh, dear, why would he be wrong!? Mom is not unnatural, dear, certainly!" Increased heartbeat. The medstat hovered close.
"No, Mommy, of course not. You're as natural as could be." Mel patted her hand. Mom smiled, her eyes jumping between Mel, the screen and the walls as usual. She hadn't messaged for about half a minute now, so she started messaging again.
"Have fun, my love," Mom said when Mel was about to leave. "Be happy."
"I don't know when I will be back home, Mom."
Just write to me, Mel, all right? That was a message, and Mom was humming, eyes jumping between her many virtual screens.
***
Mel rode her bike to ten different train stations. She bought a ticket everywhere, and everywhere she pressed the destination button for the most southern train station she knew. Indeed, there was more than one. There were four, you could draw a line through them if you had a giant stylus. Mel had had a stylus in the early days of school. They used to teach children to draw in those days, when it wasn't yet clear whether or not the hummie interfaces would take off, but by the time Mel was eight the drawing interfaces had disappeared completely.
Mel selected the most central station of the four. After she had ten different tickets, she compared the ten sets of instructions on her computer.
Yes. One particular train was dominant in all of them. Just to be sure, she rode her bike to the train stations again and bought tickets to the other southern destinations.
Same train, appearing in thirty-six of the forty routes. At brightlights, Mel took it.
When it reached the most central southern station, Mel remained in her seat. She never had. People never did. You got off where the ticket told you to. If you wanted to travel again, you bought a new ticket and obeyed its instructions.
Two people, lingering after the rest, looked at her strangely. She looked back at them, and the girl looked quickly away, while the boy kept her eyes for another moment.
I... Well... @Meliora12535, can you please tell me why you're not getting off? It was a message from the girl, who was still humming.
The boy looked at the girl. Mel had a feeling that he'd received a similar message. The girl wouldn't look at them. Her eyes were jumping around just like Mom's, just like everyone's. But she hadn't gotten off the train, and she could match Mel's address with her face many minutes after Mel had introduced herself.
"You will both be doctors of some sort, won't you, @Adelaide4253 and @Ivan529?" Mel said.
Ivan looked at her again and nodded.
Yes, Adelaide wrote. So, what do we do from here? They only told me to take train 42145 to the south.
"Same with me," Ivan said.
"They didn't tell me which exact train to take," Mel said quietly.
The girl was humming and twitching. The boy returned Meliora's gaze and also looked at Adelaide, then looked away out of politeness. He certainly had ACD, Mel thought, perhaps even stronger than hers. Not only could he watch something for a long time, but he also talked with few words.
I should perhaps get off, Adelaide wrote in a shared message to Meliora and Ivan. See you later.
"Don't," Meliora said. "We don't get off, any of us. They wanted us to catch a particular train. Stay here."
A minute later, the train took off to the south.
***
Fifteen minutes later, the train entered the intercity semi-darkness. Five min
utes after that, Mel watched Adelaide and Ivan sit closer together, both hunched, pale, watching the bare walls outside with wide eyes. So, if they had been to another city at all, they had slept. But why was Mel surprised at all? Everyone slept.
Mel sat on the fluffy red seat across from the two and watched them and the bare walls outside.
Adelaide had even forgotten to hum. Mel wondered how the girl would take it when she remembered and noticed the intermittent interweb connection. Mel herself was glad she'd messaged Mom while the train had stood motionless in the station.
Minutes passed, and the interweb connection was very bad. Mom would be worrying by now.
"How can they!" Mel jumped from her seat, startling the others into jumping from theirs. "They don't have the right to worry her again!" She strolled down the isle between the rows of seats.
The train must have a computer, too, like the door and window at the doctor's office—like anything—and Mel had had enough of others harming her through the machines.
She strode into the next empty wagon, and the next. The wagon where she, Ivan, and Adelaide had traveled had remained semi-lit, but these wagons had a much lower intensity of light. It was too dark, darker than softlights time, darker than Great-Granddad Nicolas' house—darker than anything. But Mel wasn't afraid. Not at all!
Meliora, where are you, what are you doing? A message from Adelaide. The interweb must be working again. Mel stopped and sent a message to Mom.
Meliora, come back. That from Ivan.
Why? she wrote to her two new friends.
Because this is where the light is.
A message with no sender. Mel could not even reply. The train wheels stopped clattering, and she went back because the interweb was working again.
The moment she entered the lit wagon, she was slapped so hard that she spat blood again.
"Doctor Eryn, please, what is this about?" An indignant voice—the boy, Ivan.
Eryn slapped him, too.
"You don't argue with my actions. Ever. Any of you. Is that clear?"
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