by K M Frost
Rick touches one of the upright boxes in wonder. “What is this?”
I shrug and peek behind the desk, but there’s nothing there.
I look around the rest of the room with a frown, but it looks like this desk is the only thing in here, with its odd sleek boxes.
I’m about to leave the room when a low humming fills the air.
I turn around in surprise and a little fear and see Stewart stepping back quickly from the desk, his hands tucked behind him and a guilty look on his face.
Leah steps back, too. “What did you do, Stew?”
Suddenly the upright boxes blaze to life, with words that light up the room. It’s unnerving, but there’s something almost familiar about it. The tickling in my mind intensify until I almost can’t focus on anything else.
“What . . . is this?” Rick’s wide eyes flick between the illuminated boxes in awe.
Before I can even think, I hear myself answer him. “It’s a computer.”
Everyone looks at me in surprise, but though their stares make me self-conscious, I know I’m right. I have no idea what a computer is, but I’m absolutely sure that’s what we’re looking at.
Rick turns his attention back to the computer and frowns thoughtfully. “Hmm . . .”
There’s a chair in front of the desk. He tugs on the back and it rolls out obediently. I’ve never seen a chair that rolls before.
Rick hesitates, then sits in the black chair, facing the computer that’s still flashing words soundlessly. They are going too fast for me to understand, but Rick looks like he’s actually making connections.
But when he starts to toy with the flat box with the letters, I reach out a hand to stop him.
“Wait. I don’t think we should mess with this stuff. I mean, reading books and opening boxes it one thing, but this . . .”
Leah steps forward with a huff. “Yeah. I mean, do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Nope.” Rick shrugs my hand off calmly. “But, I don’t know . . . I . . . I feel like I know what to do, even though I don’t remember.”
Normally his sentence would make no sense, but I think about the persistent tickle in the back of my mind and the odd, distorted memories I’ve seen since coming to the Clinic (at least, I assume they’re memories), and I find myself stepping back to let Rick continue.
Leah rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” Then she leaves the room, wandering back to whatever she was doing before.
Stewart looks like he plans on staying for a while, but I have other things to do.
Now that I’ve found my parents, I want to take a look around the room Stew found—the medicinal one. I didn’t get a very good look before, and I’m curious what else is there.
I cross the main room and find the storage room unoccupied. I wonder, as I begin to sift through boxes, whether Leah is looking at the guns or the books.
I understand this room a bit better than the others we’ve found. There are names I recognize on the boxes—bandages, disinfectant—and there are some I don’t know, but I understand—anti-swelling, pain-relief.
I think of the humble first aid kit in the bathroom back home. I used to think we were pretty well prepared with that kit, but now, seeing all there is to have, I realize we’re not as prepared as I’ve always thought.
Then another realization dawns on me.
I grab anything I think might help, then I run out to Abby’s bed.
She’s thumbing through a book, a stack of other books next to her, but she looks up when I get close.
“What’s wrong, Jonas?”
I dump my gifts on the blanket beside her with a grin. “I found some things that might help your ankle.”
Abby’s face lights up and she quickly sets aside her book. “What are these?” She picks up a bottle and studies the label.
“Medical supplies. There’s pain reliever there, something for swelling, and some other things too.”
Abby looks up at me, eyes shining with gratitude, but before she can say anything, Stew calls out from a back room, and Rick echoes him.
I hesitate to leave Abby, but I know I should see what’s happened.
Back in the computer room, Rick’s still sitting in the black chair and Stewart hasn’t moved from his spot, either.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” Rick’s voice is tense, and he’s pulled his hands away from the letter-box. “I was trying to get my bearings—there’s so much information in this thing. Then there was this beeping noise and that showed up.” He points at the middle box, where a consistent message is flashing:
Merging programs . . . Merging programs . . .
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rick shrugs, just as clueless.
Leah folds her arms impatiently. “Well, figure it out.”
Rick hesitates and then turns back to the computer and begins to toy with the letter-box. While he taps the letters carefully, he talks to us over his shoulder.
“You can talk to the computer by writing messages with this box.” He nods at the sleek box with the letters. “You press these keys and the letters on them appear up here”—he points to the middle box—“then you press the bigger key, it sends your message to the computer, and it does what you ask.”
“So what did you ask it to do?” Leah’s words are mocking, like she’s not taking Rick seriously.
Rick ignores her attitude and keeps tapping on the letter-box. “I wrote about the sleeping people. I asked what they’re doing here and how we can help them. Then it started beeping and that message appeared.”
I stare at the words on the middle box. Merging programs . . .
Leah scoffs. “So you wrote a question to the computer on a . . . a board with ‘keys’, and you expected it to answer, like it was a person?”
Rick tosses her a look, but it’s more stubborn than irritated. “Yes. I did exactly that. And the computer did respond. Just because I don’t know what it means doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“What are you doing?” I peer over his shoulder to watch his fingers depress the letters—or the keys, as he called them—with increasing confidence.
Letters appear on the middle box, in time with his keying: What does merging programs mean?
He taps a finger against a bigger key and the middle box blinks, almost like a lightning-strike, and though the merging programs message is still there, another message appears on the box on the right. But I can’t make any sense of the jumble of letters and numbers.
I read the message several times, but it’s pure gibberish to me. I glance at Rick for help, but he looks as confused as I am.
His fingers hover over the letter-box as he tries to decide what to ask next.
Leah snorts. “You’re wasting your time with that board with keys and that computer. It won’t do us any good.”
Rick tosses her an annoyed look. “Well it’s my time, and I’m going to waste it how I want.” He turns back to the computer with a huff.
Leah rolls her eyes and wanders from the room.
Stew leans closer as Rick begins to compose another message.
He watches Rick’s fingers with fascination. “Is that true?”
“What?”
“What Leah said about the key-board.”
A jolt goes through me at his words, and I see Rick experience the same shock.
Keyboard, I repeat silently, and the itching in my mind flares up to an almost unbearable intensity.
Rick’s eyes look distant for a moment, and then he shakes himself. “Keyboard, huh?” Absently, his fingers drift over the keys on the letter-box—the keyboard. Then he blinks and seems to remember what he’s doing.
I watch him uneasily.
When it was just me getting these odd snatches of blurry memories I could almost convince myself it wasn’t really happening. But now Rick’s experienced it too . . .
I don’t know what it means, but it leaves me with a disconc
erted feeling.
So does that message, still flashing on the middle box: Merging programs . . .
Chapter 9
Monday morning came much too soon; my weekends were never long enough. And with everything happening in the Reality Dreams, school seemed so trivial. But I still rolled out of bed and forced myself to get ready for the day.
It was the same routine—get dressed, eat breakfast with Ellie, pack my bag, then head for the schoolhouse. The routine changed a little when Leah met us at the crossroads, but it was a welcome change. Ellie was certainly happier with Leah there.
We made it to the schoolyard in time to hear the chime, urging us inside for our first classes. I realized Ellie and I had been running late—but Leah had waited for us. The thought made me smile, and I told myself today wouldn’t be completely miserable, even though for now I had to wave goodbye to Ellie and Leah.
To be totally honest, I knew exactly what had put a damper on my day and my mood: I had a meeting with Counselor Gerrit today, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like talking with Counselor Gerrit—actually, that part was kind of fun. I didn’t like the Counseling Center. I felt like every time I walked into that building I was admitting I was troubled—and I wasn’t. I hadn’t stepped a toe out of line since that day I’d cut school to visit Rogue, but I felt like everyone was just waiting for me to do something irresponsible and dangerous. It was draining.
Besides, when I had a counseling session, my whole day was pretty much gone. I had no time to do what I wanted to, and after a long day spent in classes and an evening filled with homework, a few minutes of free time was about all that could keep me sane.
While my thoughts drifted along this vein (totally ignoring whatever Instructor Price was rambling about) I remembered I’d promised Abby I’d come over today and we could talk about the book she’d borrowed, and maybe work a little on our presentation. If I wasn’t sitting in the middle of a quiet classroom I probably would have slapped my forehead. As it was, I just muttered to myself how stupid I was, and ignored the few confused glances tossed my way.
My session was right after school, and there was no way I would have time to get to Abby’s house to explain why I wasn’t going to make it.
When Instructor Price finally wrapped up his long lecture for History of the World and let us go to our next classes, I was still worrying about how Abby would react. I hoped she’d give me a chance to explain. Mostly, I hoped she wouldn’t react like Leah would, and bite my head off.
I wandered into Concepts and Theories, still very distracted. I didn’t even notice Instructor Reams until she stood next to me.
“Jonas. How are you holding up?”
I tried not to scowl. Holding up? She made it sound like I had some terrible disease or something.
I knew most of the instructors—and the students—had decided I was born for trouble, and was just waiting until the right moment to erupt. It hurt that Instructor Reams felt the same. I’d always looked up to the forty-something-year-old instructor, and I’d thought she had faith in me, too. I guess I was wrong.
I shrugged at her question, and she frowned.
She settled on top of the desk in front of my own and folded her arms uneasily. “Have you thought any more about our discussion from a couple weeks ago—about early Completion?”
Actually, I’d entirely forgotten that conversation. With everything that’d happened in the Reality Dreams, and then everything going on here, the whole idea of early Completion seemed insignificant; the memory had crawled to the back of my mind and gotten lost there.
Instructor Reams leaned forward. “Have you talked with your parents at all?”
I shook my head. “No. Things have been so crazy I haven’t had the chance.”
“I understand.”
Her voice was so sympathetic, I had to bite back a frustrated no you don’t!
She ignored the students taking their seats around the room and kept her intense gaze locked on me. “But you might want to at least mention the idea to them. If you’re serious about Completing early, you really don’t have any time to waste. If you work hard, I know you can do it. But you’ll have to be diligent and get started right away.”
I nodded, rather than answer.
Instructor Reams must have seen the weariness on my face, because she didn’t press me. Instead she forced a smile and moved to her regular place at the front of the now-full classroom.
A part of me was irritated with her for adding another worry to my list, but then I reminded myself she didn’t know everything that was going on in my life. She was just trying to help me succeed.
When she started her lecture—a discussion on the ideas of Igor Schol—I forced my irritation to a corner of my mind and paid attention to what she was saying.
When the chime sounded, I hurried from the room, not wanting to give Instructor Reams a chance to corner me again.
My relief at being able to avoid her didn’t last, and before the next chime marked the beginning of Calculations and Statistics, I was already counting down the minutes until I could take my break in the schoolyard.
Leah must’ve sensed something was wrong, because halfway through class she discretely scrawled a note on her tablet and angled the message toward me.
The movement caught my attention and I looked over curiously.
When’s the funeral?
I frowned at her and her sarcasm, but she raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and I knew she wasn’t going to drop it.
Glancing up the aisle at Instructor Vorez, I saw he had his back to the room while he wrote out an equation.
Cautiously, I wrote a reply on my own tablet and then shifted it on my desk so Leah could read it.
She leaned across the aisle and squinted at the short message. Real discrete.
After school.
She smirked and sat back in her seat as Instructor Vorez turned to address the class about the equation he’d written.
When he turned his back on us again, Leah tapped her pencil against her tablet to get my attention.
I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.
I rolled my eyes. You learn something new every day.
Leah grinned. Not if you spend the whole class writing notes instead of learning equations.
You started it.
I already know this stuff.
Then you’ll just have to recap for me.
Leah nearly laughed out loud at my message. She couldn’t stop a quiet snicker from escaping, though, and drew the attention of the kids right by us.
Fat chance.
Someone cleared his throat loudly.
We looked to the front of the room, and my heart sank.
Instructor Vorez frowned at us in disapproval, and my face warmed under his stern gaze. He watched us for a few seconds, to be sure we got the message, then he smoothed his thick mustache and returned to his lecture.
A few minutes passed before I dared glance at Leah.
She was grinning.
I shook my head and tried to focus on the rest of class, though since I’d missed the first part, I had trouble making sense of anything Instructor Vorez said.
Finally, the chime sounded, marking the end of class and the first half of the day. I gladly put my books and tablet in my bag and stood.
Leah was a little slower, and I waited until she’d stood up, and then we slipped from the room. When we passed Instructor Vorez’s desk, I ducked my head and Leah smirked.
We didn’t speak until we were outside, headed to our regular spot in the shade at the edge of the yard.
“So what’s happening after school?” Leah asked.
“I have a meeting with Counselor Gerrit.” I glanced over to see her reaction. Was she going to tease me about it, or was this going to be a good Leah day?
She frowned, but didn’t say anything. We settled in the shade of a tree far away from everyone else. It was much better than hiding in the tree
line like I used to do. We pulled out our lunches in silence and stared eating, but after a minute I couldn’t take the quiet any longer.
I set my food down and turned to face Leah. “What?”
She looked at me in surprise. “What, what?”
“You wouldn’t stop talking during class, and now you won’t say a thing. What’s going on?”
Her mouth twitched, but she just took another bite of her sandwich and chewed deliberately. She took so long to answer, I was tempted to nudge her. Finally she shifted her weight, though she didn’t look at me.
“I was thinking.”
“Thinking?” I frowned, unsatisfied.
She chuckled. “Yeah, it’s when you use your brain to consider things and make decisions.”
I scowled. “What were you thinking about?”
Leah shrugged. “My mom.” She tried to sound off-hand, but I could tell something was bothering her.
“What kind of things?”
She glanced at me and then looked quickly away. “Just stuff.”
I knew her mom had disappeared one day (though, she’d never told me exactly how long ago it’d been), and her dad had been accused of murdering her. That’s why the two of them had moved here to Capernia, to escape the persecution they had faced in Thyrid.
Obviously it was a sore topic for Leah, but though I wanted to be understanding and patient, I found myself gritting my teeth in irritation.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
Leah looked at me in surprise and bewilderment. “What? Think?” Her mouth quirked with a grin, but I wasn’t joking.
“You don’t trust me.”
I knew I was complaining, and I probably sounded whiney and obnoxious, but I’d had a bad day—a bad week —and this was the last straw.
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Of course I trust you, Jonas.”
“Then why don’t you ever tell me what’s going on with you? Whenever I ask what’s wrong or what you’re thinking about, you just shrug me off. I want to be your friend, but you make it hard.”