Unnaturals

by Merrill, Lynna

  It took away the guilt, too.

  ***

  On the next day she took the sleeper-train to Annabella. She didn't dream. At least, she didn't remember dreaming.

  At the station, one of Annabella's welcomers came to meet her. He was a pleasant boy a bit older than her, perhaps Nicolas' age. His name was Gilbert. She asked him about Nicolas. He smiled at her and said he didn't know him, then hummed something into his microphone.

  Of course he didn't know Nicolas. A million people lived in Annabella, just like in Lucasta. They couldn't all know each other. You could know, what, two hundred or three hundred thousand people relatively well. She'd tracked the people who could know Nicolas and contacted them. It would make no difference that she was physically in Annabella now.

  Meliora messaged her mother, messaged hundreds of her friends, told them she was in Annabella and excited about it.

  Gilbert led her to a tourist train, which would go around Annabella's most beautiful and artistic underground areas. It was different from Lucasta, then. In Lucasta tourists were taken to see the most awesome underground advertisements.

  The people on the train welcomed Meliora warmly. All two hundred tourists and their two hundred guides gave her their interweb addresses and sent her friendly messages. She replied back, promising she'd write often. This was normal with tourism. You made new friends. She asked them about Nicolas, and seven people vaguely remembered someone with his particular interweb address. They didn't know what had become of him.

  "You know, what is it that happens to people, anyway?" Belinda24511 from the city of Clementina said as the train softly started on its way. "Have you noticed that once a person has been an adult for about as long as they have been a child, they stop writing in the interweb and can't be found at home, either?"

  "They go to the city of Death," Meliora said before anyone else could utter a word or send a message, "which is the city of prisons. There people are closed into their own minds and can't access the feeds."

  "What city is that?" someone else asked. "Is it a whole city that is a theater of wonderful experiences? We have a whole mall in Sylvanna that only does wonderful experiences now. You can walk in a snowstorm now, and even break your leg."

  "Wow, break your leg! I had this at the theater in Clementina. But do you walk with the broken leg in the mall then? Can you buy stuff with the broken leg? It must be so interesting!"

  "You can't walk with a broken leg, they have to carry you—and that is its own wonderful experience, especially if you buy the hungry, emaciated, weak one before that. Or the war one? Anyone tried war? It's like breaking your leg, but stronger. My wife had to take the relaxation pills and wouldn't repeat it for ten minutes!"

  There was a doctor on the train. Before the conversation drifted away from Meliora's statement, she looked at Meliora as if she wanted to give her relaxation pills.

  Meliora huddled into her soft seat, as if that would make her invisible. She didn't even know why she'd said that. She didn't know it for truth. She hadn't even read it anywhere. It had just come out. Like her shoving from before.

  She remembered Nicolas, his pointed shouting, the sharpness in his eyes. He'd been fifteen, she was fifteen now, and the teachers said that a child changed upon becoming an adult. This must be it. She and Nicolas must be what happened when an unnatural child became an adult.

  She hated it. The doctors might say that hate was bad for you, but she hated it—she hated everything. This city, for example. It was supposed to be new to her. Supposed to be different, but taking people to so-called great art that turned out be just like an advertisement for a strawberry computer wasn't different! Neither was it different that it was the strawberry and not pear this week in Annabella, and that it was the cherry in Clementina and butternut squash in Sylvanna.

  She didn't hit anyone, didn't break anything. There was a doctor on the train, as well as a medstat, and they had pills and shots.

  ***

  She went to a shopping mall. It was a part of the new-city experience. Her guide came with her, though she'd have preferred him to leave her. He might be from Annabella, but he was nothing like Nicolas. She should not be surprised. Yet, she hated him.

  "I want to go to the mate selection store," she told him.

  "What for?" He looked a bit surprised. "Do you want a mate already?" She could have one if she wanted to. She was an adult. Usually, however, people waited for a year or two.

  "I don't. But I want to see the process before I go through it myself." Seeing this was just one of the things she thought she should do as an adult. She didn't particularly care for it right now, but she wanted to pass the time somehow, before Gilbert would take her to a hotel and leave her alone for the night.

  "But it will be a different thing in Lucasta. The cities are different, you know."

  You wish.

  "Do you want to move to Annabella? Wait till that time, then."

  "I told you, I just want to look. We are in the mall anyway, and right now I don't care for clothes."

  "We can see the shoes, they have a new design in YourFeetAreOurs, LLC..."

  "Gilbert, let's go to the mating store."

  Now she cared to go there.

  When they finally entered the store, Gilbert, so reluctant to come a moment ago, was entranced by the advertisements. There was a beautiful blonde woman on a moving screen on the wall, smiling as if especially at Gilbert, waving at him. Gilbert waved back. Even Mel was uncertain if that was a recorded movie or a real woman in the other room. The woman also waved at Mel, and Mel smiled politely.

  "Well, find me a mate if you would please," Gilbert told the man behind the counter. "I am here, anyway, so I might as well do it."

  Oh, so she'd see the real thing, not just advertisements.

  "First, do you have anyone in particular in mind, sir?"

  Gilbert shrugged, then remembered something and pointed to the woman on the wall.

  "Hmm, let's see now..." The counter man typed something on a big keyboard in front of him. Typing, Mel noticed. Neither humming, nor thoughts or emotions. It made sense. Typing was words, and words were imperfect, but they must be better than thoughts and feelings just now. Mel edged in to have a closer look. The counter man's own feelings or thoughts didn't matter, he sought a partner for Gilbert. Even Gilbert's thoughts and feelings didn't matter. Feelings were momentary, and so were most thoughts, while the choice of a partner was serious. It lasted until...until whatever happened when people stopped posting on their feeds and disappeared from their homes.

  Like Nicolas had disappeared. Or Mel's dad.

  She sent a message to her mom (again, she'd sent many from Annabella) to tell her where she was and what was going on. And, for the first time in years, she wanted, so much wanted to send one to her dad, that she started crying.

  "It's all right." She glanced at Gilbert and the counter man, then at her computer again. "I thought of something, don't mind me."

  They didn't mind her.

  Dad had disappeared earlier than normal. Even Mom had expected him to come back. He hadn't. Sometimes, when Mom absolutely needed pills, she shouted that he must have been a wrong choice. Later, she was sorry of course. It was so unnatural to think that a mating corporation could make the wrong choice for you.

  "Well, sir," the counter man said, "I have found the perfect mate for you. His name is Zoran 0x12A14656, and his chosen interweb address is Zoran35215. I will contact him for you now."

  Zoran35215 wouldn't even need to come to the mall to find a partner. He could if he wanted to, but he didn't need to. He just had to say that he agreed to become Gilbert's mate, and the counter man would register it in the interweb. He'd give each mate the other mate's physical address and set up a new address to which they would move together. Some people, like Gilbert, came to the mall to ask for a mate. Others, like Zoran, were found. Dad had asked, Mom had been found.

  "But, well, I have always thought that my mate would be a woman." Gil
bert glanced at the wall again.

  "She is absolutely incompatible with you, sir. You wouldn't be happy together, and happiness is our first goal. You can, of course, choose to ask her. I will, of course, message her for you. She might agree. But..." The man shrugged. "Do what you will, sir."

  "How about you look for a suitable woman for me?" Gilbert swallowed. He was worried about asking this question, Mel realized. He wasn't used to asking questions, but for some reason he'd asked this one. What was so strong about the woman on the wall? Emotion. A momentary thing.

  "I will do that, sir."

  "No, no." Gilbert broke down. "No, contact Zoran for me."

  "Make your own choices," Dad had told Meliora, long ago. "Make your own choices."

  "I wish you happiness with your new family, Gilbert," Meliora said, a normal phrase. Then, "I won't need your help in Annabella any more. I will explore by myself. And, no, thank you, I know how to get to the train station by myself, after I am done with this city."

  Make your own choices. If you don't, stay away from me.

  ***

  It was so unnatural, roaming a new city alone. She didn't care. She didn't message her mom or her friends.

  Hours passed. Meliora didn't even remember where she'd been during most of the time. What did it matter, anyway? It was a city, just a city. It had malls and underground trains and people's physical addresses. It had bike lanes and grass, flowers, and trees beyond the protection-fields by the lanes, birds on the trees and in the air, lights on the lamp posts and sky.

  At some point she realized she'd stopped the bike she'd borrowed from a visitor stand. She was in the middle of the lane, just standing there, staring at the sky and birds. People were going out of their way, changing lanes for her, passing her by politely. The birds didn't have to. Birds could fly so high, even higher than a flying bicycle. So much higher than people.

  She pedaled on. It was softlights time already. She liked softlights. It was more gentle than brightlights, when a huge, extremely bright light shone in the sky, so bright that the streetlights became pale, washed out, as if they needed pills.

  The old articles said that you should not look directly at the bright light, that it might damage your eyes. The new feeds didn't say this. So what, if you damaged your eyes today? The medstat would fix them for you, and meanwhile you would have had a wonderful experience without paying the corporation in the mall. What had been so different eighty years ago, that people had been so careful?

  Mel wondered if those people were all gone now, to the City of Death or whatever it was. She wondered if you still should not look at the bright light, once there.

  She pedaled, and pedaled, and didn't send a single message, which was stupid. Mom sent thirty-eight messages, each more worried.

  Well, what is she worrying about? What can happen to me that is not fixable? She is overdoing it! She can live without me for a few hours!

  Her friends sent messages, too—but if she didn't reply, they would just forget her. Mom wouldn't. In this, Mom herself was unnatural. She hadn't forgotten Dad yet.

  Mel sighed.

  Everything is fine, Mom. I saw a new friend of mine have a mate chosen for him. I am going to the home of another friend now.

  She was, though she hadn't known it a moment ago. She pedaled on. There would be rain soon. She got a broadcast from Annabella's official city feed that one was scheduled in five minutes. She got the broadcast again several times, once every minute before the rain itself.

  Mel didn't seek shelter. She pedaled on, faster, harder, the warm gentle drops that would have normally caressed her hair and face slashing hard against her.

  On, on, faster. By the time the rain was over, she was wet also from her own sweat. The following scheduled gentle warmth dried her wetness—yet, for some reason, Mel was shivering.

  Onwards.

  She stopped to eat at a FastNutritiousDelicious, Inc. place when she didn't have the strength to pedal any more. This must be hunger, she knew, though she'd never felt it before. It was a bit like a great experience from the mall. The food serving device gave her warm, nutritious soup, and she was halfway through it already, yet she was still shivering.

  The device poured her more soup and added a huge plate of potatoes with meat and cream, as well as bread. It also poured her tea. It must have decided that she needed serious nutrition. She remembered the time, years ago, when human employees would ask you what you wanted and enter this into the serving machine. The machine would apply its sensors to you only once a day to check what you actually needed.

  Everyone must eat well. Everyone must be healthy. These days, the humans in the food places only met you, greeted you, gave you their interweb address if you didn't have it already, then did their own things while the machine took care of you. The machine didn't ask you what you wanted any more.

  "I want ice cream," Meliora said, and pushed the soup away so hard that it splattered on the table.

  The machine changed the tablecloth and brought the ice cream. Meliora stared at it for some time, shivering, then asked for soup.

  ***

  She took the train to Nicolas' home. She didn't feel like hurrying any longer. No, she wanted to postpone the moment of truth—the moment when she would finally, certainly, know that he wasn't there. She wanted to postpone it as much as she could.

  But, though the trains were slow, they did arrive at their destinations eventually.

  His family had a private home. Like hers, then. This had been somewhat odd even when Meliora was a small child. Now, it was close to unnatural. Who needed physical walls between themselves and their friends? People ate together, slept together, messaged together, watched advertisements together, shopped together. Only mates slept in private rooms, away from other people. It was connected to being mates, to doing things that you would do with your mate and no one else. But you didn't need a whole home for privacy.

  Private homes were for unnaturals, and so were personal, unshared medstats and other stats.

  So, Mel expected unnaturals while the elevator gently lifted her to the seventieth floor of the home-building. She could have taken the stairs, but the welcoming device had determined that she'd had more exercise today than needed, and this time she decided to listen to a machine that knew better than her.

  She watched the people in the shared homes through the elevator's doors. Many slept, for it was still softlights time, but many played together, messaged together, laughed together. There was a couple of mates in the elevator with her, a girl and a boy not much older than her. They had smiled at her and given her their interweb addresses, but now they were holding hands and smiling at each other and hadn't said a word to her after the first greetings.

  She turned away from them and the doors and homes. She looked at the softlights through the elevator's outside windows. Moon, one of them was called, she knew from the old articles, and the many little twinkling ones were stars.

  When she stepped out of the elevator, she was faced with new, opaque doors. It was strange after passing through the shared homes. She pressed the button by door 72. "Meliora here."

  "Come in," a reply came in the same male voice that had let her come to this floor via the intercom.

  She entered. She screamed.

  "Nicolas! Nicolas, is this you!? Nicolas, what did they do to you!?"

  The creature with the male voice laughed.

  "I am Nicolas, all right. But I suppose I am not the Nicolas you're looking for."

  Nicolas

  Nic

  Old Nic watched the young girl edge back towards the closed door, slowly, tiny step after tiny step, a look of horror on her face. He was used to it. Few people ever came up here any more, but most looked at him just like this, and most ran away. He was a kind man. He opened the door to make it easy for her.

  The girl stared at him. He stared back. She stared yet harder and didn't step back any further. She held his eyes for a long, long time, so long that it could mak
e an old, broken man weep. He didn't weep. He didn't want to frighten her more. He was a few feet away from her, but he could hear her heartbeat.

  He closed the door again. The lights in his home were dim. It was semi-dark now that the bright light was no longer streaming though the outside shared corridor. The girl blinked, then slowly she stepped towards him.

  "Tell me, please," she said. "Tell me the truth. About everything."

  He laughed again.

  "Even I don't know this, child."

  She inclined her head. "I am not a child. I am already an adult."

  "Yeah. Right. And I am Prince Handsome." He pointed towards a sofa and, when she sat, handed her a chocolate. "You seem to need this, child."

  "The FastNutritiousDelicious, Inc. serving device decided that I needed soup."

  "Take a bite, it will do you good." He grinned. "It will make your teeth fall out like mine."

  She looked at the chocolate with suspicion, then, in the same way, at him. "Is this a new wonderful experience, then? I am not sure I would like it. I don't usually like them." She carefully bit off a piece. "It is delicious."

  "It sure is. Don't worry, child." The old man heard his voice grow kinder. "Your teeth won't fall off yet. And if they did, they would fix you up. If you wanted them to. If you were willing to pay the price for our perfect world."

  "What is the price?" The girl looked at him again, and suddenly there was something in her eyes that stopped him from calling her a child again. "For some reason—Nicolas—I know that you're not talking about money. Did you pay the price? Is this why you look like this?"

  "I didn't pay it, Meliora. I didn't—which is why I look like this."

  "You're Nicolas' dad, aren't you?"

  "No. I am Nicolas' granddad."

  The girl's eyes widened. "Dad of the dad or the mom! But how? Nicolas must be seventeen years old. You should have disappeared long ago, when he was two, three at most!"

  The girl stood, rushed towards him—for a moment he expected her to grab him by the elbows and shake him so hard that his arthritis would make him scream. She didn't. Children were polite these days, they didn't touch without permission. People were polite—beautiful and polite. She just stood before him, watching him as if shaking him with her eyes.