still, disease must be eradicated."
"I thought it was eradicated, more than eighty years ago."
He inclined his head, watching her. "Mostly. Not entirely. Not yet. But no one dies from disease any more."
"No, only from the cure." She intuitively cringed, but the doctor didn't hit her, didn't tell her that she was due her hours in a dark room with a hard floor.
"Of course they die from the cure!" he said. "This is how it should be—and that, too, is people's own choice."
Own choice?
"Doctor Jerome, who programs the medstats that work the vials and do gene selection?" Meliora asked. "Theodore doesn't even know about them, does he?"
"He doesn't. He doesn't need to—he could have been shown that they exist, but he hasn't demonstrated a desire for it. Lucasta's needs, and teaching our new recruits, occupy Doctor Theodore enough. Those medstats are programmed by Doctors of Nature who are also Doctors of Computers, like you will be. Like I am."
"So, are we going to program them today?"
"Not today. Today, we are on a tour. You'll get your turn to work on immaculate conception, don't you worry about that."
He wouldn't even let her into the room with the vials.
"And I won't let you in there later, either. Or anyone. We program the medstats, girl. They touch the cells. We are too clumsy and too dirty for that—and for tens, hundreds, thousands of years, humans, just like animals, have consistently been making a mess out of having babies. Immaculate conception, I said."
She watched the screens and the medstats' work for some time more. She saw vials and liquid and color—but no semblance of babies.
Later, when Doctor Jerome took her to see the sheep, and the process of a male sheep climbing over a female sheep to make a baby sheep in the old way, she saw no semblance of a baby sheep in this, either.
"But that's similar to what people do with their mates! This doesn't make babies when people do it, Doctor, does it?"
"Of course not. Of course not. Imagine what world we would live in if it did."
He brought her back to the room with the glass boxes—extrauterine fetus incubation units, also called artificial wombs. Each box apparently held a baby in that liquid.
"This is where they come when they are about to outgrow the vial."
She walked closer to them. Some looked more like babies than others. None looked like babies entirely. Some were just...vague shapes of what might be a baby one day, attached to a feeding tube—monsters, Mel thought, creatures from fairytales. Others had limbs but not full limbs. She suddenly thought of a misshapen baby from the wonderful experiences.
"No," the doctor said as if reading her mind. "They will all be proper in the end. This is the process they must all go through, they are just at different stages of it. A baby spends nine months here."
Meliora took a deep breath. She'd spend hours at a time in Eryn's prison, in darkness and disconnection from everything else—hours. It had been too much. The babies spent months here. The babies had light, at least, and the food that Jerome explained they were getting through that tube that extended from their bellies. Yet...
Without thinking about it, Mel stepped towards the closest box, which held a baby that looked almost real, and put her hand on the box.
"No use." Jerome shook his head. "This box is a computerized life support system, you can't touch inside without opening it, and you can't open it..."
Eyes narrowed, she pressed her hand harder. The computer felt warm. Then, for just a moment, the baby reached out, too, and touched its tiny, almost formed hand to the glass.
Mel felt warm, too. Doctor Jerome inclined his head at her and started wheezing with laughter.
***
Next he showed her what he called the birthing chamber. He didn't take her inside; he said it was no place for humans.
"Remember what I told you of humans being clumsy and dirty? Throughout the years, countless babies and mothers have died at that very moment of the
"I thought it was eradicated, more than eighty years ago."
He inclined his head, watching her. "Mostly. Not entirely. Not yet. But no one dies from disease any more."
"No, only from the cure." She intuitively cringed, but the doctor didn't hit her, didn't tell her that she was due her hours in a dark room with a hard floor.
"Of course they die from the cure!" he said. "This is how it should be—and that, too, is people's own choice."
Own choice?
"Doctor Jerome, who programs the medstats that work the vials and do gene selection?" Meliora asked. "Theodore doesn't even know about them, does he?"
"He doesn't. He doesn't need to—he could have been shown that they exist, but he hasn't demonstrated a desire for it. Lucasta's needs, and teaching our new recruits, occupy Doctor Theodore enough. Those medstats are programmed by Doctors of Nature who are also Doctors of Computers, like you will be. Like I am."
"So, are we going to program them today?"
"Not today. Today, we are on a tour. You'll get your turn to work on immaculate conception, don't you worry about that."
He wouldn't even let her into the room with the vials.
"And I won't let you in there later, either. Or anyone. We program the medstats, girl. They touch the cells. We are too clumsy and too dirty for that—and for tens, hundreds, thousands of years, humans, just like animals, have consistently been making a mess out of having babies. Immaculate conception, I said."
She watched the screens and the medstats' work for some time more. She saw vials and liquid and color—but no semblance of babies.
Later, when Doctor Jerome took her to see the sheep, and the process of a male sheep climbing over a female sheep to make a baby sheep in the old way, she saw no semblance of a baby sheep in this, either.
"But that's similar to what people do with their mates! This doesn't make babies when people do it, Doctor, does it?"
"Of course not. Of course not. Imagine what world we would live in if it did."
He brought her back to the room with the glass boxes—extrauterine fetus incubation units, also called artificial wombs. Each box apparently held a baby in that liquid.
"This is where they come when they are about to outgrow the vial."
She walked closer to them. Some looked more like babies than others. None looked like babies entirely. Some were just...vague shapes of what might be a baby one day, attached to a feeding tube—monsters, Mel thought, creatures from fairytales. Others had limbs but not full limbs. She suddenly thought of a misshapen baby from the wonderful experiences.
"No," the doctor said as if reading her mind. "They will all be proper in the end. This is the process they must all go through, they are just at different stages of it. A baby spends nine months here."
Meliora took a deep breath. She'd spend hours at a time in Eryn's prison, in darkness and disconnection from everything else—hours. It had been too much. The babies spent months here. The babies had light, at least, and the food that Jerome explained they were getting through that tube that extended from their bellies. Yet...
Without thinking about it, Mel stepped towards the closest box, which held a baby that looked almost real, and put her hand on the box.
"No use." Jerome shook his head. "This box is a computerized life support system, you can't touch inside without opening it, and you can't open it..."
Eyes narrowed, she pressed her hand harder. The computer felt warm. Then, for just a moment, the baby reached out, too, and touched its tiny, almost formed hand to the glass.
Mel felt warm, too. Doctor Jerome inclined his head at her and started wheezing with laughter.
***
Next he showed her what he called the birthing chamber. He didn't take her inside; he said it was no place for humans.
"Remember what I told you of humans being clumsy and dirty? Throughout the years, countless babies and mothers have died at that very moment of the
Similar Books
