Unnaturals by Lynna Merrill Page B

computer program, too. Sometimes I think that Theo simply doesn't know, which is why he is not telling me."
    Ivan said nothing. He finished his design and started typing.
    She moved closer to him. "Ivan, this design is not complete. It can't be. The whole program is wrong. It assumes that the person sending the message will always produce the same melody with the same emotion, but what if that changed? We must account for so many things, for variation of meaning, of moods, permanent changes..."
    "Meliora, just shut up! No wonder you can't write a program! ' Why? ' ' What if? '—those are not our job. You have input and you must produce output—that's it! That's your task! Leave me alone now, I have a program to write!"
    She left him alone. She went to her room and wrote her program. When she took it to Theodore, she learned that this time she'd been faster than Ivan.
    No why -s, no what-if -s. Ivan, with his outburst, had given her more information than Theodore, with all his attempts for answers, ever had. The problem was that Theodore was nice. He tried to answer when, just like Ivan, he didn't know how.
    No why -s, no what-if -s. Just senseless, unthinking following of instructions, or creation of instructions for a computer. Mel could do it. She could do it, of course. But she'd thought that her job would be more than this.
    Theodore enthusiastically praised her progress and she made a good show of being happy. She'd lived in Lucasta all her life. She was good at pretending that she was like the rest of them.
    ***
    She took the train to Lucasta at softlights. When it reached the southern station in Lucasta and normal people started boarding it, Mel thought the visit might have been a mistake.
    She'd been to see Mom three times before. During those visits, she'd never wanted to grab the person on the train nearest to her and smash his head into the wall and shout, "What do you fools know!? You know nothing! "
    She sat still in her seat. She watched the person hum, and hum, and hum, into his computer. This person didn't know, would never know, that there was such a thing as a programming language and an Academy. He'd never know that information about his activities and emotions was stored into a database.
    Some of the people on the train sent messages to Mel. The woman on her other side wrote to her something about the theater of wonderful experiences.
    Go to Doctor Eryn, Mel almost sent, she'll give you wonderful experiences at no cost.
    She didn't send this, of course. She sent nothing at all, to anyone. She could not just open her computer on the train and use a needle to message—and after she'd had her questions about databases unanswered, she'd never trust a hummie interface again. She'd seen few of the actual hummie messages people got from her. Most of the time she only knew what she sent.
    You're all ignorant sheep, and I am only a little less ignorant than you .
    At least these days she knew what sheep were. Eryn liked to call her students sheep, or grass-eaters. There were no sheep in Lucasta. There were some in the Academy, and Mel would see them in her education, but only after she was done with babies.
    Of course, the sheep didn't really eat grass. Once upon a time they had, so long ago that even the old feeds didn't really mention it. There had been many different kinds of animals in those days, and they had all eaten something living, be it grass or other animals, Eryn said. For some time, Mel even thought that Eryn had lied, that this information was a new way to punish Mel for whatever transgression Eryn thought Mel had committed this time. The very thought of creatures eating creatures... But it was likely true. Eryn didn't lie often.
    Mom was waiting for her at the station closest to their house. She always did. For some reason, even though she hadn't cried for months, Mel threw herself into Mom's arms and wept.
    A medstat wheeled quickly to her. Mel had to tell it "No!" very firmly and in a very loud