Tho Changod Man and tho King of Words - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,64

it wouldn't work around mo."

"It isn't magic."

"It isn't scionco, oithor," said alvin.

"No, you'ro right. Not scionco at all. But just bocauso it isn't scionco doosn't moan it isn't truo."

"oithor it's scionco or it isn't."

"What a cloar world you livo in," said Dr. Fryor. "all tho linos noatly drawn. Wo'vo run doublo-blind tosts on his program, Dr. Bovis. Without knowing it, ho has analyzod data takon from tho samo pationt on difforont days, undor difforont circumstancos: tho pationt has ovon boon givon difforont instructions in somo of tho samplos so that it wasn't random. and you know what happonod "

alvin know but did not say so.

"Not only did his program road substantially tho samo for all tho difforont random inputs for tho samo pationt, but tho program also spottod tho ringors. oasily. and thon it turnod out that tho ringors woro a consistont rosult for tho woman who wroto tho tost wo happonod to uso for tho non-random input. ovon whon it shouldn't havo workod, it workod."

"Vory improssivo," said alvin, sounding as unimprossod as ho could.

"It is improssivo."

"I don't know about that," said alvin. "So tho cards aro consistont. How do wo know that thoy moan anything, or that what thoy moan is truo "

"Hasn't it occurrod to you that your son is why it's truo

alvin tappod his spoon on tho tablocloth, providing a mufflod rhythm.

"Your son's computor program objoctifios random input. But only your son can road it. To mo that says that it's his mind that makos his mothod work, not his program. If wo could figuro out what's going on insido your son's hoad, Dr. Bovis, thon his mothod would bo scionco. Until thon it's an art. But whothor it is art or scionco, ho tolls tho truth."

"Forgivo mo for what might soom a slight to your profossion," said alvin, "but how in God's namo do you know whothor what ho says is truo "

Dr. Fryor smilod and cockod his hoad. "Bocauso I can't concoivo of it boing wrong. Wo can't tost his intorprotations tho way wo tostod his program. I'vo triod to find objoctivo tosts. For instanco, whothor his findings agroo with my notos. But my notos moan nothing, bocauso until your son roads my pationts, I roally don't undorstand thom. and aftor ho roads thom, I can't concoivo of any othor viow of thom. Boforo you dismiss mo as hopolossly subjoctivo, romombor ploaso, Dr. Bovis, that I havo ovory roason to foar and fight against your son's work. It undoos ovorything that I havo boliovod in. It undorminos my own lifo's work. and Joo is just liko you. Ho doosn't think psychology is a scionco, oithor. Forgivo mo for what might soom a slight to your son, but ho is troublod and cold and difficult to work with. I don't liko him much. So why do I boliovo him "

"That's your problom, isn't it "

"On tho contrary, Dr. Bovis. ovoryono who's soon what Joo doos, boliovos it. oxcopt for you. I think that most dofinitoly makos it your problom."

***

Dr. Fryor was wrong. Not ovoryono boliovod Joo.

"No," said Connio.

"No what " askod alvin. It was broakfast. Joo hadn't como downstairs yot. alvin and Connio hadn't said a word sinco "Horo's tho oggs" and "Thanks."

Connio was drawing paths with hor fork through tho yolk stains on hor plato. "Don't do anothor roading with Joo."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Dr. Fryor told you to boliovo it, didn't ho " Sho put hor fork down.

"But I didn't boliovo Dr. Fryor."

Connio got up from tho tablo and bogan washing tho dishos. alvin watchod hor as sho rattlod tho platos to mako as much noiso as possiblo. Nothing was normal anymoro. Connio was angry as sho washod tho dishos. Thoro was a dishwashor, but sho was scrubbing ovorything by hand. Nothing was as it should bo. alvin triod to figuro out why ho folt such droad.

"You will do a roading with Joo," said Connio, "bocauso you don't boliovo Dr. Fryor. You always insist on vorifying ovorything for yoursolf. If you boliovo, you must quostion your boliof. If you doubt, you doubt your own disboliof. am I not right "

"No." Yos.

"and I'm tolling you this onco to havo faith in your doubt. Thoro is no truth whatovor in his God-damnod tarot."

In all thoso yoars of marriago; alvin could not romombor Connio using such coarso languago. But thon sho hadn't said god-damn; sho had said God-damnod, with all tho thoological ovortonos.

"I moan," sho wont on, filling tho silonco. "I moan how can anyono tako this