63

After a few moments, your grandma looks back at the screen in front of her, and the sight seems to remind her of her earlier train of thought.

"Going back to what I said before, I finally got good results from my testing, but that was when I was the only one running the test. But if you want to help, Huknock, then you'll need to add something to the code as well. Something that shows your intent to assist with this plan. It doesn't have to be much—just a few words that represent what you want the code to do. But the thing is, I can't tell you exactly what to write, because it needs to come from you, from your own will to make this plan happen. That way, in theory, the computer will be able to carry out what we're asking of it even more accurately."

You stare at the blank spot on the screen where the cursor is blinking.

Twitching your fingers, you inch closer to the keyboard—but stop just short of touching it. Seeming to sense your uncertainty, your grandma adds:

"In a way, it really doesn't matter what you say, Huknock. It's all about your intent—about keeping in mind what you want the code to do and putting it into words. About making an idea into reality."

With that, she gestures to the keyboard—and turns away, leaving you with the monitors and their lines of code all to yourself.

You lick your lips, looking at all the screens as you try to work out how to do what your grandma wants you to do.

But as you glance from one monitor to another, taking in the seemingly endless lines of code—everything your grandma has just been saying comes back to you again. And you realize that what you're looking at is—it's just—