Get Off the Unicorn by Anne McCaffrey

“Yes, Father,” came from her.
    â€œAnd how long has this . . . this deception gone on?”
    Nora didn’t dare look at him.
    â€œHow long?” Father repeated, his voice rising in volume and getting sharper.
    â€œSince—since spring,” she answered.
    â€œ
Which
spring?” was the acid query.
    Nora swallowed hard against the sudden nauseating taste of lamb in her mouth.
    â€œThe first year of programming.”
    â€œYou
dared
take over a task assigned your brother—by me? Designed to acquaint him with the problems he’ll face as a landsman?”
    Instinctively Nora leaned as far back in her chair, away from her father’s looming body, as she could. Not even George Fenn would disrupt family harmony by striking a child, but he was so angry that it seemed to Nora he had become a terrible stranger, capable even of causing her physical harm.
    â€œNick couldn’t seem to get the trick of it,” she managed to say in her own defense. “I only helped a little. When he got jammed.”
    â€œHe’s a Fenn. He’s got farming in his blood. Five generations of farming. You’ve robbed him of his heritage, of his proper contribu—”
    â€œOh, no, Father. Nick’s always contributed. He’d do the poultry . . .” and her sentence broke off as she saw the bloated, red face of her father.
    â€œYou dared . . .
dared
exchange assignments?”
    â€œYou miss the point entirely, George,” Mother interceded in her placid way. “The tasks were completed, were well done, so I cannot see why it is so wrong for Nick to have done which, and Nora what. They’re both Fenns, after all. That’s the core of the matter.”
    â€œHave you changed state, woman?” Father wanted to know, but astonishment had aborted his anger. “Nicholas is my son! Nora’s only a girl.”
    â€œReally, George. Don’t quibble. You know, I’ve been thinking of enlarging my contribution to society now that the children are about to advance. I’d really like to go back to the Agriculture Institute and update my credentials. Sometimes,” Mother went on in the conversational way in which she was apt to deliver startling conclusions, “I think the children have studied a whole new language when I hear them discussing computer logic. Remember when I used to take an apprentice’s place, George? Of course, it would be much more interesting for me if you’d diversify the Complex. I can’t have any more children, of course, but if we bred lambs or calves, I’d’ve young things to tend again. Society does say it’ll satisfy every individual’s needs.” She gave her husband an appealing smile. “Do try to compute that in your fall program, George. I’d appreciate it.”
    Looking at Mother as if she’d taken leave of her senses, Father rose and pushed back his chair. He mumbled something about checking urgent data, but stumbled out of the dining area, past the office, and out of the house.
    â€œMother, I’d no idea . . .”
    The rest of Nora’s words died in her throat because her mother’s eyes were brimming with mischief and she looked about to laugh.
    â€œI oughtn’t to do that to George when he’s had a big dinner. But there’re more ways to kill a cat than choking him with butter—as my grandmother used to say. Although that’s a shocking way to use butter—not to mention a good cat—but Grandmother was full of such dairy-oriented expressions. Hmmm. Now dairy farming might not be such a bad compromise, considering the printout quotes on milk and cheese this spring.” Then she closed her lips firmly as if her own loquacity startled her as much as it did Nora. The laughter died in her eyes. “Nora?”
    â€œYes, Mother?”
    â€œIn this society, a person is legally permitted to develop at his