TURK’S STORY

1.

The conversation with Allison left me with more questions than I could count, but the one that mattered most was: how successfully could I lie?

I had lied to more than a few people over the course of my life, for good and bad reasons. There were truths about myself I didn’t like to share, and often enough I altered them in the telling. But I didn’t consider myself a natural-born liar, and that was unfortunate, because I would have to become one now. The lie I needed to tell—the lie I would have to enact in every waking moment and ideally in my sleep—was the pivot on which our futures were balanced.

Vox progressed steadily toward Antarctica, making pretty good speed, or so it seemed to me, for a floating island with a population of some few million souls. Twice more I went with Allison up to the high towers of Vox Core to discuss what we couldn’t discuss down below, and every time the view was the same, the same ruined wasteland riding in the same discolored sea. The days grew longer—it was summer in these latitudes—but the sun hugged the horizon as if it was afraid of coming untethered from it. To the best of anyone’s knowledge Vox was the only remaining human habitation on Earth. I didn’t discuss it with Allison, but maybe the awareness of that lonesome truth was part of what drew us closer together.

I set about teaching myself to navigate the city’s passageways and gangways. The Voxish people were peculiar in the way they denominated public and private spaces, but I learned to recognize the signs that distinguished homes from dormitories and dormitories from meeting places. I even picked up a few words of the Voxish language, enough to make myself understood in the local markets, though if I wanted to buy anything—an item of food, say, or one of the copper necklaces Voxish men wore for decoration—I needed Oscar to complete the exchange in Network-space. I arranged to have my hair cut short in the Voxish style, and before long I could pass (or so Allison said) as a native, seen from distance. Up close, of course, I was something no Networked citizen would ever mistake for normal.

The feeling worked both ways. Viewed from a distance, Vox was a community like any other, populated by men and women working at their jobs and raising their kids and doing all the other predictable things human beings do. Get in among those people, however, and you could feel the Network running like a river behind their eyes. Enthusiasms and disappointments swayed them in unison, like wind combing a field of wheat. And as the days passed that invisible wind began to gust and turn uneasily.