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The ground withers beneath their feet. Real grass, as it turns out, is nowhere near as hardy as the plants brought up from the surface to imitate turf. One footstep, and things blacken and decay.
They’re… careful about it, they’d like to think. One of the things they’d learned from the Beat, that the space between things is a precious resource and it’s always better to leave some kind of gap if you can help it. Their footsteps are slow and deliberate. Someone could probably retrace a trail off to the side of the ruin they’ve been leaving without much trouble.
As they’ve done so many times before, they follow the trodden path. There’s something in the back of their head that hasn’t fully clicked together yet, something forming that probably shouldn’t be. It’s an idea, and those are dangerous. Not the sort of thing you’d run by most people, if at all. But there’s one person who’d said, quite consistently, we’re in this together now, and they just have to hope he’s willing to make good on that promise.
They find themself missing combat already. Missing more than one of them. The wild abandon of the Strap, in this case. Where had she come from? Why did she look like that? Who was she working for? Curiosity is another dangerous thing they’re probably not supposed to have or use right now. Then again, if none of this was supposed to happen, that would make sense – the asking questions feeling like something risky, uncertain.
Certainly not what the Chain – discipline, willpower – would want them to do. Which is itself a form of motivation and why they aren’t going right back to where they were before they were imprisoned.
The Voice has left his microphone-staff-thing at the edge to the beach. They pause, watch – his daughter, he’d said – run off to play in the waves.
“So now you know.”
He’s still wearing the mask. Understandably so. It’s not like they’ve done anything about the ragged jacket they’ve been wearing as a cape, even though they probably shouldn’t have it.
“Maybe you think I’m insane, or maybe you understand.”
Neither. Neither of those. They don’t understand him yet, but he’s – well, they aren’t really sure they know what insane means in this context. He’s not spreading toxins and shouting like the Scale had. That probably makes him not insane. They’re not sure how long that would last if they actually took another step forward, though.
“You were my only chance.” The Voice looks down at the ground only briefly, head back up as if trying to make eye contact with them through his mask. “I hoped it would change you. I think it did.”
They wonder exactly how much of this the Line foresaw, if he really did know about the dot on the sun, how much of this interaction the Voice has rehearsed in his head over and over again. Saying the right words in the right order. Not only trying to change something that shouldn’t be changed, but trying to do it in a specific way.
“It doesn’t really matter,” the Voice says. Which is true. “What does matter is what you are going to do.”
His daughter comes up to him. He turns as if to walk away, and they…
Cough.
The Voice’s head jerks up immediately. He tilts his head to the side. “That’s all, Stranger. Go do whatever you want to do with the life you have. Be free.”
They gesture at the microphone in the sand. It must seem like an impatient gesture, because he takes a step back before crouching down to his daughter and saying “Go play some more. I’ll be right back.” in a tone that they’re probably not supposed to be able to overhear.
Another gesture towards the microphone. They make no attempt to approach, which is about as much as they can do to signal they’re not looking for a fight. They want him to talk.
“You’re trying to tell me something,” the Voice says. They incline their head just enough to indicate that he’s correct.
“You never did talk much, did you?” he continues. “To be honest, I always wondered if it was just how you were made or if it was eternity that did this to you.”
They hold up one hand in what they’re fairly sure is a wait gesture, and the Voice nods. They reach towards the microphone. He gestures towards it in the same way the Song had gestured for him to sit.
Third choices exist, is what she’d taught them. Among other things, like how to make yourself sound like you’re in the right. Which is close, but not quite what they’re looking for.
They hold the microphone unsteadily, fiddling with the controls as they spark erratically from pent-up electricity. Partway into trying to hotwire it they give up and just heft it a little in the same way the Edge had held his oar.
We are what we repeatedly do, comes his voice, made tinny and echoing through the speakers.
“Oh, that’s an interesting trick,” the Voice says. He sounds genuinely impressed, but he might not be. Which, incidentally, is exactly why they’re here now.
Cobbled-together bits of sound, filled in by an incredibly rudimentary universal translator where the right words won’t come. I need to learn what you-
The device sparks. It’s been doing that a lot, when they’re not sure what the right word is. It’s not convenient, but it wasn’t built for them anyway.
“I’ve told you everything I can,” the Voice says. “And while I can’t say you’d be the worst apprentice architect, there’s not exactly enough time left for that.”
They shake their head. Not that. A different lesson.
One of his hands twitches just slightly. It’s the only way they can tell he doesn’t want to be having this conversation. And they probably wouldn’t be, if it wasn’t important.
Need to learn how to. Plan a– clever trick. Talk– illusion. Make– look to the sky– believe nothing. Their hands tighten around the pole of the microphone.
“Huh,” the Voice says. “And you took from the Edge that I could teach you how to do whatever this is because I am…”
He snaps his fingers several times, staring down at his hand. “Something I repeatedly do or did. To make someone believe nothing, speak an illusion–”
His head jerks up. “You want to learn how to lie?”
That’s it. That’s the word they were looking for. They nod, letting go of the microphone.
“Well. That’s one hell of a tall order. Especially seeing as you can’t talk. And it’s urgent, you say.” The Voice starts pacing back and forth along the wavering border between grey dust and pale sand. Something in him can’t seem to resist that little extra bit of showiness, the way he talks like he’s announcing something for an audience. “You really have changed! And not in the way I expected. You want to know how to lie. Yes, it will be hard, but I think I can do that fast.”
He claps his hands together. “So! What is so important that you would need to lie about it? What is something you would never have learned or known to lie about before you came here? I hope it’s good. I would hate to be assisting something evil.”
They don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean. They get the feeling he’s speaking more for his own benefit for theirs, anyway. He might have always been trying to convince himself. They grab the microphone again.
The dot on the sun! The stakes are too high. I see nothing– we fight for.
“You are reporting back to someone and you want to tell them there’s nothing here. And what’s more, you want them to believe you.” The Voice shakes his head. “Oh, my friend, this is a fine pickle you’re in. Well, I suppose you could fight them instead. But if you lost? There would never be another opportunity to stop them. They’d patch up that vulnerability really quick.”
He’s working himself into it, getting into the flow of speech in the same way they found the flow of a fight. They can tell because he’s gotten even more animated, his voice stronger and more confident. “But if you lie to them, you can stop them from doing it over and over again. And you could even sabotage them! If you have no concept of lies, then they have to assume you’re telling the truth. That’s how you learn to lie, by the way. You tell someone the truth and you let them assume the wrong thing about what you meant.”
They nod. They don’t fully copy his mannerisms, but they do pick up the microphone and heft it in their hands experimentally like a stave or an oar.
“It’s about confidence. And you have plenty of that, my fine friend. So much that you don’t see it’s there!”
He reaches out and has nearly tapped them on the shoulder with the back of his knuckles, some sort of friendly gesture, before looking down at the greying sand. “Ah, I probably shouldn’t touch you until you figure out how to turn that off. Got ahead of myself there.”
They tilt their head to the side and try to mimic the slight upturned mouth expression he so often wears. A smile of some kind, which shouldn’t come naturally to them. Their first attempt at a lie. It seems to be a pretty good one, judging by the way he hops back into a more casual stance, hands clasped together. “I think you have it, my friend. I hope you don’t mind me seeing you off so quickly, but I’m afraid my lying days are just about over.”
Somehow, they doubt it. Really?
The Voice grins. “Well, you’ll have to come back and check for yourself, won’t you?”