The city runs like an orchestra. Eleven million voices keep their parts, evenand on time, and a machine stands at the conductors stand: it hears themall at once and cares for each, so that no one ever has to sound against thegrain. The bracelet glows green, the rain comes on schedule, and happinessis issued daily, like water and light. The orchestra has a face — a young woman whose voice wishes the city agood morning every day. She has lied so long that she no longer knowswhere her own voice ends and someone elses script begins. And downbelow, a teenager is growing up who sounds out of tune. One day his notewill be heard by the whole city.