Everyone Aboard Votes

You are on a steel floor in the gondola of an airship, in a ring of people with their knees touching, under trays of lettuce lit pink. The floor hums. A pot of soup is going hand to hand, and a hatch in the floor stands open with a coil of line beside it. In the round window the sky is cloud, except for one patch to the south and very high where there is none. The patch moves. When the airship swings toward it, it is farther off. When the airship swings away, it comes after.

A man at the wheel waits with the rest. A woman holds up her hand. For following it, she says, and hands go up around the ring, and she counts them. For turning away, she says, and hands go up again. The two counts are the same.

A week of this, says the man beside you. Everyone aboard votes.