The Truth App

by Jack Heath

Scrolling through his notifications he saw hundreds of friend requests from strangers, thousands of new subscribers to his podcast, and heaps of comments posted on his profiles.

  Some were encouraging:

  Others were sarcastic:

  A few could go either way:

  Several people were accusing Jarli of stealing their work and threatening to sue him. Jarli knew he hadn’t done anything wrong—he had written ninety percent of the code himself, and the rest was open-source—but it was still scary.

  Jarli’s description of the old man had been shared several times, but no-one seemed to have seen him.

  The disastrous televised statement had already been posted to dozens of sites and viewed by hundreds of thousands of people. Someone had turned the last few seconds into an animated GIF. Over and over, a terrified-looking Jarli shouted silently and then tried to flee into his house. The caption below read

  NOT MY FAULT GO AWAY NO MORE QUESTIONS!

  Jarli hung his head in his hands. He had become a meme. The whole world was laughing at him.

  His appetite was gone. Abandoning the meal, he got out of the chair to wash the pan. Hooper immediately leapt up onto the table and started eating his eggs. As soon as they were finished, she turned to Gorman’s chicken soup. Mum had poured it into a bowl, but Dad hadn’t eaten it.

  ‘Life’s pretty simple for you, huh?’ Jarli mumbled.

  Hooper didn’t even look up from the soup.

  Jarli kept his phone by the sink while he washed up. Another post on his profile caught his eye.

  JARLI’S BLOOD RAN COLD. Who would say something like that?

  There was no way of knowing who had posted the message. There was no profile picture, and the name was clearly made up: Fool Hardy. Probably just a troll. But what if it wasn’t?

  As Jarli watched, another post appeared beside it.

  A third person commented on that post.

  Jarli leapt out of his chair. These people knew where he lived!

  ‘Mum!’ he yelled. ‘Mum!’

  Mum hurried out of the bedroom. ‘Shush!’ she said. ‘Your father’s sleeping.’

  ‘They’re talking about killing me!’ Jarli hissed.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘People on the internet!’

  ‘Oh, sweetie.’ Mum rubbed his back. ‘People can be horrible, but I’m sure they’re just joking.’

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Mum,’ Jarli said. ‘They’ve published our home address.’

  Mum looked over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide as she scanned the screen.

  ‘Who are these people?’ she demanded.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Mum grabbed her handbag and dug out Constable Blanco’s card. ‘I’m calling the police,’ she said.

  The doorbell rang.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ Jarli said.

  ‘Probably just a reporter,’ Mum said.

  It rang again. Mum stood up.

  ‘Don’t!’ Jarli said.

  ‘I’ll just see who it is.’

  ‘What if it’s the guy who rammed our car? Or one of those psychos from the internet?’

  ‘The house is surrounded by reporters,’ Mum said. ‘They’d have to be crazy to try anything now.’

  ‘They are crazy!’ Jarli insisted.

  But Mum was already walking towards the door. She opened the peephole and sighed.

  ‘Just a delivery,’ she said, and unlocked the door.

  ‘Mum, don’t!’ Jarli said.

  Mum opened the door. Jarli had expected to see the old man disguised as a courier. But the delivery driver was a young woman, holding a plastic parcel about the size of a shoebox.

  ‘Sign here,’ she said, handing Mum a tablet and a stylus.

  ‘Thank you.’ Mum signed the screen.

  The driver peered over Mum’s shoulder, scanning the hallway. She saw Jarli, but didn’t give him a second glance. He didn’t look important enough to be the source of the commotion outside. She must not have seen the meme.

  ‘A lot of people out here,’ the driver said casually.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Mum told her.

  ‘Well, have a nice day.’ Suddenly bored, the driver trudged back to her delivery truck, which was five houses away. The news vans hadn’t left her anywhere closer to park.

  Mum looked at the address label on the package. ‘It’s for you, Jarli.’

  Jarli trembled. ‘Why did you take it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It could be anything. It could be a bomb.’

  Mum sighed. ‘Jarli—I know you’ve had a rough night. I have too, believe it or not.’

  ‘It could be a bomb,’ Jarli said again.

  ‘You remember that I work at the post office, right? Every package gets X-rayed and scanned with infrared cameras. Plus, there’s the air particle analysis and UV sweep. These days it’s impossible to mail a bomb. This feels like . . .’ She squeezed the package, and Jarli winced. ‘. . . a stuffed toy.’

  That wasn’t a bad guess. Jarli often ordered plush versions of his favourite videogame characters. He never played with them, but they cheered him up when he was lonely. There was something comforting about seeing these huge, menacing creatures reduced to funny collectibles, as helpless and small as he sometimes felt.

  Mum tossed the package to Jarli. He jumped back, and it hit the floor next to his feet.

  The package didn’t explode.

  ‘For goodness sake, Jarli. It’ll be something you ordered. I’m calling Constable Blanco again. I want her to know about the trolls—maybe we can get the posts taken down.’

  Mum walked into the kitchen. Jarli stared at the package. He didn’t remember ordering anything lately. He had bought some new headphones, a book and a new controller, but they’d all arrived. What could this be?

  He took the package to his room and got out a pair of scissors. With trembling hands, he sliced through the package and tipped out the object inside.

  It was wrapped in tissue paper, but Jarli reluctantly admitted to himself that it didn’t look like a bomb. He carefully peeled the paper back.

  It was a small, square, satin pillow.

  Jarli stared at it, puzzled. He didn’t remember ordering anything like that. Maybe there had been a mix-up. He turned the pillow over, looking for an invoice or a receipt.

  Then he gasped, and dropped the pillow like it was red-hot.

  A message had been carefully embroidered onto the pillow:

  Rest in peace, Jarli.

  FACING THE WOLVES

  Jarli burst into Dad’s room. ‘We have to move house,’ he said.

  Dad sat up, wincing. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. ‘What? What’s going on?’

  Jarli showed him the pillow. ‘This was just delivered. Someone wants to kill me, and they know where I live.’

  Dad looked at the pillow for a long time.

  ‘We can’t move house,’ he said finally.

  ‘Well, we at least need to leave for a few weeks.’

  Dad sighed. ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘Wherever!’ Didn’t Dad get how urgent this was? ‘The motel. Aunt Lesley’s place. Sydney.’

  The thing which frightened Jarli most was how quickly the pillow had arrived. The manufacturer was Melbourne-based, but even so, it must have been mailed yesterday. This was after Jarli released his app, but well before the car crash and the televised statement turned him into an international celebrity. Someone had been paying close attention.

  ‘Jarli, listen to me,’ Dad said. ‘I know a little bit about this world. I know about shell corporations, decoy accounts and intermediaries. And I know that a criminal who’s planning a murder doesn’t send the victim a warning first.’

  Jarli stared at him. ‘Are you serious? You’re going to bet my life that this is a joke, after what just happened to us?’

  ‘Fine,’ Dad said. He was starting to sound ang
ry. ‘Let’s assume it’s not a joke. This house is surrounded by reporters. Do you really think you’ll be safer somewhere else?’

  ‘We could stay with Mr Gorman,’ Jarli said. He was the rich owner of a security company. His house would be secure, and would have plenty of space.

  ‘No,’ Dad said, rubbing his eyes. He had only slept for a couple of hours.

  ‘But he offered,’ Jarli said. ‘He said if there was anything he could do—’

  ‘We’re not staying with my boss,’ Dad insisted. ‘We’ve imposed on him too much already.’

  Jarli’s phone beeped in the corner. Lie That wasn’t the real reason Dad wanted to stay here.

  ‘Are you using your app on me?’ Dad demanded.

  ‘I forgot it was on,’ Jarli mumbled.

  ‘Delete it,’ Dad said. ‘Right now.’

  ‘No!’ Jarli cried.

  ‘Your app has gotten us into enough trouble. Get rid of it.’

  ‘If you just trusted me enough to tell me the truth—’

  ‘I don’t want you spying on your own family. DELETE THE APP.’

  Jarli hesitated. If he refused, what would Dad do? Confiscate his phone, probably. And if Jarli wouldn’t hand over his phone, Dad would punish him in some other way.

  ‘Fine,’ Jarli said.

  The app beeped. Lie It wasn’t fine. In fact, Jarli planned to reinstall it as soon as Dad wasn’t watching—but he would have to silence the beeps.

  Jarli held up the screen so Dad could see, then he swiped through to the list of apps and stabbed angrily at the screen, making a show of his annoyance. He uninstalled Truth.

  Now anything anyone told him could be a lie, and he wouldn’t know. That hadn’t been scary before he made the app. It was scary now. In the two weeks he’d been using the app, he’d become dependent on it. Hopefully he’d be able to reinstall it soon.

  Dad held out his hand. ‘Let me check.’

  Jarli hesitated. ‘You saw me delete it.’

  ‘I just want to make sure.’

  Jarli reluctantly handed over his phone. Dad fiddled with it for a while.

  ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you.’

  Kirstie knocked on the door and walked right in. She had dried her eyes and tied her hair back into a ponytail. ‘Hey Dad,’ she said, ‘you know how you crashed our car?’

  ‘It was my car,’ Dad said gloomily, ‘and that’s not exactly what happened.’

  ‘Well, how are we going to get to school?’

  The burglar hadn’t stolen the old-fashioned alarm clock on Dad’s bedside table. Jarli checked the time. It was nearly time for school.

  Dad looked surprised. ‘You want to go to school?’

  Jarli had assumed that they weren’t going. But home didn’t feel safe anymore, despite what Dad had said. A stranger had been through here, stealing stuff. The house was surrounded by reporters. And a killer—maybe—knew the address.

  ‘Yes,’ Jarli said.

  ‘But we can’t ride our bikes with all those reporters chasing us,’ Kirstie added. ‘It would look like the Tour de France.’

  ‘I’ll call a cab,’ Jarli said, and walked out before Dad could object.

  There was only one taxi company in Kelton, and only four drivers. When the cab pulled up in front of the house, Jarli wasn’t surprised to see Bess’s mother, Caroline, get out of the driver’s seat.

  Jarli had known Caroline his whole life. She was one of those ‘Look how much you’ve grown!’ people—she had gone to university with Mum or something.

  Jarli and Kirstie didn’t wait for her to push through the crowd to the front door. They ran out of the house, carrying their schoolbags and wearing sunglasses.

  The reporters rushed in, stabbing at Jarli with microphones and blocking his view with bulky video cameras. Every camera flash felt like an electric shock.

  ‘Jarli! Do you regret making the app?’

  ‘How do you feel about other people making money from your work?’

  ‘How would you describe your performance in yesterday’s interview?’

  Jarli kept his mouth clamped shut. He and Kirstie forced their way through the crowd towards the taxi. Soon Jarli realised that the reporters blocking his path weren’t actually allowed to touch him. If he kept walking forwards, they would have to move out of the way.

  Caroline was holding the back door open for them. Jarli had never seen her look so cheerful. Her uniform was neatly pressed, and her usually frizzy hair was covered by a shiny cap. She owned the taxi company, and she must have decided that this was a publicity opportunity.

  Jarli and Kirstie scrambled inside. Caroline closed the door and circled back around to the driver’s side. She waved to the crowd of reporters before climbing in.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Deshara,’ Jarli said.

  ‘Hey, Caroline,’ Kirstie said at the same moment.

  ‘Hey, kids,’ Caroline said. ‘Going to school?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘That’ll be about twenty dollars. Do you have enough money for this journey?’

  ‘Of course we do,’ Jarli said, offended. ‘Why would you ask us that?’

  ‘New policy.’ Caroline beamed. ‘I’ve distributed your app to all my drivers. They ask every passenger if they have enough cash, and the app tells them if the passenger is lying. It’s going to save me a lot of money.’

  ‘Glad I could help,’ Jarli said. At least someone appreciated his work.

  Caroline pulled away from the curb and drove carefully between the parked news vans. ‘Of course, you guys can ride for free today. That footage of you getting into my cab is a great ad for the company.’

  ‘But you’re the only taxi company in Kelton,’ Jarli said. ‘Why do you need to advertise?’

  ‘Shut up, Jarli!’ Kirstie hissed. ‘She’s giving us a free ride!’

  ‘I have plenty of competitors,’ Caroline said. ‘Buses. Bicycles. Privately-owned cars. Legs. Trust me, the advertising helps.’

  ‘Where’s Bess?’ Jarli asked. Caroline usually dropped her off at school.

  ‘She decided to catch the bus today,’ Caroline said.

  Her phone was on the seat next to her. The screen flashed orange. HALF-TRUTH

  ‘OK, I told her to take the bus,’ Caroline admitted. ‘I thought with all the reporters, she might get self-conscious about her crutches.’

  Bess was never shy about her crutches, but Jarli knew that other people got embarrassed on her behalf. The phone didn’t react to this statement, so Caroline at least thought she was telling the truth.

  ‘Your phone flashed orange,’ Jarli said. ‘I didn’t program the app to do that.’

  ‘I’m using the paid version of your app,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Paid version?’

  ‘Yeah. The description said it works on text messages and emails, not just speech—is that right?’

  Jarli got out his phone and searched the list of available apps. There it was: Truth Premium, right next to his own app. Someone had copied Truth and was selling it. More than fifty-thousand people had downloaded it so far.

  ‘I should sue somebody,’ he muttered.

  Caroline didn’t hear him. ‘I like the way it matches people to their social media profiles and keeps a record of how honest each person is in general.’

  Jarli tried to download the app. He hated giving these people his money, but he wanted to see how it worked.

  A message popped up.

  Password required

  Jarli frowned. That didn’t usually happen when he tried to download apps. He put his usual password in. The phone beeped angrily.

  login failed

  Dad must have gone into the settings and added a lock password so Jarli couldn’t install any new apps.

  Jarli was furious, but he knew he didn’t really have the right to be angry at Dad. He’d tricked Jarli, but Jarli had tried to trick him first. So he diverted his anger towards the people who had ripped off his app instead.

  ‘I
f it’s judging text messages and emails, it won’t be accurate,’ Jarli complained. ‘It can’t hear the person’s voice or see their face. It’ll be wrong twenty percent of the time.’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘Doesn’t bother me. My drivers will be quizzing people in person.’

  Kirstie grinned. ‘Are you a bit jealous, Jarli?’

  ‘It’s irresponsible,’ Jarli grumbled.

  Kirstie’s phone beeped. She must have installed the paid app already.

  She looked at the screen. ‘Reframing,’ she announced. ‘You avoided answering the question. According to this, you’re only 66% honest.’

  ‘What?!’ Jarli snatched the phone out of her hand. It was true. There was his profile picture from social media, and an honesty score.

  ‘Some of the reporters from last night must have been using the paid version,’ Kirstie said. ‘I reckon the app has only heard you say six things, and two of them weren’t true. Give me my phone back.’

  Jarli handed it over and hugged his knees. This was a nightmare. He had a new reputation for dishonesty, someone else was making money off his work, everyone on the internet thought he was stupid, and someone was trying to kill him.

  ‘Feet off seats!’ Caroline said.

  Jarli put his legs down. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

  Kirstie’s phone beeped. LIE Jarli wasn’t sorry. On the screen, his honesty score dipped to 57%. Soon no-one would ever trust him again.

  HUNTED

  When Jarli got out of the taxi, all the people in front of Kelton High School fell silent. Dozens of stud ents, huddled in their friendship groups, stared at him. Their parents paused halfway back to their cars. A couple of teachers shot Jarli hostile looks.

  Yesterday, Jarli had been invisible. Today he was the centre of attention. It didn’t feel as good as he had hoped.

  ‘If anyone asks,’ Kirstie said, ‘we’re not related.’

  ‘Thanks for your support,’ Jarli said.

  There were a few reporters here, but not many, and none had cameras. There was some kind of rule about not showing the faces of children without their parents’ permission. Jarli wasn’t sure why this rule protected the other students but not him, but at least the reporters couldn’t step onto the school grounds. It was as though a spell kept them behind an invisible wall. When they saw Jarli they started yelling questions. Jarli ignored them as he shuffled towards the school.