Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 109 Page 3

  If others understood what Ro experienced, maybe they wouldn’t be afraid. Maybe things can change. And where better to start with than Audra, living through touch—hand brushed to arm, palm squeezed to palm? Maybe this is something Ro can give Audra, like a gift. Something to bring them closer together in a way that balances both of their needs. And Xal, lonely, hungry for human experience. Ro’s pulse speeds with the thought.

  “Please? Trust me?”

  Ro knows it isn’t fair. Audra has offered so much, unasked—what right does Ro have to ask this in return? Because there’s no way to explain to Audra without showing her what it is Ro is trying to do.

  “Okay.” Audra stands.

  “Now?”

  “Sure.” Audra’s smile holds an edge of sadness. “Why wait?”

  The streets are silent, dusk just starting to fall. They walk with hands in pockets, watching their feet, watching the streetlights increasingly reflected as they draw closer to the Zone. Ro hears the hitch in Audra’s breath as they cross the line.

  “It’s okay.” Ro glances back, trying for a smile. “It’s an imaginary border.”

  Audra nods, looking sheepish. Ro tries not to hold too tight to the fragile ball of hope, lest it shatter.

  The shop bell jangles; behind the counter, Xal unfolds—a gesture Ro interprets as turning to face them.

  ::Tone—Alarm/Joy: Ro. You are not hurt.::

  “Not anymore.”

  Xal knots and unknots, an anxious gesture.

  “This is Audra, my . . . friend. Is it okay that she’s here?”

  ::Tone—Formal/Greeting: Audra. Welcome.::

  “Hi.”

  “I brought her here . . . ” Ro falters under the combined weight of Audra and Xal’s attention. “Audra is worried about me. I want her to understand. I thought . . . ” Ro tries not to blush, tries not to panic.

  Audra comes to the rescue, stepping forward while keeping careful space between her body and Ro’s. Her voice carries a hint of nerves, but not outright fear.

  “What happened the night you were attacked?”

  ::Tone—Statement/Query: It is not fair to be restricted. Why cross the stars to see only one small corner of a different world.::

  Ro’s breath catches.

  ::Tone—Statement/Anger: Your government promises change. We will be free to go where we please. Nothing changes.::

  Xal grows, unfolding new dimensions. Ro’s heart trips on the truth of the words, cracking. Again, it is a sensation too big to express, to hold. Human words are all too fraught. Ro needs an anatomy like Xal’s, one to unfold and express everything mere flesh cannot contain.

  Audra glances at Ro, eyes shining but cheeks dry. Ro holds her gaze, then nods, heart cracking again. There is understanding in Audra’s eyes, not fear. The way Audra and Xal both watch Ro is like being re-written—blood and bones, skin and heart. Ro is most surprised by Audra. Humans, it seems can unfold to reveal new dimensions, too.

  Audra pushes her sleeves up and rests her arms on the counter.

  “I want to understand.”

  Xal flickers, shifting attention to Ro, asking an unspoken question.

  Ro’s voice shakes slightly, addressing them both. “It’s okay. It’s safe. No one will get hurt.”

  Xal unfurls, encompassing Audra’s arms. Ro releases a breath at the same time Audra sucks one in, sharp, but containing more surprise than pain. It is the sound of plunging into a cold lake on a hot day—pleasure and shock rolled into one.

  Audra blushes, the non-colors of Xal rippling across every bit of exposed flesh. The back of her neck is a sunset in deep sea shades; her arms are the color of starlight on a pond. She is there and not there. The scent of cherries and running water leak into the air.

  “Can I . . . ?” Ro doesn’t finish the sentence.

  Perhaps Ro closes the space, or perhaps Xal and Audra entwined unfold to welcome Ro—a circle, a thread, a knot without beginning or end.

  Sparks jump the gap between Ro’s bones, suffusing flesh with light, like an x-ray, only brighter, more beautiful. Ro feels Audra’s body, Xal’s, all three occupying the same space and time. A moment of suffocation, a moment of panic, then everything opens with a smell like just-damp laundry snapping in the breeze. The shop warps, new segments forming like fractals of water freezing into ice.

  A pulse beats, not Ro’s own. A sensation belonging to—it must be Audra, because the memory—sharp and present—is so human. A bicycle, fiercely pedaled with bare feet to the crest of a hill before hands and feet are removed. It’s like flying—the glorious, stomach-dropping feeling of the world falling away, the rush of wind, the warmth of light and being suspended beautifully between earth and sky. Ro feels it, filtered through Audra’s flesh; from within, her body doesn’t feel an impossible weight against her bones. Ro understands, viscerally, how Audra revels in being blood, muscle, bone.

  “Oh.” Ro wants to dig fingertips into Audra’s flesh, into Xal’s, and hold onto this moment forever. But too soon, the connection is broken.

  “Wow.” Audra is the first to step back. “That was . . . intense.”

  Her pupils are dilated, her breath fast. Ro steps back as well, chill with a fresh awareness of the space between them. Something in Ro aches to close the gap, but the familiar horror is there as well: it wouldn’t be the same, couldn’t ever be the same, inside this skin.

  “You’re glowing.” Audra smiles.

  Bits of light dance at the edges of Ro’s vision.

  “It’s beautiful.” Audra takes a half step, but stops.

  Ro’s throat is closed—thick. Eyes squeeze shut, a deep breath, then Ro looks at Audra again just in time to catch the tail-end of disappointment, the smile fading. The back of Audra’s neck blushes, just blood colors now, the deep sea faded as she turns to Xal.

  “Thank you.” The faint quiver in her voice might be the after-shock of touch, or something else.

  ::Tone—Formal/Pleased: You are welcome. Audra. Thank you for sharing memories and experience of your world.::

  The ache lessens in Ro’s throat, fading to a sensation more like a bruise than a fresh wound.

  “The night you were attacked, the first night, it wasn’t the first time you left the Zone, was it?” Audra’s question surprises Ro.

  ::Tone—Statement/Truthful: No.::

  “How many times?”

  Ro grips the counter, watching Audra and Xal. How is it they understand each other so well, so quickly? Or is it only that Ro’s own curiosity blocked out certain aspects of Xal. Or perhaps because Audra is more used to processing sensation, she was less overwhelmed. Now that Ro thinks about it, it’s obvious. How could Xal have been happy—how could any Immie be happy—confined to the Zone? All the times Ro traveled to Xal’s shop, never once thinking Xal might want to leave, experience the wider world. Ro’s skin flushes hot, but neither Xal nor Audra is paying attention.

  ::Tone—Statement/Truthful: The attack happened the fifth time.::

  “Where were you going?” Audra leans forward; Ro leans, too, gravity pulling them both toward Xal’s center.

  Concentric rings spread across Xal’s flesh, as though from a dropped stone. Now Xal is the color of moss, of sunlight, filtered through pine trees.

  ::Tone—Statement/Confidential: Some are patient, but not all. There is a group who would see the Zone change, the border gone.::

  “Who?” Both Xal and Audra turn as though they’d forgotten Ro.

  ::Tone—Statement/Anger: It is a small group. One is in your city government, working to change things from within. But it is too slow. Others would wait. Not all are so patient.::

  Not all, Ro thinks. Like Xal, restless, hungry for change.

  “Is that why you’ve been leaving the Zone alone? Trying to start fights?” Again, Ro is surprised at Audra’s words, her insight. How willfully blind has Ro been? How much time has been wasted that could have been spent helping?

  ::Tone—Statement/Defensive: Violence is noticed. It
is the quickest way to change.::

  “We want to help,” Ro speaks before Audra can, but glances to the side to see Audra’s lips pressed into a thin line. Breath held, waiting for Audra to object, but she does not.

  Xal rotates without moving, encompassing both Audra and Ro with eye-less attention.

  ::Tone—Formal/Request: Will you leave the Zone with me. To meet with my friend in the government.::

  “Is that wise?” Audra glances at Ro.

  “I think we should do it.”

  Audra hesitates, frowning, then shrugs, moving toward the door. Ro hurries to catch up. The air sings between them—Ro, a string pulled taut, thrumming a note of excitement, Audra simply tight, her note as yet un-played.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Ro’s voice is low so Xal, following behind, won’t hear.

  Audra shakes her head, but doesn’t answer. She keeps her hands in her pockets, gaze fixed on the wet stones.

  “Hey!” The shout draws Ro up short, bringing the realization they’ve crossed out of the Zone.

  Xal crowds behind them, all three looking toward a knot of men and women emerging from the bar across the street.

  “You can’t be here.” One of the men points at Xal.

  To Ro’s surprise, Xal slides past them, gathering limbs together the way a human would draw themselves up to stand tall.

  ::Tone—Fear/Pride: It does not break any laws.::

  Of course not; the rules are all unwritten, enforced by silent consent, by looking the other way. Ro’s fingers clench—a body caught between fight and flight, heart pounding.

  “Fucking Immie! Get back in the Zone.” Another man joins the first, the rest of the group bunching closer.

  “We should go back,” Audra says.

  “No.” Ro turns deliberately, walking away from the group, further away from the Zone.

  Xal and Audra follow, the weight of hostile gazes tracking them. Fear and hope mix in equal parts. Xal is right—if they spark enough conflicts, people can’t continue to look the other way. A bottle explodes, glass spraying at their feet.

  “Keep walking,” Ro murmurs, picking up the pace.

  A second bottle flies, higher this time, bouncing off Ro’s shoulder before hitting the ground.

  “I’m calling the cops.” Audra pulls out her phone.

  Pounding footsteps, then one of the men grabs Ro’s shoulder. Instinct brings Ro’s hands up to break the contact with a shove. The man reels on slick, neon-stained pavement and loses his balance, landing hard. One of the women in the group laughs, nervous, unsteady.

  Another projectile glances off Ro’s cheek, stinging. Ro touches the spot and fingers come away wet with blood. Audra whispers into her phone, voice low and urgent. Xal moves again, a solid mass between Ro and Audra and the group of men and women. The man Ro accidentally knocked down gets to his feet, his face red.

  For a moment, no one moves. The red-faced man’s fingers curl, his jaw clenched. Ro sees the moment of decision, but isn’t fast enough to shout a warning.

  It doesn’t matter. Xal is there, then not. The man’s blow never lands and he stumbles, but keeps his feet this time. One of the women casts about for something to use as a weapon.

  “We have to get out of here,” Audra says.

  Xal holds a line between the two groups of humans. More people emerge from the bar, some merely curious, others spoiling for a fight.

  “We’re about to have a full-blown mob on our hands.” Audra plucks at Ro’s sleeve, not touching flesh.

  This time, Ro doesn’t see the moment of decision, or even where the punch comes from. Fist connects with jaw, and Ro hits the ground. Shouts, feet scuffling. Someone yells. Ro looks up in time to see Xal lift one of the men, tossing him away. Xal’s colors and movements speak anger and distress.

  A siren cuts through the night, freezing everyone in place. As the cop cars stop, bodies scatter. Ro stands. Audra and Xal move closer, the three of them alone making no attempt to flee as the cops climb from their cars.

  “It might be a while, are you sure you wouldn’t . . . ” The officer assigned to babysit them glances nervously between Audra and Ro, trying to pretend he doesn’t see Xal at all.

  They’re in an empty interrogation room, out of the way. They’ve given their statements, declined to press charges, and been assured no charges are being leveled against them, though the cop delivering the news didn’t look happy about it. He’d looked even less happy when Ro requested sanctuary, using the police station as a safe space to meet with Xal’s friend. Ro credits Audra with charming him into reluctantly agreeing.

  “No. We’re fine right here.” Audra smiles sweetly, seeming to enjoy the way Xal’s presence makes the cops uncomfortable, now that the immediate danger has passed.

  The officer withdraws, and Audra pours two cups of coffee from the carafe he leaves behind. In the corner, Xal ripples in silence. Ro’s cheek is sore, but the blood has dried and there will be no lasting damage.

  But the bruise goes deeper than Ro’s skin. Something has changed, but not changed enough. There has to be more; Ro feels it, the seed of an idea starting to grow. Talking to Xal’s friend is a first step, but they have to push harder if they want real change.

  “I want to go to the Immie homeworld,” Ro says, voicing the growing notion in a remarkably even tone. Xal and Audra register surprise—human and inhuman.

  “There should be ambassadors on both sides working toward change. You’re right, Xal, violence gets attention, but we can do better than that.”

  As the words stop, Ro’s cheeks burn. Said aloud, it sounds ridiculous.

  ::Tone—Statement/Uncertain: It might be arranged. Humans have never been, but it is not impossible.::

  Xal unfolds from the corner, moving closer to the table in the center of the room. Audra puts her hand on the table, near but not touching Ro.

  “Ro?”

  Ro turns.

  “If Xal can arrange it, if it’s possible, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  Audra’s hand moves, not withdrawing, fingers curling in on themselves, a knot of confusion and pain.

  “I’m sorry,” Ro says again. And again, words are inadequate. For just a moment, Ro considers bridging the gap, touching the back of Audra’s hand, but it wouldn’t be the same. They shared a moment with Xal, but there’s still too much space between them. Necessary space, space Ro cannot bridge.

  “I thought . . . ” Audra looks down, studying the table’s faux-wood grain. “Maybe because of what happened . . . ”

  The lines of her body pull inward. It hurts Ro to look at her, but their truths are too different. Audra must know that.

  “I can’t change who I am.” Ro doesn’t look away from Audra, hoping she’ll understand.

  One of Audra’s shoulders lifts and falls again. It might be agreement, dismissal, or shrugging off an absent touch.

  “If I go, what will you do?” Ro asks.

  “I don’t know.” Audra traces circles on the fake wood; Ro can almost feel it through the tips of Audra’s fingers. “We’ll see what happens with Xal’s friend. Maybe I’ll join the cause. Maybe I won’t. I’ll keep working, and life will go on.”

  Audra looks up, and her expression does something complicated. Her eyes are bright, but the light in them reminds Ro of reflections glinting off broken glass.

  “My life doesn’t begin and end with you, you know.” The edge of a smile touches Audra’s mouth. “I do have other friends. Family.”

  The smile becomes a grin. “I like you, Ro. We’re friends. I’ll miss you, but you’re not breaking my heart.”

  Ro’s pulse trips. Audra sounds sincere, Ro believes her, but at the same time Ro doesn’t have enough experience to differentiate the temporary sting of rejection from something deeper. Maybe if Ro leaves and comes back, things will be better. Maybe they can learn a mode of friendship—better, deeper—one that doesn’t cause either of them pain.

  Audra’s fingers uncurl. She presses her p
alm flat against the wood.

  “Are you . . . ” Ro hesitates, uncertain how to end the sentence: Are you sure? or Are you okay?

  Xal shifts closer, body forming a complicated pattern. The colors chasing across Xal’s skin are sunlight, leaves, and the sensation of flying, not falling. Xal unfurls a limb, brushing the back of Audra’s hand with the briefest of touches. The air smells of tangerines and Audra’s eyes widen, as if Xal whispered something just for her.

  Audra draws her hand away from the table, pressing it to her heart. Ro feels it, the steady thump of blood and life and warmth inside Audra’s skin. On the table, the ghost outline of Audra’s hand remains. Footsteps approach the door, but Ro’s attention remains fixed on the table. The fading shape, the memory of touch, outlines possibility. It is everything.

  About the Author

  A.C. Wise’s short fiction has appeared in Apex, Uncanny, Shimmer, Clarkesworld, and The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror 2015, among other places. In addition to her fiction, she co-edits Unlikely Story, and contributes a monthly Women to Read: Where to Start column to SF Signal. Her collection of inter-linked short stories, The Ultra Fabulous Glitter Squadron Saves the World Again, is out from Lethe Press in late October 2015.

  Ice

  Rich Larson

  Sedgewick had used his tab to hack Fletcher’s alarm off, but when he slid out of bed in the middle of the night his younger brother was wide awake and waiting, modded eyes a pale luminous green in the dark.

  “I didn’t think you were actually going to do it,” Fletcher said with a hesitant grin.

  “Of course I’m going to.” Sedgewick kept his words clipped, like he had for months. He kept his face cold. “If you’re coming, get dressed.”

  Fletcher’s smile swapped out for the usual scowl. They pulled on their thermals and gloves and gumboots in silence, moving around the room like pieces of a sliding puzzle, careful to never inhabit the same square space. If there was a way to keep Fletcher from coming short of smothering him with a blanket, Sedgewick would’ve taken it. But Fletcher was fourteen now, still smaller than him but not by much, and his wiry modded arms were strong like an exoskeleton’s. Threats were no good anymore.