by A. C. Wise
Ro’s chest tightens. There are no words that won’t make things worse. It’s not you, it’s me, will only give Audra the impression Ro thinks the opposite.
If human touch could communicate the way Xal’s does, Ro would understand. And maybe, for Audra, it does. Maybe Audra experiences the world through the tips of her fingers, gives away pieces of herself with each touch, but gains just as much in return, never diminishing.
But Ro cannot say this, cannot ask without fear of giving Audra hope. It’s not that Audra has ever pressured Ro, or implied that maybe if Ro just tried it, met the right person, then things would be different. It’s that sometimes, Ro catches Audra looking and thinks there is a glimmer, faint, but wistful—wishing things were different between them—and it makes Ro’s heart ache.
“Tell me,” Audra says, taking a step back, putting more space between them. She crosses her arms, holding herself in, holding back.
But Audra isn’t running away, and relief surges through Ro. Whatever else they may be, at the core, they are still friends. The realization that Audra won’t leave, won’t shun, no matter what, brings a surge of emotion. It’s almost like love, vast and complicated, but even the thought of the word comes thick with ghosts—meanings and expectations layered upon it by all the lips that have spoken it before. Ro pushes it away and, halting, tries to explain. Audra listens, never interrupting.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Ro asks, needing to hear the words aloud, needing to taste them in order to let them go.
“No.” Audra’s tone is firm, but she looks lost as well. Scared. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? Promise me you’ll be careful?”
Audra hugs herself tighter. Ro nods, pressing lips together, tasting salt even without tears. The promise means nothing; they both understand. This is unknown territory, and there is no way to travel it without gathering bone-deep scars.
Sirens shatter Ro’s sleep. Pulse jack-rabbiting, pushing away sweat-tangled sheets and the remnants of a dream, Ro stumbles to the window. The sound is tied to the dream—one of being very far away, but very close, stretched thin, no blood or bone, no muscle, only skin and nerves pulled taut like a sheet over the world.
On the street below, red and blue lights spin in time with Ro’s pulse. A sudden spike of pain. Ro clasps the wound, but there’s nothing there.
Xal.
Pain arcs again, bringing flashes of violence, memories not Ro’s own.
Xal.
Jacket and pants pulled over rumpled pajamas. Feet shoved into unlaced boots. Clattering down three flights of stairs. Ro’s courier bike leans outside the apartment’s outer door. Grabbing it, Ro is gone. Falling. Flying. Pedaling madly into the night, toward the flashing lights.
The whole city is wet, smearing in Ro’s peripheral vision. Two cop cars park askew across the main entrance to the Zone. Ro stops the bike, lets it fall. A knot of people huddle, pointing. The cops struggle with a man whose hands are secured with a plastic zip tie. He thrashes, resisting as they push him toward the nearest car.
“Fucking Immie got what it deserved, slurping and lurking around our streets. They need to fucking stay where they’re told or go the fuck home.”
Light skips off shards of broken glass, blood red and deep blue. The man throws his head back; the cop’s nose makes a sickening crunch as bone connects with bone. Swearing, the cop lets go, but her partner is quick, sweeping the man’s legs and dropping him. The second cop gets a knee in the man’s back, holding him down against the tongue of uneven pavement extending from the mouth of the Zone. The man continues swearing, lips spit-flecked.
“Fucking Immie. I hope it’s dead.”
Ro breaks into a run, ignoring a muffled shout from the cop with the broken nose. The door to Xal’s shop hangs open. Ro nearly slips in slickness trailing across the floor. Xal never made it to the safety behind the counter, and instead lies knotted in front of it, limbs drawn together in the universal language of pain.
There is no hesitation. Ro kneels, folding around and over Xal. Shock waves of pain radiate outward, but Ro doesn’t let go. Stars spin, razor bright. The smell of matches, freshly-struck; a taste like a battery held on the tongue; the persistent thrum of rain.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Ro repeats the words, trying to stay conscious, trying to soothe. Xal’s pain is overwhelming, an assault of sensation. Lighthouse flash. The taste of apples. Green-wet stone. Stairs spiraling down.
Desperate, Ro tries to pour sensation back into Xal—more childhood memories—introduce a new thread into the loop of feedback flowing between them. But the images keep coming, pounding Ro like fists, like stones. It’s impossible to concentrate. The rasp of wool, black crayons melting in the sun, the taste of cherries. The touch-taste-smell correlation stutters. Xal’s control slips, no longer translating sensations into human terms.
Ro screams. A note, sheer sound, shearing bone from bone, sloughing flesh. Ro’s mind reels, trying to process what there are no words for.
A body—Ro’s, Xal’s, both, shudders. Collapses inward. Spins outward. The rush of wind, hot and dry and wet all at once. The crushing cold between stars. Stretching impossibly thin-fast-long across a cord of silver and all of it is everything all at once. Then, nothing.
Scraps torn from a quilt, broken fragments of a mirror, numb fingers trying to piece them back together and failing. Surfacing. Ro approaches a reflection etched on the underside of waves, surrounded by a distorted view of sky and trees and sunlight on the other side. Lips almost touch lips—reality kissing reflection—then Ro sinks again. A stream of bubbles, like pearls, like laughter, trail behind.
Hands. A voice. Audra’s?
Wheels hum fast through sterile corridors; too-bright lights overhead. Sharp-jabbed needles. Medicine smell. The steady pulse of machines. Then nothing again.
Ro comes back from very far away. The simple task of cracking open an eyelid is monumental. Dry lips part.
“Water?”
A straw touches swollen and bruised lips. Ro sucks greedily until the straw is withdrawn.
“Not too much too fast. The doctors said.”
Ro turns, head even heavier than eyelids. Audra perches in a chair next to the bed, holding the water glass awkwardly in her lap. She looks as though she’s about to cry, or has just stopped.
“I should call the nurse.”
“Wait.” Ro tries to remember—in the haze of moments between then and now, was Audra’s name spoken in answer to the nurses asking if there was someone they should call?
“What happened?” Ro tastes blood from cracked lips.
Audra holds the water out again, automatic.
“The police found you and Xal curled together on the floor. It looked like you’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. They thought you were dead.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Were you attacked?”
“No. Xal was hurt. I…” There is no word for it, but Ro feels one trying to take shape on a tongue not meant for such sounds.
“You have to stop this. Promise me you’ll stay away from Xal.”
“I can’t.” It isn’t what Ro means to say, not meaning to say anything at all.
For a moment, Ro is afraid Audra will storm out, but she only crosses her arms tight around her body.
“Ro, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Ro’s voice cracks. “I really don’t.”
Ro lies back on the pillow, closing eyes before they snap open again.
“Is Xal okay?” It hurts, but Ro turns toward Audra.
“Xal is fine, as far as I know.” Audra stiffens, her tone brittle and sharp. Hurt shines in her eyes. Her mouth opens, but she closes it again, standing. “I’ll go get a nurse.”
Audra’s shoes click and silence falls in their wake. Weary and bruised in ways that have nothing to do with skin, Ro curls into a ball, trying to recreate a knot of limbs so woven over and under and through each other
they become one.
Ro toys with the hospital bracelet. It’s been three days, and Ro’s wounds have vanished as though they never existed. Still, Audra insisted on riding in the cab back to the apartment, and now perches on the arm of Ro’s battered couch, watchful.
“What exactly did Lena say?” Ro paces to the window.
“She just suggested you might want to take some time off, for your health.”
“And she couldn’t be bothered to tell me in person?”
Ro glances back as Audra shrugs, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m sure she’s just worried. We all are.”
The slope of Audra’s shoulders and the way she studies her feet keeps Ro silent. Don’t shoot the messenger.
“I’m not fired?”
Audra shrugs again. Of course word has spread. Ro declined the opportunity to talk to reporters doing follow-up stories on the attack, but it doesn’t matter. The stories are still out there, painting Ro as a misguided loner, the victim of an alien attack, a pervert. Maybe Lena is right to be wary, the other couriers right to withdraw. All except Audra.
“Come with me,” Ro says.
Audra looks up, alarmed. “What?”
“Come with me to see Xal.”
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 rewritten—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 like 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 aftershock 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 unplayed.
“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.
