Glass and Gardens

by Sarena Ulibarri

  Daesha felt a quick surge of warmth for Talia, which caught her by surprise. Didn’t teenagers always think about themselves? When had Talia been paying enough attention to others to notice something like that?

  She let the moment pass. “I’m going to try some reprogramming functions, just give me a few moments of quiet. Maybe I can figure this out.”

  The teens promptly wandered closer to the wall and started to throw pebbles at it. The stones pinged off the Fyrewall with enough force to make the activity a game. Talia and Carlos ended up dodging the little bullets as they shot back at them like squash balls. A couple of stones went through the gap in the wall instead of ricocheting off of it.

  Daesha did her best to ignore their game and turned all her equipment back on. The first thing the sensors picked up was the approaching fire. Ten miles away and moving slowly. Good. No need to head back to the city yet. The next thing she figured out was how to pick up the size and location of the hole through a 3D rendering of the Fyrewall that she projected in front of her. It looked as though…no, that couldn’t be right…

  “Hey Ms. Daesha, did you know there are other cracks in the wall too?” It was Talia. She’d noticed the same thing that Daesha was picking up on her computers. The giant hole that Talia found earlier was actually flanked by tiny streaks of nothingness where the blue of the wall should be. Why do I even bother with these gadgets at all? Daesha wondered, toggling another control.

  “Okay,” Daesha snapped at Talia. “I’m working on it.” She flipped through stats using the Ocu-contact set. Gravity hold, normal. Flow speed, normal. Wall width three to five feet, normal. She triggered the size controls anyway and heard the entire dome groan as it contracted by an inch. The adjustment didn’t seem to do anything to close the gaps, even the small ones.

  “Cool!” said Carlos. At least she had an appreciative audience.

  Daesha didn’t know what else to do. She’d never encountered a situation like this before, where the Fyrewall wasn’t capable of fixing itself. Daesha sighed, and buried her eyes in her hands, near tears. She tried to channel the supportive gaze she remembered from Grandma Jean’s Council friend, but she felt so alone out here above the city. What would The Council say when they realized that she wasn’t who they thought she was? That the city was going to fall prey to the same problems it used to have long ago?

  Daesha heard a metallic zip. Once. Twice. Again. She pulled her hands away from her face to see Talia flicking an e-lighter on and off. The stone game exhausted, Talia and Carlos were both sitting immediately next to the gap in the wall, watching the flame.

  “Talia, you know you aren’t supposed to have that,” said Daesha. She readied herself to go into authoritative mode, which she had read somewhere was the best way to get defiant kids to listen.

  Then something extraordinary happened. The Fyrewall reached out.

  Talia screamed and nearly dropped the lighter she was holding. Carlos shimmied away from it faster than Daesha would have thought him capable. The bulge in the Fyrewall remained, a mass of it that had shifted to be closer to Talia.

  “Do it one more time,” said Daesha, a spark of inspiration hitting her.

  Talia flicked the lighter, and the wall streamed out to touch it, absorbing only the flame. The color in the piece of wall that reached out brightened from aqua to a rich green. As the wall pulled itself back into place, it looked different somehow, newer.

  Healed.

  The section of the wall that had reached out was now completely smooth, with no cracks marring its surface. Talia looked up at Daesha, realizing what this could mean. She stood, walked to a new section of wall and flicked the lighter again.

  The same process happened. The wall healed in the place where Talia fed it fire. Talia moved to try a third time.

  As Talia flowed along the wall, the proof flitted across Daesha’s contacts. The sensors were detecting bigger energy waves from the wall again—a spike each time Talia fed it fire. Based on what she was seeing, the new sections would have enough strength to both power the city and withstand external fire threats.

  Carlos recovered from his startled state and went over to Talia.

  “It’s like it needs the fire to get better,” he said, examining the latest healed spot. Daesha realized he was exactly right.

  “It’s gone symbiotic,” she exclaimed. “The wall was created as standalone technology, but it’s been absorbing the power of the fire that hits it! The wildfires don’t damage the wall, they make it stronger. The wall needs the flames.” She realized what she was saying. “This isn’t the same wall that Grandma Jean built. It’s…it’s evolved.”

  The next idea seemed to come to her at the same time as the teenagers, who were already poised to move. “Gather branches,” Daesha told them.

  Carlos and Talia nodded and ran off to find some. When they came back, Daesha wrapped the bottom of three of the branches in strips from the heat-dispelling fabric she kept in her kit for emergencies. She handed each of the kids a piece of wood and kept one for herself. Then, she nodded at Talia to do the honors.

  Talia flicked the lighter and touched it to the unwrapped portion of Daesha’s branch, which caught immediately, dry as it was. Daesha held her flame out to Carlos’ stick, and Carlos held his to Talia’s. Together the three of them approached the original gaping hole they had found, and thrust the branches toward it.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The break in the wall held its shape. And then, slowly, the edges of the Fyrewall seemed to sigh outward and pick up the energy of nearby light and heat. The structure reached and drank from the flames for several long minutes. Daesha and the teenagers held their arms steady, feeding the wall patiently.

  Finally, the undulating matter relaxed back into place, freshly-knitted together and whole. The green of the new portion spread into the surface and healed several nearby cracks as well. It’s beautiful, thought Daesha. I never needed to fix the wall, just nourish it.

  Daesha turned to her charges with a grin. “Looks like there might be some more work out here for you two. Want to stay and help me repair the rest?”

  “Really?” asked Carlos. “I thought you hated us.” Talia looked confused too.

  Daesha smiled, and thrust the final, smoldering embers of her stick into the emerald expanse. She watched the kaleidoscope effect unfold and laughed a little.

  “I’m realizing I could use a couple of assistants who know what they’re doing,” she answered.

  Talia studied Daesha carefully, then nodded and fed the remains of her charred branch to the Fyrewall too. “I guess I might have some time,” she said. “As long as I get to keep my lighter.”

  “Too late,” replied Carlos, as he flipped the metal device into the air and caught it in the palm of his hand.

  ***

  Stefani Cox is a Los Angeles-based speculative fiction writer and lapsed urban planner. She’s an alumna of the VONA/Voices of Our Nations Arts writing workshops and an associate editor for PodCastle fantasy fiction podcast. Stefani also works as a communications consultant, and spends her free time practicing yoga, hiking, and being an insatiable bookworm. She holds a master’s in City and Regional Planning from UC Berkeley. Find her on Twitter @stefanicox or her website stefanicox.com.

  Watch Out, Red Crusher!

  by Shel Graves

  The mind-matriarch glowed faint luminescent pink—the most beautiful shade Andee had ever seen. Andee sat in the circle of students under the great willow tree while Madame Morell chanted words of solace, eyes closed. Although Andee knew it was just a side effect of the solar nanites that Aberdonia injected into the cells of all of its citizens, the pink glow still made Madame Morell look magical. Andee wished Madame Morell was, as she looked, a wish-granting fairy godmother. Instead, she was chanting, “Practice. Focus. Patience,” as usual and reminding her students that, “A shade can’t be forced, it must be found.”

  But I’m not patient. I don’t have time to be patient, Andee thought
. I have to get my shade under control.

  For this First Summer celebration the community would still consider Andee a child and excuse her shifting shades. Soon though, as an adult, she’d be expected to settle in. It wasn’t enough that the nanites glowing beneath her skin helped power the community, providing electricity, running water, and warming the algae production ponds. In addition, every resident of Aberdonia had to pick an occupation and be formally welcomed into the community at the autumn Sun Ceremony or face exile to the uncivilized Freeway—home to murderers and thieves. Everyone told Andee she was wrong to fear exile. Her parents were farmers and she would be, too.

  “Oh, Andee, of course you’ll be welcome,” her mother said.

  But Andee wasn’t sure. She saw the way the elders looked at her blue shine with distaste. And she didn’t want to be a farmer.

  The elders thought Madame Morell was a charlatan, but the shade-changing classes were Andee’s last hope. Unfortunately, the more she listened to Morell’s soothing words, the more hopeless she felt. The nanites within her betrayed her feeling, making her glow a despondent blue. Everyone could see her insecurity and that made Andee feel even worse no matter how she tried to hide it. She glanced to the side through her blue glow at Irwin Hunter, who glowed red on the edge of the class. He’d come into class brick red and his shade hadn’t dimmed despite Morell’s guidance, deep slow breathing, and chanting, “Love. Peace. Love.”

  Irwin was also trying to gain acceptance by moderating his shade display, but his predicament was even worse than Andee’s. His red betrayed an aggressive anger and most Aberdonians, including his own parents, feared him.

  At least people don’t think I’m a monster, Andee thought.

  “Go in peace,” Madame Morell said when the class ended, but Andee stayed, hoping to ask a question. As usual, Madame Morell was spending extra time with Irwin. Andee hovered nearby, overhearing their conversation.

  “I went to Council Leader Gordon like you suggested,” Irwin said. “He was welcoming. It was daytime so he couldn’t see my shade and judge me by it, but I think I was keeping calm. I was excited, but not angry. You know, orange, at least. I let him know I was interested in apprenticing like you said.”

  “Good, good,” Madame Morell said.

  “Yeah, but then he asked me about my politics, my passion, and I…”

  “Oh, Irwin.”

  “I got worked up. I can’t lie! I told him I disagreed with the Solar Pact. I said I had some other ideas. I—I just talked too much.”

  “People do when they are passionate,” Morell said.

  “Sure, well, that’s fine if you have ideas other people agree with…if not… Anyway, he got kind of mad. I got madder and then, well, he had this little Solar Pact monument on his desk, and I picked it up, threw it. Stupid thing.”

  “Oh, Irwin.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “Oh, Irwin.”

  “I threw it at him.”

  “You threw The Spiked Sun at the Council Leader?”

  “It hit him in the face. There was blood.”

  Madame Morell’s glow flickered, but then she stepped forward and hugged Irwin. He relaxed into the hug and shimmered soothing orange, but then seeing Andee watching he broke away. “I don’t deserve it! Any of this! I didn’t ask for this!” He stormed away, glowing bright red as a warning.

  Andee turned, embarrassed. Throughout it all, Madame Morell hadn’t lost her calm powder pink.

  “Andee, is there something you wanted?”

  “Yes, Madame, I’ve just been wondering about your glow, so light. Why did you choose such a low dose?”

  “It’s true,” she said. “I got the smallest injection of nanites the Council would allow, so I glow very faintly. I was unsure about this whole idea and I was right to be wary. While the solar cells in our bodies have solved many problems, this side effect has created new ones.”

  Andee was afraid to ask her next question. “Did you consider going Unseen?”

  “I did,” Madame Morell said. “I could have refused the Solar Pact, refused the injection of nanites altogether. But then I wouldn’t have been a part of the community. I would have been cast out. Maybe they wouldn’t have done it right away, but eventually…I saw where things were headed. I can do more good here than out on the Freeway.”

  “Our generation wasn’t given a choice,” Andee said.

  “I know. I’m sorry. You were injected at birth and you have to deal with these unintended consequences. Just know you’re not alone. Others struggle, too. A shade can’t be forced, it must be found.” Andee knew Madame Morell was encouraging her to reach out to Irwin. “You have things in common,” she said.

  But Andee didn’t like to think of herself as like him. Her struggles were different. She was depressed, not dangerous. She wouldn’t risk her place in Aberdonia for him. The last time she’d tried to befriend Irwin, it hadn’t gone well.

  ***

  There was an incident in school when they were all quite young. Andee’s mother had brought in a red velvet cake covered in raspberries, Andee’s favorite. No one knew exactly what had happened, but Irwin had ended up stomping and smashing the red treat into a mush and none of them had gotten to eat any of it. After that, the kids had teased Irwin mercilessly, bringing in red foods and toys and asking Irwin to crush them in a myriad of violent outbursts, gleefully squealing when he had gone along with it. Irwin had earned the nickname Red Crusher. It got so no one called him by his real name.

  Finally, the teacher had put a stop to it.

  “No more Red Crusher,” she’d said. “I’m introducing a new student, Irwin Hunter. Let’s give him a fresh start.”

  The children had complied, pretending to forget the incident and playing nice, but behind his back, and the teacher’s, Irwin had remained Red Crusher.

  Nowadays, Red Crusher was synonymous with any uncontrolled red glow—a potentially violent person. Even the adults had picked up the term.

  ***

  First Summer night celebrated the passage of Aberdonia’s youth into adulthood. Everyone would be there. Andee knew she couldn’t miss the social event of the year, but she was stuck in her indie sun dome glowing a wrong shade—a deep, sad blue—and she couldn’t shake it. Dusk was turning the inside of her dome pale blue, reflected off of Andee’s own solar skin shade. All she wanted was to stay inside, look at the nature scenes reflected on the walls of her sun dome, drink lavender tea, and go to sleep, but soon the community would be gathering for the evening festival. Andee closed her eyes and attempted Madame Morell’s shade-shifting techniques. When she opened her eyes, she imagined she could see pleasing winks of green from the corner of her eyes.

  “Please, please be green,” she thought, as she turned toward her reflection in the concave mirrored wall behind her.

  She heard Madame Morell’s words, A shade can’t be forced, it must be found.

  That might be true, but if she couldn’t shake her sad shade quickly, no one would hire her and she could be cast out of Aberdonia’s utopia onto the Freeway. Andee didn’t have time before the festival to wait for an acceptable hue to emerge. So, she begged. Her desperation worked, kind of. Squinting, maybe, maybe there was a sea green glint to her skin, but definitely the glow around her head and torso remained a depressed periwinkle blue.

  Andee knew if she really wanted to change her mood, as Madame Morell often said, she needed to get out and be around her friends. Even if that didn’t feel like what she wanted to do right now, it would help.

  But she couldn’t show up to the party blue. She needed pale green at least.

  Fretting in the mirror, her shade lost all green and dropped to worried blue again.

  Ugh, she thought, disgusted. Why can’t I just be right?

  Just then, a colored light—aquamarine—flashed over the dome, indicating the arrival of a guest.

  “Oh no, Marina,” Andee said, irritated by the interruption even though Marina was one of her favorite c
lassmates.

  She went to the side of the dome and an arc of light opened for her friend. Marina stepped in, glowing a radiant green, a nourishing sea shade around her hemp halter-top and wrap skirt.

  “So beautiful,” Andee said, saying the first thing that came to mind.

  Marina smiled and her lush aquamarine brightened. She embraced Andee. Marina was going to be an ocean protector. Her parents were forest protectors, but they encouraged Marina’s love of the sea. Comparing herself to confident Marina made Andee’s own color dip and fade to sickly gray.

  “Hey, happy First Summer,” Marina said. She gazed pointedly into Andee’s eyes, clearly trying not to look too closely at her friend’s off color. “Do you want to walk with me?”

  “I’m not quite ready yet,” Andee said, ashamed. She needed more time to present a better shade. Sometimes she envied her mother for the old days when they had to “get ready” for parties. Nowadays, makeup was a thing of the past and everyone wore similar clothes. No one cared about external trappings. Your internal glow, your solar skin shade, was what mattered.

  “You’re going though, right?” Marina asked. “We haven’t seen you in awhile. I’m worried.”

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time in classes,” Andee said. “With Morell.”

  If it were anyone else, Andee wouldn’t have wanted to admit that she was studying shade shifting; most people thought it was weird and “inauthentic.” Your natural color was supposed to shine through. You weren’t supposed to have to try. But Marina knew that Andee struggled.

  “Oh, okay,” Marina said, her eyes betraying concern. “Well, be careful if you walk alone. There’s a Red Crusher out tonight. I heard stomping and swearing and saw some red flashes.”

  At this, Andee lost all traces of her green equanimity. She hated it when people talked about Red Crushers. Marina was kinder about it than some of her friends, but Andee couldn’t help but imagine if it were her. She had wrong shades, too. What would they say about her?