Coffee flights

Unlike people, the droid has no need for wings. They manipulate the magnets embedded in their body directly and effortlessly as they dart between buildings, barely disturbing even the still night air with their movement. The droid has just finished their mission, and now their only remaining objective is to escape unnoticed. This won’t pose a problem. The droid is the crowning achievement of one of the greatest designers who has ever lived. They make little sound for anyone nearby to detect, and as for sight - well, careful manipulation of the overlays can do wonders for that as well.

The droid has become very good at staying hidden, at staying unseen. This doesn’t bother them. Mostly.

Brilliant red maple leaves danced along the walls of the buildings that Aya walked past. They were arranged in clusters that looked natural, almost tree-like in the corner of her eyes, and their movement suggested a bright autumn breeze. But of course there was no breeze, and when looked at head-on, the leaves were only bright splashes of color on the walls. Greater realism was possible but not desirable. Seasons in the city were vibrant and beautiful, but they were never deceptive.

Aya cut a small, dark figure amidst the riot of color. She moved purposefully through the streets, her steps quick and even. As she approached the center of the ward, the streets gradually filled with other people. Groups of them were chatting, admiring the leaves, sipping cups of coffee. Newcomers ducked out of buildings or dropped from the sky, their wings gracefully folding behind them as they landed neatly on the pavement. Even those who arrived alone were quickly swept into a group, welcomed by friends or even just friendly strangers. Center Ward was a place to socialize, after all.

A place to socialize, and one other thing: to see Tokyo. Aya found herself in an open plaza, rather sooner than she would have liked. The walls here were bare, and the few scattered people were walking purposefully to and from a round, stark white building that was erected in the center of the plaza. The building and its protective ring of open pavement was an island of respectful stillness in the city’s sea of whirling creative energy. Normally, Aya liked it here.

Inside the white building - the Office - was a large circular atrium, several stories high. A grand ancient oak tree planted in the center reached most of the way to the ceiling, where a large light fixture nourished it. The cylinder of wall surrounding the atrium was scattered with a series of identical doors, each with its own little doormat-shaped landing pad sticking out from the wall beneath it. As Aya entered, a few people were coming and going between the doors and the Office’s main entrance. Only one of the doors mattered to Aya - and there it was, on the third story, highlighted by a gentle ultraviolet glow. Aya achieved the ledge with only a few powerful thrusts of her wings. She placed a single foot on the ledge as she mentally nudged the door to open, using her forward momentum to carry her through the doorway in one smooth motion as she transitioned back to walking.

The small room on the other side was furnished simply with two stools a respectful distance apart. The door closed behind her. She blinked, and suddenly there was a figure standing by one of the stools, beckoning her to sit in the other. To Aya, Tokyo’s avatar had the appearance of a man in his late fifties. The avatar’s appearance was vaguely similar to Aya’s own, and a passerby might assume that he was her uncle. The figure looked fully human, except that he had no wings.

“Hello, Aya,” Tokyo ventured after Aya had perched on her stool. The city’s avatar took its own seat in the other. “How are you doing?”

Aya shrugged. The avatar nodded as if this were an actual response and continued without missing a beat. “Let’s discuss your progress with wing design, then.”

Aya pulled up a file and projected it on the wall in her overlays, setting the display to public so that Tokyo could see it as well. The city wouldn’t really be looking through the eyes of its avatar - who only existed in the overlays anyways - but the projected image was useful for social cues like gaze and gesturing. Aya scrolled through pages of sketches and notes, walking Tokyo through her work, adding commentary when necessary in brief half-sentences.

Tokyo finally stopped her midway through the section on feather color, which included a lengthy discussion on the recent trend of using striking colors on feathers that were only visible when the wings were fully outstretched.

“This is a detailed analysis, but these are the designs of others. Do you have any of your own to show me?” The avatar asked.

Aya shook her head. The avatar looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t matter what your current skill level is, of course. With practice, you’ll improve. But only with practice.”

The avatar watched Aya intently, but she kept her gaze fixed on the document.

Abruptly, Tokyo changed the subject. “Your old classmate, Vel, painted those leaves on today’s walls. She did a beautiful job, didn’t she?”

Aya tilted her head slightly to one side, noncommittal. Was Tokyo bringing this up to suggest that she try switching to painting?

“Those leaves could be real, you know.” This caught Aya off guard; she looked up involuntarily. “Or so real that you wouldn’t notice the difference. I could line the streets with overlays of maples and a dizzying variety of other trees, all on the cusp of a brilliant autumn.”

Aya pictured the forest as Tokyo described it, and wondered what it would feel like to weave between the trees on her wings. But then, she imagined the forest in her mind dissolving and being replaced with another equally convincing illusion, the same way the patterns on the city walls shifted day to day. She felt slightly uneasy.

“We use a very limited form of overlays not because of technological difficulties, but because of psychological ones,” Tokyo continued. “Humans are oddly fragile in some ways. If your perception and reality are too far apart, it can be truly dangerous.”

Tokyo paused, clearing hoping Aya would raise the obvious objections. She simply looked back at the avatar, calling its bluff. Tokyo relented.

“Sometimes a small amount of deception is so beneficial that the risk is clearly worth it. The sun, for example - humans need sunlight. And your wings.”

Aya’s wings were tucked neatly behind her. They were an even light grey, darkening almost imperceptibly at the tips of the feathers. In one sense, they were perfectly real; she could fly, after all. But all she had to do was switch off her overlays, and they would disappear right along with the avatar of the city. Turning off the overlays was a profoundly disturbing experience for most people.

“Forgive my ramblings,” Tokyo resumed after a brief silence. “Back to your creative work - it’s clear you’ve put in a great deal of effort. There’s no rush, and there’s no sense in forcing things. Why don’t you take a break? We can discuss your next steps after you’ve had a chance to think a bit.”

It seemed that the interview was over. As Aya was getting up to leave, Tokyo added one more thing.

“Your notes make it clear that you’re very observant, Aya. Regardless of your designs, seeing clearly is a skill you can be proud of. Don’t be afraid to keep looking.”

Aya exited the Office and set off again, but rather more aimlessly than she had arrived. She didn’t quite want to return home yet. She had never heard of the city suggesting that someone take a break from their creative work before. It was hard not to think the “break” was really Tokyo’s way of saying it didn’t know what to do with her.

Four streets branched off from the plaza; Aya picked one at random and started down it. This time she paid more attention to the maple leaves. Maybe, if she squinted a little and tried not to think too hard, she could even admire them. They really were a work of art. Recalling Tokyo’s strange words at the end of her interview, she switched off her overlays for a moment. Beneath the leaves, the wall was the expected unremarkable white.

Aya suddenly became conscious of two figures on the opposite side of the street, just below the section of wall she had been gazing at. It took her another moment to realize what had attracted her attention - the figures were arguing.

“My son is a good kid! He never got into this kind of trouble before. Now he won’t be able to see his friends for a week! You think this is funny, Tetsu?”

The man was close to shouting, the anger in his voice tightly controlled and wielded like a weapon. His wings flared out behind him threateningly. The second figure - Tetsu, apparently - was a droid with an expressive face, betraying indignation and a hint of panic.

“No, I - of course we didn't mean any harm, I just -” Tetsu stammered.

“I gave you a warning last time,” the man interjected. “You’re a bad influence on my son. No matter how much he’ll miss you, we’re better off without you.”

Tetsu's expression was edging more towards panic, but the droid held their ground. “I can explain everything, please just give me a chance, it won’t happen again-”

“Don’t come within sight of my family again. That’s an order.” The man stared at the droid for a moment longer, driving his point home. Then, he turned his back pointedly and walked the few steps to the front door of a building facing the street, only finally retracting his wings to allow them to pass through the doorway without clipping through the walls. To Aya, this final dramatic touch was nearly humorous. What a jerk, she thought.

The odd exchange had at least distracted Aya from her own problems, and she decided it was time to return home. She took a small step backwards and spread her own wings. She glanced back at the droid, standing forlorn in the street, and with a start realized that they were staring straight at her. Their eyes locked for a moment. Aya wondered if she should apologize for overhearing - but they were in public, weren’t they? Then the droid looked like they were about to say something, and that decided it for Aya, or at least for her wings. She was airborne before she had consciously made up her mind to go, and from there the natural thing was to keep flying, the powerful downstroke of her wings nearly hugging her at their lowest point and carrying her far more quickly than she could move on the ground.

Aya was awoken the next morning by the sun pouring cheerfully into the open glass wall of her loft. Aya's eyes dimmed automatically against the brightness, so she could make a good go at glaring directly at the source of the light. The sun, not knowing it wasn’t real, wasn’t bothered by her glare. Aya decided that whatever she was going to do with herself today, it was going to happen after coffee.

There were many cafes within easy flight or stroll of Aya’s loft, but her regular haunt was a cozy building tucked near the very top of Tokyo’s many layers a good 30 minutes away by wing. Aya rolled out of bed, pulled on a fresh jumpsuit with efficient movements, and launched herself through the glass wall, which had partially retracted at her command. She ascended just far enough so she only had to maneuver around the very tallest of buildings, then maintained a ground-eating pace with slow, steady beats of her wings. Today, the walls had a more abstract pattern. They rippled with orange waves, from which occasionally burst small darting objects reminiscent of fish or swallows.

The excuse for a long flight was part of the appeal of Aya’s destination, but the rest had everything to do with the glorious smell that enveloped Aya as she opened the door. To Aya’s left, Gene was working at the bar, chatting with customers and supervising a bot with several arms that whirred in an intricate dance as it went about assembling multiple drinks at once, giving off cheerful beeps as it worked. Gene occasionally intervened, gently tugging a cup from one of the bot’s hands to polish off the drink with cocoa powder or steamed milk. Behind Gene and the coffee bot, a small copse of coffee shrubs grew in individual pots, the mesh of their roots clearly visible through the clear pots and growth medium. More shrubs were scattered about the cafe, with tables tucked between them. The scents of freshly roasted coffee and growing things mixed into something bright and rich that never failed to loosen something in Aya’s chest.

Gene, who wasn’t a particularly gloomy person to begin with, brightened even further when he caught sight of Aya.

“Hiya, pippin. What’ll it be? Flat white?”

“Cappuccino,” Aya decided.

Gene shook his head. “You know, if you could just settle on a drink, I could just go-” He leaned one forearm on the bar and ran his other hand suavely over his hair, deepening his voice for good measure - “The usual, babe?”

“It’s a good thing I keep changing my mind, then,” Aya observed. Gene grinned at her. “Some things about you are consistent, at least! Masa’s over there, by the way,” he said, pointing towards the back of the cafe. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see you, too. Just hang tight while we see about that cappuccino.”

Aya stood quietly by the bar, watching as the coffee bot and then Gene prepared her drink, tag-team fashion. Gene took extra care with the foamed milk, finally finishing with a flourish and handing Aya the cup. Peering into it, she found that the milk and coffee had coalesced into a feather pattern. Not only was the shape recognizably her own, but rather than being pure white, Gene had mixed just enough coffee into the feather that it matched the shade of Aya’s wings perfectly.

Aya looked up from the coffee, not sure what to say. Gene waved her off with a wink, then turned to the next customer.

Aya headed in the direction he had pointed earlier and found Masa deep in conversation with another woman who looked vaguely familiar. A set of small cups was arrayed between them. Not wanting to interrupt, Aya took a seat nearby.

Masa gave her a wave without breaking the rapid flow of her speech. She was animatedly describing a new coffee cultivation technique she had come up with: growing the shrubs in light of different colors. Apparently the various cups corresponded to different spectrums, and Masa was swearing up and down that you could taste the color in the coffee. The other woman frowned thoughtfully and took sips from each of the cups in turn. Aya sipped her own non-colored coffee. It was strong and subtle at the same time, and made her feel warm in a way that only had a little bit to do with temperature. Masa and Gene were the real thing.

Masa’s conversation wrapped up a few minutes later. Both women stood up and bumped fists, then the other woman headed off. Masa turned to Aya.

“Thanks for being patient,” she said. “Vel is going to design some new cups around these color themes for us. It’s going to be the next big thing, I’m sure of it!”

Now that she was looking directly at her, Aya was distracted from the fascinating topic of coffee synesthesia by Masa’s appearance. More specifically - her hair. Masa’s halo of dark chocolate ringlets looked… softer than usual at the edges. In fact, it looked like nothing so much as little clouds.

Aya had never seen such a striking violation of the strict correspondence usually maintained between overlays and reality. 2D designs, clearly designated on walls or clothing, were one thing - Masa’s hair was on a completely different level. The cloud-halo even drifted a little at a relaxed cloud-like pace as Masa’s head moved slightly. Aya’s awe only increased when she surreptitiously switched off her overlays and found that the clouds stayed exactly where they were. It wasn’t a fancy overlay illusion at all. Somehow Masa’s hair was real.

Masa had noticed Aya’s gaze and was clearly pleased with the attention. “How about it?” She asked. “Impressive, right?”

“And beautiful,” Aya said honestly. “But how is that even possible?”

Masa pulled a face. “I would love to know, but the clinic was annoyingly tight-lipped about their methods. Trade secrets, I guess. I bet it’s only a matter of time before it’s all over the place though. I mean, just look!” She shook her head and the cloud-hair lazily followed her movement before gradually settling back around her head.

Aya shook her own head in amazement, but of course no cloud drifting ensued. Masa laughed, then turned the conversation to Aya’s work. “You were on wing design, right?”

After hearing Aya’s short explanation, Masa looked pensive. “And Tokyo finished by advising you to… observe things? How odd.” After a brief pause, she continued, “Well, there are worse places to observe than a cafe. Gene and I meet all sorts of people here. And, hey, why don’t I give you the address of that clinic that did my hair? Maybe you can figure out how they’re managing it!”

Masa flicked a finger, and the address flashed in a small box in the corner of Aya’s overlays. “Stop by and keep me up to date on your new mission, okay? Even if you don’t figure out the secret of cloud hair.” Aya lifted her mug in acknowledgment, then savored the last sip of her cappuccino. Masa laughed again. “Yeah, yeah, you’re only here for the coffee. Fortunately, we make excellent coffee.” She stroked a nearby shrub leaf affectionately, then headed back to the bar with a wave.

Aya doubted that Masa’s clinic would tell her anything they hadn’t wanted to tell Masa, who was very good at wheedling information out of people. Masa’s other suggestion was easier to follow, however. Aya surveyed the cafe. It would have been a little easier to do it naturally while sipping a coffee, but she didn’t want to bother Gene for a second cup, and she never attracted much notice anyways. Masa and Gene did a good business, and several handfuls of people were scattered between the shrubs and tables, chatting or looking in concentration at things in their private overlay space. She noted a tall man with bat-like wings, no feathers at all - that had been all the rage 20 years ago, but was rare these days. The man had picked a striking almost-white color with just a hint of infrared warmth. Aya idly wondered if bat wings were making a comeback - not that it mattered, she reminded herself, now that she was no longer playing at being a wing designer.

Eventually, having run out of things to stare at, Aya got up and made her way to the exit. She reached the front door, but before she could mentally nudge it, it opened on its own. On the other side was a figure that she realized with a start was none other than the droid from the day before. Tetsu politely stood aside to let her past. As she made her escape, Aya snuck a glance at the droid’s face. Tetsu looked a little somber, but otherwise much improved from her memory. To Aya’s surprise, she felt a small burst of relief. She wasn’t sure if Tetsu recognized her or not, but she thought she could feel their eyes drilling into her back as she took off. She was flying away from the droid without a word twice in two days, which was probably leaving a pretty miserable first impression.

Well, it didn’t matter. Tokyo felt like a small place sometimes, but still, running into Tetsu again was a freak coincidence. She would probably never see them again.

That evening, Aya was curled up in a beanbag in her loft, watching a drama in her overlays, when she got a call from Gene.

“Hey, pippin,” came his easygoing voice. It was disembodied - Aya’s augments automatically detected that with her face squished against the beanbag she probably didn’t want to exchange video feeds. “I have a favor to ask. Masa filled me in about your assignment, and, well, I guess you probably have some extra time on your feathers?”

Denying this seemed pointless, with the paused scene of her drama still hovering in the center of her vision. “Mm,” said Aya.

“You see, I have this old friend who’s in a bit of a tight spot - a droid who had a falling out with their people. Masa and I would gladly take them in, but we spend nearly all our waking hours at the cafe, so…”

Aya had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “I like living alone,” she interrupted.

“It wouldn’t be for long! Just until they find a permanent home, you know?”

Aya took a deep breath. “I’m not cut out for roommates, not even droids, no matter how pathetic they look.”

“Pathetic?” Gene asked thoughtfully.

Aya realized her mistake instantly. Gene didn’t know she had witnessed Tetsu’s abandonment.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is no,” she said weakly.