Broken Bastions

A shimmering tongue of green light danced atop the wood grain, refracting off of Emma Brewster's emerald ring. With a dextrous thumb, she twisted the piece of jewelry around the middle finger on which it always resided. A tiny, glowing monitor on the underside of the ring read "42% BTRY." Enough to last out the week. Good.

She took a ginger sip of the steaming latte that had just arrived at her corner table, before hazarding a glance around the cafe.

The room was nearly empty. Half a dozen large, translucent, geometric red forms hovered in various spots around the room, to which Emma paid no mind. They were only being projected directly into her vision via her ocular implants, of course. Above each form floated a small readout, detailing the specific reasons why it was beneficial for Emma to avoid those spots. She did not take the time to read these.

A man who could only be described as gorgeous was perched on a stool beside the bar across the room. High cheekbones and a regally trimmed goatee framed the flawless ebony visage, which was unswervingly focused on a book in the man's lap.

Can he see me?

As Emma scooted over to get a better look, her errant left arm brushed the mug set in front of her - sending a full cup of very hot beverage cascading towards her lap. She couldn't even react before -

FSHHHHHHHH.

With a mighty hiss, the coffee splashed and roiled - reflecting off of some invisible barrier about three inches above Emma's tattered black jeans. She remained frozen as the liquid flowed right off of the energy field, like water droplets zooming around a blazing hot pan. Not a drop touched her as the remains of her drink slipped down to the floor in a sad puddle.

A warm yet mechanical British man's voice spoke directly into Emma's head.

"Dangerously hot liquid detected: this Bastion has successfully protected client one-one-four-seven-three-four, Emma Brewster."

Emma winced at sound of the voice. Raising her emerald ring to her lips, she muttered, "Bastion, please turn the volume down a bit." She glanced over at the gorgeous man across the room. He had not so much as moved following Emma's latte debacle. She tried to make a little too much noise shuffling around as she got up to leave, to no avail; he paid her no notice, not even looking up from his book. Emma glanced at his wrist, where a shimmering golden bracelet rested. Heaving a quiet sigh, she navigated through the glowing red obstacles to leave the cafe. On her way out, she cast a rueful glance back at the steaming pool that was her latte - and a grateful one down at the ring on her hand.

Bastion technology had taken over modern society with striking speed. After all, who wouldn't want guaranteed physical safety at all times? Most lower to middle class citizens would only be able to afford a belt or possibly wristband model Bastion, of course; the emerald ring had been a gift from her Grandma Eve, and was one of Emma's most prized and valuable possessions. All models carried essentially the same protective capabilities, naturally. But one couldn't deny the style of a ring, necklace, or pocketwatch-shaped Bastion. How such a small object could contain sufficient technology to project the protective field around her entire body and communicate with her ocular and aural implants was beyond belief. A micro-engineering elective in college had briefly discussed the subject, but Emma had to ruefully admit that most of it had gone in one ear and out the other.

Grandma Eve loved to reminisce about how all of the news outlets, philosophers, celebrities and politicians of her day had started saying that the dawn of the Bastion era was the greatest technological and social revolution since the Industrial; Emma did not doubt it. No one could ever again be placed in physical danger, with an active Bastion. It was within the first year that propositions were made to require all citizens to own one and keep it activated in public spaces; it didn't take long after those laws passed for human police institutions to be declared obsolete. Concerns about public shooters, acts of terrorism, and assault of any kind were a thing of the past. Total personal security had been privatized, mandated, and universalized.

The day was alight with cold, late winter sun. Emma made her way down a broad, bright street, wending between countless more shifting red obstacles. Amidst the sea of translucent shapes, Emma saw only a few people strolling around. These were all well-dressed, well-to-do looking stragglers, wending their ways in various directions along the road. A tall, slender woman in a shiny black dress nodded politely at Emma from a ways away. A short, broad man in business attire gave an awkward sort of salute while hurrying past. Emma tried to reciprocate these almost-greetings, but everyone seemed to be in some sort of rush.

Suddenly, the voice began once again in Emma's ear - though it spoke in a slightly lower in volume this time, as requested.

"WARNING: Ocular communications failure. Deactivation of ocular editing imminent. Obstacles will remain un-obscured until restoration of Bastion ocular communications is possible."

Emma rolled her eyes. Again..?

The gift from her Grandma had been known to do this before. Emma's whole vision fizzled, filling for a moment with static. With an internal sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her vision to reset. After a long moment, she opened them again to find herself in a massive crowd of people.

Where all of the abstract red forms denoting 'obstacles' had been, there now appeared dozens - hundreds - of passersby. A woman with frizzy hair pushing a double stroller rushed by, beside a stout and round-faced man walking a similarly proportioned bulldog, who trotted past an elderly couple coughing - or laughing? - in sync, beside a bleary-eyed teen sipping from a dark bottle...

There are so many of them.

The warm British voice sounded again in Emma's ears.

"NOTICE: Your personal Bastion shielding remains at full integrity. You are safe. Aural cancellation likewise remains fully functional. Bastion Technology Services apologizes for the ocular communications failure. Restoration of ocular editing will transpire in approximately 04 minutes."

Emma's vision obscuring settings were fairly standard, all things considered: the sights and sounds of all strangers would be obscured unless they were members of some public service, specifically designated family members and friends, or measuring above average on Emma's personal algorithm of attractiveness.

She liked to think that her personal privacy choices were not too problematic. Bastions were capable of cultivating a matrix personalized by whatever criteria an individual might choose, analyzing each stranger in a given area on a graph of potential to be (0r be perceived as) threatening, bothersome, or distasteful - and edit such detractors out of the Bastion-wearers vision. A person's political affiliations, facial structures, family histories, religious convictions, and even choices of clothing were all considered perfectly valid criteria for opting out of having to perceive them.

This was the true and final magic of the Bastion era, of course. It was only once the technologies became capable of linking to ocular and aural implants that people began to talk about the "total social revolution" and "new era of peace and privacy."

With a jolt, Emma realized that she was standing right beside - practically right over - another person. Shuffling quickly over, she looked down at perhaps the grubbiest human she had ever seen. The man wore a brown leather jacket so tattered it might have been mistaken for a shag carpet. A ball cap was set low on his face, overshadowing deep lines, dark, peppery gray peach fuzz, the glowing end of a cigarette, and sparkling eyes - trained right on Emma.

With a small smile, the man glanced back down at his guitar and continued on with his song. With her aural implants were still functioning properly, Emma could not hear the noise of the man playing. He opened his mouth, apparently singing, face remaining down turned.

She could not imagine interacting with such a character without the reassurance of a Bastion's field. Something about this man, though - the sparkle in his eyes, the smile wrinkles in their corners, or the skillfulness with which he appeared to pluck the strings of his beat-up guitar - compelled Emma to linger. Her shield was still functional, thankfully.

She raised her ring to her lips and quietly muttered to it.

"Bastion, turn off environmental silencing please."

She wasn't sure what made her to it. Pity? Shame? Curiosity? Whatever the case, she now heard the gentle sound of classical guitar drifting over the newly unmuted roar of human traffic. She could just barely make out his words amidst the cacophony.

"Oh, the quiet feels loud, and the loud feels quiet -

And caring's not allowed, so we don't even try it -

Oh, we're safer than ever, to live and die alone -

Training till forever, to lie quiet 'neath a stone."

Something about these lyrics - blatant social commentary as they might be - struck a proverbial chord with Emma in that moment. As the stanza concluded, the singing man looked up, meeting Emma's eyes again. She held his gaze for a long moment, wondering if she should speak. What was there to say? Would he ask for spare change?

Emma turned to go. As she left, she thought she heard a faint chuckle and the resumption of a tune.

"Ocular reset to transpire in one minute. Apologies for the delay."

Emma glanced back.

"Actually - Bastion - leave my audio and ocular editing deactivated, please."