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Cellulose & Steel	By : Not-Taylor Category: Misc Books > FemmeSlash Views: 1028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own HDG or its characters and I don't make money from this work.

Chapter List
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The Song of Destruction wakes up smothered in vines and hearing… something. She doesn’t like that something. It gives her a headache. The soft bed sloshes against her skin ferociously, agitating her every nerve. Her sensors are operational but she doesn’t see anything. The Song makes an odd noise as she sends out a hail. The spaghetti about her stirs.
“Olivia?”
Olivia’s headache gets a lot worse. Her chest is really sore, and not from the mystery ailment. It feels as if she’s been in a fight. She reaches for it to see how sensitive it is, but her cuffs restrain her. Blasted xeno.
What was she doing? Right, running diagnostics on her hyperdrives. Which she doesn’t have. Because humans don’t come equipped with hyperdrives without extensive aftermarket modifications. Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting a bit of an upgrade, especially when you’re missing something that you should already have. But humans aren’t supposed to have hyperdrives. What a weird thought. It must be the xenodrugs impairing her abilities.
Verda draws a few vines across Olivia’s body in a spiderlike fashion. There’s no escape. Can she speak? No escape for now she reminds herself.
“Verda.” So her mouth is working properly. “Let me go.”
The thing all around her chuckles. “Awfully demanding for somebody in your position, darling. I know you know the word please. What might happen if you used it?”
Verda squeezes and Olivia shivers. Even if her senses are back as they should be (mostly) it still feels amazing. Suddenly it’s hard to formulate an objection. Tump thump ta-tump.
She could write music to that beat… Tump thump ta-tump. Tump thump ta-tump.
Olivia shakes her head with all her might, and she feels her brain slosh a bit. Ow. It’s worth it because she’s gotten the noise fully outside of her mind.
“You would call me a good pet and touch my head.”
One of the vines wrapped around her neck tightens slightly. Her head is already more than being touched. There doesn’t seem to be a way to extricate herself.
“Darling, you’re learning so quickly! This is only the fourth day I’ve had you in my care and you already know what’s expected of you. What an attentive floret. I suppose it’s late enough in the day for you to be awake. You need to bathe and get dressed.”
“No!” Olivia protests. Not another bath. Not more of those disgusting slave garments. The lack of itch- of texture upsets her.
“If you don’t want to lie here with me and you don’t want to get up, what do you want, little one?”
Verda’s vines retract for the most part, stimulating everywhere they pass. The sensation is comforting and distressing, and their absence is also comforting and distressing. Olivia whimpers gently at the feeling. What does she even want? Liberty? Death? Both?
“I’d like to rejoin the Navy,” she says quietly. Right now, that’s the truth. That’s the only way to get back into an isolation tank to properly wean herself off of the data streams (not that she especially wants to be weaned, but she’s not going to be flying 24/7 no matter what happens). You’re not supposed to go cold turkey, not after what she’d done.
“Very well, my adorable floret. You’re now the… what do you call it? Fleet marshal? Of the Cosmic Navy, and leader of the first fleet: crew size one.” Verda reaches over to stroke Olivia’s hair, and for the first time Olivia notices that the affini has been to her right the whole day. Olivia’s brain makes the sound of ice cracking. There’s something weird about Verda’s touch now. It’s different somehow. She wants to blame the xenodrugs but it has to be something else too. These thoughts are so distracting she doesn’t notice the condescension.
“I miss flying.”
Verda frowns. She didn’t expect that?
“No. For now you’ll take a bath and then you’ll eat breakfast. When we’re done, we’ll figure out what to do with you. Verda looks distracted. Is it that strange to want to be a pilot, when you’re already one and have been longer than you’ve been anything else?
“I don’t need a bath.”
“It’s my understanding that most Terran pets don’t like to bathe either. It’s quite understandable as their owners can be somewhat careless and rough. I’ll ensure that you’re comfortable. If you aren’t, say so darling.”
The affini gets up and starts untying Olivia’s restraints. It doesn’t matter that much because she can’t go anywhere anyway. She then escorts her to the bathroom, where the bathing ritual is repeated. They stand awkwardly while the water fills. Olivia tries to hide herself, knowing that it doesn’t make a difference. The affini continues to smile, knowing that she isn’t comforting her property.
The water stops. Verda squirts two different bottles into the tub and injects another blast of water to generate a froth. She sticks a vine into the mixture and nods, pleased with the temperature. She counts the bottles and jars on the counter and brings a few closer to her.
Without warning, she grabs Olivia with her vines and dumps her into the tub. The surprised terran yelps and flails, trying to get out, but she’s held in place as her captor enters the tub too.
“I appreciate the effort in attempting to wash yourself already, but I’ll take care of it this time. Then we’ll see whose technique you like better, hm?”
Clearly consent doesn’t mean anything here, so after Olivia gets over the shock of being dunked she says nothing and simply sits there, letting things happen. It’s not as though there’s a choice, she thinks darkly. But there’s no point in resisting. It won’t even be less pleasant if she tries to fight against the washing. She sulks like a wet cat.
The lower half of her body is quickly lathered and scrubbed, leaving no dirt at all. The process is efficient, but leaves her skin raw and tingly from the xenodrugs of the soap. Next, her hair is rinsed and untangled. Shampoo is cycled through it and then conditioner of some kind is allowed to fester. It smells like pomegranates, Olivia notes despite never having seen one in person. Her face is gently massaged. By now a warmth is flowing into her through her lower sections and spreading upward. The tension in her muscles is dissipating, and the relaxation hits her head as Verda applies the facial cream. Rather than relaxing, it feels energizing. She starts to feel a bit more optimistic about her situation despite being held very tightly by a creature who’s aware it’s seen as an enemy. Just like a spa but where are the cucumbers, Olivia thinks. The cream is absorbed into her face and she no longer thinks about running away. It’s enough to just lie here in Verda’s vines and be massaged. It’s very comfortable, she has to admit.
Too soon the massage ends. Verda brings a different soap into the tub while Olivia is still lying contentedly and enjoying the warm water all around her. Neither need to say anything. Being in the tub together says enough. All of Olivia’s senses sharpen with the new soap. She thinks it’s probably not supposed to do that. It starts as a prickle, but then every nerve the soap touches comes alive. Everything feels just the same, but more. Then she smells everything in extra detail. Every fruit and herb of the cleansers, but even more so Verda. She smells of pineapple today. It’s not a scent from before. It’s very strong, but it also smells very good. Olivia rotates to get a better sniff, but Verda giggles and sets her back where she was. Olivia’s hearing also improves, as she hears the sound of her cleaner’s circulation. For now, it doesn’t bother her a bit. She doesn’t feel excited enough to react. Staying right here is fine…
The soap reaches Olivia’s breasts, and her shriek of shock instantly becomes one of pleasure. She tries her best to not react too strongly to the gently rubbing and scrubbing sensations. The affini has to know what she’s doing, she thinks as angrily as she possibly can right now, which isn’t very. That’s followed by a massage of her back and shoulders, which had been extremely tense in the past days, months, and even years. Olivia sighs, just happy to feel so free of conflict for a change. With her body washed, the conditioner is removed from her hair slowly and gently by Verda. The foam washes away and the tub drains. Verda stands up the rather limp human and dries her with a towel. She smiles at her still slightly moist captive. Olivia smiles at her and they walk together hand in hand to find her some clothes.
As soon as Verda lets go of Olivia’s hand, the human snaps back to full awareness. “What am I doing?” she wonders. She can’t believe she’s been so friendly with an enemy, the one responsible for her torture and imprisonment, no less! But… it felt really nice to just sit and be rubbed down. Olivia stretches a little. She feels better than she has in her entire stay with Verda. She feels alive, and normal. The bruises on her legs are fading and there are no longer warning lights pulsing through her brain. If she were anywhere else, she’d call it a fantastic start to the day.
Verda smiles down at her bemused floret to be. She doesn’t interrupt until Olivia notices her watching.
“Are you ready to get dressed or are you content to stand there for the rest of the day wearing a towel, pet?”
Olivia scowls. At least she’s not naked right now. As she stares back, Verda takes an outfit out of a wardrobe. It’s a green short sleeved shirt with a gold hem, and a long gold skirt. It’s probably not made with real gold. Olivia reaches to take the clothes.
“Ah! No, my little flight marshal, I will dress you.” Verda lifts her up and does just that. It’s over mercifully quickly, but that doesn’t make Olivia feel less humiliated by the experience.
“Flight marshall. Is she going to keep calling me that now? Just because I haven’t betrayed my compatriots yet? No, I won’t betray them at all. They deserve better. They don’t deserve… this.” She fumes as she’s carried in the affini’s vines to the kitchen and placed in a seat.
“After yesterday’s performance I don’t trust you with silverware for the time being, but I recognize that I would be going back on my word if I were to feed you myself. So, would you like a,” she reads from her tablet which she quickly opens, “‘breakfast sandwich with bacon, egg, and cheese on an english muffin?”
Olivia blinks. Was that “Would you like?” She gets to have preferences now? For being a “good girl” in the bath, no doubt. The rewards almost make her feel as belittled as the punishments. She recalls the video from what must’ve been the night before last. Affini owners mean all the compliments they give. Then… She doesn’t want to think about that. It has to be lies.
There’s no visible knife, or anything else potentially dangerous she could grab and hide away, but she isn’t wearing cuffs right now, and that means she can escape. In theory, but theory is always better than hopelessness.
“What- Could I- Maybe- How a- Sausage instead of bacon.”
That took a lot of effort, and Verda looks a bit surprised. Is Olivia supposed to be unable to think right now?
“Please.”
That really startled the affini. She looks confused before grinning and saying “Of course, Olivia. That’s no trouble at all. I just have to press a different button. I’m happy you feel comfortable enough around me to ask for that.”
Why is everything good and a sign of acceptance? Xenos and their manipulations and tricks. Olivia resolves to continue to be wary, especially since this particular xeno doesn’t seem to eat. It might while she’s knocked out, which, seemingly, she is, a lot. That’s probably not good, now that she thinks about it. Is there a workaround?
Verda leaps up to her chair, which is an entirely proper height for her, and lashes out around the corner with a vine. A few muted beeps come from the other room and a sound not unlike a rehydrator follows. Olivia looks across the table at the gigantic woman, or thing that looks sort of like a woman if you’re on a ton of drugs. That’s still Verda Edok, who is apparently the third out of some number at something. She doesn’t look much like an admiral, though that’s probably not the case for her kind. For all Olivia knows, the xeno has the word admiral tattooed on her shoulders. Her, its… Does it matter?
“You’re an admiral.”
“I am.”
“Why.”
“Because my credentials for that position were the best.”
That’s difficult to argue about.
“How many others applied?”
“I don’t know. Probably a great number.”
Humble. “Oh.”
They sit silently until a noise from the other room indicates that breakfast is ready. The sandwich swiftly appears in front of Olivia along with a glass of water. It’s hot and it looks delicious. Olivia picks it up. It’s too hot to eat yet.
“Did you want to be an admiral?”
“You ask a lot of questions, darling. Tell me about yourself. Did you want to become a pilot?”
“It was the best of my options and I was good at it.”
“You weren’t good at it before you tried.”
“I did well on the placement tests and simulations.”
Verda nods thoughtfully. “It was so for me. I… resolve conflicts. That is the primary function of a captain, which I was for a short time. An admiral must strategize. The captain needn’t.”
“Did you have to read a lot of books on battles and tactics?”
“No. Strategy is disconnected from such things. I simply understood the Terran perspective and anticipated their fleets’ movements. The technological divide was sufficient to ensure an easy victory in every battle. Casualties and cleanup time were my priorities.”
All of Terra’s history and war… pointless. Realistically it was bound to happen some time. The universe is vast and there’s always a bigger fish. Perhaps the Affini will be swallowed sooner than their arrogance will allow them to anticipate. A species that’s smarter, that breeds faster, that doesn’t require ‘pets’, that just gets lucky… Maybe humanity could have beaten them if they’d been born to younger star. Maybe the Rinans. Those deer things from the tram? Olivia has no idea but maybe. Life’s just one big cosmic lottery, isn’t it?
“Casualties?”
“We went to a great deal of effort to ensure that none of you were harmed unnecessarily. We only came to your portion of space to prevent you from harming yourselves and other species.”
Lies. Fewer casualties just means more slaves to parade around like trophies. The spoils of war, no doubt. She shivers, trying not to remember what had been done to her with the injections of xenodrugs in her system.
“So your job… was to understand Terrans?”
“Yes, that’s accurate. Your morality, preferences, and incentive structures are in fact alien, you know. You’re no less strange to us than we have proven to you.”
“Oh.” Olivia is distracted by her food, which she can barely even describe. The biscuit is light and fresh, and the egg is also fresh but not soggy from the meat, and the meat isn’t even oily. She takes a minute to glory in the food before her.
“A lot of affini tend to be… stuck in their ways. You saw how they reacted when I cited freedom, as though anyone who had done the barest minimum of research before adopting a terran pet could have been ignorant of that.” She snorts and then her expression clears.
“That isn’t a problem you need to solve, my dear. Tell me how you like your meal.”
What was that about? A weakness in their collective armor to be exploited? Olivia makes sure to remember. “It’s great. Did you slaughter a pig for me this morning?”
Verda looks offended. “I would never. We have sufficient technology never to need to keep a living creature for food. We use a device called a compiler. I’ll teach you to use it once you’ve been more acclimated to our way of life.”
“Why wait?”
“Well, some terrans insisted on compiling hundreds of kilograms of metallic gold as well as shovels with which to bury it in the grassy areas outside their residences. More than one refused to desist when confronted and had to be admitted for adjustment.”
“Reeducation.”
“Do you have a better solution to those who do the equivalent of turning all the spigots in public restrooms on and walking away, and won’t stop when shown that the water comes back every time the lever is pressed?”
Olivia is forced to admit that that doesn’t sound especially healthy when synthetic food actually tastes good. Of course, things might be different among the poor. She’s been chosen as the pet of an aristocrat.
“How much do they pay you to be admiral?”
“Pay?”
“Money. Stuff. What do you get from it?”
“I can have whichever quarters I please on the ship. And, I get you. And people respect me for it. That’s more or less all.”
“How is that worth it?”
“Somebody’s got to be admiral and I’m good at it, or so I’ve been told. If I were not I would be something else.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that it isn’t under your control?”
“Could you have been an admiral, Olivia, not in some years, but today?”
“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”
“I see, so you weren’t free to be an admiral. If you wished to be an astrogeologist, could you be?”
“Not for a long time, and I’d have to go back to school and teach…”
“You see? You weren’t free to be what you pleased. You picked from the options presented to you which were practically attainable, as do I. In the Affini Compact, family means much less than it did in the Accord.”
“Unless you’re a slave.”
“Come again?”
“I couldn’t be admiral.”
“No, because I already am. There’s only a need for one.”
“I meant in general. ‘Florets’ are property. How could I be anything?”
“Does that mean you accept yourself as my floret, Olivia? Thank you for skipping all the heavy work of me having to crush your spirit and excise your desire for freedom. So convenient.”
Olivia recoils until she notices Verda’s smirk and realizes that was a joke. That wasn’t a funny joke. She just scowls and says nothing.
“Ha, florets do often try to make something of themselves. Having a hobby makes them feel happier than they would be doomscrolling the extranet. I know I can’t imagine having nothing to do all day. You could have a job if you wished, once you’re settled in.”
“Even going out in public without you?”
“Certainly. If you’re well behaved enough that’s not a problem. It’s only a problem now because I know you want to run away when you’re in a bad mood.”
“Could I even be an admiral?”
“Probably. I’m sure there’s nothing against that, provided you can compete against those ten times your age.”
Olivia gulps. That’s old.
“Could I… be a ballerina?”
“Certainly. I could find somebody to teach you if you really want that. That’s a very minor desire.”
“Could I write books?”
“Nobody will stop you.”
“Could I be a stock broker?”
“What stocks would you broker? What would you actually do if you were one, beyond your present responsibilities as leader of the Terran Resistance?”
That stings a little. It probably wasn’t the cleverest question, but still. Rude.
“Could I be empress of the Affini Accord?”
Verda bursts out laughing. “Darling Olivia, no you could not. That is perhaps one of the few things you could not by any means become. That’s no insult to you, as that’s not something anyone could become. We don’t have an empress, and if we did she’d probably never be replaced. The fact that you would ask that is adorable.” She beams an affectionate smile at Olivia, who doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to believe. Don’t they have an empress? A dictator?
“Then what do you have?”
“For ships we have captains and for fleets we have admirals. For planets we have…” She frowns and starts typing on the pad which she snags from another table. “Nobody Terran has ever asked that. I suppose… that in your language the official term is sophants prime. They’re… like a mayor? We usually don’t have mayors so it isn’t a perfect simile. And above the sophant prime is the sophant… sectoral.” She types decisively. “I like that. Their job is to manage all the sophants prime in their sector and get them to cooperate like civilized beings. They all work with the galactic organizer, who makes sure certain projects work properly and not much else. It’s an easy job but you get a big sigil to carry around and it looks really impressive. Oh. I suppose there’s the Occupant of the Root Office, if you can call that a position of power. I can’t imagine how she hasn’t killed herself from all the paperwork and speaking engagements and whatnot. I’m not even sure the last time she had a floret. You wouldn’t want to take on that role, even if you were eligible for election. Don’t ask me about that. I get a headache just thinking about it.”
“What’s the Root Office?”
“They manage all the other offices and everything else that makes the Compact work. Why are you so interested in political trivia?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to hear you talk about it, I guess.”
That’s not completely true, but it’s close enough. The level of commie tree paper pushing there seems to be sounds like something that would make the Byzantines jealous. Probably better to avoid it if possible, and certainly stay out of the way of the bureaucrats who are having a bad day, Olivia muses. Did-
“Did nobody ever actually ask about the government? That’s so weird. I would’ve thought at least the President would care.”
“President? Who? Right, the Terran president. No. He never asked about any of that. He was too busy praying to his god to be spared from the ‘demons.’”
“You were there?”
“No, but I got to watch a recording. Now then, floret of mine. You got me monologuing. Something tells me you’re still looking for a weak point.”
Uh oh.
“I suppose the best remedy for that is for me to leave. I have responsibilities, as you’re aware. I have a lot of forms to fill, including yours. Now, behave, and if you would like to watch more educational videos, they’re here. The door will be locked. Don’t bother trying to leave.”
Verda punched the tablet’s buttons a number of times, setting it into floret mode again, and slid out the door. Does she even have legs, Olivia wonders.
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Cellulose & Steel