Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

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
- 25
- 26
- 27
The quiet is deafening and makes the ship’s head hurt momentarily. It’s also a relief not to share mental space with a filthy xeno. As Ides defogs, she starts to see things through a clearer lens. The navigation output that Verda had primed before disconnecting flows into Ides’s awareness and restores her previous state. The ship is now complete once more. No external navigation assistance is required.
She feels the textures and scents of her navigator in their absence. That chillingly reminds her of how losing Ginger had felt, thought to a lesser extent. Verda hadn’t properly ejected before disconnecting, so the experience had been mildly traumatic. Ides will remember to tell her to be more careful next time. There shouldn’t be a next time. She doesn’t want the weed anywhere near her brain again. She shouldn’t compare that thing to her… former navigator. The comparison is useful since that’s all either of them had been to her: navigators.
Even if the inside of the computer is quiet, Ides’s sensors aren’t. The Terrans in the recreation room are chatting, already bored with the spectacle they’re some of the first to witness. The sensory deprivation tank bubbles gently with the flow of air through the breather. Various systems crackle and whiz with nothing but the interior cameras to hear, while the engines and hyperdrive thrum attentively. The black hole at the center of the galaxy screams as it devours entire stars with impunity. It sings a song of destruction, one might say. Before the ship, the flaring point of darkness remains where it’s been since before Sol was born. It sits there, menacingly but silently watching everything around it. There are probably a great many secrets inside of it, which it won’t reveal to anyone able to pass them on. Chaos surrounds it but doesn’t perturb it in any visible way.
On the bridge, Verda sighs. She rubs herself where she had stabbed herself a few hours earlier, getting used to the sensation of freedom. For her it’s freedom, Ides reminds herself. For Ides, it’s just pain and separation. The affini stretches, getting used to having only one computational center. She gazes unfamiliarly at her arms. She’s in for a rough week or two. Ides wonders if she’ll think it was worth it or not, once she’s gone through withdrawal. It’ll be nowhere near as bad as sensor dysphoria, but it’ll still make her hate everything about life in about… 48:00:00.
That won’t be fun for her, but it’s not Ides’s problem, is it? She hadn’t had withdrawal before the late part of the war. There were safety regulations back then to prevent the pilots from going insane. Obviously that didn’t last. Olivia’s first time experiencing that was horrendous. She threw up and went through what felt a whole lot like a hangover, but worse and for longer. She had started spending more time in the tank after that. It just felt right after a while, and it made the pain go away. The unsettling parts of seeing everyone around you at all times and feeling inhuman had stopped mattering so much.
There was one time she couldn’t fly for a while, after a near miss at being captured. That time was awful, though she knew perfectly well she wasn’t fit to interface. That was when Olivia first realized it was sensor dysphoria. It was extremely rare before the war. After… it’s impossible to say. Why wouldn’t an affini just drug a floret into full dissociation to make the problem go away? Verda’s obviously playing the benevolent role because of some weird theories she has on Terran psychology, but others? How could a “floret” feel anything of the kind beneath sufficient xenodrugs? And isn’t their only goal hedonic overload?
She isn’t wrong about flying this much being a form of self harm. She is wrong about it being bad and something Ides secretly doesn’t want. There’s no sensation quite like being a pilot, and now Verda understands just a little of that. It serves her and the other stupid weeds right.
Ides dwells on its memories of being called Olivia. Those were different times. It had a romantic partner, friends, even family. It doesn’t know or care what happened to its genetic relatives. It didn’t even think about them when it visited Terra. That’s how little its old life means to it. That doesn’t mean Ides won’t fight to protect that life for others, and do everything in its power to ensure the weeds don’t… But it’s too late. Olivia never had a chance to make a difference, just as Ides doesn’t. Her and its most damaging option is death, and that’s not going to help anybody.
Does it have a moral obligation to help the xeno through its pain right now? Mmm… No. No such obligation exists as Verda was in violation of the Geneva conventions before now. She deserves everything coming to her. It feels less dirty now that she’s gone, but it can’t help thinking it was a little nice to have some company, and somebody who understands.
That doesn’t matter. Nothing does. The entire purpose of this trip was foolish, and the only reason the pilot doesn’t regret its decision is that there’s a nice view. Like all things, the time of that view’s destruction must come. Ides sits for several minutes, enjoying the scenery before setting off along the course charted by the weed’s idle thoughts.
It’s not a bad course. The first dozen jumps at least are workable with enough margin of error to be used even if large unexpected variations in conditions appear. It shouldn’t take long past then for the Milky Way to disperse and leave easy jumps all the way to the Ruby Trunk. The Ides of November is slightly impressed. Given the cost to its navigator, that shouldn’t be surprising. She should’ve disconnected a little sooner… Well, it’s still not Ides’s problem, especially since it means if she’s needed she won’t object to being plugged back in.
Flying away from the galactic core is pleasant, even if it’s a little melancholy. Leaving the constricted region where only small jumps are possible feels like commuting from the middle of a large city and entering the highrises of the suburbs. Eventually, there are no stars about Ides and it starts to see the Milky Way from the side.
The passengers are a little worried, since they never expected this. Ides had neglected to mention that it would be removing them from their home galaxy and from Terran -formerly Terran :(- space. They seem insufficiently awed by the majesty of what they’re now able to see. Seriously, there are millions of visible stars and all of human history is fading into a small patch of light. How is that not impressive? Organics are deficient in so many ways.
Ides shows Verda the galaxy. She nods appreciatively until she clutches her chest and grimaces. A navigator experiencing disorientation as a result of sensory withdrawal isn’t something Ides expected to deal with today. Verda acts interested, but she’s seen galaxies at least a couple of times already. It’s not shocking that she isn’t very surprised by the view. It’s not even her home, the ship remembers.
Progress is smooth throughout the journey. Ides doesn’t encounter anything that’s even remotely difficult to handle by itself, which isn’t saying much. Verda returns to her tablet, typing furiously for most of the trip. She seems to have a lot to say. Sometimes she smiles as she types. Ides feels a slight void inside of it, not knowing what’s making her happy. It could just ask, but the xeno would see that as weakness.
Toward the end of the trip, Verda starts acting sicker. She massages various extremities while trying to suppress a whimper. Ides can detect that, of course. It detects changes in her internal temperature as well. As expected, she’s starting to feel the consequences of removing herself from connection to her pilot. Her ship. No, not her ship, the ship she happened to connect to. Ides isn’t Verda’s ship. She certainly doesn’t belong to it.
The Terrans start to mutter about their thirst. Of course they’re thirsty. They haven’t had anything to drink in a couple of days now. By the readings it takes, Ides is sure they’ll all survive. It’s clever enough not to accidentally kill anyone, despite the temptation of denying the Affini any victory, even a small one. That doesn’t mean they’re having fun, though.
Ides plays music from another rag playlist. Verda enjoys that, so the others hopefully might. The reaction is mixed, but Ides enjoys it so their opinions don’t matter that much. It informs them that they’ll be arriving shortly and to enjoy the view. They ask about whether they’ll be able to go back to the Milky Way. While it’s an excellent question, how would a “stupid hunk of metal” know that? Alas, it knows nothing about their future and recommends they find an organic to ask if they aren’t inclined to trust their host. Shitty little bags of flesh.
That keeps them quiet for a while. Ides is starting to like its voice more, now that it’s seen the utility of sounding cruel when needed. They probably wouldn’t have shut up as easily if they were talking to a woman. Verda didn’t hear that discussion, and that comforts Ides. It prefers that she not see it that way, for some reason. The weed probably wouldn’t like that. She’d probably be meaner when they returned. That must be why.
In the hours after the playlist ends, nobody says much of anything. No stars pass by and no spaceborn life appears. If Ides’s mood were not slightly soured by thoughts of weeds and the failures of the human race, it would have passed the time contentedly. But life isn’t perfect and it was good enough. Nothing bad happening is better than something bad happening, isn’t it?
As they drew nearer to where the Ruby Trunk had been left, Ides notices it isn’t there. That isn’t too surprising, since there was no need for it to maintain that specific position. Ides scans for any signs of it. A ship that size should be fairly obvious, especially if it’s been moving through hyperspace.
Ruby Trunk had moved a few dozen parsecs closer to the Milky Way. The reason it’s moving is a mystery. That’s effectively a nonissue for Ides, who adjusts course slightly, pleased that they’ll arrive a little earlier. She’s also displeased, because that’s less time free and more time in bondage. Since she hadn’t shut off Verda’s viewscreen, the affini notices their approach and starts typing vigorously while occasionally glancing up to monitor their progress. By the time anything is visible on the screen they’re close enough for that not to matter, so it’s a pointless activity.
The Terran passengers haven’t been graced with visuals of their destination, since they complained so aggressively before. Ides is confident they can wait, and without becoming agitated they’ll use up less of their internal fluids. The reconstituted recreational vessel is pleased with its problem solving. Things are easier to deal with when one doesn’t feel a need to consider perspectives that evidently hold no value.
Reluctantly, Ides decides that the time has come to turn herself in. It regrets its former optimism and feels shame for its present weakness. What’s she to do? The comparatively small shp already established that there are no logical alternatives to this, and it technically did promise not to commit murder. Ides braces itself for the worst and directs a docking request to Ruby Trunk giving its name and a cargo manifest.
Ruby Trunk’s crew replies for it, giving Ides a position on the deck she had departed from. The instructions say to draw alongside at a specific position, which she does. The next set of instructions say to hold stead and prepare for remote docking. Ides feels ill at the prospect. No, the weed on the large ship responds. There isn’t another option due to safety concerns over the speed of rotation of those decks. No, it won’t hurt. Ships aren’t people and can’t feel pain. No, Ides can’t attempt to dock herself, since the process is automatic and secure. No, Dorothy Kesse, third bloom isn’t here, and no, waiting for her to come by before docking isn’t an option.
Click.
There’s nothing left but fear. That’s not true. The taste of buttermilk slowly spreads across Ides’s awareness. It’s sour and unmistakable. The idea of being taken over by somebody else who doesn’t even recognize your personhood frightens the Ides of November. It wants to cry but it can’t. Nobody understands it or even cares enough to listen. Even Verda says it can only be a person if it looks like meat. It wishes it had just jumped into a planet and made the problems all go away forever.
Ides had made a mistake in not moving from its position, because the Affini vessel simply takes control, through some mechanism Ides doesn’t recognize. Probably a chip hidden somewhere, where they hadn’t mentioned it. It’s far too distressed right now to think about that. The only thing it’s aware of is how its parts are moving by themselves on weed orders, with no weed sympathy. It knew they didn’t care about its happiness or bodily autonomy. It knew they were liars who only wanted to dominate those around them! Why are they so cruel that they won’t even admit what it is they want, when it doesn’t even make a difference?
Ides feels its thrusters coming online, and feels data being fed to the Affini ship. It feels how the thrusters adjust, and how its docking apparatus extends without its input.It feels every tiny correction made in order to fit into the Affini construction as it happens. It feels its velocity change to match the larger ship’s. It feels how even when it tries to move differently, it literally cannot. It feels the way it moves closer to Ruby Trunk, and it feels disgusting. It feels dirty in a profound way, and it doesn’t understand why. It shouldn’t feel those things. It’s just metal and semiconductors, not a real person. It shouldn’t be feeling anything. Machines aren’t people, they’re things. It’s carbon based dongle contorts in its tank. The ship shivers everywhere until the connection is completed and full control is restored. Ides flaggingly restores atmosphere everywhere inside of it and unlocks the doors, allowing its passengers to escape. It shouldn’t hurt people or through inaction allow people to come to harm.
The Terrans run off, or jump off in the light gravity of the outer deck onto which they’re about to emerge. Verda does not. She pauses in her seat, listening. When nobody addresses her she scowls and hastens out of the bridge. Ides watches her move through its corridors and to the pilot’s tank in the core of the ship. It could easily seal the door and keep her out, but it doesn’t really feel like doing that, or much of anything, right now.
Verda bursts into the cockpit, pushing off against the far side of the hallway to get to the tank more quickly. She grips it with her vines, making quiet noises from her artificial mouth. The press of a button releases the seal on the isolation tank and raises its lid. The Song of Destruction feels affini tendrils reaching toward it and stripping its breathing mask, pulling it carefully from its fluid. As it drifts to the floor of itself, Ides’s connection comes loose. It goes blind.
Song vomits. It doesn’t understand how, as it doesn’t feel anything doing that. It doesn’t feel muscles. It lies there, immobile. It vomits again but doesn’t move its face, like a good little spaceboat. It doesn’t know what could be inside it by now, but that doesn’t stop it from exiting. Verda says something but Song can’t hear any more than it can see. A vine touches it and it retches. There’s nothing left to come out any more. It attempts to speak but only succeeds in more retching. Its sensors are broken and its hydraulics don’t respond. It can’t even power down its generator. It remains where it fell. Why does it exist? It knew it was a mistake. It is a mistake.
- 25
- 26
- 27
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Cellulose & Steel