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
- 27
- 28
- 29
Olivia.
The crack is wider than before, as though Width can be real. Width is not Pain. What is Olivia? It decided that Olivia is not. Pain continues to grow, enveloping Pleasure entirely.
Olivia.
What is that? It doesn’t understand.
Olivia wakes up.
What’s going on? Who turned off the lights? Where is it? Is it alive? It remembers having questions that it doesn’t understand. It can’t see or hear or smell. It tastes peppermint. Did it just brush its teeth? Something happens and it tastes cloves too. Where did cloves come from? It sits up, but it can’t feel its navigation system or its thrusters. It gags but doesn’t know why. It can’t move any more and it starts to fall. Something stops it and it goes limp. It doesn’t understand what just happened. The something props it up into a sitting position and puts a wad of peppermint into its mouth. That’s weird.
It’s in pain but it doesn’t know what caused it. It can’t move away. It whimpers since nothing else can happen. It simply exists, because it has nothing else. Existence has no value. It has nothing. It is nothing.
Gradually, the pain worsens. There’s almost nothing else. Even the spaces outside of its awareness are filled with pain. It wants the pain to go away but it doesn’t. The pain gets even worse, never pausing or lightening. It flinches at something it can’t feel. It can’t replicate the flinch even if it wants to. It feels a bit bad about that but it’s fine, it supposes. It doesn’t really matter.
“Olivia.” The word vibrates through its skull, but it doesn’t hear it. It doesn’t understand how that could be, but it knows what was said regardless. It can’t react in any way.
More pain.
“Are you there?”
Something is somewhere, but it doesn’t know if it’s an Olivia or if it’s “there,” not that it would know where “there” was even if it were both.
It didn’t know more pain would be possible until now. Its mouth is stuffed full of butterscotch this time. The butterscotch itself isn’t painful. Its nose twitches at the strong flavor. That’s intense. Something near it vibrates at a high frequency. It’s actually a really low frequency but it thinks it’s high, for some reason. It can’t be past the thousands of hertz range.
The taste grows stronger. “Olivia, pet.” What’s that?
“Olivia, please wake up.” Olivia is awake. It doesn’t understand the request. It tries to return an error message and fails. Its gyroscopic fluid is perturbed. It doesn’t enjoy that. It beeps in frustration. The turbulence persists, perturbing it further.
“Olivia, I’m so sorry.” It doesn’t understand the question.
“I should have taken better care of you.” It’s sure that statement is correct, not that that means much.
“I need you to come back to me, Olivia. This is your rapchik, Verda Edok. Please come home, Olivia.” String not recognized. Press any key to proceed. Time passes. It doesn’t know how much as its internal clock is damaged. Its chest hurts.
A sigh. “Song of Destruction, come in. Contact is requested. Song, please respond.”
Song hails the strange source. Her scanners pick up nothing from it, but she knows that anything using a secure channel either is friendly or has sufficient security access to be an unbeatable threat. Strong vibrations surround Song.
“Status report please, Song.”
“Beep.” That’s the only reply it can give right now.
“Can you… try to reinitialize nonessential systems? I need you to be aware.” The voice is familiar. Song knows it from somewhere. Her memory is nonfunctional so she doesn’t know from where.
“Beep.” She does as the unknown signal requests. It takes time to reinitialize each system individually. The pain becomes much worse with every system, but she knows the voice was correct that it was important to do. Why does it matter, again? She doesn’t remember, and she doesn’t remember if she ever knew that.
Song reboots her hull tactile sensors. She’s sitting on something very soft. She doesn’t know why she’s sitting, since warships aren’t capable of that posture unless they’ve been destroyed in battle. The pain lessens, but pain associated with missing sensors is extreme. She must have lost badly to the xenos, since she’s missing that much of her exterior. She remembers who the enemy is! That makes Song happy.
She initializes space, subspace, and general anomaly sensors. This takes time as they’re filled with junk data that sounds like an attempt at language. Eventually the noise dissipates, allowing Song to calibrate properly. It works. She doesn’t hear much besides her breathing and heartbeat, and currents of dust. There’s a very faint sound she can barely pick up, which seems familiar. She files it away for later analysis. It goes tump thump ta-tump.
Song starts her electromagnetic sensors next. Their range and depth are crippled. She still feels blind, even if she’s starting to see through her bow sensors. Vision gradually comes online and clouds become crisp images. Song applies a rinse and wipes the exteriors of the sensors with their cleaner.
She appears to be inside of a room. What’s a ship doing inside of a room, or inside at all? Why’s she anywhere but in space? She should be in drydock in her condition! She notices two large blooming tumbleweeds in front of her, sitting in chairs and watching with their eyes. Tumbleweeds don’t have eyes. The door is in front of her and she can leave if her systems are restored. She can’t leave because she wouldn’t fit through such a small opening. She shouldn’t fit into the room either. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. She doesn’t get why there’s so much green everywhere.
Thrusters come next. This system is stubborn and doesn’t want to be turned on again. Song brute forces it from the back end. It works, somehow. Communications is easy with motor control restored. She refrains from testing either, just to be safe. Song is pleased with how well this is working.
Weapons appear to still be functional, but she elects not to test them, since that might end badly given how close the nearest obstacle is. She doesn’t want to knock herself out of commission properly with a stray bit of debris.
Last is the Song of Destruction’s hyperdrive. She’s itching to jump away from wherever she is now, because it looks too much like a prison for her comfort. It’s an atrocity to imprison a ship of war such as herself. It’s not her fault that Terrans don’t know how to fly her. She isn’t happy about this at all. Her hyperdrive is missing. She doesn’t know how to react. It’s a devastating discovery. No wonder she was in so much pain. A fundamental part of her structure is absent, and she won’t be able to function properly without it. She’s effectively trapped. The weeds guarding her probably stole it while she was deactivated. Disgusting.
Weeds? Those are affini. The weeds in front of her are affini. How was she captured? She doesn’t remember. Song is scared. Ships aren’t supposed to be afraid of anything. Its bow sensors start to cloud with fluid again. They don’t notice. She has to get away from them!
“Beep.” That’s all it can say. It can’t do anything. Maybe it can talk her way out of the situation.
“Olivia!” The nearer affini screams and moves toward her. Song flinches. It doesn’t want to be touched. This weed looks a little familiar.
“Have you finished reinitializing your systems?” How does the xeno know about that? Oh. That was her voice, wasn’t it.
Song beeps flatly.
“Can you talk? Can you say anything else?”
Song struggles to say something, but it’s trying. “A- I- Ai-. U?” It quickly primes its memory storages. “Hello there!” The voice is deep and resonant. Maybe having a canned response isn’t so terrible after all.
“I’m very glad you’re feeling a little better, darling. Your situation was worrying.” The weed’s vine touches Song’s face. Ships don’t have faces.
“Beep.”
“How many fingers are these, Olivia? Song.”
“Two.” It hopes she isn’t playing a stupid game where that’s the wrong answer for unknowable reasons.
“Yes, pet. Thank you for coming back to me.” The affini seems about to cry. Weeds truly are weak. Song knows better than to expect them to be worthy opponents when they don’t have an enormous numerical advantage.
“Do you know where you are?”
“No.”
“You’re inside a hospital on Ruby Trunk. Do you know what that is?”
“A capital ship owned by the Affini Compact.” How does it know that?
“Yes! Do you remember how you got here?”
“No.”
“Oh… What’s the last thing you remember, prior to being here right now?”
“Hell.”
“Hell?”
“Hell.”
“What was that like?”
“Here but less painful.” Song has no emotions to spare for the enemy.
“And before hell?”
“Pleasure.”
“What?” The weeds exchange a glance.
“Pleasure is God’s bride.”
“And ‘god’s’ bride is in hell?”
“No. Yes.” It’s complicated and not their concern.
“Oh…” Of course they wouldn’t understand. A Terran would. That’s why Terra is so strong.
“Pleasure isn’t God because Pain existed before Pleasure.” That should be obvious but xenos are deranged.
“Where were you before then, Song? What do your logs say about your location?” The second affini has a gentle voice.
“My navigator was taken from me. You’re going to give her back and release me right now, xenos.” It remembers how Ginger was stolen. The weeds deserve nothing but to be cast into the fire. God willing they will burn for all time. May not even hell be their refuge.
“What’s your navigator’s name, Song of Destruction?”
“Ginger o’Smerie.”
“Have you had a navigator since then?”
“No.” Yes. Who? Song can’t remember anyone since Ginger.
“Do you know who I am?” The first affini, who’s much taller than the other, looks very impatient for an answer, though her tone is calm.
“No.” Song has no idea who that thing is. It doesn’t care very much. Weeds are weeds, after all.
“Well, I suppose it’s for the best for me to introduce myself in that case.” She looks devastated for some reason. “My name is Verda Edok, fourth bloom. It’s… a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Song.” She holds out a hand, but ships don’t have hands, meaning it would be ridiculous for Song to shake it.
“Beep.” It makes a respectful noise instead. It doesn’t want to antagonize its captors for the time being. Soon it will bathe them in fiery death, but not right now. It needs to figure out what’s going on first.
“Do you have a pilot, Song?” The other affini, who hasn’t introduced itself, seems intimidated. Good. Let the weed know fear.
“Olivia Donnoly.” That information is sufficient.
“And… where’s Olivia now?”
“I don’t know. She isn’t present.”
The weeds pale to a lighter green. They look deeply unsettled. Did they want something from Olivia? Song doesn’t know where to find her, with the damage to its internal sensors. It keeps feeling a strange thumping inside its engine room that it doesn’t recognize. It wants to send somebody to check on that and repair it, but there’s nobody inside it. Maybe the weeds killed its entire crew. It deserves revenge for that. Let the poison ivy be pulled up by its roots. Kill it with ammonia!
“When do you last remember her being with you?”
“Before I was damaged. I was disabled. Did you board and kill her, you locustbitten abominations?”
Song feels its wrath growing. It can never forgive them for hurting Olivia. She was a good pilot who took good care of Song. Without her, it doesn’t know how it will survive.
“What if… we wanted to speak to Olivia right now? Do you think you could help us with that?” Verda looks hopeful. They want a prisoner they can interrogate. They won’t get very far with Song!
“I told you I don’t know where she is. How stupid are you weeds?” Very, evidently.
“But if, hypothetically, you did know-”
“I said I don’t. Idiot mulch munchers.” The weeds look surprised. Does nobody ever push back against their schemes?
“In that case, are you familiar with the Ides of November?”
“None of your business, xeno pond scum.”
Verda flinches. Why would that matter? It’s just a ship. Song would remember if it were in its fleet, and it wasn’t. It doesn’t know the Ides or who its captain is, so it couldn’t answer anyway. Obviously, the xeno doesn’t need to know that.
“What if I ask you about somewhere and then you can ask me something, and I’ll promise to answer clearly and honestly?” It’s a trick. Song doesn’t have the luxury of refusing the xeno’s twisted games. It’s unsettled by the present line of questioning, but it certainly isn’t dumb enough to make that known more clearly than it has. They look primed to destroy its mind with xenodrugs. But… xenodrugs shouldn’t affect a ship…
“Fine.” It really isn’t. Song feels nervous.
“What do you know about Titisandia?”
“Who?” Verda looks at the floor. Is that overgrown creeper crying? No, but it looks close.
“It’s a place. Titis-” The weed trails off.
“Titis is a terrestrial planet in the habitable zone of a main sequence binary system approximately 12,000ly from the center of the MIlky Way. It is inhabited by intelligent lifeforms of an unknown physiology, living in an industrialized and collectivist society. As of the latest data, they had unified into a singular governmental structure calling itself the Titisandian Conclave. Titis is protected by a hyperdrive prevention field installed by the Affini Compact, who are expected to take possession of the planet shortly.”
“How do you know all that? Terran ships aren’t supposed to have gone that far from Earth.” The nameless affini sounds shocked. It types into a tablet it picks up from behind it and looks even more shocked when it reads what comes up when it finishes typing. It shows Verda, who simply nods mysteriously. They both look to Song for a response while the unnamed affini types with the cadence of sending a message.
“My databanks tell me so.” That’s the truth. It simply knows that without having experienced it.
“What was the last Terran ship to visit… ‘Titis,’ Olivia?” Verda brings up Song’s pilot at random again.
“Ides of November.”
“You said you didn’t know anything about that ship.”
“The information must have been filed incorrectly.”
There’s silence as the affini continue to look at one another. Are they communicating telepathically? Song is very happy not to have one of those things in its head. That’s what they do to their terran prisoners, after all, before sending them to sweatshops or extermination camps. It regrets having been unable to protect more of its people from such a fate. It can only imagine what’s happened to its navigator and the rest of its crew. They deserved better than that. It hopes to find a way to ensure that the Affini face the face they’ve imposed on so many lesser species. Terrans should be strong enough to resist. They have to be. What’s the alternative?
A tear is forming in Verda’s eye. “Pet, I… Song of Destruction,” the xeno says, steeling itself. “I’m going to give you a choice.” Wait a minute…
“You promised that I could ask you something now. I want information about ways to counteract affini biorhythms.”
“Biorhythms? Where did you hear that word?” The second affini eye it carefully while asking that.
“I… It’s-” It doesn’t know. It’s an accurate word to use for the weird pulsing and gurgling it senses from both of the weeds. It’s a distasteful noise that makes it want to kill them right now. It isn’t sure why it feels they need to be counteracted. Who could like such a thing?
“It doesn’t matter. You gave me your word, plant. How do I fix a plantfucker?”
“A what?” The second affini is puzzled.
“Somebody who you corrupted.”
“An intelligence contact,” Verda fills in.
“Oh.” She looks at Verda expectantly. Song waits for them to get over themselves.
“Well,” she begins after an invisible signal to continue. “I suppose that after somebody had been exposed to only biorhythms, that the best way to remove the effect would be to remove the person in question from the source of the biorhythms. That would mean ensuring they couldn’t make contact somehow. I’m not sure how you’d pull that off, especially if you weren’t aware of their communication. If you were, and you could pull them away and stop them from going on the air for a while, it wouldn’t take that long to break somebody off. It wouldn’t be pleasant, I guess- unless there were another affini waiting to take over from the last one.”
“What if xenodrugs are involved?”
“Then… it’s a lot more difficult, especially if the owner is the source of both. That’s kind of a problem when a floret needs to change vines, not that that’s so common… And your mistress seems to really care for you so you don’t need to worry about any of that.”
“How long?” Song ignores the fact that it doesn’t have a mistress in order to get actual answers. It doesn’t really know why this is so important, but something tells it that this is vital and must be learned at any cost. Maybe this is how it can save its crew! The weeds can only keep them down for so long. If it can just rescue a couple of them, they can help it… Maybe they can save Terra, maybe they can relocate humanity somewhere that it will be safe from communism. It hopes it’ll be possible.
“Probably…” The weed frowns and types something. “Probably a few months, for a human to be completely weaned off after they’ve been fully acclimated to a steady state cocktail, but before implantation.”
“And after implantation?” Song is well aware of the implants from their broadcasts. The talking topiaries believe that those earned them any support at all. Ludicrous. They will fail because they don’t understand or believe in freedom, which is what makes Terra strong.
“Then… never, probably. The whole point of the implant is that the floret nev-”
“What she means, is that the implant is involved in bonding, and that by the time a floret has one, they won’t want to leave.” The grammar is making Song’s head hurt. Having a head is making its head hurt. Ships aren’t supposed to have a head, or hands, or breasts… What does a starship need with engorged mammary glands? It’s so confused. It just wants to go fly and blow up xenos or something. Why does it have to do this stuff?
“Oh.”
“Yes. Florets tend to be very happy with their owners. It doesn’t come up that often because it’s extremely rare for one to need to be transferred, especially after they’ve spent a little time together.”
“Oh.”
“Is something wrong, Song?”
“...” It doesn’t feel like answering. Somehow that conversation made it sick. Ships don’t get sick. It should be better. Why isn’t it good enough? It failed its crew and now it’s displaying weakness to hostile forces. It wishes Olivia had had the courage to smash it into a planet when she was in control. It wishes Ginger had lied about their directions, just to stop them from being captured. It wonders if they’re feeling guilty too.
Verda Edok, the affini who seems to be in charge, reaches its hand to Song’s hand, which it finally notices it has. Strange. It removes its hand from the xeno, who feigns sadness. Why would it want to be touched by a weed? Verda reaches around with its vines and attacks! Song tries to resist and fails. The weed gropes it mercilessly, binding its forehead with a vine.
Buttermilk. Its chest contracts. It doesn’t understand why. It feels air vacating some unknown cavity. That’s painful. It makes a strange and horrific noise, unable to prevent that from happening. A disgusting taste fills the mouth that a decent ship wouldn’t have. It feels unclean. The tastes comes with more buttermilk. Its muscles seize and it can’t respond. Its bow sensors are lubricated beyond what they require. The weed withdraws, its wicked task complete. Song remains hunched forward, too limp to right itself. It feels shame. The affini leave silently.
- 27
- 28
- 29
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