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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
- 32
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- 34
Dressed forcibly in green with matching slippers (all of which precisely matches the main hue of its captor), the hapless Terran starts through the sliding door of its prison. A hand on its shoulder brings it to a depressing halt.
“Not so fast, darling.” Verda slips a tightly braided black rope around its neck, pulling it shut and tugging on a leash for demonstrative purposes.
“Really?”
“You’re still at risk of escape, you know. Surely you remember all the times you’ve tried to run away, and I’d rather not deal with that today.”
It frowns. That’s no fun. It tries to remove the restraint but it won’t budge.
“That’s not going to work. It wouldn’t be a very good collar if you could simply take it off, would it?”
“I think it would.” That makes Verda smile.
“I’m sure you do. Why don’t we move along, so we’ll be back in time for lunch?”
Lunch? They just ate. Verda didn’t, but still. Does she even eat? Verda presses a button at the top of the door frame with one of her vines, making a point of how only an affini would be capable of such a thing. Her prisoner wilts a little but tries to remain brave. It doesn’t have much time to summon courage, because Verda’s already pushing it out the door.
The hall of the hospital feels a lot more like a hotel from a movie than like a medical building. The floors are covered in thin red carpet and of course the walls and doors are wooden. Are the knobs really brass? No, they’re just shiny and yellow. How that works is a mystery. The knobs obviously don’t do anything, which is painfully obvious when one notes that the bells are actually door controls. That, and the fact that people knock rather than ringing.
The hall stretches a good distance, at least a hundred meters, which is shocking to think about. It wonders where precisely on the ship they are, and how many florets would justify such a size when it sounds and feels so empty. Are there other floors too? Other wings? And it’s prisoners, not florets. It mustn’t allow itself to use the language of its colonizers. Staying upright is a little difficult, even in the ultra low gravity of an outer deck. It remembers that it’s been back in zero gravity for a while and should probably work on getting its land legs back. That won’t take long, probably.
They don’t run into anyone, which is sort of a mercy. The outfit is embarrassing, even if its shape is flattering. Moving around feels nice, Verda was right about that much. The Terran looks toward her. She’s toying with her end of the leash absently while looking at the uniform doors and the person she’s treating as property. She hasn’t been keeping much tension on the lead, seeing as how there’s nowhere to run and it probably won’t get very far even if an opening suddenly appears. Verda smiles upon noticing that she’s been noticed.
The hall is surprisingly quiet, as though nothing is inside any of the other rooms. Maybe there isn’t. Who could say? Hogboy could probably say, but he isn’t here. What’s he up to right now…
Attention is drawn back to real life by a heavy thump against one of the doors on the left. Maybe somebody large bumped into it. That would be strange. What could make that kind of a sound?
The end of the hall terminates in a white painted door with a small window at affini height. That’s a shame. Its crestfallen expression must have been obvious because Verda picks it up to give it a view as soon as it turns away. The window is about the size of its head, which actually is really small for affini. A tiny window sets it on edge, with how used it’s been getting to the usual open and airy architecture of the weeds.
There are a couple of buildings outside, but not much else to see. The buildings look like they’re made of bricks, with a little concrete path running between their position and the buildings’. The time looks close to noon, based on the lighting. The Terran, who feels a little like a yappy dog in a rich woman’s arms, can’t see much else. There’s grass and some tiny trees below. Nothing’s blooming. Nobody seems to be outside either, which isn’t much of a shock since they’re looking at what’s probably an alley. Stairs leading to the side from the exit confirm that supposition.
Verda gently places her cargo onto the floor again before it can see anything else. There probably wasn’t much more to see, not that it wouldn’t have kept looking. The outside…
Oh well. The door must be locked anyway. Verda doesn’t immediately yank on the leash, so it pulls on the door handle, one remarkably similar to those from Terra. To its shock, the door opens. It sits there right where it was left as Terran and affini look at it as though it’ll jump up and do a little dance for them. They turn to each other as the one that’s not a weed takes a sideways step toward the fresh air. Verda responds with a quiet laugh.
“It’s wonderful that you’re feeling so much better and so eager to go further, but when you woke up you were ill. You were even more ill yesterday. Let’s wait until tomorrow to think about that, all right? I promise if you’re on the same trajectory we’ll go out for a little bit then. Really, the only issues I see are if you regress, so I’m sure we’ll be home quickly.” It was worth a shot.
“Now what?”
“Do you want to go back or do you feel up to going to the other end of the hall?”
“I’d rather not go back yet.”
“I was hoping that would be the case. If I’m moving too quickly, let me know. I won’t be offended.”
Verda’s started treating her alleged property a lot better now. Just what happened when nobody was home? Or is this all because she had a chance to see into its head- EW! It doesn’t like thinking about how it used to have a weed in its circuitry. That’s literally what the implants are for! Thinking about implants makes it feel sick again for some reason. No! Not again! Oh, it was the nightmare. Relax, silly Terran. It was just a dream. That dream was an accurate prediction of what happens if it oversteps Verda’s patience. It suddenly feels a little more appreciative of how lenient she’s been with the xenodrugs. Its head feels mostly clear by now. Did she not give it any all day? Wow. Maybe she gave it a large amount earlier. Maybe that’s what made it sick.
They start walking together as soon as they’ve both composed themselves enough. It’s kind of boring, realistically speaking. It’s the same set of closed and probably locked doors- Click.
What? That was Verda shutting the outside door. It kicks itself for not thinking to do that. That’s bad form.
The pace at which they walk is healthy, even though Verda seems increasingly cramped by the building’s proportions. It’s odd, since it was literally built on an Affini ship to be used by affini, but that’s not its problem. It does notice, however, that its bed was much too small for an affini, even a normal sized one. Verda wouldn’t even be able to put half of herself onto it. No wonder she’s so eager to go “home.” She can’t “snuggle” her “floret” here. Actually, that’s why it seems tight in the hallway. She’s just big. It wonders if that’s how it’d feel being around a 2 meter tall terran man. It doesn’t think it’d ever met one of those, but they were in the news occasionally before there wasn’t any news but the war.
Verda doesn’t ask permission to scoop it up to this window either, but this time it isn’t a surprise. The change in altitude isn’t that terrible. It’s reminded of a roller coaster… sort of. It’s a bad roller coaster that sticks you full of needles if you deviate from its commands. Right… This window faces a courtyard. The space has a few stones to form a path, but everything else is gigantic blossoming plants, aside from the fountain anyway. That’s a strangely small fountain for such an impressive garden. The viewer is struck by how pretty it is, even though very few people will probably ever see it. Maybe the occasional affini whose floret is undergoing surgery?
This particular being, who is very much not a floret, nor will it be because it’s a Free Terran- those words feel strange in its mind. Just what… No, something’s off. It wishes it knew what’s wrong with it. Maybe it would be able to fix itself, or get help. Nobody’s telling it anything though.
It signals to Verda it wants to go down. That’s rather effective. Maybe it’s the affini who’d make good pets. It had always wanted a horse to ride around on like a cowboy. A cowgirl? No, a cowboy. Saying it had ever wanted to be a cowgirl would be a lie. If nothing else, it shouldn’t lie to itself. Who else is there to trust?
On the way back, it’s starting to feel a whole lot better. The exercise is helping it clear its head. Maybe it could use some water when they get back to its room. It knows from the way its legs wobble that Verda was right about not leaving, but having achieved its limits is very satisfying. It’s mad that the affini was right, so it makes sure to avoid letting her know that.
One of the doors opens just after they walk past. Verda’s vines twitch to scope out who’s behind the door as the being on the other end of her leash turns its body to check that out too. It’s a tidy affini in a welding apron. What’s that about? She smiles and waves a hand holding a clipboard. Her posture signifies that she wants to talk, assuming she was using Terran body language.
“Hi!” She catches up to them. It’s not hard since they weren’t moving. “Good morning, Verda.” Whoever this is squats down to approximately eye level. “Good morning, Song. How are you feeling today?”
It shrugs.
“Do you remember me?”
“No. Where did we meet?”
“Oh.” She casts a worried look at Verda. Couldn’t the weeds try to be subtle about their prejudice and act as if there’s an actual person in the hall with them? “I’m It’heela. I’m your mechanic from yesterday. Does that sound familiar?”
It shakes its head. “I have a mechanic?” The affini’s leaves rise like some kind of bristling animal’s fur.
“Yes…” It’heela gets up without saying anything and addresses Verda as though she didn’t just rudely end the conversation.
“Your floret’s memory seems awful. It’s good that S-”
“Please refrain from calling my floret that. My floret has decided not to continue using that name for the time being. I must ask that you respect my floret’s decision regarding that until a new name has been chosen. By the way, what happened to those xenodrugs to prevent nausea?” Verda’s tone is almost loving. Wait, no it’s not. She’s talking like a screw gun on an assembly line. That’s an obvious sign of sensor dysphoria… Poor thing. Wait, what? She’s the enemy- and how does it know she said that lovingly? How do you say what she said lovingly when the love isn’t directed at the person you’re talking to? Its head hurts. They’re going to have so much fun together for the next few weeks. Then Verda will get better and it’ll just be the one of them suffering. Also… she’s trying to show she cares. That’s sweet, for a weed. If it weren’t xeno deception.
“You never got those? Strange. I’ll personally bring them over as soon as I get my vines on them. So anyway, are you two ready for an exam? Since I’m already here we may as well do it a little early.” She looks slightly different after Verda’s attack. It takes an eighth of a step closer to her and away from It’heela.
It can practically feel Verda glowering from behind it. Wow, she’s intense when she wants to be. It also feels her vines move in a way that makes it sure she’s nodding. Verda starts to turn to go back to its room, which is where they were already going. It guesses this doesn’t mean they’ll be making another lap. Oh well. Wait!
“I’m not your floret.” Verda smiles and increases the sway of the vines that usually trail behind her. She reaches out to touch the Terran who deftly avoids her hand.
They walk the dozen or so meters back to the room in silence. This isn’t the earlier silence that arises from the lack of anyone talking. This one was awkward. Unlike Verda, It’heela has a pronounced and recognizable gait. Her feet, if she has them, make an odd clatter against the carpet as they move.
The room feels rather cramped when they return to it. Technically there’s enough space for the two affini, but in reality it doesn’t feel very nice. That’s partly because the only Terran there happens to dislike affini being close to it, but still. The awkward tension hasn’t dissipated yet. It perches on the end of the bed and lets the affini worry about chairs, which is for the best, given that they’re too big for the bed anyway.
“Why do I have a mechanic? First I’m taken to a veterinarian, now that? What happens if I don’t start when she kicks me?”
The joke is lost on It’heela. Verda doesn’t reveal whether she gets it or not. They continue to stare at it, which isn’t the reaction it hoped for.
“You seemed to be in need of one yesterday.” It feels Verda rustling with hostility. Why doesn’t it remember being able to decode her signals this easily before?
“That is to say, that’s what you called me.” Verda approves. It doesn’t understand why one of those statements is acceptable while the other isn’t.
“Anyway, are you ok with me examining you?”
It nods. It doesn’t have much of a say in the matter but this way it might get to leave sooner. It’heela examines the Terran aggressively. None of the tests hurt, but they’re done in a way that implies haste. It’s clear she wants to make small talk, but she’s way too intimidated by Verda to try it. Eventually she chokes out a question.
“So… Your mistress said you were between names. Is that something you’d like to tell me about? Any good ones that are calling out to you?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about that. I never asked to be between names” It’s surprised by how honest it was. It could’ve given either of the names it’s been apparently using and nobody would’ve questioned that.
“No pressure, but what was wrong with your old name?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s the truth, or part of it. In reality, even if it liked its old name, it didn’t fit any more. The Terran is a much different person from who it was even at the start of its assignment aboard the Song. It’s different from who it was a month ago, if it’s being honest with itself. The worst part of that is how the Affini didn’t do anything to it to make that happen. Maybe it’s just had time to think, now that it’s no longer running. When Verda had directly asked, that made things different.
It was Song. It knew that. It believed it. It felt it in the core of its being. That was an illusion, no more than a computational artifact. One might call it a category error. Flying the Ides proved there’s something to it that’s distinct and independent of any ship. Flight is part of what it is, but it’s not all, and it’s certainly not any specific ship’s artificial intelligence. It feels a chill when it tries to think more about that.
Before that, it was Olivia. It never questioned that that was who it was because it never had to. Everyone accepted it as that. If they didn’t… there was a reason that had nothing to do with the person wearing the name. Admitting that that was just a phase is difficult on many levels, but whoever it was that called herself that all those years ago is dead. That’s not a bad thing, is it? It’s not a child or a college student any more either, but it can accept that those were parts of its life that deserve to be cherished.
Letting Olivia go, on the other hand, means letting go of a whole lot more than that. No more Olivia means no more Liv, and it can’t even begin to pull the tab on that firmly shaken bottle feelings. It’s fine though. It’ll all be fine. The past can’t hurt it. Walking away from the past can. Saying that it’s not Olivia any more means proving so many horrible people right, even if they’re not quite getting what they were so certain of. That isn’t fine. But are enemies really the people for whom one should live one’s life? And here in the Compact…
No, that doesn’t matter. Weed decadence isn’t an argument.
But what if it really wants that?
Then it should’ve thought of that before. The weeds aren’t even helping. How long did it take Verda to even notice something was wrong?
If something’s wrong, doesn’t that mean there’s a problem to be solved?
That’s what this is.
Its head hurts. Maybe this is all weed decadence, and maybe there’s no point in thinking about it. It’s just a name, right? Why should it matter? Why’s it bad all of a sudden? Why hadn’t it ever been unhappy about being called by its old name before?
Memories flood back. No, that’s not quite true. It remembers how easily it picked up the name of a hunk of metal just because it made it feel powerful. If one’s identity is that fragile, it’s not worth very much.
That’s just the consequence of sensor dysphoria. It has literal brain damage. No, literal brain damage, that’ll show up on an MRI. It shouldn’t pretend this is some kind of “identity” when it’s just mental illness. Actually, not even that. It’s not mental illness. It’s a neurological disorder.
But Verda seemed to like how its brain works. She thinks it’s cute.
The botanical bitch’s opinions don’t matter. Really, how is bringing up a literal xeno an argument for what’s right? What happened to not living for one’s enemies?
Then maybe that merits experimentation… Aside from the naming thing.
An experiment sounds nice, actually. It’ll be fun to see how the weeds react. Maybe they won’t notice it’s not one of them if it posts online…
That’s just crazy. What about picking a new name? That’s useful. Names are good. Not having one isn’t making it feel better about itself right now.
Now isn’t the time to think about that. Just… It’s really tired, isn’t it? Even if it slept, it woke up that way… Better not worry about it yet.
It remembers how Hogboy (Evlen) called it Song. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing for the short term. Hmmm. No, it’s fine. It’s better than nothing. It sounded all right when he said it.
“Hello?”
“Beep.” It blinks. “Did I just beep?”
“Yes you did, pet.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad to see you’re still with us, little not-floret. You were staring into space for a good ten minutes.”
“Oh. Sorry.” It’s sorry the weed interrupted its line of thought.
“So, I did manage to get a lot of readings while you were mentally occupied. You look mostly healthy. I don’t think you should leave today, given what your not-mistress told me about your morning, but if you’re still fine tomorrow, I think you’ll be ready to leave. That’s a decision for the two of you, of course. I’ll want to examine you just to be safe. I’m sorry if I upset you with that question?”
“What did you ask?”
“I asked about your name.”
“Oh. That. Fine. I guess you can just call me what you did already. That’s fine, I guess.” Something is very wrong if that’s preferable to its real name. Is it sure it isn’t just used to the other one now? Wait, that’s the same thing. People don’t get used to names that aren’t theirs unless they don’t like the original name anyway. But it did like- ANYWAY. Enough of that. That’s not productive.
“I see.” The mystified affini looks to Verda for guidance. Verda shrugs, but Song’s pilot can see the hint of a smirk hidden under her leafy hair. Verda’s something. It wonders if she pranks her colleagues. It would. Would she? It’s her prisoner. That sort of thing doesn’t matter. Affini are the enemy.
“Wait. Don’t you need to check about sensor dysphoria or something?” That’d be smart, even if there’s no treatment.
“You don’t need a diagnosis, nectar. You’re allowed to be whoever you want to be without it.”
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.” That isn’t a question.
“I… will talk to you about that when I come back with your xenodrugs.”
“I don’t want those.”
“They’ll just make it so you don’t throw up again. That’s all. They’re made so they don’t interfere with anything your mistress is giving you- if you have a mistress, anyway.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not going to have a choice about taking this either, pet,” Verda interjects. “I won’t have you endangering yourself, especially when you know precisely what the danger is as well as knowing it really is a danger.” Right…
“Oh.”
“Goodbye, both of you.” With that, the affini scampers out of the room. Maybe the pilot and its navigator were too intense for her.
“They must be dreadfully overworked.”
“How do you know?”
“They didn’t take notes during your checkup.”
“I see.”
Verda accepts that at face value and opens her tablet. She passes the Terran a different tablet and a pair of headphones and looks down. That’s the end of the conversation. The one who used to be known as Olivia (and that’s technically not a deadname, as it’s still in all the systems as its legal name) looks at what it was just given.
A hand passed over its neck reveals the leash is gone. Those plants are unnervingly quiet. The earphones are comfortable. Its tablet is full of music, unsurprisingly. Ragtime. It smiles briefly at Verda, who happens to look up just in time to catch it. She remembers. That’s one of the few decent memories it has of the past week. At that moment, it was free, and Verda wasn’t trying to enslave it. Most people wouldn’t think of that. It feels the beginning of a tear as it loads up one of the albums.
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Cellulose & Steel

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