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
- 35
- 36
- 37
Even if it hasn’t been doing much, the prisoner is exhausted. Just listening to that guide saps its energy. The dull, lifeless eyes and the rigid cadence of the floret accent would take a toll even without the contents. It doesn’t know what to think, knowing that so many Terrans would reject everything they had ever known and been. They not only rejected their home and people, they took an active role in dismantling the society that nurtured them.
Human blood and Terran soil under the golden light of the Sun had produced that society. It was a good one, too! Brahms and Mozart and Nirvana and Leekspin and van Gogh and Shakespeare and Rouseu and _purplepanda420_… That has to count for something, doesn’t it? Even the weeds had to acknowledge the power of ragtime, something so insignificant it would have been deleted from the recycle bin of history if not for the internet.
What does all of that mean? Are they all just weak to the weeds’ rhythms and drugs? If that’s all it took to groom somebody, there would’ve been a lot more interesting cults than there had been, it’s certain. But it’s still itself. That’s because of Verda’s weird belief she can get it to comply without much pressure. Still, she did just apply xenodrugs before without waiting for compliance. It hurt!
The Terran prisoner feels sane. Its neck stopped hurting (at the injection site, at least) and it doesn’t feel dizzy at all. Its thinking feels unimpaired, and generally, it’s more like its usual self from before the war. That’s kind of impressive, actually. Usual, but with a terrible headache and having to remind itself to breathe because ships don’t have lungs. Usual but for that. Actually, one might call that the new normal. It’s not going to be a fun life. Would xenodrugs even be able to do anything about that? Probably not. It can’t imagine that enough of them to make the problem go away would permit anything that could be called a life.
The head xeno is sitting in her chair still, typing with several vines. Her hands are sitting in her lap. It guesses Verda doesn’t care much for them and finds it easier to use the vines. The Song of Destruction never had those sorts of appendages. Everything was metal and bent rigidly. Its former pilot wonders how they would feel. Verda said the ship’s computational architecture was a good comparison, so that shouldn’t be too difficult to process.
Let’s see… long, nimble, and with a utility feature at the end. They’d be a bit like a really long arm, maybe hydraulic? Lots of tiny hydraulic joints acting together? The vines also move at high speed like the Song’s turrets. A vine would need to be moved in a way that would account for its momentum, especially when one is moving it at its top speed. Verda’s should serve as a good reference…
That’s interesting. Now to try a second one... Its brain should be able to render that simulation decently, if what the plant said was true. Weird… The Terran, who is a human born and raised on Terra, who fought against the xenos and their viny evil for years in the Cosmic Navy of Terra, who has two arms, two legs, and no vines or tails, feels disgusting. It must feel awful. Having vines can’t be “cool” or “fun” or “exciting,” nor can it have a “high utility” or be “fascinating.” A Terran can’t think about whether it might be nice to have said vines for real.
After all, a refutation of the immutable body map theory would invalidate trans people… wouldn’t it? But what’s sensor dysphoria? It knows it’s not a ship born in a human’s body because that’s insane on many levels. On the other hand, it’s aware that only some people are able to handle the interface system well, which sort of implies they’re unusual, doesn’t it?
Song’s pilot knows better than to dwell on such things. It regrets the thought experiment. Even if it wanted vines, which it doesn’t because that’s stupid, it can’t have them because it’s not an affini. They might let it have one vine. They haven’t rejected that idea yet. Not that that’s a desirable outcome.
No, all of that is silly. Sensor dysphoria and gender dysphoria aren’t the same, which must be true since only one of them can be gotten rid of with time and therapy. Even then, how would wanting to be a ship have anything to do with vines or tendrils with little stabby needles on the ends. What if… No. Never. It won’t think about that. It won’t let those thoughts into its mind, even if it allegedly can’t throw up right now. That’s unacceptable.
The pilot clutches the place where its life support systems go. “Fucking weeds and holding back science.”
“What’s that, pet?”
It said that out loud. Oops. It focuses its very dysfunctional interior electromagnetic detectors on the affini. It can barely see her. Stars, that’s bad. It sees her eyes. They’re rainbows. Why didn’t it notice that before? Why’s it noticing that now? It might have something to do with it not being anywhere near her for most of the time they’ve known of each other’s existence. Or wishing for ways to kill her. Or something. Anyway, her eyes have rainbows like a bullseye. It wonders how they accomplished that and if it serves a function.
Those rainbow eyes have a wave to them. It doesn’t know a better way of describing the phenomenon. Well, that’s not a good sign for her. They shiver at the same time. That too. She’s got interface withdrawal. Oh, right. They talked about that. Serves her right.
“Headache.”
“Oh. Do you want something for that? Water? Xenodrugs?”
“No.”
“Oh.” It guesses that’s the end of the discussion. Verda goes back to her work and leaves the pilot to its suffering. The silence doesn’t last long because Verda looks up while trying to keep her vines stable.
“It’s time for your second meal of the day. Would you like dinner?”
It isn’t that hungry, but it may as well eat. It doesn’t know when the next meal will come. Now that it notices, this is very late for lunch, but a bit early for dinner. It doesn’t have a clock so it can’t be sure, but it certainly feels that way.
“Fine.”
“Darling, I know you aren’t feeling well, but try to show a little more enthusiasm. That means it’s nearly time for bed, and in the morning you’ll be one day closer to going home.”
The xeno has a point, and probably would have a point even without the literal points visible on the tips of a few of the vines close to its legs. The room really is much too small, it thinks.
“Plus, it’s another chance to see your ‘hog boy.’”
“He’s not my anything, weed.”
“You made a nickname for him even after asking his actual name.” Verda shrugs. “I know I’m not crazy for noticing that. Your file didn’t make you sound like the outgoing type. You’re bound to make plenty of friends regardless when we can finally start our regular schedule.”
“Schedule? What’s this been?”
The affini laughs sourly. “The very day we returned to Ruby Trunk you were abducted, and the day after your return you had to practically be carried into a sensory deprivation tank. We have yet to spend a single full day in our home since you became mine, pet. I must remind you that that is what you are, since you seem to be losing sight of the nature of our relationship.”
“What do you want.”
“To know if you want to eat, and if not, why not. That’s all.”
“Then I want to eat. What would happen if I wanted to eat later?”
“I would have to find you something. There’s a compiler in the hospital kitchen I’m sure.” She shrugs.
“Right. That makes sense.” Ides’s head is killing it and making it want to power down. Maybe it does need food.
“What’s for dinner?”
Verda types a bit. “Mei fun. Apparently that’s a noodle dish. This one will have vegetables in it.”
“All right.”
Verda nods and pushes a button with evident finality. Shortly after, there’s a knock on the door. Hogboy- Evlen clicks the button outside and waits for the doors to open while staring straight ahead. He and the prisoner end up making eye contact, to his surprise. He jumps a little. It probably would’ve been smart to arrange the room so the bed wasn’t right there, but there isn’t really enough space to do that easily.
Evlen smiles when he gets over his shock, a process that takes less time than describing it. The ship waves. No, Olivia waves. That must be it. He waves back and smiles more before stepping into the room.
“Good evening Song and Song’s mistress.” Verda’s expression indicates that while that’s not the preferred order in which to address a floret/owner pair, she finds it endearing or amusing.
“Hello Evlen,” they both reply.
Evlen is wearing a tweed jacket and khakis His feet are hidden by the cart so it’s impossible to tell if he’s wearing shoes. If they match the rest of him he’ll have paws instead, like in medieval paintings, except instead of a halberd he has a frying pan. It wonders how he’d look with a frying pan. The jacket is buttoned and he has a white cloth tucked through and under his chin. It’s a rather sophisticated look. The diner starts to wonder what he’s been watching that inspired that attire, since it’s not what waiters or chefs usually wear.
True to Verda’s word, he scoops out a large portion from a container full of thin noodles and vegetables. From across the room the smell is already tantalizing. Soy sauce and sesame, along with whichever vegetables those are. It’s much hungrier now than it was a minute ago.
“Why are you here?”
Evlen looks up from what he’s doing and it realizes that’s kind of an awkward question.
“I mean, in this hospital. Aren’t there Affini restaurants?”
“Yeah… but, um. My owner is a vet here, and I like being close by during the day.”
“That makes sense. There usually isn’t anyone actually cooking in hospitals on Terra.”
“It’s the same where I’m from. We’ve had Affini compilers for a while now, but I still like cooking myself. It’s really tactile.”
“I relate. Doing tactile things is comfy.” Verda raises a genuine Affini imitation eyebrow. “My… military work, I mean. That’s comfy.” She smirks as though she’s been proven right about something.
“Military? That’s hard to imagine.”
“We’re on a military ship.”
“Wait, really?”
Verda nods quietly. The pilot can tell she’d really rather not get into a discussion of these things.
“I never would’ve guessed.”
“That’s the idea, little one,” the affini sighs. It recognizes the sign of somebody who’s had a conversation one too many times.
“Where are you from?” It returns the conversation to somewhere that won’t prompt an annoyed lecture.
“Sfpl’fth. It’s in the Veil.”
“The Veil?”
“That’s what we call our galaxy. I’m not actually sure which that is on a map, heh. I know it’s not Terra’s galaxy.”
“Oh. I see.”
The Terran glances in Verda’s direction to see her smirk wider even than before. She stifles a giggle and coughs daintily. It’s not sure how something that big and loud can seem dainty, but that’s the best word to describe it.
Startled into action and slightly larger due to the expansion of his quills, Evlen puts the plate on a tray. He pauses for a moment before removing a bottle that looks a little different from the other water bottles from a cabinet under the cart. The chef stares with his pupilless blue eyes into the eyes of his diner for a second before putting the bottle on the tray and pretending nothing unusual just happened. Instead of a fork, chopsticks attend the meal.
“Would you like to eat there, or… here, I guess?”
Oh. There’s only one chair and it’s occupied by the person who can’t fit elsewhere. That’s kind of a bad design, isn’t it?
“Here, thanks.” It must be polite to ensure that its food isn’t poisoned in the morning.
The xeno from Splat brings it its dinner, careful not to dump it onto the floor. Something that looks like a thumb brushes against the bottle as he leans in to put down the tray, whispering “sake, compliments of the house.”
“Thanks,” it replies in an equivalent whisper.
They smile at each other. The former pilot isn’t certain whether he’s thinking about his expression or not, but it’s thinking about how sake is Japanese and mei fun is Chinese. It tries really hard not to keep thinking about that and not to say anything. Evlen backs up, somehow finding the cart without looking, and withdraws.
“Oh, would you like something, miss,” he shoots at Verda hastily.
“No, thank you. I’ll take care of myself.”
The only person who’s going to be eating anything conveys further thanks and skillfully waves the hand that hasn’t picked up the chopsticks. It hopes dinner isn’t cold, but it’s distracted by the grin on its alleged owner’s face. It tries to get used to manipulating wooden sticks while waiting for her to gloat about whichever thing she’s so pleased with.
“Well, darling?”
“What?”
It scoops some noodles into its mouth sloppily. The sticks are hard to work. It makes sure each noodle is bitten at least once.
“You’re not subtle. Neither of you are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Verda laughs just hard enough that her outer vines rustle a little. “If you’d like to pretend that’s fine by me. But asking why he’s here? You’re lucky that worked.”
“I’m just curious about the aliens I encounter.”
“Curious? I almost believe that.”
“I could put together a review of different species. That would be good. People would pay good money to read that.”
“Nobody’s going to pay money for that. They probably would have, but there’s no more money, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
It uncaps the bottle and takes a cautious sip. That’s sharp! It’s not bad though. It wasn’t allowed to drink on flight duty, so it’s been a very long time. It sips again.
“And ‘review?’ The way you review a meal?”
“No, it’s a different word. It’s basically a list with commentary.”
“I see,” Verda says slowly while nodding. “Dare I ask what will be part of your review of this particular xeno?”
“No, it’s about the species. I wasn’t serious. It’s too much work. I’d rather be exploring than writing things down for other people.” It stares at its noodles, trying desperately to have a bite without spilling any.
“Evlen’s species is flared, in case you have some objection.”
“No, I don’t care.” It takes a bigger sip of its drink this time.
That answer seems to have amused the affini. “I’m glad you’re so willing to be open with me.”
“What? Did I say something weird?”
“No, pet. You did not. Are you enjoying your meal, at least?’
“I am. It’s a little salty, but the vegetables are really crisp and it’s warm. It tastes like takeout but way better.”
“I’m glad. What about your ‘water?’”
“It’s wet.”
“That’s all?”
“It’s extremely wet.”
They stare at each other, looking for some opening. Verda breaks contact first, shaking her head and smiling. She types into her tablet confidently.
It goes back to its meal, enjoying the seasoning of the noodles and the fact it’s finally able to have a drink. Its tolerance is still good. Actually wait. You can’t normally drink half a liter of liquor without issues, can you? It wonders about that. That doesn’t sound right.
Still, after finishing it off along with the meal, it’s only a bit tipsy. It must be the xenodrugs. That’s the only thing that’s really different, unless being connected to a ship interface for that long changed it that much. Hopefully not. It doesn’t feel drunk. It doesn’t feel sober, but those feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. If Ginger were here… If Evlen were here… he could make her onion rings! Those would be good right now. Maybe some thousand island too… She hasn’t had that since leaving Earth.
“What are you typing? You’re always typing.”
“It’s for work, little one. When people are able to get hold of me, they do. It’s a known hazard.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“It is, but I knew that that was coming. It’s less of an issue than it sounds.” Verda tries to continue what she’s doing.
“Really? You don’t mind that? Everyone wanting your attention all the time is a pain. I know from experience.”
“It’s… Not quite that way. I assure you that I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, pet. It’s touching.”
“I’m not concerned.”
“All right.”
“I’m not. I’m just curious.”
“Curious is something you are, my floret.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m agreeing with you.”
Verda’s scheming something, she’s sure of it.
“What’s going on with you? You’re complaining about the walking hedgehog, you’re complaining that I want to know what you’re always saying to who knows who…”
“I know precisely who I’m talking to, my dear floret.”
“Who?”
“Just some friends. I have those, you know. Perhaps you’ll meet them when you’ve learned to behave.”
“I behave fine.”
“You do not. I don’t want to argue this, but you know you’ve been fighting me.”
“For Terra.”
“Yes, pet. Fighting the evil ‘weeds’ for Terra.” She rolls her eyes.
“What do you expect? You’re the ones telling me I can’t fly when I want to, or go where I want to, or listen to anything that’s not ragtime because that’s all you loaded on the tablet you gave me!”
“I gave you over a hundred hours of music!”
“And half of that is the Entertainer or Maple Leaf Rag. What’s with that shit?”
“I see. Well, is there anything you’d like tonight? I can load something else fairly easily.”
“Ort Severevyts.”
“You’ll need to hand me the tablet first.”
“Oh. Ha.” She picks the tablet up from the floor where she’d put it earlier and hands it to the xeno, who punches some buttons and waves her vines across the screen. It doesn’t take that long for her to return it.
“Is this adequate for the evening?”
She checks and finds that everything Severevyts ever wrote is there. Great! Since he made his symphonic metal into actual symphonies, she can just put one on and relax.
“It’s adequate.”
“Before you settle down, perhaps you should wash up. You have sauce on your face.”
“Oh.”
She suppresses the impulse to object because staying dirty isn’t going to help her or anyone. With that out of the way she settles in for a long night of listening to large men screaming incoherently. This time, they’re screaming with a background of acoustic guitars and brass. Stars, these compositions are weird, even if they sound good. The headphones rest snugly on her ears and she actually feels relaxed for a change.
The bed is softer than any she’d slept in before, aside from Verda’s house’s bed, anyway. She wonders why that’s suitable for a hospital. If she’s really in a hospital, why’s it so informal? Why are there only two people? Why are those people not connected? There has to be a second medical person (she doesn’t want to think about what those are called). Is there another floret? Maybe that one can be taken away from the weeds too.
Speaking of florets, what’s going on with Evlen? She hadn’t given much thought to it when he slipped her some alcohol. That wasn’t smart, but she really missed it and wanted some. Why was he even carrying that around? Was it full of xenodrugs? Probably not. She’s familiar enough with the feeling to know it’s entirely normal.
It’s hard to find out his angle. He obviously likes having his cooking complimented, who wouldn’t? He obviously likes having a captive audience. She can’t figure out why he’s so weird around her. Maybe that’s just how xenos are around their betters. Maybe it’s something else, given Verda’s reaction to their interactions. It’s not her fault her memory is so good (allegedly).
Given how prickly he is, she wonders if he’d stab her if she tried to pet him. Are hedgehog things soft? What do they eat? Is Terran food safe for them? What does it mean to be ‘flared?’ And that’s the alcohol doing the thinking for her now. Thank goodness he isn’t here or she’d say some of that out loud and Verda would never let her hear the end of it.
She sighs and stretches. This is the first time since arriving she’s been calm without a huge quantity of xenodrugs. Verda was right, they’ve had a ton of stress. Between trying to escape, trying to escape with Ginger, escaping from Artemis, trying to remove Verda from her interior, capturing a bunch of Terrans and not being focused enough to think to ransom them, and looking at a black hole for the fun of it, it’s been a really long week. And that’s just what happened on Ruby Trunk. Stars, why?
The lights drop. Verda wordlessly takes responsibility. The Song of Destruction collects her thoughts enough to notice that Verda didn’t actually make any gestures that would suggest that, at least between terrans. What was that? Still, it’s a cozy atmosphere. The lights are dim, the room is warm, she’s had a meal that was surprisingly good for something vegetarian, and she's slightly more drunk than she thought she was. She settles against her pillow to enjoy the work of one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time.
- 35
- 36
- 37
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