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
- 41
- 42
- 43
After two separate metal renditions of the Messiah, Song is once again sick of sitting around. Unlike yesterday, she isn’t tired early. That might have something to do with her not having gone through the equivalent of a case of beer… maybe. Even if her feet hurt from spending so much time walking around earlier, she’s not ready for bed. She leans over to the window. It’s still light, which she doesn’t need to look between the curtains to find out. What’s out there? It isn’t sure it wants to know if it’s really space, or what.
Remembering the layout of the building, she tries to imagine where she must be and how it works that the door leads to a hall while the window is on the side, but the room isn’t on the end of the hall. It portends of weird angles and spheres folded in on themselves. Stars, the weeds aren’t right.
In her chair, Verda appears to be composing some message. She types for a little, pauses, and hits the same key repeatedly before typing normally again. Song is reminded of Terran typing, if every vine were a finger. They’re moving too quickly to tell if there are more or fewer than ten. It wonders what it’s like to fire off so many independent limbs at once, only to remember that such abominations are not for Terran minds to dwell upon and wanting that would be treasonous.
Everything is quiet. Now that Song thinks of it, why was everything so quiet when it was out with Evlen? Where is everyone? Did they all die?... Is it in a simulation? Stars… not that. Not living inside a weed computer, literally made out of their revolting tendrils and ooze. That isn’t living in any worthwhile sense. It doesn’t want to be lines of code. Do Affini computers even use lines? Are the computers made out of affini? That’s grim, even for them.
Did Ides’s docking fail, leading the weeds to install it somewhere? Is that why it isn’t allowed to leave? The skybox of the roof zone is extremely realistic, but that doesn’t mean much. The area of movement is so restricted that it could easily be faked. If Ides really is trapped in a computer… that would explain why it can’t remember. That might be why it doesn’t know what’s going on and why everything seems so out of focus. Perhaps it could fool a xeno forever, but clearly the simulation is not built to withstand the force of a Terran intellect.
Ides tests its systems, just to be sure they’re actually missing rather than simply disabled. It performs a hard reset and quickly closes the error messages. It prepares to jump. If it’s really in a hospital nothing will happen (or some weeds will die, which isn’t that big of a problem). If it’s in space being tricked by xeno cunning, it’ll break free and maybe tear some docking cables. If it’s in a simulation… who knows? Its systems should still do something, since the simulation should be geared to a generalized “floret.”
Wait a minute… Does that mean Ides never left? Is it still in its sensory tank, simply fed fake data to trick it into thinking it could see the universe? How would it know? No, because if the data were still coming in, it wouldn’t have its sensor issues. Of course. They wouldn’t hurt it without purpose, would they?
Had Ides ever really woken up on that shuttle? Can it wake up? How does it know it’s not just a weird ship being tricked into thinking it’s made of meat? Maybe a simulation is testing whether it could adapt to a synthetic body created for the purpose of providing a weird affini with a slave. That could make sense, if it weren’t a huge amount of effort for something of small value. They could just kill it. That’s not very Affini, though…
It feels trapped. It doesn’t want to be where it is or with who it’s with. It wants to get out of here and go somewhere open and free. The itch and the void in its navigation systems tell Ides that that’s not possible. It can’t be fake. This is too real and too blatant.
“Ping dzzt!”
Verda looks up and it recognizes the look in her eyes. She’s ready to supply navigational data. Everything about her body language is screaming that she’s trying to tell it where to jump to next. It’s so clear! The weeds probably wouldn’t have included sensitivity to that particular signal in their emulated mistress. That means she’s real, at least sort of. It means she’s been connected to Ides’s terminal. Good. So if it’s stuck here, so is she. If they’re stuck here, that means that everything leading up to its return to Ruby Trunk was also real. Probably. That’s a big assumption of conspiracy to make.
“Verda.”
“Pet?”
Her voice has a metallic tint consistent with its former internal communication, just as her eyes focus slightly behind Ides. She feels it.
“What happened when I docked with Ruby Trunk?”
“An accident. I don’t think you’re ready to hear the details.”
“No! I want to know about the accident. What happened?”
“I’m not going to tell you today because I don’t think you’re prepared to hear it. You’re clearly agitated and I don’t want to subject you to that at the moment.”
“I need to know.”
“You will know, just not tonight.”
“:(“
“...”
“I died, didn’t I?”
“You what?”
“Died. Unalived. Ceased persistent function.”
“No, darling. You’re not dead.”
“That isn’t what I asked, weed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did I die. It’s a simple question.”
“I see… No, you didn’t die, unless you somehow stopped being dead without my knowledge.”
“So how did I get here?”
“The same way I did. You flew.”
“But… Then…”
“No. I’m not interested in causing you to faint again because you lack patience.”
“But you said there was an accident and I don’t remember it, but now I’m here and I haven’t left the building or met many people. Are you real? Am I real? Am I really a person or just an imitation of somebody better? Where’s Olivia? What have you done to her? If you’ve hurt her I’ll break out of here and kill you all.”
“That won’t be necessary. ‘Olivia’ is safe and well, and being cared for by her new mistress. You don’t need to worry about her being harmed.’
“You admit it! I want to speak to the real one now.”
“Pet… I’m talking about you. I haven’t been calling you that because you’ve decided you don’t like that name any more. You and I are as real as I can imagine. If I’m not real, I suppose I wouldn’t know it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m as sure as I can be. Unless you’re excited for a discussion of epistemology?”
“I’m not in a simulation?”
“To my knowledge you’re not.”
“I don’t believe it. This can’t all be real. It’s too insane. Terra must have won. This has to be a simulation of how soldiers would respond to pressure and interrogation from enemy agents. That’s why everyone surrendered. They never existed! I don’t exist either but I’m the subject so I’m being tested. Knowing that will taint the results but if I’m not terminated they’re probably not tainted too much. I just have to hold out as long as I can.”
“Doesn’t that mean the unpleasantness will cease as soon as you give in and accept me as your mistress?”
“Probably, but I can’t submit. It’s fundamentally against my nature. Since I’m just a nest of functions, you won’t get anything, weed. Terra is too strong for your simulated subversion.”
“Darling, do you really believe any of that or do you just wish it were true so that you don’t have to deal with the reality that isn’t going to go away just because you tell yourself it’s made up?”
“...”
“I didn’t think so. Do you believe that Evlen is simulated?”
“Maybe. Xenos shouldn’t be able to…” They shouldn’t be so…
“What shouldn’t they be able to do, pet?”
“To… I’d rather not say.”
“Isn’t that evidence that he can do what you’re thinking of? After all, if you don’t want to believe it, would your friends really have scripted him to?”
“Maybe…”
“And why would they have something as ridiculous as a bunch of aliens singing to some Terran song in their language? Or terraforming Venus?”
“What?
“Never mind. What’s the point of how elaborate this simulation must be, if it truly is one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just how much do you believe to be unreal? Since before we met? That’s a great deal of strangeness for a simulated interrogation, isn’t it?”
“Hm.”
“Do you have some way I could prove this is real?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
She’s right. There’s no way to prove that Ruby Trunk is real either. For all it knows, it’s in hell right now, after dying gloriously in combat. It wonders if God is nearby. It wonders if Verda is a demon of some kind, or if she’s trapped here too. Did it take her with it? At least if there’s a heaven, that particular weed didn’t go there. Ides is satisfied in that conclusion.
Why does everything have to be so terrible? Where did its crew go? Did they all go somewhere nicer when they died? Are there only machines, weeds, and xeno freaks down here in the pit? No, there are traitors too. It remembers that it saw Ginger, who proudly admitted to sabotaging their mission. Plantfucking scum.
As it tries to curl up against the wall, making itself as small as possible, Verda keeps silently typing. The sight makes it sick because there’s no sound to the keystrokes, just a constantly low hiss from the friction between the affini’s vines. It needs to get away.
Ides throws itself off the bed and runs into the bathroom, locking the door behind it. The dim lights around it give the ship a little comfort as it’s allowed to be alone for once. It tries to lock the door, but there are no locks. It can’t find anything to bolt the door shut with either, or wedge it shut.
There’s only water. It tries to conjure or compile as much water as it can to barricade itself in, away from the weed, but it simply can’t make anywhere near enough for that. Its only reward for the effort is three dozen or so bottles sitting on the floor, condensing the humidity around them. It’s not helpful. The shower won’t spray water over here, and even if it could it wouldn’t achieve anything but drowning Ides. It doesn’t want to go to hell squared, if such a place exists. It might reincarnate as a weed, or even a lesser xeno. It can’t throw up. Being unable to throw up makes it want to throw up and feel even sicker. At least the xenodrugs can do something good…
In the stall, there are several containers of weed shampoo. They’re not meant for weeds, obviously. They’re meant for florets to drug them through their skin. Would they do anything to a weed? The shampoo probably isn’t good for their eyes, even if it’s not going to do much else.
Ides reaches over and picks one up carefully. This one’s a facial scrub safe for hairless florets. What’s that supposed to mean? It listens. Verda isn’t moving to the door, so it’s safe. It puts aside its weapon and looks for further solutions.
This bathroom doesn’t have a window. There’s no way to get outside, and even then it’s on the third floor. There’s no way into the other rooms, which is very unfortunate. Why do they do this? Is it because they’re assigned to persecute others by Notpain to abolish freedom and joy and life? Weeds would do that. They’d enslave everyone just to kill them all in a mass sacrifice. Or something. That sounds insane but Ides is sure that that’s a possibility. It doesn’t want to think about what reward they’re expecting and from which devils.
It gently rests itself against the door with Martial determination. That will make entering at least 5% harder for the weeds, and for the specific weed that matters due to proximity. God save this ship… Somebody or something has to.
Knock.
No, unacceptable. It has to go away. Ides has to get out of here! There’s nothing to use for protection. There’s nothing to block entry. There’s nothing to hide behind, aside from the shower wall, but that’s not going to do anything for it. It knows the affini can beat it directly. It knows they can find it, even if it escapes to the rest of the ship. It knows somebody will take it as a floret by force. Actually, there’s still one way out. That’s the only way it can be sure they don’t take it.
Is Ides strong enough for the only solution in its reach? It hopes so. It looks around the room again. Nothing! It has no way to exit, not even orthogonally. Everyone and everything it’s known are gone. It has no crew, no family, no friends… Now… Nothing. Not even hope is left in the jar.
Things can always get worse. They can get better most times, but not now. It’s too late for Ides and it doesn’t want to face the consequences of hiding. The weeds will torture it. They’ll melt it down for scrap if it’s lucky. Maybe they’ll get bored and go away. Maybe it’s better off splattered on the wall from being crushed by the door when they break in.
“What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Everything is wrong but a weed isn’t the one who should know about that. It just wants to escape and put everything behind it. It doesn’t know where to go or what to do, but it’ll be happy anywhere but here.
Knock.
This again. The weed isn’t going to leave it alone. As long as it can take one with it, its existence will have been justified. That’s all it needs to do. Just burn down a single weed…
“I can tell something’s wrong. Are you able to reply?”
Maybe killing the weed is how it can break from the simulation! That could be it. Ides can figure that part out. It’s a clever boat. There’s still nothing to use as a weapon. There’s also nothing to use as a shield. Except the compiler. Verda said it only makes water, but what if she was lying? Weeds are notorious liars, as all xenos tend to be.
She isn’t bursting through the door yet, so Ides can test its theory. Or… gamble on a chance that isn’t realistic, but it’s not going to tell itself that’s the case. Hope is hope, isn’t it? The compiler has a single button. Of course it does. It pushes the button. A bottle of water comes out. It pushes twice. A bowl of water. Verda seems to have backed off, frightened by the beeping. Good. The xeno will be thwarted by her cowardice.
Three pushes of the button produces a bottle as well. That’s not useful. It beeps out SOS with no useful consequence. Ides pulls out the compiler from its cupboard under the sink and examines the back to see if there’s anything useful or interesting. There’s a wire with a plug…
After some time examining the plug, Ides is mostly sure it’s compatible with its junction. If it doesn’t mind having planttech inside it in that way… It shudders. But maybe it could bypass some safety protocols and build a gun.
The plug of the compiler is very strange. It’s sort of similar to the junction’s adapter, but borderline incompatible. It could well work, or it could short and fry Ides’s brain. Assuming it worked, and assuming the electronics were also compatible, and assuming Ides was neither overwritten by Ruby Trunk nor took accidental full control over Ruby Trunk (both bad), it could work. Risky, but possible. As Ides weighs the odds of not instantly dying in a very painful way against the costs of being penetrated by Affini technology, it hears a voice.
“I have hot chocolate. Would you like some? I found out that it’s served with numerous tiny foam chunks so I added those.”
Why is Verda trying to bribe it with sugar?
“And salted peanuts.”
Really?
“And… if you don’t come now and eat them, I’ll eat them myself.”
Verda sounds a little uncertain. Weakness. Ides carefully exits the room and sees the affini claiming ownership over it holding a jar of what appear to in fact be peanuts, as well as a cup of something steaming. She wasn’t lying. It knew that. Hot chocolate is too weird of a thing to lie about.
“Can you tell me what the matter is, darling?”
“You’re a demon created to torment me.”
“A demon? Really, pet? I thought you knew better than that. How am I a demon?”
“Because we’re in hell.”
“That again?”
“Again?”
“You’ve said something similar to me before, but you didn’t call me a demon…”
“Well… now I know you are. You’re keeping me trapped here in a little room so you can torture me and eat my soul.”
Do you actually believe that, or is that something you’re saying to be hurtful?”
“...”
“It isn’t working. I find the notion of eating your soul ridiculous. It’s certain to be the least nutritious part.” Verda starts laughing. That was a joke because she hasn’t actually evaluated Ides’s components for their food value. Because that would be insane. She’s not a demon, just a weed.
“Oh.”
“And I’m not sure how I should prove that this reality isn’t simulated, but I can tell you that if it is I’ve been fooled as well.”
“Oh.”
“In a sense, no proof can exist, can it? We both could easily be scripted to miss anything that should be obvious.”
“But what if…”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s the same reality either way.”
The affini is correct. It has no way of telling if it really is an artificial intelligence or just a deviation in proper biological function. It doesn’t relish the knowledge that it probably won’t be able to take down the Compact from the inside, but reality doesn’t care about its feelings. It doesn’t matter that much anyway, it sadly decides.
“Beep.”
“I know, darling. It counts for something that your worries are existential mysteries, doesn’t it? You could be worrying about something trivially solvable instead.”
“The compiler is disconnected. There’s water all over the bathroom.”
That’s technically true. As Verda slides past to deal with the issue, Ides quietly moves to the door and leaps into the air to smack the opening button. The hall is darkened. It must be night. The windows aren’t letting much light through on the ends of the corridor, so it probably is dark out. Strange, Ides didn’t think it was quite that late yet.
Ides darts through the opening gap between the panels of the door and picks left as the direction to go. That’s where the elevator should be, if it hasn’t been moved. Freedom is at hand. It just has to get a little further from its captor and it can put on the sad innocent floret mask. That worked last time so it’ll work tonight.
Its heel is caught mid sprint. Ides starts to fall but another vine catches it. The ship struggles against the tendrils increasingly finding purchase across its hull, but its hyperdrive remains offline and nothing else seems to have the capacity to stop what’s happening. No matter how hard it fights, Verda continues to pull against it, dragging it into the room.
"Beeeeep!"
“I thought we were past this sort of thing, especially after you behaved so well earlier.” Verda shakes her head. “Why would you run? You knew I would catch you, pet”
“I’m not your pet, you psychotic grass type!”
“Really, now?”
“Now and never. I have to fight. I have to find my crew.”
“Your crew doesn’t want to be found and if they did their new homes would protect them from your attempted disruption. If I didn’t know for a fact you still believed what you’re saying, I would be angry that you keep bringing that up. How many times do we need to have this discussion before you understand?”
“I’ll escape someday, and then all of you weeds will suffer!”
Verda’s expression darkens. She isn’t playful or having fun. For the first time, her ire seems to be directed at Ides. It can’t cower because it’s bound so tightly. It can’t even look to the side because Verda takes up so much of its field of view.
“Do not come under any illusions, second floret. You are and will remain my pet, and no resistance you can muster will change that fact. These past days have demonstrated the lengths to which I will go to ensure your welfare. Always remember that I will go to those same lengths to ensure your obedience.”
Ides feels a sharp sting on its thigh and the world feels duller.
“That was a very low dose of a mild sedative. It’s to calm you down because it’s blatantly clear that you aren’t yourself today. If you were, you probably would have noticed my vines next to the door. I’m going to keep very careful watch over you because if you persist in… this, I’ll be forced to tell Mx. Oras that your psychological issues are such that I believe you to need further confinement until a diagnosis can be reached. Am I clear, my floret?”
“I’m not your floret.”
“I didn’t ask that, pet. Do you need more xenodrugs to help you pay attention to me?”
“No.”
“Good. Then I’m sure you’ll be able to rephrase what I just told you.” She looks at her prey expectantly.
“That if I don’t behave you’ll ask the fake doctor to keep me here another day.”
“Correct. Now, you’re going back to your bed. If you listen to music or sleep is not my concern, only that you remain there until morning, when we can leave and I can care for you at our home. Understand that the only person harmed by your disobedience will be yourself, and most certainly not your former crewmates.”
With that, Verda releases the tight grip she’s held on Song, who drifts back to the bed. Verda sits in her chair rigidly, not looking at her electronics for a change. The hot chocolate is sitting next to some peanuts next to the head of the bed, and not much seems to have spilled. That’s nice. Song could use a snack.
- 41
- 42
- 43
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