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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
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Once again, light glares against the ship’s bow, bathing it in energy of various sorts. It opens its viewports to find that its sensors haven’t regained their proper function. Rather, everything is as it was the day before. If ships could snort, that’s what it would be doing. The weed is perched in its usual spot, watching it with what appears to be a furrowed brow. The slight change in the rhythm of its swinging vines indicates it’s aware that its prisoner has come online for the morning. It’s unsure whether it’s aware it knows the affini knows.
“I’m pleased you’ve woken up on time. Did you sleep well?”
“Beep.”
“Are you doing that again, or are you going to use proper words?”
“Beep.”
“It’s time for your xenodrugs. You agreed to them, after all. Any objections?”
“Beep!!!”
“Good.” Verda strikes it with a vine that’s been creeping across the floor like a snake. It feels a lump growing in its thigh.
“I’m glad you didn’t change your mind. I’d rather you be awake for this sort of thing so that you understand what’s happening. Don’t worry, you’ll only need one dose a week.”
Verda flexes her vine in front of her victim’s face, revealing that the snake comparison was justified. There were actually two needles, and they match the two holes it sees on its leg. There’s a small amount of swelling due to the filth that it had been injected with.
“Ow.”
“I know, but that’s the most efficient mode of administration. Now you don’t have to think about it for several days. It’ll hurt less if you hold still next time.”
The ship glares at it.
“As I’ve said before, you’re free to ask me to stop at any time. These are the only xenodrugs for which I will give you that option, pet.”
It glares more. Verda shrugs and picks up her tablet. She scrolls through something or other for a bit, until her prisoner musters the resolve to address her.
“Why are you turning me straight?”
“I’m not.”
“You are. The xenodrugs are doing it.”
“You have no proof that they are. It could simply be that you’re accepting a facet of yourself that you weren’t inclined to before.”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“I am.”
“You have my assurance that it isn’t intentional. I’m hurt that you would think that of me.”
“But you said-”
“I said that it can happen, not that it would or was likely to. While we’re on the subject, is there anything else they’ve done that you want to complain about? I put you on a fairly generic battery until I could ask you for your preference, but you haven’t been in a state for that conversation. Remember that until yesterday, you weren’t even willing to contemplate being given xenodrugs willingly.”
“But I…”
“...”
“I… don’t know. What…”
“You could be shorter, if you’d like. There are some other effects that aren’t difficult to achieve. Think about that. You won’t have to worry for the next week. Right now-”
“So you can change my sexuality to what you want.”
“Is this really a conversation you want to have, pet? You just got up.”
“It is. I want to know. If…” It trails off, thinking about the implications of what it’s being told. Verda sighs and looks thoughtfully into the corner of the room for a moment before replying.
“I can. I can tune your mind and body however I see fit. You’re a block of marble in my studio, my adorable little floret. As your owner, it’s my right to sculpt you to perfection.”
The person who isn’t a floret gulps. That wasn’t the answer it expected or wanted.
“With sufficient effort, I could make you into anything. That’s what Artemis Pallas, second bloom could’ve done too. You see, to extend the metaphor, every artist sees in the same rude block a different sculpture. One might see a woman, another a man, and a third a chariot. All that matters is that the final art be beautiful, though it wouldn’t be correct to say that Beauty is our defining goal. Nobody will dream of mourning for the other lost potentials. Do you see what I mean?”
It nods as Verda’s vines start to flick with greater sharpness with every word.
“When I look at you, my adorable floret, I see something special, which I’m proud to carve out of the raw and untempered stone before me. I’ve studied a very long time for this, and that study will allow me to extract just about anything I want. Understand that that’s not the full story. The artist’s vision can’t be baseless if it’s to truly be called art. That’s why, despite your eccentricity, I haven’t ground you to regulation dimensions. Were that to happen, what I see would be lost, and that outcome is unacceptable. So you see, pet, what I’m after is you.”
“How?” It doesn’t like where this conversation seems to be heading.
“To change you would be to destroy my work. To bring the discussion back to what you asked, intentionally altering your sexuality would be destructive of you, which is what I’m trying to preserve. I could easily make you exclusively attracted to men, given the motivation. I could even have prevented you from developing an attraction to them. Neither were acceptable, because either would be definitive meddling on my part. I couldn’t have predicted what would happen, but actively fighting it would have been a bold decision to make for your future. The choice is not whether or not to preserve your sexuality, but whether or not to intentionally intervene in it.”
It just stares. Maybe it was too early in the day for this conversation.
“Instead of deciding that you would be a lesbian, I did nothing. Once the xenodrugs that would manually set your orientation were used, nothing of the original would be left. For now, it changes freely depending on numerous factors. If you ask me to, I can adjust it to what you want. That decision will be permanent, but you can be a real and pure lesbian if that’s what you require to be happy.”
“Why would anyone do that? That’s insane. You can’t just… It’s wrong! You can’t just change people’s sexual orientations!”
“Even if that’s what they want? Even if there are no social consequences no matter what?”
“But I…it… I don’t understand. Why?”
“Do you understand why I chose to risk your sexual orientation shifting as a consequence of other changes to your neurochemistry, rather than choosing that you would be a lesbian, when I didn’t know for a fact that you were one?”
“Oh. I… see…”
“Good. I’m glad you understand that I’m not trying to hurt you. Your new friend will be joining us soon. I’m sure you’d like to neaten yourself up before he arrives.”
Despite retaining anger over last night’s vicious and unprovoked use of xenodrugs, it complies. Its current outfit is far too cute for it to stomach. It decides against a shower because it doesn’t feel up to it. Instead, it looks at the chaos of water bottles that had been rearranged into a neat stack in the corner. Verda had actually gone to the trouble to do that…
The clothing laid out on the counter of the sink is confusing. It’s a low cut top in navy paired with grey pants of some sort that it isn’t familiar with. It doesn’t recognize the style, but, surprisingly, the combination doesn’t look that bad. It… doesn’t look very Affini. That’s what it noticed. The outfit looks unusually Terran. It would’ve been unsurprised to see this in a magazine back home, before the war started. It fits well. Did Verda take its measurements? That’s disgusting! Of course she did. How else would she know what size clothes to use, without a lot of trial and error that hadn’t happened? At least it doesn’t remember that happening. Xeno deception might be at play here.
It looks more carefully at its reflection. These xenodrugs have been doing something, all right. The texture of its skin is already just a little different, though that may be from spending so long in the interface tank. Seeing with two eyes feels so weird now. One of them shuts at a time, causing dizziness from the change in perspective. It puts fingers across the two tiny holes in its ears that used to have metal through them. Slaves can’t be trusted with sharp objects, can they? Of course it hadn’t had earrings in when it was flying for safety reasons, but… it doesn’t like the idea that the holes might close. It doesn’t want to be a floret.
Since there’s nothing to be done about any of that, it returns to its captor, who smiles brightly at it. Of course she does, she picked the outfit in which to dress her lifesized doll. How could she be unhappy with this situation? It bets she’s gloating over all the horror she and her underlings have inflicted on Terrans across the galaxy. Across the universe, actually… It wonders if they’re going to another galaxy now, or what they’re doing. Not that it matters, but it’d rather see some of its kind again. It’s already kind of lonely…
As it sits down at the foot of the bed, its usual spot during the day (is that true? It doesn’t feel like calculating time fractions), somebody knocks. This time, whoever it is decides not to intrude uninvited. The knock is timid. Strange.
“Enter.”
It had gotten over edgy invitations when it was piloting Song. Those are reserved for when the crew is being obnoxious. The sounds of a pressed button from outside precedes the opening of the door, revealing Evlen in a trenchcoat. It wonders if he’s going to remind it that it knows the rules after giving it breakfast.
“Good morning, Song. -And Song’s mistress,” he adds hastily. Song wonders if she intimidated him somehow.
“Evlen!” He smiles.
“Good morning, Evlen.” The calm in her voice carries an undertone of being greatly entertained. If he notices, he doesn’t react.
“Sausage links, scrambled eggs, and a slice of toast. Orange or blackberry jelly?”
“Blackberry, please.”
He uncovers a plate from the top of his cart, putting it in front of Song on some kind of portable desk thing that lets her eat without an actual table. It’s clever. He then hands her a little container of black goo and a butter knife. Vera doesn’t object. She supposes that means the weed trusts her not to stab anyone with a blunt instrument.
“You’re really leaving today?”
“I hope so. I can hardly wait to be anywhere but here.” Evlen’s ears unperk. Song wonders if there’s a proper word for that, but her dictionary is disconnected and she can only guess. “Cooped up, that is. It was nice to get out yesterday.”
Verda coughs. Evlen and Song ignore her.
“Right, since you’re not really that sick. I’m glad you’re feeling better. And I’m glad I was able to show you around. But everyone else needs to eat too, so I’m going to go now, unless either of you needs something.”
They don’t. Evlen backs up from Song into the doorway. He gestures with his hands, turning slightly away from Verda. He seems to be suggesting something’s under something. With that, he waves and leaves, looking slightly sad. Song understands. She’s also sad about losing somebody interesting to talk to, even if he’s a xeno. At least he was capable of holding a conversation.
Verda sighs and smiles definitively.
“What?”
“I’m just a little surprised you didn’t try anything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not, pet.”
“Hm.” Song stabs a sausage and bites into it. Did Evlen really stuff this himself?
“Why do they get a king and we don’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hogboy’s people. They have a king now. Why doesn’t Terra keep its government?”
“For a start, because they don’t constantly try to belittle other species with strange nicknames. The Almsit, which is what Evlen is, had an exemplary domestication, which I happen to be familiar with. Would you like to hear about it?”
“I guess so.”
“Then I ‘guess’ I will tell you about it. Some time ago, probably… less than fifty Terran years ago, one of the Compact’s probes encountered signs of intelligent life on a planet which we now know to be called Sfpl’fth. That was originally the name of a kingdom which gained control of the planet’s entire surface. It’s… a reference to the people’s phallic endowments. To my knowledge no Affini studies have been done to examine whether that name was based on reality, but many found it amusing enough not to demand that it be changed.
“The world of the Amsit was cared for quite well before we arrived. They’re a very friendly and open people, as you’ve become aware. Their king at the time of first contact stopped objecting to the domestication of his people as soon as he learned what we had to offer. In fact, he offered to make a royal proclamation, and formally swear allegiance to the Affini Compact in a publicly broadcast ceremony. His price was that he would stay in power, as would his family.”
“And they agreed?”
“Not immediately. It was determined that allowing one man to dress up in ornate clothing and call himself a king, while letting a number of others dress up as a royal guard was a small compromise to accept in exchange for an entirely peaceful domestication. All of his sons but the eldest were taken as florets, per the Treaty of Almsit Domestication, with the condition they not receive implants. I remember how excited everyone was to hear about how easily they agreed to join us.”
“Why didn’t we get that kind of offer?”
“You did, or one similar to it. Perhaps you remember how things turned out after the Compact’s government officially surrendered.”
Song winces. She remembers how angry her crew was when that happened. She remembers how angry she was- and is. She can’t forgive the weeds for humiliating her people. If Evlen’s species are simply that docile by nature, they couldn’t be helped regardless. It’s too bad.
“But… The rest of the Almsit didn’t get implant exemptions.”
“No, they didn’t. Why would they? The implantation process is extremely well tested and effective at improving florets’ quality of life. It’s the symbol of the bond and trust between owner and pet.”
“It’s evil.”
“You’ll change your opinion on that matter in time.”
“Never. I’ll never give up and I’ll never be your pet.”
“Darling…” She sighs and leans forward. “ I think I’ll go rearrange all of the water you made last night.”
That… It’s not Song’s proudest achievement, but she was trying. She wanted to get out. How was she supposed to know that the thing only made water? Maybe she should’ve smashed a bottle and used that against Verda. Why didn’t she think of that when she had the water in her hand? Now the weed is going to be watching her much too carefully for her to have a chance like that.
Why did Verda leave? That’s unlike her. She can’t even fit into the bathroom properly. Her vines are twitching and wandering around outside the door. What a strange plant. Still, she’s gone and Song can eat in peace. She’s missed eating alone. There’s a lot to be said for not being observed while one eats, especially if one is trying to be refamiliarized with silverware after not using them very much.
When she finishes, Verda’s still in the bathroom. It’s suspicious but Song has no intention of complaining. She’s well aware of what happens every time she does. Stupid weed. She remembers what Evlen told her right before he left. She checks under her plate and finds a tiny piece of paper marked “len_pickle”. What does that mean? Suddenly, Verda rockets through the bathroom door, directly at Song. As she lands on her chair, Verda snatches away the paper with a smirk.
“Look at this! He gave you his contact information, just to be sure you could find him again. Since he already provided me with that information yesterday, there was no need. Will you be reaching out to him later?”
“That isn’t your business.”
“It’s very much my business who you associate with, pet. I’m surprised you would feel so defensive when I’ve already expressed my approval of Evlen. One might think there was some secret you were trying to keep…”
“If I did want to talk to him, I couldn’t because I don’t have any way of texting him.”
“That can be remedied when we’re home. I’m happy that you’re starting to make ‘friends’ who can help you accept your situation. Maybe seeing how happy others are as florets will inspire you to stop trying to run away.”
“Never.”
Verda chuckles and shakes her head before picking up her tablet again and starting to type. She’s going much more slowly than at other times, but Song doesn’t particularly feel inclined to ask why, especially not when Verda’s in her present state. She might decide to put her “floret” in an even weirder outfit. In fact, she might decide her “floret” doesn’t need an outfit. Weeds and their perversions know no limits.
Song can’t even make it through half of an album. She never thought she’d get sick of ragtime, but she certainly is now. Maybe it’s because she’s listened to more over the course of two days than any Terran has in history. That might have something to do with it, or the fact that she can’t stop being reminded of Verda’s thought patterns while it plays. She’s in no mood for Affini snark today.
Her sensor dysphoria headache is getting worse. For today, she seems to be able to manipulate utensils, but that might not hold in the future. Thankfully, the symptoms seem light today. Except for the fact it took several minutes for her to stop beeping after she woke up. Stars, that’s really embarrassing. At least she didn’t do that in front of Evlen… She did that before. Why…
She wants to turn into a penny and hide under the mattress. That’s so embarrassing. Why can’t she be normal for a change? Why does everything have to be complicated and annoying? Why can’t her brain just stop, and… If it just stopped, that would also be fine. But for now, she’d rather it stop telling her that her weapons targeting needs recalibration and that she’s overdue for an oil change. Maybe then she'll stop trying to jump whenever she walked somewhere, in both the animal way and the mechanical way.
Then she’d be able to fight back. The weeds wouldn’t know what had hit them in their moment of annihilation if she could just get past the dysphoria and function normally. She’s spent so long trying to fend off the Affini. She just can’t.. Wait to see them all wilt until they’re a sick yellow and dead. That’s right. The Song of Destruction will not be defeated.
Today, her mission is to escape the hospital. Tomorrow, her mission will be to escape Verda. The next day, her mission will be to escape Ruby Trunk or maybe take it for herself. A ship that big is bound to have weak security internally. Affini engineers are idiot xenos and wouldn’t add failsafes. They put a security vulnerability by every bed in their “pet” hospital. All they needed was one clever Terran who refused to become a floret… Blowing up this ship would probably destroy the fleet. Something of this size is bound to have an enormous hyperdrive. It might rupture space enough that they couldn’t pass through. That would give the Resistance, who are still around and still fighting as hard as Song is, time to fight off the weeds on Terra. Just like the American Revolution, or War of the Worlds. Maybe they’ll start sneezing on the affini. Maybe the weeds would enjoy it, being the xeno abominations that they are.
That’s a good and solid plan. It could work. It will work. Song is a fantastic warship and her plans are fantastic. That’s why it’s going to work. She’s going to save Terra and everyone who lives there, even if they don’t know she exists or care that she’s fighting for them. It doesn’t matter because it’s always important to do the right thing, even when nobody knows about it. One week, and she’ll do the unthinkable. Desperate times require unthinkable thoughts, and this is certainly that. It’s what humanity deserves. In one week, on the day of her next injection (easy to remember and not skip it), the Song of Destruction will play across every ring of Ruby Trunk.
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Cellulose & Steel