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
- 44
- 45
- 46
The lights in the sitting room are much dimmer when Song wakes up. It can’t have been napping long enough for evening to arrive, and the light coming through the windows reminds it that it’s the middle of the day. Verda must’ve turned the lights off before. How thoughtful. Or maybe she was napping too. It looks over to where she was, and sees her sitting perfectly still. That’s a change. It stands up to look around, and maybe see if there’s anyone willing to break it out of there again. Unfortunately not. It would’ve rather there had been, especially now that it knows where to find Terran ships… As soon as it takes a step back toward the room’s interior, Verda starts moving again, her eyes still fixed on something Song can’t see in the corner of the room.
“Are you feeling more rested now?”
“Hm.”
“You’re going to be difficult again? I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Behave, pet. Now that you’ve decided that you’re recovered enough to go on outings that you’re certain aren’t dates without supervision, you’re also well enough to resume your domestication proper.”
“But-”
“I’ve fallen behind in my efforts, and that’s not due entirely to your issues. I’m sorry for delaying your happiness and submission.”
“But-”
“However, I’m proud of you for learning how to eat politely with utensils. Evlen’s mistress told me all about how you were able to refrain from senseless violence while holding a knife.”
“She did?”
“Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she alleviate my worries about your wellbeing? I also informed her about how much of a gentleman her floret was when I saw him.”
“Didn’t you comment on him ignoring you?”
“I did! It’s good your memory seems to be largely repaired already, but we shouldn’t work on the missing time yet. I’d rather see how you are with other things first… But to the point, I was addressing another facet of his conduct. Don’t worry, he won’t be punished or even called out for that. He and you are so adorable <3”
“He’s a xeno.”
“Why do you bring that up?”
“...”
“?”
“:(“
“...”
“Xenos can’t be adorable. It’s not in their nature.”
“I find that hard to believe, especially coming from one as adorable as you are, darling.”
“I’m not ‘adorable’ either, but-”
“Of course you are! Terran society put vast effort into telling you otherwise, but I’m not going to allow you to persist in that delusion, pet. You’re my adorable, cute, cuddleable, fascinating, beautiful floret. You always will be.”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask whether you believed it. Eventually you’ll accept that you’re worthy of my opinion of you.”
“I’m not adorable, he’s not adorable, and you’re not adorable. I’m not your pet and you won’t buy my loyalty by trying to flatter me when you don’t even know what I’m proud of.” It instantly regrets that it might’ve given her ideas.
“That reminds me of an old human torture technique I read about shortly before we met. If you continue to object, I will be forced to employ it.”
The weed grins deviously, quelling Song’s attempt at a rebuttal. She doesn’t want to mess with something that’s touchy enough to make Verda openly bring up torture. The Affini always talk about love and happiness and hugs… There are wiser battles to take than… refusing to call itself cute? There are certainly better uses of mental energy than that discussion.
The wary Terran wanders into the kitchen, where it quickly finds Verda’s compiler. Since she’s gone back to browsing whichever Affini basket weaving fora she’s into, Song is free to take a careful look behind it. The plug is precisely the same as the one in the hospital room. Song’s plan is close to completion. If it can’t escape, the Affini Compact will know the consequences of crossing the Song of Destruction!
For now, Song is hungry and would rather have a snack than fight a war. “How does this even work?” it asks itself. Song pushes a bunch of random buttons in hopes of getting some kind of results. In bright red letters, the little screen of the compiler says “access denied” and probably says the same in Affini, not that Song would know the difference.
“Verda, how do I get this to give me sushi?”
“Just type it into the keypad.”
“It says ‘access denied.’”
Verda sighs. “I suppose that’s because I haven’t given you permission to compile, nor have I translated the interface. There hasn’t been time since-”
“There hasn’t been time? How does that work? Were you just… not expecting to take me prisoner?”
“Would you believe I wasn’t? The details are outside of a floret’s purview, but as time passed and I became more familiar with you and a few other especially slippery feralists, I decided that I’d like you as my pet. Fate granted me the opportunity to rescue you myself.”
“I remember how that worked. You blew a hole in my hull all the way to the engine room and dragged me out of my tank. You didn’t hit the eject button then either.”
“‘Either?’”
“Then or the other time, when…” Song suddenly can’t see. It feels sick. It’s probably going to fall over. Overpowering rancidly sweet smell assaults its nose. “When- You… Didn’t eject me… That wa-”
“I’m very sorry about that. I wasn’t aware that the software ejection was needed.”
“It is, because of how the interface interacts with neurological processes.”
“That isn’t listed in any of the manuals for the interface tank.”
“It wouldn’t be. Half the knowledge about them is passed between pilots and nobody cares enough to write it down, I guess. It’s… part of being a pilot.”
“Do navigators have a similar culture?”
“Probably. I wouldn’t know.”
Verda nods thoughtfully.
“I’ll be sure to send a memorandum regarding updating urgent domestication protocols so that that doesn’t happen to others.”
“Thanks.”
Verda looks at the compiler on the floor. Rather than questioning why it’s out of its cabinet and why the cord is pulled out so far, she flattens herself and looks at the face before pushing a few buttons. Soon, it signals that it’s done and Verda pulls out several rolls of sushi with different compositions. She also pulls out a pair of chopsticks, which she hands to Song with a knowing look. It probably shouldn’t validate her expectation that it’s going to try to stab her with them.
Fishy, ricey, and soyey. Song isn’t sure why it asked for sushi but what it got was good. It tries a couple of different kinds and decides that the compiler isn’t that bad at making food. The personal touch Evlen gave his meals is lacking, but it’s still a lot better than anything Song got while flying. Does Verda not care if it spoils its dinner? That’s a very nice change from certain other attempted owners it had known.
“I can’t eat any more.”
“All right. Tell me whenever you’re hungry, darling. That way we can settle into a consistent schedule sooner.”
So that’s her plan, to speed up domestication by feeding Song whenever it wants to eat. It won’t work. Song will find some way of fighting that, in a way other than having Verda decide when it eats because that would be counterproductive.
“Were you planning to teach me how to use that?”
“I was, as soon as I can have it modified to respond properly to you.”
“Oh. You did promise to teach me Affini. Are you going to?”
“I suppose that’s something quiet and productive to do today. How about we take a little walk while it’s still light out, and then we can start?”
“Why are you delaying?”
“Because I’d like to move around now. If you don’t feel up to walking yourself, I’m more than happy to carry you with me, little one.”
“I can walk.”
“Excellent! I see your shoes are still on, so let’s leave right away.”
“What’s your trick? There’s got to be a trick here. Why are you doing this? Where are you really taking me? Is this an excuse to put me on a leash again?”
“It’s an excuse to spend time with my floret, who seems to have too much energy at the moment. I would’ve thought you would be more eager to be outside for a while.”
“...”
“Stay there while I get your leash. Remember that you’ll no longer need to wear one after you prove that you’re willing to walk nicely without running away.”
“Hm.”
Finding the leash doesn’t take long, since Verda only put it down a couple of hours before. This time, one of the earlier collars Song had worn is used. It’s more comfortable in this one, though it still isn’t comfortable at all because it’s being walked on a leash by a giant space weed. Verda sends one of her vines along its head and neck and pushes Song through the door very gently. It doesn’t have much choice about taking a walk.
The fact that it isn’t evening yet surprises Song. There are probably a couple of hours before sunset, making this… around six in the evening. They made good time, even after stopping for ice cream. Unlike the last time they were out, the park has a lot of activity. Affini are walking their florets (mostly without leashes) and affini and floret pairs are strolling through the main paths on their way somewhere. The proportion of people out for a stroll seems a lot lower at this time of day. There are more xenos and humans walking alone, too, but all of the benches are full of various sitters.
Song pauses at one point to feel the grass. It’s not unlike Terran grass, but softer and greener. It forms a thick carpet on the dirt, which seems awfully brown. It’s been a long time since Song was able to feel something somewhat natural. Of course, it’s all artificially grown as a biological trophy of the weeds’ conquests, but it’s more pleasing to the Terran optical sensor than a statue of an affini holding a laser gun would be.
There are so many people here, and they all look happy enough to make Song wonder how many xenodrugs were needed to establish the scene. All of those scenes out of an art gallery can’t be natural. There’s no way somebody could be happy as property of an affini, without that, is there? Some are excited, but most are walking calmly and maybe talking to somebody else, at least of those who aren’t on their way somewhere. There’s none of the anger of a Terran rush hour. What if, maybe-
A tug to the neck startles the ship into default evasion. That doesn’t work because it’s literally attached to Verda, who pulls it onto a branching path. She looks a lot better than she did this morning, which isn’t a high bar to pass. Now that Song pays attention, she’s counting something. It can even register the beats.
“What are you counting?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can see you counting something.”
“How can you see that?”
“So I was right.”
“I suppose so, pet.”
“Well?”
“?”
“What were you counting?”
“Steps and distances. Your pace increased when you started talking to me, and you’re going to step on a crack in the pavement in… 8 steps.”
Song stops. Verda stops in order not to strangle her prisoner. They stand and look at each other for a while, until Song begins to explain what’s going on.
“Why are you measuring distances?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“Really, Verda? How far is it to that tree by the optimal path?”
“Twenty two meters.”
“You didn’t look. You remembered its position and distance.”
“I suppose I did, darling.What’s special about the tree?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering. Is it all right if I walk to it and back, if I promise to come back?”
“What are you scheming? You’ve accused me of that,but this is more suspicious than anything I’ve said to you by far.”
“I want to look at it. I promise I’ll be back.”
“Very well,” Verda sighs.
That was easy. Song takes a few steps toward the tree before pausing and looking around. Nothing unusual, as expected, aside from the leash slapping its leg, at least. It should’ve taken it instead of letting it drop. Then it takes one large step sideways and several more steps toward the tree with carefully measured paces. It can practically feel the tension entering Verda’s vines as it does that. She’s not worried it’s going to run away, she’s in pain. Reaching the tree, Song leaps down the slight hill it’s planted on top of. The change to Verda’s expression almost makes it wince. Well, the weed shouldn’t have kidnapped it for nefarious reasons if it didn’t want to deal with it walking oddly sometimes. It finishes the round trip without trying to further antagonize its captor.
“I told you I’d come back.”
“You did. Do you enjoy switching between obedience and rebellion so often?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Verda’s withdrawal must be getting bad now. She’s been plotting courses for her pilot to follow and getting angry when it doesn’t follow them. That’s not her fault, of course. It’s an instinct she picked up. Disposing of that shouldn’t take long, but it’s one of the reasons there are safety measures… like unplugging before pulling the literal plug out of your brain (technically not your brain, but still). It’s too bad there’s no realistic way of treating her or exploiting this refreshing weakness and rupture in the lie of perfection the Affini project. Not that it wasn’t a vulnerability in Terran stellar technology that was technically the cause, but…
Then again, this is sort of Song’s fault. It knows how bad withdrawal can be, but it let Verda experience that as well. Even if she’s just a weed, it’s somewhat wrong. That isn’t to say she doesn’t deserve to suffer for her crimes against humanity, but this isn’t a humane punishment. It’s cruel. If Song is willing to subject others to unspeakable horrors, how is it better than the Affini? How is humanity better? It’s just a Terran who has no legal or political education. It never wanted to be a representative of humanity on the intergalactic stage, but it is, and its duty to its people is clear.
Still, practicality trumps duty, and there’s no practical way of enacting that representation. Everyone knows the Protectorate isn’t representing anyone’s interests. If the scope of Song’s impact is limited to its dealings with xenos, it still has to make itself proud. Nobody had forced Verda to connect herself, and Song didn’t even want a weed inside its systems. She probably would’ve been fine if she’d pulled out right after they escaped the field, but she didn’t. But either way, there are better ways to take revenge than tormenting somebody whose brain -core, it’s called- has been scrambled by the interface system.
The walk back to Verda’s house is peaceful. The path she’d picked loops around and they come out of a small patch of trees in sight of it. Walking was nice, actually. Song is glad to have gotten some fresh air, even if it would rather have been flying right now. It mostly wants a distraction so it doesn’t have to think about how it feels about Verda wanting to be its navigator still, but no distraction comes and they eventually finish their walk.
- 44
- 45
- 46
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