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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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On the way back to its prison, Song is able to study its functions carefully in a way it hadn’t been able to recently. The psychologist’s xenodrugs appear to have counteracted some of the cognitive effects of those given by its captor, which are only noticeable in their absence. It’s been far too lenient with its enemies, who have humiliated it whenever possible. Being called a floret is not acceptable for a free Terran. The time has come to plot its escape and how to maximize damage done on the way out. Once Song is free, it should be able to devise a next step.
The xenos seek to weaken it, but they made the mistake of trying to heal it properly. This must be why they refuse most of the time. Only through the power of being extremely annoying was it possible for Song to break free of their grasp. To think, they thought they could entice it to obedience with a xeno male. The poor thing probably doesn’t realize he’s their pawn, as all slaves of the Affini are.
No matter how much Verda talks about all the things she talks about constantly, she’s still keeping it a slave. That’s going to change. She’s figured out that she shouldn’t let her prisoner have a proper body, instead weakening it with xenodrugs, especially those she doesn’t admit to giving it, to make it obedient and passive. The fact it isn’t as damaged as other prisoners speaks to Verda’s weakness of will. That will be her race’s downfall. The only question is how to manifest that result.
Complete destruction of the Affini Compact is the only acceptable consequence for the horrors inflicted on the innocent ship. It had followed the conventional rules of war, even though it probably could’ve killed more weeds if it hadn’t. That had been a mistake. Showing mercy always is. Maybe they’re right. Maybe humanity is weak because it’s too kind to xenos. Maybe, to survive, humanity has to change and become something less friendly to the outside universe. It’s a terrible thought, but the way things have gone doesn’t leave much ambiguity about the efficacy of present strategies.
The warship tries to think more deeply about what happened to it, but there’s nothing further to think. It did its best and they trampled on it, rewarding its compliance with torture. The same thing would’ve happened if it had turned back immediately. Well, maybe not, but a short enough outing that Dorothy, the weed taking care of Ides, would’ve still been around, would have achieved nothing. She probably wasn’t anywhere useful anyway. So it didn’t matter. Playing by the spiteful xenos’ rules isn’t beneficial. That one fact is all that Song needs to know.
Something about the memories isn’t right. It should feel… liberated? Soothed? In reality it only feels rage against its enemies and a desire to set the cosmos right. That, and embarrassment at the new persona the weeds were trying to trick it into cultivating. At least Evlen was strong enough to resist their lies. It still doesn’t like the concept of royalty, though. It’s too similar by far to the authoritarianism the Affini believe in.
A gentle pull to the neck tells it that they need to get off. It hadn’t noticed they had already arrived. It was too busy fantasizing about the obliteration of the weeds’ slavery operations, and how it would be able to personally liberate their mining worlds. Verda forces it along the path, passing the park where it had wasted a chance at freedom by talking to Hogboy instead of running. It should’ve known better than to think a xeno could be of use.
The clear thinking granted by the xenodrugs is starting to dissipate. That’s very bad. Soon enough, Song won’t be itself again. It’ll be turned into… Ember? Why by the stars would it ever call itself that? Then it remembers. Ember is a good name, though it already has one. No, it’s a bad name. The xenos are trying to steal its name and gender and everything about it, to sculpt it into a loyal slave with no freedom of thought. It must be strong for its crew. For Ginger, ungrateful traitor that she is. Even she doesn’t deserve this. Or Alice, who only did her best but was weak.
Song feels its leash come off as it’s directed toward its couch, where Verda seems content to let it live. This isn’t Song’s home. It’s a prisoner and a guest here, sleeping on the weed’s couch while in between hulls. That makes it feel better. It doesn’t like how it’s starting to feel. It’s starting to feel weak and vulnerable, as though Verda could even theoretically protect it. She’s proven that she can’t. Song must remember that. It’s not safe here. It has to escape at any cost.
Verda perches in the chair she’s taken to sitting on, staring at her quarry with vines full of xenodrugs. That’s a threat. She smiles, another threat. She starts to talk, proving that she isn’t content to keep a Terran slave, that slave must also pretend to be happy. That’s the final indignity. May God take these xenos into His care.
“Well, Ember? How did your session go today?”
“I learned a lot about how the Compact operates. I remember everything now, weed.”
“You do? How does that feel?”
“Miserable. You didn’t protect me from harm, you know. Isn’t that your entire point in keeping me as property?”
“Yes, pet,” Verda says slowly and thoughtfully, vines limp around her. “That’s an accurate assessment. Did you appreciate not being given xenodrugs to make you less depressed?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I asked, in order to respect your wishes, that you would not be given xenodrugs you didn’t explicitly ask for. Did you appreciate that?”
“I…” She did that? What a strange weed. It has to be a trick. Verda would never- No, she does want Ember to be happy, doesn’t she? And she thinks that Terran loyalty can be secured even though it can’t. “Don’t know.”
“Really? That’s a shame. I should reverse those instructions next time, if you don’t feel you’ve benefitted. I wouldn’t want you to be in pain unnecessarily.”
“No! I’m fine without xenodrugs.”
“You’re sure? As I understand the process, now that your memories have been restored, there’s no need for you to feel their burden. I can give you something that will let you enjoy the rest of the day. In the morning, I’m sure you’ll be back to normal.”
“No. No xenodrugs.”
“Very well, pet. As long as I’m sure you don’t need them.” The vines that lurk by her shoulders start to come to attention again. “Though I’m pleased that you seem so unaffected, given your previous reactions.”
“Terrans are tougher than you think.” Song enjoys its inner serenity for a moment, free of troublesome thoughts. The Affini want to remove its good thoughts and permit only the detrimental thoughts. “Is what happened common, where one of you can just torture a slave and pretend it didn’t happen unless there’s visible damage?”
“No. Such incidents are extremely rare, and I would consider this one unpredictable. Docking controllers are expected to respond to any abnormal needs a ship might have.”
“So the weed I talked to was just incompetent? And nothing’s going to happen?”
“Something will happen,” Verda says. She pauses noncommittally, contemplating how to continue. “The date scheduled for the trial of Azalea Pinkblossom, first bloom, is today, for serious harm done to a floret. As a report sent to me digitally indicates, the testimony you gave to Ms. Parennia was invaluable in reaching a verdict.”
“Good. That’s a bit of a relief.”
“You’re glad to hear that she’ll be punished?”
“Of course. I don’t know how a society can function if people are running around brutalizing each other all the time.”
“Yes, pet… That’s the reason for most of our domestication campaigns.”
“Because you’re afraid to turn inward and see the rot in your system?”
“No, because we see that other species lack our dedication to the welfare of others. We can’t change the past in order to eradicate all possible harm, regrettably. Some seek to, but I don’t believe that technology can serve any positive end.”
“Time machine stories do end badly.”
“As do affini who hurt florets aimlessly. I’m concerned that you still believe that we don’t care deeply for your welfare. Cruelty is not tolerated to any degree.”
“That’s hard to believe. I haven’t seen a picture of an affini getting an implant yet so I can’t take that so seriously. You have a double standard.”
“An implant? That would… certainly be a consequence to a severe action. Is that similar to how those determined to have acted against society were usually treated by the Terran Accord? I admit that this isn’t one of the fields I devoted much research time to.” The very tips of some of her vines curl pensively.
“Knowing that you see us as lesser beings, I think the best equivalent would be beating up a mentally disabled person, and that is taken seriously. Years in prison, at least.”
“What does prison achieve?”
“It mostly stops violent people from doing the same things as before.”
“I see, Ember. That’s not the impression I got from cultural material. I thought it was more related to making the perpetrator suffer for their misdeeds.” Plural pronouns don’t refer to singular subjects.
“Maybe. That’s not a bad thing either.”
“Then maybe you could share your perspective on something. I’ve been reading a crime story and haven’t been able to quite grasp the context. To use a scenario I won’t need to spend hours explaining, hypothetically, if you were the one deciding Azalea’s sentence, would you rather make her truly suffer for what she did to you, or make completely sure she’d never do the same thing to anyone else ever?”
“The second.”
“Why? Haven’t you been saying all the time since we met that you think we’re all evil and deserve to die painfully?”
“I’d rather save another Terran in the future who was in my situation. Assuming the hypothetical is accurate and not just how things would be advertised. Obviously not everyone can be fixed, some people are just evil. I’ve met more than one of those. Both would be better, though, but that wasn’t an option.”
Verda nods. “That’s the entire purpose of a choice, isn’t it? I agree with your perspective. The way that reduces total harm is better. That’s at the core of the Affini worldview.”
“And yet here I am, kept as a slave.”
“You’re being rehabilitated. You’re a terrorist who continues to indicate murderous desires, if you recall. There’s no point in repeating what we’ve already said to one another.” She sighs and types something into her tablet, which she holds between her and Song.
“I don’t want to be ‘rehabilitated.’ I want-”
“There’s no point, pet.”
“Oh.” She’s right. The last time they had this conversation was extremely dangerous.
“There was a reason that I asked what I did.” Verda thinks for a moment before resuming the conversation. Song preempts her.
“You wanted to trick me.” Naturally, the weed was scheming. Of course. This must be a thought experiment in which she demonstrates that domestication is a good thing. Only those with a heavy conscience fear death, so Song would’ve been fine. Some fates are crueler than that by far.
“No, Ember, though I admit that I did slightly mislead you before.”
“That isn’t much of a surprise, considering.”
“Azalea’s trial hasn’t concluded yet. Your feelings on the matter do in fact carry weight. While I doubt that a contrary desire would have been enough to upend convention, consideration would have been seriously given. I’m proud of you for being able to see greater factors than your desire for revenge. The affini in question will have to live with the knowledge that in spite of her mistakes, you, a floret and a feralist, were willing to believe that she could be better.” That’s a slight exaggeration.
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“Azalea will most likely be scorched and banished.”
“Scorched?”
“With fire, down to her core.”
“Wow.” Of all the brutal methods of punishment Song imagined the weeds practicing, immolation wasn’t one. It seems a little barbaric, even for them. “Seriously?”
“When both a floret and her rapchik tell somebody not to do something, and that somebody chooses to do that thing anyway, endangering the life and welfare of that floret, consequences must exist. So yes, darling. I warned her too, before we arrived. This is not a trivial matter.”
“I see.”
“You sound unsure. Is there some other sentence you would’ve preferred?”
“I don’t know. Death, maybe.”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“Getting it over with and making completely certain she never did it again. Being something that doesn’t sound a lot like torture under the label of benevolence?”
“Interesting choice, Ember. As we’ve discussed, this is rehabilitation, not punishment as such. Scorching is simply an efficient method of triggering a reblooming while ensuring one has sufficient time to truly contemplate one’s decisions. Coupled with banishment, Azalea will start a new life elsewhere far from this fleet, most likely under a new name, but will carry the lesson with her. The most enduring hardship will be the process of forgiving herself.”
“Reblooming?”
“Reblooming, Ember. It’s when an affini’s exterior becomes useless and is replaced all at once. It’s a routine and harmless occurrence, though there can be certain personality changes that come with it. In this case, they will solidify the plant’s improved understanding.”
“There was a television show on Terra where the main character did that. He said he wanted to help people but ended up doing a ton of killing, now that I think of it. He kept wanting to be better but he always left chaos and genocide behind him.”
“I’m sure that character’s intentions were pure.” Most of the time…
“So you’re going to kill her and make her rebloom? And that’s your idea of a light sentence?”
“It’s nowhere close to light, which is the point. We have ways to cause extreme suffering, but those are even more unthinkable than what was done to you. Responding to violence with increased violence only makes everyone unhappy in the end. This process is certain to cause far less pain than you’re anticipating.”
That’s a shame. Song would’ve been happier if the weed were going to be killed completely, maybe staked like a tomato and roasted. Still, it’s not that bad. Reblooming probably really hurts and they have to be doing something beyond unleashing a freshly revitalized barbarian on the universe, right? Still, the fact that the weed is facing some arcane form of justice from her people is satisfying.
“You’re still talking about burning somebody alive”
“That is not my point, Ember. Many florets would never even be told of such a thing, and they would be devastated by the thought of it. However, I thought you deserved to know what happened and understand very clearly that choices have consequences.” She gives it a meaningful look to drive home the point.
“What would happen if I did the same thing as Azalea? Would you rebloom me?”
“The blame would fall to me, darling, both for allowing you to commit such an atrocity and for failing to preserve your mental stability to the point where you would contemplate that. My responsibility is to protect others from you no less than it is to protect you from others.”
“So what would happen to you?”
“You would most likely be taken from me for your safety and society’s. Anything further would depend on the details of the situation. I would be evaluated very thoroughly and perhaps be prevented from having a floret for a long time.”
“And I can achieve that by going rogue?”
“I know you better than that, Ember. You would never do such a thing. Besides, I expect that you would be put on class O xenodrugs rather quickly as a result, if for no reason other than your new rapchik’s inability to contend with your adorable mannerisms.” She smiles affectionately in her disgusting xeno way.
“What would cause a death penalty? Do you have one of those?”
“That would be something so horrible that I would never speak of it. According to my recollection, such an act has only been carried out once in the entire Compact in my life, which would be quadrillions of personyears… I think. I can state with virtual certainty you’ll never have to worry about that, and I don’t believe you’re capable of something so horrific that that would be thought of.”
“So you do kill. You’re no better than we are.” There’s nothing wrong with killing enemies of the public.
“We accept that every possibility should be considered. It’s a true last resort, invoked only when no other solution is possible. You’re aware of my attitude toward class O prescription. That is still considered an acceptable outcome by Affini society. I’m certain you can imagine what would be required for several of us to concur that not simply that or any other solution, but death, was the best possible result of a situation. That is not a decision made easily, darling. Nor is it one you’re ever likely to encounter.”
Song read somewhere that communists believed that killing is always the ultimate evil. Maybe just that one party believed it, but since they never won an election and never had a revolution, their opinions were basically worthless. Real communists thrive on mass murder, especially the murder of smart and successful people, out of jealousy. Verda must be lying, then. Or maybe she isn’t. Maybe they prefer to torture their rebellious slaves in other ways. In that case… just what do you have to do to be killed by the Compact? Somebody must be utterly unfixable and hopeless for that, and even beyond being drugged into a helpless stupor. Maybe Song can learn more somewhere.
For some reason, it doesn’t feel as fulfilled as it thought it would, knowing that its attacker won’t go free. If she’s starting a new life somewhere far away, adjusted so as not to hurt other “florets,” that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Song isn’t sure why it feels unsettled. Maybe because the idea of being set on fire is so unpleasant. That must be it. But she deserves it! She’s even worse than a normal weed! But… Never mind. Verda said the weed would be fine. That’s good enough.
With the rest of the day open and not much to do, Song stretches on the couch in hopes of thinking of something good. Verda arranges her vines and types for a while, occasionally glancing up at her prisoner who accidentally reduced a weed’s punishment. It should keep that part out of its memoir.
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Cellulose & Steel