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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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STK-TK!
Ah! Huh? Oh…
<hr>
CREEEAEAUEARNK!
What?! Stars, that’s loud, Olivia glooms. She jolts completely awake and rips the covers from over her face to see what’s happening. It sounds and feels like a docking operation, but an exceptionally smooth one. She untangles herself from the covers through sheer force of will against how comfy and clingy they are, and launches herself to the viewscreen to change to a better angle. She flicks through the cameras and eventually finds one that shows the side of the ship. What did Verda say, the Ruby Trunk?
Wait, covers? What the… Looking where she’d just come from, that is in fact a bed, beneath an affini badly pretending to be asleep. Her tendrils are sprawled over the other side of the bed as well, unmoved from where they had been imprisoning her bunkmate. Olivia shudders. How did she get up there? Didn’t Verda say she was allowed to sleep on the floor? Didn’t she actually try to? And why does Olivia’s chest hurt? This is why you can’t ever trust a xeno.
“Good morning, my fantastic floret. I was planning to let you sleep a little longer but I suppose you were woken by our arrival too?”
Olivia looks back at the ship in the false window. It’s very big. In space things are hard to determine the scale of, but this clearly isn’t a small craft. Mothership really is the word for it. Wow.
“How long is that,” she asks, not taking her eyes off the screen. It’s a glistening fiberglass white, like a Terran yacht. She stands there, drinking in the shape and guessing at the size.
“It is… roughly eighty kilometers long, and forty wide, in Terran units. It’s a proper capital ship, equipped for all kinds of battle and protected by over a hundred ships one jump away and as many multiple jumps away searching for hostile drive signatures. It’s not the biggest, but it’s good where it counts,” Verda says almost proudly.
Eighty kilometers. That’s… Olivia can’t think of anything to compare it to, but it’s easily an order of magnitude larger than the Cosmic Navy’s biggest carriers had been. The way Verda had casually mentioned the size of its escort fleet…
“We never had a chance, did we?” She asks quietly, processing the new information.
“No you did not. Do you see why we keep telling all of you that resisting is a waste of life, when we just want to help you and your worlds?”
“I see.” Now her legs are hurting too. Did she strain herself that much from a couple of laps of the corridor? She decides she has to get back in shape.
“There isn’t much time for breakfast, but I’ll prepare some toast and jam for you before we leave. Do you prefer blackberries or strawberries?”
“Blackberries,” she picked at random.
“Good choice. I tried a fresh one recently and they’re very good,” the affini says cheerfully as she stretches to her full extent before flowing out of bed. “Today will be the first day we spend on your new home. This is where I’ve been living since the end of the war when we started picking up the especially stubborn. It’s not quite as roomy as the Halicern but it flies. My unit is right next to a little park. You’ll like it there. It even has some birds that sing in the morning.”
“Why was I in your bed this morning?”
“You must’ve moved there after you fell asleep. Do you sleepwalk, pet?”
“Never in my life.”
“Then I can’t say. Maybe you just really wanted to snuggle. I didn’t mind.” Her grin says that she could easily say if she wanted to. “Anyway, you should wake yourself up so you can wash up and walk out the door right away. I want to get there early. You’ll see why when we’re there.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“I can, but it’s a surprise. For now just trust me.”
“But I don’t trust you at all.”
“You’re going to eat this crispy bread and stewed fruit dish, aren’t you?” she asks, setting the toast in front of Olivia. “Nobody’s forcing you to, pet. If you really distrust me, you can leave it behind. It’s not a problem. You can save room for the refreshments at today’s ceremony. Maybe you trust its organizers more than you trust me.” She shrugs oddly with her inhuman shoulders.
Olivina scowls but takes a bit of breakfast anyway, while a freshly opened bottle of water is set next to her. It’s not bad, for toast. She’d like something heavier, but clearly that’s not an option. She remembers the line from the video about affini ignoring their florets’ needs if they’re inconvenient.
When she’s done, Verda shoos her to the bathroom to get dressed. Olivia feels ridiculous trying on the outfit. The best she can compare it to is a tuxedo for women, but that feels inaccurate. The tail (singular) goes to her knees, while the lavender blouse with embroidered flowers is to remain untucked. The pants are a deep green and end in bell bottoms. The jacket, also lavender with mint flares on the sleeves, accentuates her chest and hips, or it would if she had a more pronounced figure. Still, it looks all right from most angles. She goes to find her “mistress” to show she’s ready to get the tedious event over with.
“Olivia, my dear, you look…” She frowns a little and rushes to find something hidden somewhere. She returns triumphantly, carrying a pair of slippers, also very green. Olivia puts them on so she doesn’t go barefoot on who knows what materials.
“You look beautiful. I’d have liked to give you a haircut, but I suppose there’s no time for that today. Now for the finishing touches.” Looking less pleased, she takes out a quintet of black silk cuffs, the same kind as from before. Olivia bolts the instant she sees them, not waiting to think about whether it’s a good idea. Her captor sighs and restrains her easily. “We don’t have time for that today, darling. Put them on and stay close. I won’t have to use them if you behave.”
Surprisingly, the vines used to restrain Olivia feel really nice. She doesn’t know why, but they seem less objectionable than she thinks they should. They feel nice enough that it’s somewhat challenging to resist the cuffs, not that she’s strong enough to achieve anything. It’s the gesture that counts and that maintains Terran honor.
“You were so well behaved yesterday! Don’t backslide.”
Inevitably, all the circles of fabric make their way onto Olivia’s extremities. Finally, a leash is fastened to the collar. She cries out in rage but her owner gives her a sharp tug and starts walking to the door. She’s fast enough that Olivia has to struggle to keep up, but not fast enough to stop her from keeping pace and avoiding tension on her leash. She’s sure she’d be putting up a better fight if her head didn’t feel so weird. Stars blast these xenos and their inconsiderate scheduling.
The ship transfer feels extremely undignified compared to transit aboard the shuttle. In the absence of true artificial gravity, the only way to move from one centrifugal ring to another of a different size is to pass through a freefall corridor. The Affini had resolved the problem by sending passengers and cargo along a sort of magnetic rail (creatively called the docking rail, apparently) in a cart that coasted off of momentum into the receiving ship. The solution is inelegant, but technically impressive to Olivia. As she rides the length of the shuttle toward the Ruby Trunk she imagines a Terran solution of having everyone marching in magnetized boots carrying backpacks with a portion of the cargo. It’s amusing enough of an idea to distract her from the indignity of having to wear not only a collar but a leash while wearing something she’d describe as a Halloween costume.
She tugs at the collar. It’s narrow and tight, like a choker, shaded a plain black. Well, It could be worse. They have to make worse versions. It’s not an uncomfortable situation, in terms of physical discomfort, but she remains keenly aware of the needles tucked next to each of her limbs and her neck that will deploy at a moment’s notice.
Next to her and keeping a respectful gap of several centimeters is Verda, who’s daydreaming about who knows what. The least’s other end is in both of her hands, but she isn’t focused on it and almost certainly won’t be pulling for no reason, at least for a few minutes. She appears to have trimmed herself, but otherwise she looks no different from the day before. Did she perfume herself? She smells unusually floral.
Most of the seats around them are occupied by affini. Perhaps a dozen of them are escorting humans, and a couple of those are escorting pairs of humans. Olivia seems to be one of only a couple who doesn’t have a xenodrug stare. She isn’t sure whether that’s something to be proud of herself for. Olivia doesn’t see any of her crew. That’s probably intentional. Everyone seems quiet, except for one of the more intoxicated Terrans and his new owner, who are touching each other loudly. Some of the other passengers seem to think that’s cute, making the weed equivalent of cooing noises to their neighbors, and some seem mildly annoyed. Apparently not everyone here is a morning plant. Olivia feels a little uneasy about how human they seem this way, not imperialist troops bringing captives to the capital, but random people on their morning commute.
The walls of the craft change to a clear material shortly before they enter the Ruby Trunk. Olivia looks around her and only then understands the real scope of the Affini ship she’s about to enter. It’s gigantic: Twenty kilometers in every direction, she recalls. It’s difficult to focus, but quick mental estimation says that if the outside has fake Earth gravity, it’s making a rotation every 5 minutes. 12 of those an hour means it’d be going 1600 kph, which is insane for such a huge structure. Nobody else seems quite as aware as Olivia is, but they don’t really seem to be in a state for algebra. Olivia thinks a bit about how much she’d love to get inside that thing’s cockpit and see what she could make it do. With Ginger, preferably. Do Affini craft have the same sort of piloting as dogfighters?
Right. She remembers she was going to say something, to… someone. Probably to her babysitting weed. Something about… how the ship is probably going to be smaller on the inside than it looks from the outside. No, what? Right, that.
“Do you smell different, Verda?”
“I- Yes, I do actually. I didn’t expect you to notice. Do you like it, darling?”
Does she? That’s a very good question.
“Is that apple?” It sort of smells like apples, vaguely.
“It’s actually called a yapcha, they originally grew on Zoria. Zorians use it in their… you’d probably call it toothpaste- similarly to how humans use mint.”
“It’s subtle but still noticeable. I like that.” She does like that she doesn’t have to smell it too much.
“Thank you, I’m glad you like it.” The affini practically buries her in what she probably intended as a gentle hug. What was Olivia expecting to happen when she said that, again?
But now that she’s done calculating and watching the spinny towers, she’s kind of bored. “What’s a zorian?”
“They’re bipedal, with paws, but unlike many species, their forepaws have opposable claws so they developed some technology. They’re a linguistically limited species and their singing is awful. They’re carnivores, though mostly they like small creatures, they aren’t really hunters. They come to somewhere between your height and mine and they’re very cuddly.”
“Have you met many?”
“Unfortunately not. They… chose not to accept domestication.”
“Why didn’t you give us a choice?”
“They didn’t have one either. I’ll let you figure out how they got out of it.”
Verda sounds really angry. In fact, she sounds… almost hateful. How could she hate something that sounds like a real life teddy bear?
“How many are there?”
“Less than a thousand, a few hundred most likely.”
That answers that. Olivia has to fight with all her will power the urge to ask if Verda was there during the subjugation war. The dark, flat tone of her reply made very clear the conversation was over.
The docking carriage stops slightly above the rotating ground just inside the aftmost habitation ring of the capital ship. Since everyone had apparently been disinfected upon “collection,” there’s no germ risk from simply stepping out into the ship. Of course that’s not Olivia’s problem. She’d be just as happy if a genocidal plague ripped through the ship and decimated the Compact, freeing Terra. Can herbs catch cold? Again, not her problem.
The first thing that strikes her is just how BIG everything is. There’s likely another ring inside the one she’s standing in, maybe it’s even rotating out of sync. Even then, with twenty thousand kilometers to work with, there could easily be ten rings with an effectively unreachable artificial sky. Looking up, the ceiling could easily be that high. Clouds drift by quietly, though they’re probably artificial. A kilometer probably isn’t high enough for them, Olivia thinks. She’s not sure since she never studied that during training. The sky itself has a tint of red or purple to it. It’s kind of odd, but not that noticeable if you’re not looking up. She kind of likes it, actually.
There are skyscrapers everywhere, all in the same sterile but welcoming creme of the ship’s exterior. Every so often there’s a tree or bush, and Olivia can see at least one park somewhere. It doesn’t appear that crowded, but her surroundings seem no less prosperous for that.
Naturally, they’ve landed on one of the inner rings that isn’t going 1600 kph, and the ground is moving slowly enough that it’s safe to get off. Verda gets off first, since her seat is on the outside. She hastily beckons Olivia as she jogs toward the docking transport. Olivia considers not getting out, but quickly thinks better of it. She’s not going anywhere.
She steps out cautiously onto the platform, and hops slightly onto the moving floor. It’s a shock for a minute, but it’s not actually that bad. She doesn’t especially notice the curvature here, though when she looks to the horizon it’s on the ceiling rather than the floor. Looking up, of course there’s the artificial atmosphere. If there weren’t a layer inside this one it would be easy to see the other side. That would be so cool, she thinks. She’s grabbed almost roughly by her captor, who startles her back to reality. Olivia sighs. If she can’t escape, that’s going to be the end of her amateur engineering studies.
They set off to a radial transport terminal, also known as an elevator. Everything is written in Affini, to Olivia’s palpable annoyance. They head outward, to a ring that would have been a lot harder to land on. Here, the sky is entirely green and the air feels a little different. Olivia’s legs start to waver under the higher gravity. Verda doesn’t show it if she’s affected.
The pair walk a couple of blocks to what looks like a tram station. A phallic transport on a track is waiting and they get in immediately before it departs. It couldn’t have been waiting, Olivia reassures herself. It’s just a lucky coincidence. Throughout, her Affini escort is silent and thoughtful. Her vines barely move other than to check whether Olivia is trying anything unbecoming a floret.
Nobody else aboard has such a grim demeanor. Their car is full of laughing and joking xeno couples who don’t seem to notice one another. A pair of what look like deer centaurs are outright having sex. Kind of gross, Olivia thinks. They don’t stop to ask her opinion so she averts her eyes and ignores them.
After several stops, called out in Affini and nothing else, the two finally get out. The architecture here is different. It no longer looks like they’re aboard a spaceship. There are brick houses and lawns. Everything looks like a Terran commercial. Olivia thinks she’d never be able to afford to eat somewhere on Terra that looked like this, let alone own property there. What gets in her head the most is how quiet everything is. There’s no symphony of machinery, no visible construction, and no shouting crowd. The few people talking on communicators are doing so calmly and they don’t look angry. It’s just nice. It’s unlike anywhere on Terra Olivia had ever been.
Verda Edok didn’t give her charge more time than that to gawk and their surroundings. They set out at a very brisk pace for somewhere. It’s clearly important, because Verda keeps checking something on her tablet that’s outside of Olivia’s field of view. Soon they step onto another tram that’s indistinguishable from the other.
“How far is this ceremony? We’ve got to have been going for at least an hour,” Olivia thinks to herself. Their docking must have been especially inconvenient. In spite of her concern, they proceed. After longer than that, she spotted a large crowd, and as they came into clearer view she felt an extremely gentle pressure on her neck. “Right, the slave collar.”
She’s not appreciative of the reminder, even if Verda didn’t mean anything by it. But there’s no time for that line of thinking because soon they find themselves weaving through many more than a thousand affini and associated florets. The thin lead ensures she doesn’t get separated. But if she did… would that be so bad? Maybe these deranged communist weeds would give her a tank just because she wanted one and she could blow this ship up to whichever god they believed in. That would serve them right for messing with a free people.
Olivia doesn’t pause in her rush through the crowd until she notices that they’re at the stage. They’re actually right there, basically in a front row position. They’d probably be able to reach out and touch whoever was going to speak. She’d never been able to afford something like that. The affini dragging her will not stop. They ignore the stage and go off to the side, and around some giant blanket.
Now they’re actually behind the stage, to Olivia’s surprise. Did Verda change her mind and decide to buy her lunch instead? She hoped that’s what was happening, since neither of them really wanted to be here. Since she’d been able to catch her breath and her gravity legs were somewhat back, Olivia builds the resolve to ask.
“Where are we going?”
“‘Where are we going, Mistress,’” her self styled owner corrects.
“Well?”
“We’re going to check in before taking our seats, darling.”
“Nobody else is checking in.”
“No they aren’t. Here we are. You’re going to introduce yourself the way I taught you to. I won’t accept any objections. You know the consequences of refusal.” She tickled Olivia’s right wrist with a tendril. Olivia gulps. Is she really going to have to…
There aren’t many people here. Nobody else seems to be checking in. Maybe everyone had just gotten here early and they got the good spots in front, she thinks. There are worse things than being in the back. At least she’s not quite as tired as this morning.
An affini with leaves broader and thicker than Verda’s is sitting at a desk, and calls them over when she sees them. Verda seems to know who that is and they chat for a couple of minutes in Affini. Olivia wishes she understood. When would they teach her their language? Or do the conquered not adopt the victors’ culture in their realm. When they’re done talking, the sitting affini beckons to Olivia.
“Good morning, Miss. Would you like to tell me who you are?”
A barely perceptible tug reminds her that this question has a correct answer.
“Olivia Edok, fff ttth, ssecond floret of Verda Edok, fourth bloom.” Verda flashes her a large proud smile when she gets it right. The words of servitude don’t sting any less for that. Nobody seems to notice her dour face.
“What a lovely name and what a well behaved floret, certainly less feral than the others today. Thank you for checking in, Miss Olivia.”
She looks like a nice woman. She’s one of those few people Olivia gets a sort of sense of purity from. The tree woman smiles broadly at Olivia, who simply can’t return the gesture. She’s too insulted by being called “less feral.” The worst part is that the woman probably doesn’t know any better and certainly doesn’t mean it to hurt. She’s just doing her job. Oppressor that she is, how could she really be held to account for the actions of those who are doing so much more than just writing down people’s names when they show up? Verda would pay. Somebody has to.
“You and your mistress will be sitting directly in the middle today. The Terran expression is ‘break a leg,’ isn’t it?”
Break a leg? That sounds very bad, probably worse than literally doing so. True, Olivia hadn’t signed up for anything, but beyond any doubt she hadn’t signed up for a pe-
“Sitting?”
“Yes, sitting. The two chairs in the middle of the stage will be yours, friends. It’s up to you who sits in which.”
“We’re going to be on the stage?”
Olivia looked between the two affini, trying to understand what was happening. She was told she’d just have to sit still and look cute! And since Terrans appeared to be definitionally cute from the affini perspective, this was an enormous betrayal. Unforgivable, even beyond capture, drugging, lack of Geneva consistent privacy and quarters. The third woman shows no signs of knowing anything, but Verda’s face changes color slightly. This… isn’t good.
“I’m sorry, pet,” she whispers. “It won’t last that long. Would you like a ribeye with grilled onions and a baked potato after?”
“That’s awfully specific.”
“I happen to know where I can get you one, if you’re willing to have it. Otherwise we’re going home and eating what happens to be there”. Is this a genuine offer? As in… is she really trying to offer something nice? That’s…
“Um…”
Before Olivia is obligated to respond in a meaningful way, somebody comes through the curtain to the stage and gives a gesture with an energy that suggests it’s the equivalent of a thumbs up. She inhales. Verda shakes out her vines and other appendages. They look at each other, Verda shifts the leash to one finger in an intentionally careless grip, and they start walking up the stairs. When they reach the top, an usher pauses them. The lights in that part of the deck go out and a spotlight hits the stage. The check-in affini appears from somewhere indeterminate and waves its vines in the direction of the audience. Everyone is crowding around, eager to see, Olivia can tell through the gap in the curtain she’s spying through. There are even more people there than there had been, and possibly even more coming in late. That’s no audience, that’s an army, she thinks. The glassy eyed florets and their handsy owners occupying the other chairs don’t seem to even register her, though the other affini seem less exasperated by the process than Verda. Everything is silent, and the show starts.
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Cellulose & Steel