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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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Song of Destruction’s soul is the first to rise from the bed. She knows that she isn’t the first to wake up from the gentle uneven rustle beside her. Every morning is identical on Ruby Trunk, a fact both comforting in its familiarity and horrifying in its stagnation. In her hull, every morning felt special and unique, whether because there were so many new things to scan or simply due to waking up next-
Anyway. Verda stirs as soon as the pilot is fully out of the bed, mimicking the sorts of things people in old movies did when they woke up. She yawns twice, which was really surreal to watch. Her mouth extends beyond what Terran bones would allow, looking big enough to swallow somebody’s head. With a look, the prisoner leaves her to check whether her prey had- whether her egg was ready for further incubation.
No messages from Evlen. There was, however, a notification from the voting system. It was asking whether Olivia Edok was in her right mind and ready to voice her opinion on matters of fleetwide importance. The name aches, as though it touches something that’s no longer there, an empty soda can inside her. It feels wrong, crude and unfamiliar. Logically, it applies to the tablet’s owner, the person who happens to be reading the message, but it carries the sensation of mistyping a word in a document’s search bar. The context turned red as soon as she read it.
None of that matters, and there’s no point in pretending that anything unusual is meant by the little message. No, she’s not on “Class Q” or anything else. Unless that’s what she literally did take? Impossible to know without asking Verda, and that’s a bad idea. She’s going to be in a fantastic mood this morning, and that’ll be extremely annoying when it has to be endured.
“Special petition: Ruby Trunk 120451225 (Earth calendar)
Vote duration: 48 hours (Earth calendar)
Petition: Addition of a field in name change documents for a secondary personal name of equal validity and weight to the primary personal name, to be used identically and interchangeably, and to serve as an acceptable form of address.
Top forum justification: It’s a fun idea.
Counterpoint: Change takes effort.
Counter counter: Not much effort is required and the secondary name is optional.
Top forum concern: Confusion to florets.
Counterpoint: Original proposer is a floret.
Counter counter: Original proposer is not a priori representative.
Estimated cost of implementation: An afternoon for somebody & floret.
Opportunity cost of implementation: None.
Actual requirements of petition:”
The briefing lists at least a hundred forms and documents that would need to be modified. A sensation or thought passes through the reader which she can’t be quite sure is horror or not, regarding how few the changed forms are. Shouldn’t there be at least a thousand of them? She notices that the hundred or so includes duplicate sections of the different named forms, meaning that it’s probably closer to twenty separate documents that would end up being modified. That just isn’t right. Somebody was clearly negligent. Despite an obvious instinct to agree to the petition, doing so is impossible, so she stands in the middle of the room, holding her tablet, staring at it.
“Ember?”
Verda enters, silently drifting to where her prisoner stands. She looks worried and she keeps swishing her vines strangely. Ember tries to ignore her, but when she can hear the flow of fluids through her vines at such close quarters, that’s not possible.
“What’s the problem, darling?”
“You really proposed this application.”
“I did.”
“Were you paying proper attention?”
“I was, of course. You did request this.”
“Look.”
She shows the enormous plant the list, which she only takes a minute to read through. Verda looks puzzled before nodding slowly and handing the tablet back.
“I see a significant issue here. Would you like to tell me, in case yours is different?”
“There are so few changes.”
“Really? That’s what you noticed?” Verda’s front vines curl into gentle corkscrews.
“Why? Is that wrong?”
“No… But technically that list is correct, if a trivial mistake wasn’t made which I’m not inclined to search for at the moment. Our fleet recently condensed a number of forms into a more concise format, as we agreed that we were saying the same thing in different words without additional information. That was easier than negotiating additions. The discussion was quite animated. You don’t want to hear about that, I’m sure. Yes, darling, the list is correct.”
“Oh.” Maybe Ember did want to hear more. No. That’s silly.
“New additions to our flight group also expressed dismay and satisfaction variously at the change, but that’s not the error. ‘Somebody & floret’ is incorrect language. The vote could be invalidated if sufficient remedial paperwork isn’t done. That shouldn’t take longer than an hour, especially if you help me.”
“What!” Is she insane?
“Help me do some paperwork, darling. It’s generally accepted as a wonderful bonding exercise across the Compact. Besides, it’ll help you get what you want.” Verda knows Ember well, but that doesn’t mean she wants to fill out forms, even if they’re advantageous… in terms of satisfying a weird passing desire that doesn’t really reflect any pressing needs.
“But… why?”
“Because it’s mandatory fun.”
“I’m not sure you’re using that term correctly.”
“How so? It’s fun and it’s mandatory. You’ll see.”
“What if I’d rather not see?”
“One might define a feralist as one who would rather not see, but I’m unsure if that’s correct. Regardless, this will help you wake up before breakfast. I can see you’re still drowsy, little one.”
Ember clenches her vines in frustration, both at her captor’s antics and the annoyance of having Affini technology seeping lies into her brain. She just wanted to rescue somebody from gender dysphoria, and now she’s being forced to work in an Affini papermill. She doesn’t even know what Verda’s trying to do, but she’d probably rather not know if it means filling out forms. For all Ember knows, it’s some sick pact of domestication and she’ll be tricked into giving up her rights and her freedom. Unacceptable.
“Ember. Paperwork, then breakfast.”
She warily moves to the kitchen table, where Verda is waiting with two matching pens in a silk case and a stack of paper that she compiled while Ember was distracted. If the pilot had to guess, there are at least fifty sheets, and if they’re identical to the one on top, they’re covered in fine print, double sided. Verda pulls out the tall chair with a stepladder on the side, patting it as she looks at her captive.
Sitting down, Ember sees that there are two signature lines on the document’s bottom, along with a title and several boxes along the top. The boxes are for checkmarks, and Verda’s already checked a few, including “automatic date conversion” and “applicant is a floret/nonautonomous independent” and “sponsor relation: owner.” The Affini are clearly… thorough in their documentation.
The title of the document reads “Request for the redaction of an error in a local vote.” That makes sense, though why it takes a hundred pages of trivialities, Ember is clueless. Her antagonizer looks at her, holding out a pen.
“Am I supposed to read all of this?”
“Ideally, yes, darling. You would gain much more appreciation for how the Compact functions and how we guard against antisocial actions, as well as one another’s mistakes.”
“Fifty sheets of paper for one form?”
“Ember, no. That isn’t even close to true. These are some of the shortest documents we use officially, because they’re meant to be filled in a hurry. You wouldn’t believe how frequently I have to give reminders why that is the case, when somebody suggests that we lengthen them.”
“You’re in charge of that?”
“I’m not, but people still ask me about it.”
Ember sees, not that she feels good about understanding that. “How many documents are there, then?”
“Twelve.”
“That might be worse than it being one.”
“That’s true. They’re in duplicate, after all.”
“And you want me to read and then sign?”
“That’s right. Or, if you trust your mistress, you can simply take my word that nothing you wouldn’t willingly agree to is written there,” Verda says with an affectionate yet sly smile.
It’s going to be a very long day, if this is how it starts. With nothing to gain, the pilot takes the first sheet. Its contents go over some extremely boring things related to the importance of open voting and how the Affini Compact “are” dedicated to ensuring that the desires of every citizen and resident are taken into account in the Compact’s many collective decisions. The second half of the page explains precisely what is being requested and why, and acknowledges that the application will be denied if it changes the general meaning of the measure being voted upon or changes in a minor but potentially contentious way the meaning of said measure.
As tedious as the process is, reading through the technicalities is fascinating. If she weren’t being stared at, Ember would be inclined to examine the grammatical nuance. After all, every quirk of their system could potentially allow a clever rebel an opening to tear their system apart along the dotted line.
Seeing nothing objectionable or potentially hazardous, Ember signs on the first space, dating the document the same way that the petition lists it, which she assumes represents today, somehow. Checking the back, she’s pleased to find that it’s the same thing in Affini. She assumes it’s the same, but looks at Verda for confirmation.
“Sign there, too, Ember. That version’s wording is slightly less vague, and is what’s really being requested.”
Ember signs. She has a bad feeling about where this is going. Something related to forms of torture that the Accord was far too noble and honest to do (because as everyone knew, those were privatized) comes to mind. Without waiting to be told, she takes the next sheet of paper, in the interest of getting it over with sooner and with fewer risks. No, the ink doesn’t seem to be coming off on her fingers in order to infect her with secret xenodrugs.
“Notice of understanding of the nominative-electoral-xenorepresentative system of the Affini Compact (Page 1/4).” Stars, this is no longer fun. Carefully reading every word, Ember wades through the document. Everything seems coherent, and she’s just agreeing that she understands the concept of voting. She signs. The other three pages of the set are similar. “Notice of understanding of the nominative-electoral-xenorepresentative system of the Affini Compact, Human Domestication Group (Page 1/3).” She reads and signs all three pages. “Notice of understanding of the nominative-electoral-xenorepresentative system of the Affini Compact, Human Domestication Group, Ruby Trunk (Page 1/8).” She reads and signs every single page.
Her eyes are starting to get tired. Sixteen pages shouldn’t be this difficult, but she hasn’t had any breakfast and it’s legal nonsense from a strange species that doesn’t have a concept of freedom. She doesn’t want to be doing this. Ember looks at Verda.
“Well, little one? Have you figured out what you’ve done wrong?”
Done wrong? She looks at her signature, the only thing other than the date (which has to be correct) that she’s added to the documents. “Olivia S. Donnoly.” It’s the same signature she’s always used. Wait. She’s supposed to be using Ember. No, that’s not true.
“The last name.”
“That’s right, ‘Olivia.’ Fortunately, I compiled a second set, just in case. You have my word that it’s no different from what you already signed.”
Verda sets the stack gently in front of the devastated pilot. This isn’t how she wanted to spend her day, and she still has to check her messages from Ly!
“What would be correct?”
“‘Olivia Edok, second floret.’ You may omit my name since it’s included below. I’m sorry that you can’t use your new name, but the paperwork hasn’t been done for that as you wanted a secondary name, which can’t happen until after the completion of the vote which we’re attempting to salvage. I have a mind to propose a change to that system myself, but that obviously won’t be complete in time even if I go to the appropriate location right now.”
Ember rereads the pages and signs as desired. The next document is labeled “Affirmation that the form in question is not intended as part of feralist sabotage (Page 1/5).” She reads and completes the form. Next, “Affirmation that submission of the form in question is not intended as treasonous activity or for the purpose of aiding or abetting feralists or their allies (Page 1/5).” After reading and confirming with Verda that it’s basically the same form but with slightly different specifics, she signs all five pages of that as well.
The rest of the documents are one or two pages apiece, each discussing something else related to the correction Verda had decided was so important. After signing each of those on each side of each page, as usual, Ember starts filling out the second copy of each, because obviously that’s very important and a computer couldn’t handle it. Clearly.
With the stacks filled and separated, the tired Terran looks to Verda for the rest. There has to be more. There’s always more. To no surprise, the affini takes two sheets of paper and two packages from the leaves around her core and sets them on the table.
“These are the cover letters and the packaging. I’ve verified they’re going to the correct departments.”
Ember doesn’t feel inclined to respond. The first letter, itself a carefully filled form indicates what she already knew, that the forms attached are intended to bypass an error in the formulation of the voting form that had already been distributed. It lists its destination as the “Ruby Trunk Flight Group Branch Office of Collective Neoorganization and Revisions.” The second is intended for the “Ruby Trunk Flight Group Branch Office, Ruby Trunk, of Redactions, Corrections, and Psuedoneooragnizational Clerical Preterminaldetranscription.” So they’re going to an office dealing with voting minutia and an office dealing with fixing forms, if Ember is awake enough to understand yet. She signs and dates the forms as before, since they seem to be basically the same, and Verda probably wouldn’t sabotage all of this by filling something incorrectly, not after she’s made so much fun of Artemis for doing the same.
‘You didn’t have to list me as the originator of the proposal, you know,” Ember says after finishing everything and double checking the name and date, including on what Verda had signed.
“Of course I did. It was your idea and I’d like the records to show that.”
“But it meant I had to sign all of that. Did I really? Why did I have to be part of any of that, when it was clearly-”
“Because you also noticed something was wrong.”
“Not what was actually wrong. You noticed that.”
“True, but I thought it would look better if you were the one to produce the request for redaction.”
“Why does it matter? Are other people not allowed to request redactions?”
“They are, but you doing so is more aesthetic.”
“Aesthetic?”
“Yes, darling. Aesthetics are important. And besides, you clearly didn’t hate it.” She isn’t joking. She really thinks that.
“What are you talking about? This couldn’t have taken less than an hour.”
“Yet you read each page thoroughly without complaint, and signed only after reading precisely what you were agreeing to. You even paused to think about what was being said. I could tell, Ember. You aren’t fooling anyone.” Verda smiles wickedly.
“Because I don’t trust you.”
“How about another little game. If you can tell me what the most important point made on the third page of the Affirmation relating to our flight group (not the same as a fleet, as I’m sure you’ve concluded), then you can have chocolate chip pancakes. If not, you can still have pancakes, but I’ll dress you up in the cutest outfit I’ve compiled for you so far.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Oh, but I’m not. Answer the question.”
“That shipwide votes don’t supersede fleetwide votes, except when undertaken as per the form signifying that a measure is for the significant benefit or amelioration of an immitigable hardship of a particular individual, and concluded prior to the initiation of the fleetwide vote. Such conflicts not resolved by the above are to be remedied with the appropriate paperwork, sent to the appropriate offices, both on the ship in question and in the group’s branch office if such exists.”
“Very good! I’m impressed that a terran could retain that level of detail.”
“It’s simple and most of it follows from the rest, and most of the rest is the same as in all the other forms.”
“Still, Ember. Most florets can barely explain how the process of voting works, much less any level of nuance in surrounding the logistics.”
For some reason, that makes Ember feel a bit sick.
“Are we done, or did I mess up somehow? I assumed that the date formatting would be consistent, since you checked the box for automatic conversion.”
Verda smiles broadly at her prisoner, clearly suppressing the desire to hug her (ew). “That’s entirely correct. Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, and bacon, too. You must be hungry by now.”
“You made me fill out a bunch of forms. Of course I am.”
“Are you sure that you’re not hungrier for… never mind.”
“Anyway… Are you going to turn those in now, or are you going to wait until tomorrow evening?”
“A drone should be by to seal and collect them at any minute. Lightweight measures that don’t require a witness can be filed remotely.”
“Convenient.” Ember would rather be thinking about other things right now, but Verda’s clearly enthusiastic about the subject.
“It is! It frees up branch offices to help people with what they actually require help with, rather than simple things. We should receive notification of your success by midday.”
She finally gets up and moves to the compiler, which Ember notes she hasn’t been educated in yet. She’d rather not pressure the plant on that for the time being, or she’ll never eat. It’s probably going to be another test. She’s sick of how weirdly she’s being treated.
“And again, darling, good job. You handled that task in a very civilized way,” says Verda as she takes breakfast out of the compiler. It smells delicious, maybe better than the fancy pancakes from the diner. “Also, eat quickly, but not too quickly. I have something to tell you when you finish.”
“Why can’t you just tell me now?”
“Because I’d rather you be done with your breakfast first. Eat before it gets cold and I have to recompile it for you.”
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Cellulose & Steel