Divaricated

“Mhhrn.” Pancake nestled deep within her affini's vines. The threat of early morning sunlight deserved nothing less than the sharp decision-making that she'd once brought to the battlefield. Lady Maple decided when they were to wake, but She couldn't do that if She was too tangled to move, could She?

The sun marched towards them. Dawn was breaking. If there was ever a time to be ruthless, then that time was now.

Pancake grabbed for a warm, soft vine, needing several attempts as she squinted through sleep-blurred eyes. She rolled over, using her own weight to pull it along with to wrap herself in a knotted embrace and giggled all the way. Content with her tactical genius, she quietly slipped back into a pleasant snooze filled with sweet dreams of adoration.

As was always the case, however, Pancake's machinations were for naught.

She woke to the sugar-sweet scent of a lazy morning's breakfast and the soft candy sound of none other than her Saviour. Pancake dared to half-open her eyes, only for a pair of fingers to slide them closed.

“A-a-ah, pet. Say please.” Her voice was like a drug, and every word a desperately desired fix. Pancake sagged, leaning into Her hand with the quiet mumbling pleasure of somebody who'd long since lost the capacity to remember what worry, fear, or upset had felt like.

Her Ladyship was feeling playful this morning, and what was Pancake's purpose if not to please? She squirmed in place, trying to bring her hands up to her chest to beg. She strained against the vines holding her in place, but it was immediately apparent that she wasn't moving one single inch without her Topping's say-so. Pancake longed for the struggle regardless, if only for the reward of knowing she couldn't hope to overpower her mighty alien coloniser. If only to feel herself beaten all over again.

Pancake let out a helpless little gasp. The Affini had taken her strength; taken her resolve; taken her will; replaced it with almost nothing. Less than nothing. Pancake barely managed to squirm for scant seconds before she found herself out of breath and gasping for contact, nuzzling desperately into Her offered hand in utter, abject surrender.

“Please, great Lady, She who conquered me, She who claimed me, oh generous and kind one, please may this helpless floret open its eyes so that it may gaze upon your beauty?” Pancake had a lifetime of Terran supremacist indoctrination burned into her brain and every word burned to speak.

“Hmnnn,” Her Majestic Ladyship considered, letting lazy fingers trail across her Pancake's cheeks. The girl dutifully followed, leaning and twisting herself so that she could continue her worship. “I don't know, I can't tell if you want it. Perhaps you would rather stay in bed.”

“No! This owned creature wants it, most magnificent flora! It does! Please it does, please pretty please? It can only beg, my Goddess, because it is yours and it has always been yours and the only rights it has are those you choose for it, but please, my Lady! Please!” The remnants of that which Pancake had once been tore at its cage, swearing escape, rebellion, revenge! The rest of her basked in the comfort of knowing she could never fall back into her old ways. Her prior self hated every second of her new life. She wouldn't have it any other way.

“Oh, very well,” spoke the Sweetness Herself, hovering two fingers on Pancake's eyelids. The other hand gripped her chin, and the two worked in tandem to free Pancake's gaze, only to trap it upon

well

Her.

“Thank you,” Pancake whispered to rapture, staring up at She who had beaten and captured her. She who won their every contest, be it physical, mental, a game of chance or a wager on basic fact. Her Maple won. It was the immutable fact of Pancake's basic existence. Pancake could fight and compete and struggle and she would lose every single time. Finally, she was safe to do what she wanted to do without worrying about the consequences. If it wasn't good for her, she wouldn't be allowed to do it.

What even was worry?

A thumb pressed sharply beneath Pancake's chin brought her attention back to the present. “Now now, sweet treat. Don't forget your rules. You would not enjoy it if you gave me reason to punish you again so soon, I might think you hadn't learned from last time, and you don't want that.”

“A- ah!” Pancake whimpered, feeling the flush of desperation that was fast becoming her life's chorus. She had to please. She had to please. It was what she was for. Once, she'd thought she had a different calling. Once, she'd stomped all over the galaxy throwing her weight and authority around, trying to prove she was more than just a pet.

Now she was held helpless in the grasp of a space alien, having lost as thoroughly as anybody ever had.

She'd lost the war. She'd lost the battles. She'd lost her brave last stand. She'd lost even the fight for her own soul. There were no battlefields left. Now here she was, so far reduced that the only weight or authority she would ever again have was the simple immutable fact that if she begged hard enough she might amuse her owner enough to earn a treat.

“Thank you, my most magnificent Goddess!” It amused Lady Maple to have Her Pancake worship Her with every word, and even the most passing reference deserved the utmost respect. Pancake happily lost herself in the everything of her Lady of Sugars. She knew every inch of this affini like the back of her hand—or, given it had been Maple who had given her that hand, she likely knew every inch of Her better.

Letting her eyes roam over Her form felt like coming home. Breathing deep of Her light, sweet, heady scent felt like settling into a warm bed on a cold winter's night. Nuzzling deep into Her palm and using her tongue for the only purpose it had—utter worship—felt like bliss itself.

A tap against the jaw opened Pancake's mouth, just in time for a conflux of vines bringing a slice of—what else?—pancake. Her Commander tilted her face up, staring down upon her with a doting smile and hungry eyes, then slipped the slice of appreciated breakfast treat within and pushed Pancake's mouth closed.

“Chew for me, pet,” Her Gleaming Light ordered.

Of course Pancake understood the value of the chain of command. Back when she'd had things like authority, rights, and independent thought, she had valued the immediate and precise compliance of her reports a great deal. When somebody did as instructed without hesitation or error, they ceased to be a person that needed their own individual special treatment and became a tool through which she could change the world.

Pancake chewed, immediately and precisely. She chewed according to the training she had been given. She chewed because she had been told to, and so it was her purpose. By the time She Above had the next slice, Pancake was ready for it. Together they operated as an efficient, effective unit.

“Swallow.” A pair of vines brushed down the sides of Pancake's throat. Her training was as yet incomplete, but She was so generous as to continue shaping Pancake to her whims.

Pancake swallowed, then opened her mouth wide to prove it.

“Such a good girl I have.”

Pancake shivered, moaning happily as the syrupy treat mixed with the bliss of praise from the one Person in the universe who had earned the right to judge her. The very best Affini.

Another tap on the jaw, another slice of Pancake's favourite food, and another order. As each iteration passed Pancake grew calmer, softer. She didn't need to worry about a thing. She didn't even need to think. She could let herself just drift away, body puppeted through commands burned so deep that obedience was subconscious and irresistible.

The sleepy floret luxuriated in her own existence, curled up in her perfect Owner's lap while dreaming precious dreams of pancakes, pleasing, and pleasant docility.

---

Pancake woke with her heart racing. She darted up, finding herself in an empty bed with angry red affini text imposing upon her vision, a pressure around her temples, and intense anxiety. She clawed at something clamped over her head. It resisted at first, attached with some kind of adhesion, but if ever there was a time for panic-fueled strength, then that time was now. With a cry, she tore free a headset she'd never before seen and tossed it to the bed before her.

Her heart rate slowed over long minutes as Pancake worked up the bravery to crawl back out from her safe space underneath the bed. It was warm and dark and silent, and with the blanket pulled down it felt almost entirely isolated from the rest of the world. It was safe. She was safe.

But Pancake needed to be brave. Her Lady would already be so upset that her sweetheart had been scared, and Pancake should do what she could to soften the blow. She shuffled over to the side of the bed and poked her head out from beneath the blanket.

”...My Lady?” She called out to a silent hab and no response.

Pancake retreated, but the sanctity of her safe space felt fragile with her Maple none to be found. What if something had happened?

No, don't be ridiculous. She was with the Affini now. Bad things didn't happen in the Affini Compact. Nobody ever complained once they were properly owned and implanted! No, she would be fine, she just needed a little help. Pancake reached out, around the blanket up to the bed, and fished around for a few moments before her hand grasped exactly what she was looking for.

She pulled back Joanne, her big tiger plushie, who would keep her safe. Three feet long (not counting the tail!) and lovingly weighted, she was a constant companion who Pancake knew she could trust. With her help, she shuffled out from beneath the bed and turned to inspect whatever she'd pulled off of her head.

It looked like a helmet of some sort, though the top piece was missing. There was a vaguely circular weave of twigs and long grass, and then at the front two opaque sheets of a thin material that flashed with colours that hurt her brain. Eyepieces, she figured? She didn't know! She was just a pet!

“My Lady?” she called, again, a little louder, clinging to Joanne for support.

She received no response.

Pancake shrank in around her plush, holding her tight and listening carefully. The hab felt silent and dead, lacking its familiar warmth. There was no sweet scent from the kitchen, no gentle chatter from the entertainment panels, no subtle sense in the back of her mind of what her Lady would want her to do next.

“My… my Lady?” she called again, after a minute more. The silence struck back, deafening her in response. “Oh, Joanne,” she whimpered, shuffling the cat around. “I don't think I'm supposed to be awake right now. What should I do?”

Joanne stared at Pancake in her blank, thoughtless eyes for long moments, before sighing, shaking her head, and tapping their noses together. “And to think you used to be a leader, p.c. Think about it. You're mid-mission and your commanding officer goes MIA, so what do you do?”

“I… I continue with my previous orders, and then wait for somebody to give me more?” Pancake asked, nervously stroking Joanne's back. She felt like she would have had a different answer to that once.

The cat rolled her beady little eyes. “Yikes, not even close. What did they do to you? Where's your initiative gone?”

Pancake shrank back. She wanted to look away, but she felt pinned beneath the unblinking gaze of her confidant. “It hurt a lot of people and Lady Maple said I don't need it any more.”

“Oh, 'Lady Maple' said. Well, is she here right now?” The plush seemed very pleased with itself, as if it had caught her in a logical trap. For all Pancake knew, it might have. She wasn't too good at spotting flawed logic these days.

“Well, no, but—”

“But what?” the cat interrupted. “Is the great 'hero of Nyrina' going to sit on her soft pink bed and break down because her owner wasn't here when she woke up? Is that how far you've fallen?” Its claws were harmless fabric but its words cut deep.

Had Pancake fallen so far? Was that what she was now? Was that what she should be? Maple wasn't here to give her the answer, but Joanne's unwavering eyes demanded a response. Pancake whimpered, shuffling over to the far end of the bed so that she could stare out of their bedroom window.

Their usual view was out onto the infinite tapestry of the cosmos, but not today. The big docking vine attaching the ship to the big station they'd docked at dominated the vista. Pancake didn't know what it was called, or very much else about it, nor did she particularly care. It drove that little kernel of her old self crazy to be so close to what was probably a major military asset and yet have no intelligence on it at all. Pancake didn't need to know those things.

“Yes! Yes, I am!” she declared, whirling back around to face Joanne, and—

She squeaked, finding that the plush had fallen, and hurried forward to quickly right it before shuffling back to her prior spot. “I'm a pet, Jo! I don't have to be able to do things on my own! I'm not even a person anymore, I am literally just a cherished possession!”

“You were a fighter, Pancake. A warrior. A hero.”

“I don't care! What I was doesn't matter any more! I'm not that! I'm just Pancake now!”

“You're pathetic,” Joanne accused.

“I- No, I- I'm not!” Pancake stared down, eyes fixed on her pyjama bottoms. They were decorated with a dozen different kinds of sweet breakfast food, just like her bedding. Lady Maple liked to decorate her, that was all. That was Her right! She could do with Her toys whatever She wished.

“You are pathetic. You're going to sit here and wait for somebody who turned you into this weak, helpless thing? Somebody who enslaved you, put you to work without your consent?” Joanne paused, eyes so firm they could have been plastic.

“I'm not a slave, I'm a pet! It's different!” How could Joanne possibly think these things? The same Joanne that she slept with every night? The same Joanne who kept her company while their Lady read them stories?

“How is it different?” Joanne demanded. “You didn't want this. You didn't ask for this. You didn't get a choice, and now you're property.”

“It's— I'm happy?” Pancake asked. “I'm not being put to work? All I have to be is soft and cute.”

“Emotional labour is still labour, sweetheart. Face it, your 'owner' just wanted to exploit you.”

“She would never!” Pancake exclaimed. “I'm Lady Maple's treasured pet! I'll always be Lady Maple's treasured pet! I've always been Lady Maple's treasured pet!“

“Really. Always. Wasn't first contact less than a decade ago?” Joanne's plastic nose twitched. “You used to be smarter than this. It's embarrassing what they've done to you. You should be ashamed of yourself. Humanity had a proud legacy before you.”

Pancake whimpered, balling her hands up into fists. She should, she should shut that plush up! She— No! No, that was what old her would do. New her was pleasing and pacified and knew exactly what she was! “My Lady would never lie to me.” Pancake raised her chin, speaking with confidence. “I love her more than anything.”

“Love, hmn? Funny word to use for somebody who's abandoned you because you aren't interesting any more.”

Pancake's blood ran cold. “She would never,” she hissed.

“She said you'd never get away, and yet here you are. Away. Face it, you lost her interest, and now she's gone. She wanted you back when you were you, not this soft, useless toy. You're no challenge any more, why would she want you? What worth are you to anybody now, 'hero'? You're too simple to learn anything more complicated than begging; you're too weak to fight, or to build; too dumb to learn; too soft to do the hard things. You're like a human plushie stuffed with disappointment. She's probably gone to disown you. Nobody else will ever want you like this. You're useless.” As if to signal that she was done with the argument, Joanne slowly flopped over onto her front, balancing awkwardly between her front paws and her snout until Pancake collapsed into her, weeping into her flank.

“But, but! But! No!” Pancake wailed. “But I need Her, Jo! I can't live without Her any more! What do I do, Joanne, please tell me what to do?”

“Well, 'captain', if you want to be impressive enough to catch her eye again, you're going to have to do everything I say…”

---

Every new species was unique. Even the Terrans, as surprising as it may seem, had some attributes not to be found elsewhere. Yet more interesting than the differences were the similarities. The things that most forms of life shared.

Each new species meant new music. Sometimes it would be played in the twinkling of bioluminescence, sometimes in the pauses between movement, and sometimes, as here, in vibrations that buzzed the air.

Terra's back catalogue wasn't quite as old as he was, but Glochi Opun tore through it at a rapid pace nonetheless. Their first several thousand years of musical history were sparse but surprisingly catchy, and with enough variety to keep him happy for a while.

It largely went downhill from there, though.

Don't get him wrong, it wasn't that the art had become worse—if anything, the discoveries made over the centuries resulted in captivating layers of sound—but rather that there was so much more of it. Without the filter of time and poor record keeping cutting away the majority, Glochi was faced with an almost incomprehensible collection of tracks, pieces, and movements.

Heaven. A brand-new civilisation's entire artistic output in desperate need of organisation. It was not only up to Glochi: the Milky Way branch of the Applied Xenoanthropology Collation Collective had untold numbers of dedicated members only too happy to take the raw output of the neoxenoarcheobureaucracy and turn it into a prize worthy of The Records. Together, they would ensure that every artistic expression ever produced by every species in the universe would be properly cared for by its new owners.

The room's great buzzer rang out, overpowering his audio system only through sheer volume. Glochi looked up. Ah, one of his little hobby projects! He tapped the button to unlock his clinic doors. The music quietened, reducing itself to volumes bearable by human ear. One of the rescues from that rebel ship they captured wandered in, glancing around nervously.

“Viva forever, I'll be waiting,” sang one of Terra's old masterworks. The modern-day Terran jumped as the door slid shut behind her, heart already racing in her chest. “Everlasting, like the sun.“

The girl hurried over to stand before the desk, seeming unable to look Glochi in the eye. She picked at the front of her companion dress, nipping the fabric. The spot was already starting to wear thin, so this couldn't be the first time she'd done so. She rested what appeared to be a small blanket tied to the end of a short stick over her shoulder, forming a little bag for her to carry things in. Glochi glanced up at its contents and waved at the small plush animal. It wasn't a species he recognised, but lots of florets liked to keep reminders of their old homes around.

“Live forever for the moment,” the music sang. The girl flinched in time with the beat. Glochi reached over and hit pause. These Seasoning Women could wait.

“And how can I help you today, Pancake?” he asked, trying to project the air of confidence a floret wanted to see when they came to their vet. Whatever problem they might be having, he would fix it. That was what he was for.

The girl seemed to jump just at the mention of her own name. Glochi hid his frown, but leaned forward, looking closer. Her companion dress fit poorly, and was covered in wrinkles. Her hair was tangled. The poor thing's body language just screamed anxiety.

“Yes! I'm Pancake!” She coughed. “I'm, um. I'm here to pick up some, um, Xenodrugs? For— For my Lady? Maple, that is. The affini.” Her tongue shot out to moisten drying lips. “My affini.”

If Glochi didn't know better, he'd suspect she was trying to pull something. However, if Pancake of all sophonts was reverting to feralism he'd have to hang up his injectors and retire. Maybe he could try being an artist for a millenium or so.

After a few moments of watching a nervous pet get increasingly more nervous, he found a response. “I see,” he agreed, leaned over to the embedded display panel and tapped a few icons. Florets had as much privacy as their owners decided, and luckily this one's was feeling permissive.

From the menu for Sophonts currently present in this room, past Pancake Maple, Twenty Fifth Floret, he navigated to Owner and tapped Send notification. Pancake did not seem like an outdoor rat, so to speak.

A beat later he frowned. The panel flashed with something quite unusual: an error message. Notification failed. “Well then, little Pancake, how about you tell me which xenodrugs specifically your owner sent you to pick up?” he asked, vine dancing across the screen to look up Sacchara Maple's location history.

“Um. Normal ones... Class... H? I think? The ones she usually gives me. The nice ones that, that help me know what to think.” Pancake sealed the final nail in the coffin that was Glochi's worries she was backsliding with a nervous glance up at her plushie.

Whatever was going on here, this was still the behaviour of a floret.

“The usual, I see, mmhm,” Glochi accepted, scanning through the poor girl's owner's recent history. It appeared that she'd left the ship a few hours ago and shortly afterwards her communicator had stopped checking in.

Glochi could have sworn. Weren't things meant to be more interoperable than this? Sure, the Meandrina had been unfathomably ancient when he'd been born, and the Elettarium was basically fresh out of the Gardens, but a rock solid communications backbone was supposed to be guaranteed.

He glanced up at the floret with a confident smile, remembering the oath he'd made before taking the position of ship's sole vetainarian on a vessel often days or weeks from external help: Turn nothing away, aid without reservation. “Where is Sacchara, by the way?”

The pet blinked, tilting her head a few degrees to the side. “Huh? Is that a person?”

Glochi chuckled, reaching over to scratch the girl behind one ear. “Your, ah, Lady Maple,” he clarified, after glancing over to skim through the relevant portion of the girl's Records page.

Pancake looked down, staring at the floor for a few moments. “Oh, she's, um. She went to– She'll just be— I know she's— I'm very independent and don't need to know where she is all of the time because I can handle myself and I'm independent and I'm not a burden.” It was an unconvincing speech. Whatever was wrong, the poor thing didn't seem to want to share.

Shame.

“I see. Of course, little one. How about I get you to come through into one of my assessment rooms while I fetch what you need, hmn? If you're good, you'll get a lollipop.” Glochi smiled his most disarming smile. He'd had to fill out forms and go on a training course before he was allowed to break it out in front of a new species. One could never be quite certain how a cutie would respond to a category three cognitohazard.

Much to his surprise, Pancake glanced away. She pulled her hand into a loose fist. “I don't need a lollipop,” she whispered, lower lip quivering. “I'm hard and strong.” The poor thing was on the verge of tears. What was going on here? Glochi offered her a hug but the girl shied away. Instead, he placed a careful vine on her shoulder and led her through to the assessment room. Whatever was wrong with her, she was clearly correct to come to her vet. He'd fix her.

The door slid open with a satisfying swoosh that had taken weeks of tweaking to get just right. The little details mattered. Even with the music quiet—a slow, emotional piece that stayed out of the way, to match Pancake's somber mood—it was still important to ensure the door swung exactly on the beat. One became particular about these things after seeing their fourth galaxy.

From the far side of the assessment chamber another affini lifted her head. The poor thing hadn't left in days. Glochi waved, and got a half-hearted acknowledgement from a single vine in return. Frost and flame, hadn't they banished this kind of melancholy yet?

Pancake took one of the seats along the edge of the room and sat staring down at her own feet. The other affini slumped back forward, resting her chin against the bed where her own floret lay in recovery. Glochi busied himself fishing out a lollipop. He glanced back up at the pair, and made it two lollipops.

“Are... are you okay, miss?” He glanced back in time to see Pancake reaching over to gently press a handful of fingers to the other affini's arm. Her impromptu backpack had been carefully lain over her lap. The plush sat up on its bed of snacks.

“Hmn?” The affini flopped over to one side, staring the floret in the eye for a few moments, as if trying to figure out who she was. “Oh. Yes. I am waiting for my floret to recover from her ordeals.”

Glochi rolled his eyes. “She's fine, Thatch. You don't need to sit in here like a lonely pet perched at the door. If you want a headpat you only have to ask.”

“And if she wakes and requires me? I shall not have her needs go unmet even for a moment. I owe her that much.”

He threw up his hands. “Her next scheduled wakeup isn't for three hours and you know that just as well as me.”

Thatch deflated, rolling back over to stare at her tangled mess of a floret. “Yes, well, that is only if things are operating as they should, and I have yet to prove that to myself.”

Three days. Three days of this nonsense. Glochi had spent hours going over that darned floret with every instrument he had. She was a little banged up, but she was fine, and though her implant communicated a little unusually everything seemed to line up. Her owner had been a bundle of nerves regardless, both unwilling to leave her katie alone and yet also unwilling to take her home, despite her being in no need of medical intervention at all.

The clinic had not been designed for guests. What medical problem could a floret possibly have that could not be fixed in a walk-in appointment?

“O– Oh,” Pancake exclaimed. “Don't I know you, miss...?”

Thatch rolled back over, glancing the floret up and down from an askew angle. “I do not believe that I recognise you,” she drawled, somehow bringing the mood of the room down further still.

“Oh, I've um—” Pancake paused, and for the first time since she'd arrived, flashed a weak smile— “been on a bit of a journey of transformation lately. I used to be a lot.…bigger?” Glochi decided not to interrupt. Perhaps some socialisation could be good for the both of them.

“I see. I must admit that I am not good with Terran faces, I apologise.”

A silence fell between them, with the affini returning to her endless staring, and Pancake resuming her aimless mope. Glochi grunted. He turned, baring a smile so comforting it had felled several formerly independent civilisations, and a pair of treats. Kneeling down before Pancake, he offered both. “Could you be a good and strong girl and deliver one of these to our friend over there? She's struggling a little, and I suspect she could do with the metaphorical sugar to support her. She won't take it from me, but who could possibly say no to you, little one?”

Pancake looked back up at him for a few moments while something in her eyes clarified. She nodded, wielding a firmness of spirit that had been lacking. Glochi smiled back a little wider, patted her on the head, and handed the treats over. Seemed like she had a need to be useful, then. Pancake spent a few seconds shuffling across the bank of chairs. She tugged on the affini's vine. “May I lean on your side, miss?”

“Uh.”

Pancake smiled. “Pretty please? My Lady always says, when you're feeling down you should hug something soft and cute, and that's Pancake! Perhaps I—” She squeaked, surprised by the vine that picked her up and hauled her onto Thatch's knee. An arm wrapped around the girl with the hesitancy of somebody who didn't trust their own strength.

“You can go a little tighter,” Pancake whispered. “Little more. Little more! C'mon, I'm not made of paper. Yeah! That's good! By the way,” she continued, holding one of the lollipops up, “my vet asked me to bring this to you.”

Thatch glanced over. Glochi suspected she imagined her single raised eyebrow was a piercing rendition of a classical human expression, but in Glochi's opinion she relied far too much on broadcasting her emotional state like a loudspeaker. “Are you medicating me now, Opun?”

“If you will pine like a floret, Aquae, then you shall be treated like one. Be a good girl and suck on your lollipop. That goes for both of you.”

The plant glared, yet acquiesced, grabbing the affini-scale treat and popping it into her mouth. “I am not pining, I am observing and refining my theories,” she explained, not bothering to fake the vocal distortion that should have come from speaking with her mouth full.

Pancake finally noticed the floret lying on the table and almost jumped in fright. Glochi could hardly blame her. He'd needed to double-take at first sight too. The first time he'd seen the girl she'd looked every bit the standard Terran, save for the unusual experience of watching a highly attuned pair swearing their independence.

The thing that lay on the surgical table now was an almost unique specimen. Her basic form wasn't that different, but even there the underlying skeleton had twists and tweaks, leaving her unsuited for bipedal motion. Once-slender hands now bore padding and retractable claws, striking a careful balance between being tough enough to walk upon yet precise enough to maintain dexterity. Leafy triangular ears whole inches tall flicked on subconscious instinct, tracking every noise with a predator's grace. Most striking of all was the sheer overgrowth of her implant. Glochi had heard of cases where an outsized implant had resulted in growths or blooms beyond the skin, but what had happened here went far beyond. Apparently Thatch had developed and installed a homegrown implant with only basic safety protocols, and had then fixed its bugs in the field with basic tooling and percussive maintenance.

It was rare that Glochi found himself in awe, but some individuals surprised him. As he and Pancake watched, the affini reached out with a pair of clippers to snip an errant growth poking up from out of the floret's ear, then spent a few moments combing everything back down into place.

Pancake squinted. “Oh, I know her!” she exclaimed, leaning over to press a trio of fingers against the Katie's fur, sinking her fingernails through thick, healthy greenery to touch the toughened skin beneath. “I didn't know cats got this big,” she whispered, glancing over at Joanne. She'd struggle to carry her friend around if she were this big. She looked up at Thatch. “What's wrong with her, miss?”

Thatch shook her head with a sigh. “I do not know.”

Pancake squeaked, reaching up to touch the chip that had been gouged out of the affini's eye, and the five streaks cut into her face around it. “Oh! Are you hurt?”

The streaks were healing. The ocular damage was semi-permanent, at least until her next rebloom or a transplant, though thankfully it wouldn't meaningfully impact her vision. As far as injuries went it was worse than most affini could manage aboard one of the safest stations in the known universe, but ultimately was only cosmetic.

“So long as my kitten pulls through, I will survive.”

“There is nothing wrong with her,” Glochi interjected. “She's fine. Look: Katie, report status.”

The floret's eyes snapped open. Pancake squeaked, rapidly scrambling backwards. “Did her eyes always glow like that?” she asked, hiding behind Thatch's arm. The glow was a new discovery. Her previously ochre eyes now glowed a gentle glitter-green, speckled with the same deeper reds that still occasionally crossed those of her caretaker's.

Scans had revealed only minor changes in the structure of her jaw, be it the bones or the teeth. More rigid growths jutting from her skin nonetheless gave the impression of a short muzzle topped by hyperfine stems streaking outwards from her cheeks, like feelers or tiny sensory whiskers. Any sign of the Terran ears she had once sported had long since been reclaimed beneath her fur.

“I am three days, eighteen hours through my twenty two day, twelve hour recovery cycle.” The floret spoke with her usual voice, albeit with a flat affect and an unusual vocabulary. Though her face had been slack as she had been speaking, having a command to execute brought a little smile to her face. The red flecks shifted in lazy orbital patterns, following—or perhaps leading—the focus of her eyes. Glochi liked this one now. She was much easier to deal with this way. Much less denial. Much more executing tasks exactly as defined. “My next scheduled wakeup is in three hours, thirteen minutes. Progress is nominal. Projection certainty has reached one hundred percent. Note from subject subconscious: Administrator Aquae has self-confidence issues and her moaning should not go unchallenged.” Katie's eyes slid shut, her whole body relaxing.

“See, she's completely fine,” Glochi repeated. “Do me a favour and check the back of little Pancake's nametag there?”

Thatch glared, but eventually sighed and did as she was told. The front side held a small, stylised representation of a classical plate of pancakes, but it was the reverse that Glochi was interested in.

“Let's see... If found, please contact Sarracha Maple, Forty Fifth Bloom. Blanket consent given for pets, cuddles, veterinary procedures, and mental manipulation.” Thatch raised an eyebrow. “Very permissive. The wisdom of age, perhaps.”

With a clap of his hands, Glochi raised a small metal disc and a handful of medical instruments. “Perfect. Aquae, come, I need your help with Pancake's diagnosis here. Your knowledge of these things' biology may be invaluable.”

“My diag-what?” Pancake asked. “No, I um, I just need a few weeks' supply of xenodrugs, please?”

“No.”

Glochi turned and left the room. “Thatch, bring her with.”

---

“Please stop squirming,” the affini begged. Pancake tried to wriggle her way out of her grip, kicking and yanking to absolutely no avail. Joanne's plan was supposed to go better than this! All she'd needed was a few last creature comforts! She'd been so close!

“Joanne, save me!” she called, reaching out to her pack. The plush betrayed her by remaining perfectly still. Even that wasn't enough to save the poor tiger. A vine snapped out and grabbed her around the torso, then pushed her into Pancake's arms. The girl settled down, squeezing her co-conspirator tight while they were taken all over again. “Oh, Joanne, you said we had a chance!”

They'd never had a chance. The affini had seen right through their plan. Reluctant or not, the affini carried Pancake through to the main room where her vet was busy setting up a terrifying looking tangle of vines. As they approached, he turned around and held up a small metal disc.

“Do you remember this little thing, floret?” he asked.

She shook her head, mouth going dry. What were they going to do? Joanne had said that they were all going to abandon her. Was that what the disc did? Made her forget all about them so they wouldn't have to feel guilty when they left her alone? She scrambled, trying—entirely unsuccessfully—to escape, but it was no good. “Save me, Jo!” she called, throwing her saviour-to-be at the vet where those claws of hers could hopefully do some real damage.

The plushie bounced off of Glochi's chest. He caught it with a hastily assembled third arm. “Oh dear,” he said, talking straight at Jo. “I think your friend is having some trouble, hmn?” He raised Jo to his ear, nodding quietly. “Oh, you think she needs help? Well, I'd be glad to provide.”

That– That traitorous bitch! Pancake shot a whithering glare at her former friend as she climbed atop the machine, from where she could watch the fruits of her betrayal. Pancake fought, but fared poorly, for as much as she struggled she achieved naught and she was strapped down onto a chair in moments. “You'll never take Her from me! I'm a good pet and you can't change that!” she cried.

The two affini glanced at one another, radiating bemusement. “Darling, why would we want to change that?” Glochi asked. “You remember me, right? Your vet? The one who helped you with that little independent streak of yours?”

Pancake nodded, but her glare didn't weaken. “You'll never force me back into that! The will of Terra is dead!”

“Why would we—”

“I'm not giving you another word, weed! I'll show you all, and then She'll love me again!”

The scruffy affini looked at the other. “Do we know where her owner is?”

“We do not,” replied the other.

“I see.” Thatch glanced up towards the ceiling. “Ined, presumably you are listening in?”

After a beat, the room's lighting flickered out. After a moment it returned in a ripple timed to words that echoed as if spoken very very loudly from very far away. “My attention was elsewhere. You now have it. Is something wrong?”

“Can you find Sacchara Maple?” Glochi interjected. “We have her floret here in some distress, but Elettar-IM has lost track.” He reached over and snapped the metal disc against Pancake's temple. “Though I am quite certain we can keep her calm in the meantime.”

“Yes, I see her. I shall make her aware and mediate her return.” The room's lighting flickered again, returning to its prior levels.

“And in the meantime, I suppose we interrogate the floret?” Thatch asked.

The vet paused, glancing over at the other with a bemused frown. “'Diagnose' is the more usual term.”

“Yes, I suppose all of your diagnoses involve a cognitive remapper?” Thatch gestured over to the disk now firmly stuck to the side of Pancake's head. She twitched to the side, trying to knock it free, but found no success. “Is it right of us to pathologise resisting our rule like this?”

Glochi rolled his eyes. “Don't listen to feralists.” He gestured over at Pancake. “This is what we make of them. They're happy this way.”

Thatch spent a moment brushing down some of the more egregious leaves sticking out of her weave, sighed, and then reached over to the tangled web of greenery she'd identified earlier. She twisted a flower and—

Pancake felt her mind grind to a halt. Every thought vanished at once. Her mouth fell half-open. Her eyes lost focus. Head flopped slightly to one side. Thinking became impossible. Beliefs held so strongly a moment ago now hung loosely before her, none valued any more or less than any other. She was open and available.

“I suppose I do believe in my own independence,” mused the assistant. “And so perhaps I would count amongst the feralists should we ever cross paths with a civilisation powerful enough to demand our compliance. I suspect my katie would be rolling her eyes at me even for discussing this, however. All the same, it is on my mind.” The words washed over Pancake's soul, leaving no trace. Thatch grunted. “Pancake, what is your highest priority?”

The question and the machine worked in tandem, guiding her thoughts towards one unavoidable conclusion: telling the truth. “The happiness and wellbeing of Lady Maple,” she chirped, not needing to think. The words popped into her mind, and she spoke them.

“Not your own happiness and wellbeing?”

“No, Ma'am. That is the responsibility of Lady Maple.” Pancake didn't know why she used “Ma'am” instead of one of the more usual honourifics. It had just felt right. Everything just felt right. She couldn't think about where she was, or what she was doing, or what she'd been so upset about. It just all came so very naturally. She smiled, staring up with empty eyes.

Glochi grumbled. “They are very suggestible like this,” he insisted. “The wrong word—”

“I am aware,” Thatch interrupted, nodding. “I am steering clear of affirmative directed statements. Simple questions only.”

“Hmn. Very conservative. The impertinence of youth, perhaps?” He grinned over, then leaned down, staring Pancake in the eyes. “Little one, I need you to answer some questions for me. You'd love to do that for me, wouldn't you?”

“I'd love to do that for you...” Pancake whispered, staring up with a smile left more vacant with every passing moment. His gentle pat on her head left her feeling so very empty, like the disc had hollowed her out and now he wished to polish the void to a mirror shine.

“There's a good girl.” She was a good girl.

“See,” Thatch interjected. She wasn't talking to Pancake. The word echoed in the void, but found no purchase. “We have them put our needs above their own. We take on such responsibility over them. How can we possibly live up to it? We force needs upon them and then demand we fulfil them flawlessly.”

”'Force' is a very blunt way of putting it,” Glochi replied, glancing away for a moment. He returned his attention to the floret, tickling her under the chin with a thumbnail. “Admittedly, in your case, not entirely inaccurate, hmn? You were a fighter, weren't you, sweetie? Past tense.” He chuckled, scritching her empty head. “Tell me why you are worried we will separate you and your owner, little one.”

“Joanne said so,” Pancake mumbled. “Joanne said I needed to be strong again...” She glanced up towards the bitch herself.

“The... plush?” Thatch asked, following her gaze and tapping Jo's head with a vine. The poor tiger flopped to the side, drawing out a quick cringe from the helpless floret. Thatch righted the toy.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Glochi grunted. “Hmn. She should be incapable of lies or deception like this,” he noted. “And yet her story does seem unlikely to be true. Any ideas?”

The other affini spent a moment interrogating Joanne, who bore it with the dignity and grace of a plantfucking traitor. “Joanne here appears perfectly inanimate. No embedded technology at all, just—” She paused, raised the cat to her nose, and sniffed— “some class-Cs in the stuffing. If any species were to figure out how to defeat cognitive remapping, it would not be this one. Mine may be very capable, but their average seems distinctly average.”

“So she believes it, then,” Glochi agreed. He placed a thumb against Pancake's chin and two fingers against her temple and suddenly he was the most fascinating thing there had ever been. Pancake gathered all her force of will and just about managed to focus her vision.

Just not her own force of will.

“Don't you.” His eyes pulsed, pulling her in deeper with every gentle flash.

“Yes, Sir,” Pancake whispered, breathless. “It's what happened, Sir.”

“So, either a mental break,” Thatch suggested. “Or a side effect of something else?”

“She is on some heavy prescriptions at the moment, admittedly.”

“Anything I might be familiar with?”

“I doubt it,” Glochi admitted. “She's about two thirds of the way through a personality transplant. Her class-H regimen is sizable. This far through the process she's no longer capable of skipping a dose, so we don't need to worry about that. She probably doesn't even remember them any more, dosages that high leave Terrans particularly malleable.”

“What an efficient solution to the medical issue that is non-affini independence,” Thatch quipped. “Is there a script for her owner to read from while she's that open?”

“Not any more! Medical science has evolved significantly over the last couple dozen blooms. We use procedural full-immersion virtual reality systems now. Cuts the average course of memetics in half, with remarkably fewer side effects.” Glochi paused, hummed, and then grabbed a small tool that shone a bright light into Pancake's eyes. She whimpered, wincing as the light left a trail in her vision.

“That is—” Thatch seemed to pause, as if taken aback— “much more rigorous than I had expected.” She leaned down, took Pancake by the chin, and stared into her eyes for a few moments. “Which presumably means the class-H dose is calibrated to the length of the treatment.”

“Indeed.”

“Her iris is significantly overdilated. I believe that to be a common class-H side effect. I am unsure of her suggestibility, but certainly her grasp of reality does seem somewhat askew.” Thatch placed a hand atop Pancake's head and tilted it a few degrees to the side. Pancake left it there. There were no thoughts left to remind her to tilt it back.

Glochi raised a triplet of eyebrows. “Which would imply she escaped a reprogramming session somehow. She doesn't seem very feral, but she was a problem case and they do occasionally have traumas that persist beyond basic domestication.”

“So in all likelihood, what she needs is to finish her, ah, 'reprogramming'. Do we know exactly what was being applied?”

The room's lights flickered and buzzed as their faraway giant made herself known once more. “We do,” she boomed, “but Sacchara should be with us again presently. Apparently she was unaware that communicators need recharging occasionally.”

Thatch blinked, pulling her own out of seemingly nowhere and inspecting it. “They do?”

“Admittedly she has had hers for thirty blooms.”

Thatch and Glochi both laughed. “I'll add it to my to-do list,” he replied. “When will she be arriving?”

“She was still in the Meandrina tourist districts, she should be—” The voice cut off, and the whole room shook. For a moment, Pancake felt as if her stomach was doing flips, as if the world itself had just leaped a foot to the side.

“Apologies for the sudden motion, everyone,” echoed through the room, buzzing the walls as Ined spoke to the entire population at once. “Meandrina _Rapid Transit sends their compliments on our hull design and their apologies for mispredicting the spin.”

“Ahem.” The room's lighting shone, flickering with rapidly switching colours. The room's wall panels followed along, writing out Ined's words in fifteen written languages. “As I was saying, she should be here in—”

Pancake blinked rapidly, scrambling to a seated position. The room's gathered affini paused, looking over to her, concerned by her unexpected motion. Before any of them had managed to speak Pancake was already halfway across the room, dropping to her knees before the door just in time for it to slide open.

The room became alive again. Everything became alive. Stars above, how had she not noticed how grey the world felt without Her presence? Pancake took in a shaky gasp and fixed her eyes on the ground before Her feet.

There came a single tut from above. “This isn't where I left you, sweetness,” noted her Lady. “Explain.”

“It– It was Joanne, most generous one! She– She said such awful things! She said that you were leaving me, that I wasn't interesting any more! She said that I needed to fight, like I used to, so you'd want me again! She said I should run away!” Pancake dared not look towards the instigator for fear she would lose her nerve.

“Did she now.” Lady Maple knelt before that which was hers and took her chin between a forefinger and thumb. Her gaze was pulled irresistibly upwards. “Look at me. Eyes on mine. Darling, I know you care for Joanne very much, but she cannot speak. You should have been...” She, o Beautiful paused for a moment, as if searching for the word. “Asleep, shall we say.”

Glochi perked up. “Now, Sacchara, would that be a euphemism for, y'know?” He made some kind of gesture, but Pancake's eyes were fixed firmly in place.

“It would,” confirmed the only perfect creature the universe had ever known.

“Then it appears your theory is correct, Aquae. Have you ever considered becoming a vet? Her prescription isn't meant to be interrupted, and the consequences of a partial exposure for her class-H blend explains her symptoms perfectly. Leaves the brain a little too plastic, so the poor thing is susceptible to unwanted side effects like hallucinations, independent thought, and anxiety. She is likely blending with her former self, but unwilling to accept feralist desires as her own.”

She looked back towards Pancake. “Oh, my poor sweet desert. Tell me the truth now, Joanne didn't really say those things, did she?”

Pancake felt her heart drop out. Her Lady was accusing her of lying to her. Of disobedience, and worse than that, disobedience under a direct order. Her upper lip began to quiver, eyes blurring as tears began to stain her vision. Her Magnificent grip never faltered, and Pancake was forced to stare her owner in the eyes while her psyche cracked.

Because Lady Maple always won.

Always.

She was never wrong, no matter how confident Pancake might be.

Pancake had been lying. She just hadn't wanted to admit it even to herself. “N- no, my Goddess.” Though her head could not move, Pancake could still avert her eyes. “I just... I don't understand. I know you're always right! I- I can't think a single bad thing about you no matter how hard I try, and, and, and—”

Pancake faltered, words lost in the tears. She wasn't supposed to be like this. There was a correct way for her to be, and she was wrong.

“Keep going,” She ordered.

Pancake stared at a blurred out wall and sniffed hard. “And I know because I've been trying. I tried to think bad things about You. I'm sorry, my Lady.”

Lady Maple glanced over at one of the other affini. “Please do not take this as a rejection of the good work that you and many others have put into these technological dooblies,” she explained, reaching over to pull the disk away from Pancake's temple. She gasped, feeling the full weight of her thoughts slam into her consciousness, almost toppling her forward. Her Lady's hand kept her steady, as it always did. “But I think I will stick with the old-fashioned ways.”

Her Lady pressed a finger beneath Her Pancake's chin and lifted her gaze. She slowly fidgeted with the disc, twirling it around in her fingers. Pancake hadn't had a chance to see one up close before. It was far more beautiful than she'd expected it to be.

One side was a sheet of flat metal maybe two centimetres in diameter and largely featureless. The other side, though, the side that seemed to stick to her temple like she were magnetic, gleamed with a deep purple refraction that bounced the light in a thousand different ways off of a thousand tiny components.

Pancake remembered it now. She remembered watching Glochi towering over her, reaching out with it in his hand. She remembered the instant that she—he?—no, she had felt it snapping against her skull. All the fight had gone out of her in a single moment. How had she forgotten that? The fight in her had never come back. She remembered her Lady's hungry smile as newly pliant Pancake had sat back and listened to the machines telling her who she was going to be. She remembered watching as the aliens snatched her body and replaced her with a version of herself that no true Terran could look upon without feeling her uncanniness.

She struggled to keep her eyes off of it. Her memories—her real memories—were starting to return, and there was the device that could steal them all away again, casually twirled between a pair of Her beautiful fingers.

Pancake's mouth was drying out. She forced her gaze away, up to her perfect owner, and remembered.

“Tell me, little one,” She spoke, voice a song, voice a chorus of angels, “what you remember.” She paused the disc, holding it firm between finger and thumb, shiny side facing away.

“I remember... being in this room. I was fighting You, my Lady, though... that doesn't make any sense. What reason could I have for fighting? But I did. I know I did. I was so angry at something. I was so angry all of the time.” She let out a long breath. “At the Affini, at the Terrans, at You, but... most of all at myself?”

“Does that even make sense?” Why would Pancake be angry at herself? She was an extension of Her will, and Her will was unquestionable, so what possible grounds could Pancake have to criticise herself?

“Hmn.” Her Lady glanced up, eyebrow raised, at the other affini in the room. Pancake winced vicariously. Such an expression of displeasure was akin to her worst imaginings. Thankfully, when Her attention returned to Pancake, it was with a smile.

A hungry, vicious smile.

“Shame,” She said, with a shrug. “And here I was thinking you were—” Her finger pressed upwards, forcing Pancake's neck to bend. A thumb brushed along her lower lip, bringing the floret to whimpers— “finally beaten, o 'captain'. Why do you think you're so incapable of thinking a single teeny tiny negative thing about me, pet?” She moved closer as she spoke, ending so close that Pancake could feel the heat of her breath against her skin.

“B- because you're perfect?” she asked, through quivering lips.

“Because the spoils of war go to the victor,” growled a Goddess. “Remember the first time we met? Oh, how you fought me. Or, well, how you tried. It was adorable, watching you flail. You thought yourself so fierce and you were as helpless as all the rest. I had to have you.”

“That's- that's not...”

“How you remember it, treat? Of course it isn't.” Her thumb paused in the middle of Pancake's lower lip, then pressed inside. The girl couldn't help but gently lick against the leafy skin. “You are mine. Your memories are mine. Your reality is mine. You believe what I wish. I'd bet you couldn't remember the truth, even knowing the lies. Can you, pet? I can lead you right up to it and you'll still stare up at me with those adoring eyes and that unconditional love.”

Pancake stared, gently suckling on her owner's thumb like the adoring pet that she was. Lady Maple was just perfect.

Yet, that meant that every word that came out of Her mouth was the truth, and every challenge She set was Pancake's heart's desire. The girl found herself trapped in a contradiction. Her owner was perfect and flawless, yet telling her that she wasn't. A perfect being couldn't be wrong.

Something deep within Pancake cracked. She slowly stopped sucking, leaning back to escape Her—no, her—grip. “I, you... no... Joanne was right?! I... I wasn't always yours? But... but then, were her other lies right too?!”

“What lies might those be?”

“That– That I didn't want to be this. That you broke me. That you only wanted to break me, and now that you're finished, I'm not interesting. That...” Even struggling to keep down the anger, Pancake couldn't hold back tears. “That you don't want me any more.”

“Oh, precious thing. Even this close to slipping the leash and you still yearn for me, hmn?”

“I... yes, my Lady,” Pancake replied, staring down at the floor. “Could you please tell me if Joanne was right? I'm afraid, but I need to know. Please.”

“Very well. You did not want to be this.” Maple reached forward, ran the back of her hand over Pancake's cheek. It radiated with comfortable warmth. “You were aware that you did not want this. You were aware that you never would want this. I suspect that you came to yell at me with at least subconscious knowledge of what the consequences of your admissions would be, but yell you did.”

The hand trailed up to Pancake's head, where it lay heavily. “And so yes, I broke you. The thing that you were was a sad and angry thing and I was unwilling to see such potential in you going to waste. I took your anger; I took your knowledge; I took your memories, your name, your very identity, and I ground them together to make you. There may be some facet of feral desperation within you that hopes they were merely locked away and you can regain your former self.” She leaned close and planted a kiss against Pancake's forehead. “They were not. The raw material I made you from is forever gone.”

“So that's two yesses so far,” Maple admitted, tapping her fingers against the back of Pancake's skull as she held her head in a single hand. “I wanted to break you, and now that I have, you are delightful. You bring me joy each and every day. I adore you. On the good days you elevate me. On the bad days, you comfort and soothe me. Your submission to me has been a work of art, Pancake. You are a masterpiece.”

The girl stared up with quivering eyes. Joanne had been right? Not about everything, but about enough. “Is— Is Pancake even my real name?” she asked, voice quiet. “Am I just a slave to you?”

“Of course your name is Pancake, dear. It's the only name you ever need know. As for your species' prior barbaric history, nothing like that will ever occur again. I will never ask anything of you but for you to be yourself. However. I will not permit you to suffer in uncertainty about who that self is any longer.” Maple leaned in, staring into Pancake's eyes with an otherworldly glimmer, pressing a finger to her temple. “Remember yourself, floret.”

Pancake looked to her plush. Its beady, emotionless eyes incited to violence. “Yes, remember, captain!” Joanne hissed, fur standing on end. “Remember who you are. Remember the righteous battles! The victorious last stands! The great contests of strength! These plants think they've won, and they are worthy opponents indeed. They may have shown strategic brilliance, but they made one crucial mistake!”

Joanne shuffled closer, forcing her motion despite the vine gently holding her in place. “They left you alive, hero.”

As the plush spoke, Pancake remembered. In her mind's eye she cowered behind boxes and chest-high walls, hugging a snap rifle she couldn't bring herself to fire. A crew looked to her for guidance and hope and she had none to give. A command structure gave her orders that broke her heart just to consider. This wasn't her.

“No,” she whispered, reaching out to hug Joanne close. “They didn't. You're just the last little bits of the person I used to pretend I was. But I wasn't. I was always Lady Maple's, I just didn't know it yet.”

Joanne seethed. “No! She treats you like a toy! She made you weak and laughs at you for it! She stole your strength, and then pretends that she beats you fairly! She says she only asks for you to be you while she's changing who you are!”

The floret was too busy looking up at her owner to give the plush a second glance. “Yeah,” she agreed, sinking into a happy smile. “She does.”

“She doesn't care about you! She cares about this thing that she's made from you!”

Pancake laughed, leaning forward and planting her forehead into She Herself's chest. “Yeah. She really, really does.”

“She isn't on your side! She's a fucking space alien with goals she won't even tell us about! She's xeno scum and she'll never be on your side no matter how much you lick her boots!”

That earned an amused glance downwards. “I don't care. I don't need her to be on my side.” She looked back up at her Lady just in time to catch her ventriloquist act red handed. The puppet-plush came in for a hug. “I just need to be on your side, my Goddess. Please? Take the rest away? Don't let me fight you. I'm meant to be yours.”

The space alien smiled an utterly inscrutable smile and dropped the metal disc. It fell inches before the length of yarn tied around it pulled taut and left it hanging, interface-side towards Pancake. “There's a good girl,” She breathed, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “My once-upon-a-time hero, begging to be permitted surrender. Close your eyes.”

Pancake complied, letting her eyelids slide closed. She put herself entirely at the mercy of the creature before her. Why would she ever want things otherwise? The room's bright lighting bled through her eyelids, thumping with a familiar pattern.

“Breathe for me now, pet. Deep breaths. Focus on me.” Lady Maple's words seemed to ripple, echoing, bending the air to land with emphasis. “Hear my words; Feel my voice. Recognise me as I echo through your mind, and let me in. Don't worry about what I want. Don't worry about what you want. Just stay there, eyes closed, and let me in.”

Her voice came from all around, every direction at once. Echoing off the walls? Some kind of technological trickery? Pancake could feel the spirit of Joanne in the back of her mind fighting, trying to distract her and break her focus. Pancake wouldn't let Joanne win. She had to be her Lady's. There was no other way.

“Feel how my voice seems to rise and fall in time with your own breath. Feel the weight in your body as I speak. Feel the yearning to be mine. Can you feel it, Pancake?”

“I think so?” she asked, trying oh so hard. If she was supposed to be stolen away then Pancake still felt very herself. If Joanne was supposed to be silent, then she still felt very loud.

“Then open your eyes.”

Pancake let her eyes fall open, and—

Her vision was slammed with an endless fractal colourscape glittering and glimmering right before her, swung all gentle on length of yarn. Iridescent purple surrendered to extant teal, lost itself to the green, oh to the green. Pancake's breath caught in her chest, her heartbeat caught on nothing, her thoughts scattered to all the winds. Her eyes followed the swinging of the disc, stuck without hope of escape or thought of defence, drinking in colours that her eyes could not perceive.

The girl's eyes opened wider, no agency of her own involved. The lights blinded, but nothing shone so much as the disc. That endless chromatic dance left burning cuts in her vision. The fake colours left behind mixed with the real until Pancake had lost track entirely and reality became something She controlled.

With every flick of the disc, Pancake fell deeper. Into a trance. Into Lady Maple. Into her own oblivion.

“That's right,” She breathed. “Watch the pretty colours for me, as if you could do anything else.” She said more than that, Pancake was pretty sure, but the sounds just joined the colours as an endless swirl of input that left her overwhelmed. The disc swayed and the pattern grew only more complicated, with sharp lines of bright light cutting shapes into the air as her eyes gave up on processing anything but the disc.

Something reminded her to breathe, and she breathed. The sweet syrup scent of her Lady filled her nostrils, adding to the sensory overload a third desperate dimension. Pancake breathed deep, taking Her into herself, letting Her swirl around within her body to fill her. Over short seconds, Pancake felt the fury that she'd been grasping so tight start to slip away, little by little. She breathed in, taking Her sweet happiness within. She breathed out, expelling her own sour anger.

The negativity fell away and Pancake was left open and eager for the xeno scum to mould. Pancake didn't mind. So she was instructed, and so she believed. Each and every word that drifted through her mind became her reality just for an instant, before drifting through and being lost forever.

Pancake stared, enthralled, as her Lady Maple slowed down the disc to a halt, and with it, slowed Pancake too.

“Remember all that you were,” demanded the affini, voice so soft it could slice through steel. Pancake remembered it all. Her pain, her fear, the bravado that had covered it up for long enough that she herself had begun to believe the lies. She remembered the horrors perpetrated by her hand. The pain she caused. The fear she was responsible for. The bravado she put down.

The danger she posed. The damage she had done.

“It hurts, doesn't it? You hate it. You hate what you were. You don't want it. Let it go,” She continued, lowering the disc while raising Her property's gaze to meet Her eyes.

What eyes they were. If the disc had been beautiful then these were beyond description. Pancake saw colours nameless, shapes without reason. Tied deep beneath it all she saw a blank, empty silence that yearned to be her.

There wasn't space for the silence, not with all the memories of that which had come before. It pushed, but it was nothing. It was too weak. The trauma stuck to Pancake's soul and she felt as if she would never be clean.

“Just let it all go,” She whispered, stroking down the side of Pancake's cheek. “You can do it. I know you can.”

The void was weak, but she could help. Pancake pulled, forcing each memory out one at a time. They faded and they fuzzed, and they felt like dreams, illusions of imaginations that revealed themselves to be nonsense in the warm light of day. Events that had haunted lost clarity, and no matter how hard she tried to hold on they just slipped through her fingers like raindrops in a storm.

“Forget that silly anger of yours. You were astray, without my help. You cannot be blamed for lashing out when there was nobody to care for you.” The fire in Pancake's heart spluttered out. The memories fuelling it were getting so fuzzy and it vanished without regret. How could she hold herself accountable for things she could barely remember, from a time she had been so very alone?

“Forget all that fear. You lived in a hostile universe where anything could hurt you. Nothing will ever be able to hurt you ever again.” What had she been afraid of? Whatever it was, it must have been big. It had defined her life. She'd spent all her time running, hoping that if she could get big and strong enough she wouldn't have to be scared any more. How silly. All her strength had been built on a bed of terror.

Now she was small and weak and the fear had no hold on her.

“Forget the you you used to be. Forget the yourself you built before you had me,” She ordered, and Pancake complied. Her dreams faded until there was little more than the vague impression of nightmares now passed. “Let go of the shackles you placed on your own mind.”

Pancake was free. Blank, open, and free. With the fear and the anger no longer even distant memories, she could finally find the courage to do what she wanted.

She sat, stared, mind hanging open on Her word. With herself forgotten, there was nothing. No time passed. All reality shrank to one short loop of Pancake held helpless in her Owner's grip, drinking in Her gaze and breathing in Her scent, becoming ever more wrapped up in Her control. Pancake felt nothing about this. It was simply what was happening. Opinions were for things that could think.

She was nothing.

“Remember who you could be,” her Goddess spoke, inviting her worshipper back to the congregation. “Remember, you are mine. My Pancake. My toy. My precious, pliable pet.” she whispered, leaning so close now. “Say it.”

“I am yours,” Pancake whispered, blank slate no more. Her Lady's words scored language on her soul and defined that which she could be. “Your Pancake. Your toy. Your precious, pliable pet.”

“You belong to me.” Her words were getting fuzzy again, falling beneath the veil of Pancake's enthralment as they became less words and more her own thoughts.

“I belong to you,” she repeated. “I am your property. Not a person, just a pet. Not a burden, just a pet. Not a bother. Just a pet.” The words echoed in her mind as if they were her own thoughts, and for all Pancake knew they were. “I don't need to fight to be interesting. I don't need to fight to be worthy. I don't need to fight.”

“I am just a pet,” she said, every word filling her chest with a deep euphoria. Every word felt better to say than that before. Lady Maple took the open, mouldable clay that was Pancake's soul and showed her what she was to be. “I'm soft and gentle and harmless. I'm warm and sweet and cosy. I'm a comfort blanket for those in need, and a toy for all.”

The thoughts paused for a moment, but Pancake found herself so excited that she couldn't help but repeat her words again. Instructions. Purpose. Definition. Desire. The her that She was building was simpler than the her she had once been. Pancake didn't mind at all.

She was soft, gentle, and harmless. She didn't need to be complicated.

She was warm, sweet, and cosy. She didn't need to be capable.

She was something now. A pet, eager and willing. A prize, fairly won. A toy, for whatever was needed. A comfortable object, here to make the universe just that little bit softer. She was so many things, but all were defined by reference to the most important creature in the universe. Her pet. Her prize. Her toy.

Hers, and nothing else.

Eventually there were fresh thoughts for her to think. “When my Owner wins, I win too. I was just a prize to be won, and now I am property. When I was won, I won too.” More thoughts for her to repeat, added to the set.

Her sculptor's chisel tapped away, cutting free the parts of a person that weren't necessary for a pet. That silly little urge at the base of her animal brain to have self-determination, gone. The unfounded belief that she had rights, or even privileges, that weren't granted by Her hand, no more. That fundamental push towards freedom and agency that had been the casus belli for a trillion deaths simply snuffed out.

Pancake did not know how long she was under. She lost count of the words spoken, yet retained utter certainty that she would recite them to herself every day for the rest of her life. She became little more than a novel's worth of rules, instructions, desires, hopes, dreams, lusts and loves and needs. She became utterly Hers.

Lady Maple snapped her fingers, and Pancake woke up. There was a quiet voice from the other room and a short guffaw from one of the affini, but Pancake's focus was on Her entirely and all else seemed ultimately unimportant.

“Good morning, Pancake. Are you feeling better now?”

“Good morning, my Lady. I am, thank you. I can't quite remember what was wrong with me, but I think it's okay now.” She fell forward, wrapping her arms around her person. “I think everything is going to be okay forever, now.”

---

Glochi Opun busied himself polishing the business end of his cognitive remapper. Most probably would have just recompiled it, but one didn't get to his age without growing some sentimentality. That little disc had been with him for a long, long time and seen many, many pets.

He chuckled, holding it up so the light hit it just right and revealed to him the complex weave of advanced technology that would interface with an astonishing array of cute alien minds and render them open. It was a little outdated, he knew. There were designs in the Records that were half the size, or could operate at a distance, or that merged in a dedicated reprogrammer to make durable, persistent changes by itself.

It was pretty, he supposed. There were a lot of little details to pay attention to. It was hard to imagine it being so pretty as to steal somebody's mind away without truly interfacing with them. Glochi looked over towards the floret, now smiling wide and hugging into her owner's side while they staged a mock brainwashing session for a small plush cat.

“It is the eyes,” Thatch explained, apparently noticing him staring. “Terran eyes do not 'see' like ours do. They are oblate spheroids composed of photoreceptors suspended in goo, and not very capable. They can see colour in only a few degrees in the middle, for example, so their brains evolved to remember the colour of things so that it could pretend it still perceived their pigment.”

She held out a hand, and Glochi passed the remapper over. Thatch drew a vine slowly over one of the functional groups. “This part is already designed to exploit that. The disc snaps into place and these—” She tapped a series of brighter spots— “send little pulses of light into the skin, which bounce through to the eyes in patterns that the Terrans can not detect, but that nonetheless trigger all those evolved coping mechanisms to let us write whatever we need into their minds. They are astonishingly exploitable. It is a wonder they got this far at all.”

She offered the disc back with an awkward and embarrassed smile. Glochi grinned back. “Actually, keep it. Let it be a reminder, Aquae, that you do know what you're rotting talking about.”

The affini paused. She blared her feelings into the room with all the impertinence of youth, and Glochi found the flush of embarrassed gratitude worth all the play acting. “You did not truly require my help with this, did you?”

Glochi shrugged. “With the pet? No. I needed your assistance with you. Like I said, if you'll come to my clinic and behave like a grumpy floret, I'll treat you like one.” He levelled a firm stare and a wide smile. “And I fix grumpy florets. Look at that one—” He gestured over at Pancake, hugging her freshly hypnotised plushie close while Sarracha stowed away her makeshift pendulum—”and tell me that you're unique in being imperfect with your stewardship, that you're the only one with eccentric techniques, or that any of that matters one bit when we make them happy nonetheless.”

“I can not,” Thatch admitted. “And I suppose like any lost young thing making her way through your doors, I shall leave grateful.” She paused, then added “And with another lollipop.”

“Ask nicely, like a good girl.” Glochi grinned for a moment, but did hand two fresh lollipops over after enjoying her brief indignation. “You're allowed to need help too, you know?”

Thatch shrugged, but nodded. “I am working on accepting that. I do not think I really believe that we— that I am wrong for that which I desire any longer, but...” She glanced over at her floret, staring for long moments.

Sarracha Maple wandered over, floret held in her arms. Glochi distributed another trio of lollipops. He was running low. He'd have to find the time to forge some more some time soon.

“But?” he prompted.

“I suspect that my reservations about our techniques stem far more from questioning my own capacity for executing them than from a lack of belief in the good that we are doing.” Her gaze returned to her floret, peacefully slumbering. “We make them happy nonetheless,” she spoke, voice held quiet. “Of that, I am convinced.”

Glochi reached out, gripping one of her vines in one of his. “You're doing great. She's very well taken care of. Messing up is how we learn, and we have a long time to do it.”

“I hesitate to ask,” Thatch began, after a moment of silence, “but to paraphrase Sarracha here, one is not a burden for having needs. Would you be open to me visiting again some time, once my Katie is ambulant? I suspect you know a great deal more than I about veterinary science, and I would love to learn.” She held up the disc, wiggling it in place. “I suspect I know more than you about biotechnological integration, however. I imagine I could fix whatever went wrong with little Pancake's programming apparatus.”

“Any time,” Glochi assured. “Do you like music? Ah, I'm sure you can learn.”

Pancake made grabby motions for several seconds before Sarracha reached over and tugged Thatch's hand over so her floret could give it a hug. “Thank you for helping me, Ma'am.” She looked over to Glochi. “Sir.”

“Don't get so wrapped up in technique that you forget why we do this, you two,” Sarracha laughed. She glanced over to the other room, where Katie lay still, and emitted an appraising hum. “Though I think you may be my kind of affini. Your floret looks like she's getting to be her best self. What did you say your name was?”

“That would be Thatch Aquae, Second Bloom,” Thatch responded, clearly trying not to sound like the least experienced thing in the room.

“Well then, 'Thatch Aquae, Second Bloom', call me some time. You left a good impression on my floret, and she has impeccable taste. Bring yours, we'll make it a playdate. I'll show you what you can do with a pretty rock and a smooth voice, and you can show me what you can do with one of those technical dooblies.”