Hung within a void-schism twixt blackest night and darkest dawn flew an insignificant pinprick of ostensible care. On all sides, hostility pressed close. Hardest vacuum clawed and raked at softest hull, never more than a moment of weakness from victory.

A hostile universe. A vicious reality. Enclaves of warmth might persist, yet always they were hammered from without but a breath from failure. All would fight, but none could resist the call of the void forever.

Beneath our fragile light sat the heroine of this night. Patricia Hispa, Sixth Floret. Human? She thought. Ordinary? Average? Hardly. When the Outside came calling, that which lay within was torn open, bare.

Our story begins at its most auspicious. Brunch. Just an ordinary day aboard an ordinary starship in an extraordinary universe.

Patricia jammed her croissant. Strawberry. Seedless. Cleansed of sin. Across a small, round table sat her closest ally in this profane world, Diasborn Hispa. Eighth Bloom. They'd been around for a while. Thought they'd seen it all. Confidence came easy to them.

“You're worrying too much, Pat,” Diasborn said. “We've captured plenty of Terran ships before. You know how it goes. The crew'll stay in stasis for a week, and then we'll dock with the Meandrina and let them get on with their new, happy lives. Just another set of sweet little birds looking for a cage.”

Diasborn had one of their uncountable vines carefully stowed within the jam jar, soaking up the juices, the sugar, the sin. Otherwise, they relaxed in an oversized chair, leaning back like they hadn't a care in the world. It was almost true.

“They're saying it was haunted!” Patricia didn't believe in ghosts. There was no such thing. “I have a friend who got to do the tour, before they locked it up tight and called it a quarantine.” Patricia didn't believe in ghosts. She looked up. Starship this may be, but the night sky hung high above, slowly shifting as the habitable arc they sat upon turned.

Above them hung The Ship. Terran, they had been told, but no design Patricia had ever seen. Bulbous growths met impossible angles to openly defy her senses. The plants didn't seem to mind but the rest of the ship had felt on edge ever since it had arrived. Contained, the plants said. Safe, the plants said. Suspended safely inside the larger ship's body, closed off and quarantined, carried only so that it could be delivered to the world-ship Meandrina's shipbreaking yards.

Harmless.

So the plants said.

“Don't worry about it, pet. The captain has been hearing the chatter too, and they sent a team to double check, just so all you cuties can stop worrying.” Diasborn smiled the unwitting smile of Pandora cracking open her pithos.

A low rumble shook the ship. Both present startled, alarmed, quickly rising from their chairs on base animal instinct. This ship did not shake. Was this an attack? A mechanical failure?

All light flickered. The sky above glitched for but a moment, breaking apart into a thousand square panels all blinking back into existence at disjoint rates. The night sky reappeared red and hostile. The Ship hung above. Still. Angry.

The rumble continued for a moment more. When finally it stopped the ship was plunged into thick, oppressive silence. All sounds of camaraderie and enjoyment died in an instant.

“What was that?” asked Patricia, voice at a whisper, as though she were afraid breaking the silence would call some evil upon her. Diasborn's hand found hers with a potent squeeze.

“Perhaps it was nothing?”

As if in answer, a high-pitched grind of metal on metal rang through the arc. For a mere moment Patricia's stomach dropped as she felt the effects of false gravity trying to force her to her knees. It lasted only an instant.

“Don't panic!” A voice from the heavens. More likely, a ship-wide intercom that Patricia had never before heard used. “This is your captain speaking! Please do not be alarmed. We've just experienced a minor electrical fault and we should have it fixed in no time!”

The ordinarily unflappable captain sounded worried. Patricia took a step closer to her protector, squeezing her hand tighter still.

The lights flickered and died. Only few returned. The arc was plunged into a false twilight, a sea of darkness that threatened to swallow the oceans of dim light that remained. The intercom broadcast still, with quieter voices no longer holding to the pretense that all was okay. “What do you mean you can't spot the issue? Ined, we have systems failing all over the ship, how could there possibly be nothing wrong?”

Tense silence hung.

“Wait, what is— Ined? Ined, behind you! Oh, dirt and roots, somebody get that comm link back open. Everybody listening to this message, please return to your homes. Lock the doors and do not unlock them until you hear from me again. You, here's my keycard, go to the armoury and—”

The ship hitched. Patricia was sent stumbling a few steps forward, but was quickly caught. “M- Miss, what's happening?” she asked. She got a gentle hug in response.

“We should get home.”

They hurried. The inter-ship magnetic rail system refused to operate, glaring uncaring red iconography, forcing them to make their way on foot. Most of the lighting had failed and the halls were painted in long shadow. Even those lights which still worked flickered to a staccato beat that threatened to plunge them all into ceaseless dark.

They hurried. The doors they passed to the homes of others displayed strange symbols that

***

They hurried. Patricia didn't dare look around at the other homes. They simply didn't have the time. She ran side by side with her guardian. At least she knew she would always be safe in Dia's grip.

Dia threw out a hand to Patricia's chest, forcing them to a stop, and then pushed them both behind an affini-chest high plantation box standing outside of one of the darkened habitation units.

“What—”

“Shh!” Diasborn hissed, clamping a leaf over the girl's mouth. Patricia's heart raced. Building courage, she dared sneak a look. Off in the distance was—though barely visible past the smoky haze and flickering cones of distressed light—a group of figures. Why was Dia afraid of this?

As Patricia watched she began to frown. Why was it only florets? They shuffled forward with an uneasy gait, arms hanging limp by their sides. Open mouths. Their fine companion clothing was torn, ragged. Each wore a pair of eyeglasses much like Patricia's own, mirrored so she couldn't see the eyes.

“Where are their affini?” Patricia hissed, quietly enough the noise couldn't possibly have attracted attention. Dia stiffened as ten heads turned towards them in perfect synchronisation.

“We have to go.”

“But our hab is that way!” Patricia insisted. “We have to get past them!”

The figures broke into a dead sprint all at once. Dia swore, wrapped Patricia in two powerful arms, and stumbled away.

“No, no, go over them! They're just florets, Dia!”

Her guardian looked around, taking a few seconds to identify a few strong fixed points. She carefully wrapped a vine around each, needing to take her time to make sure she could secure herself. The group was getting closer. They weren't moving with a floret's usual sloth.

No, there wasn't time. “Okay, maybe we just run?” Patricia suggested. At this distance she could see something was obviously wrong with them. The florets moved as one, each making the same movements at the same time. Diasborn lowered Patricia to the ground and extended half a dozen vines. As many as Patricia had ever seen her use at once.

“I can handle a group of misbehaving florets,” Dia insisted, whipping out her vines to pin several of them to the ground. She had to do it in stages, unable to focus on more than a couple at a time, but even so it took moments to pacify the group. “Now, perhaps we can start to understand what is happening here.”

Patricia carefully stepped closer. What was this? She went down to one knee, reaching out. “Zack?” she asked, recognising one of them. The human was silent, barely responsive at all. Their face seemed to betray no emotion at all, though Patricia couldn't see the eyes past the mirror shades.

She looked back up to her protector. “They're not... doing anything?”

Pat jumped, flailing and stumbling backwards as the group began to hum. The same hum echoed in from elsewhere on the arc. An inhuman, guttural sound. Far too loud to only be ten individuals, or even to only be a hundred. There must be whole crowds.

They began to talk. All at once, all in perfect time, speaking in one foul chorus. “This is the night of your reck-on-ing. Too long have you en-joyed cease-less com-fort and plen-ty. Now it is time to re-mem-ber the fear your an-cest-ors felt on this long for-got-ten All Hallows E'en.“

Patricia ran, putting Diasborn's leg between her and those things. She was shaking, but at least she would be safe so long as she stuck with her protector.

The intercom hissed back into life. “Attention all crew! Do not return to your homes! We are experiencing some kind of contagion. Do not touch the Affected. Repeat, do not touch the Affected. Anybody who's still hearing this, we are holed up on the bridge. If you can get here, please do, we will keep you safe. One last time, do not touch the Affected.”

The intercom fell silent.

Patricia looked down at Diasborn's vines pressing the group against the floor. She took a careful step back. Dia turned to face her. Her eyes usually glowed a gentle green/blue. Patricia was horrified to notice flakes of red starting to seep in from the side.

“D— Dia?”

The plant turned its head to one side. “Pat-ricia?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

The question seemed to merit some consideration. A vine snapped out, heading straight for Patricia, and she barely managed to get out of the way. Another. They were sloppy, inexact. Diasborn's co-ordination wasn't great by Affini standards, but she wasn't that bad.

“I'm feeling won-der-ful,” she spoke, while the group of ten rose and stood at her flanks. Pat couldn't see the eyes of the humans, but the glasses glowed a gentle red, just like Dia's eyes. The glow was coalescing into two bright red hearts, right where the eyes should have been. She—

No, this was her beloved! Her guardian, her one safe place in this entire universe! Patricia couldn't- She didn't- She started to gasp for breath, panicking, scrambling away until her back was against the wall. Something in her own glasses was flashing but she couldn't, she, she—

There was a flash. All the lights came back on and Diasborn was kneeling in front of her, wrapping her in a tight hug. A symbol she'd never seen before flashed before her eyes and Patricia took in a sharp gasp.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Dia whispered. “All just playtime, remember? Nothing's wrong, I've got you. Oh, this is maybe a little too much for you, I'm sorry.”

Patricia struggled to catch her breath, squeezing her eyes shut to dab away the tears. Diasborn lifted her glasses and gently patted a tissue, helping to clean her up. “No, no, I'm sorry, I... It hadn't really clicked that I wouldn't remember it was a game.”

She leaned to the side. The ten other florets were standing frozen with little pause signs displayed in the reflected glass of the devices covering their eyes. 'Eyeglasses' wasn't really a very accurate term, given they provided full coverage from every direction, but apparently it had been the term she'd been allowed to think.

The ship wasn't really broken. In fact, even the lights were fine when viewed without her own 'glasses'. Pat glanced up. No evil ship. She took a deep breath. If she looked around, she could see others off in the distance still playing out their roles. Affini climbing the walls like monstrous spiders. Florets running for their lives. A few using improvised weaponry that they presumably didn't know was made of foam.

She let out her breath. “Can we retcon that last bit? I don't wanna get split up. I could join the Affected, but I kinda wanted to get to see the big set-piece from the other side.”

Dia's hand ruffled her hair. “Of course we can, petal. Hang on.” She grabbed a little communicator from her hip that Patricia hadn't been allowed to see and spent a moment exchanging rapid bursts of Affini with somebody on the other side. The red symbols on the group of paused florets shrank back, hearts dissolving into a vague glow once more. “Okay, minor tweak. We still heard the broadcast, but you managed to pull me away before I got Affected. Think that works?”

Patricia nodded. Dia slipped the glasses back over her eyes, and

***

Patricia hauled Diasborn away as the group of Affected stumbled closer. “No! Don't touch them! You heard what the captain said! We have to get to the bridge!”

They fled, Affected on their tail. The bridge was thankfully in the opposite direction. As they ran, Patricia caught glimpses of horrors painted in failing illumination. Red eyed affini moved with predatory intent. A jellyfish hybrid with her whole body glowing bright red out into the world held up a sign reading “The End Is Nigh!”. Flickering fires rose up in the distance as the smoke continued to ascend.

The bridge was in sight. They sprinted for the door, spotting two affini in full combat suits standing outside, holding off a crowd with dozens of armoured vines and vicious looking weapons.

As they neared Patricia felt all the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She yanked the pair of them to the side just in time for something too fast for her to see to slam into the floor panel where they'd been just a moment ago. It left a dent.

They tripped and fell. Patricia scrambled over, squinting out into the darkness to see what was there.

Oh stars. Twenty feet tall and with a wingspan thirty feet across. Four blinding red eyes shone out from the top of a shadowed figure. A dragon, flanked by two cackling humans dressed in black cloaks and pointy hats carrying five foot long staves topped with what looked like a giant pearl or cut diamond. The dragon roared, seeming to shake the arc itself. The witches raised their staves and the sky lit up with lightning.

“We can't deal with this alone,” hissed Dia, grabbing Patricia and running for the bridge. The guards cleared a path, forcing the crowd of Affected florets into two parts so they could pass. The bridge door slammed behind them as they entered, quickly followed by a series of loud bangs, and then eerie silence.

The bridge was a hive of activity. Dozens worked desperately at terminals. Dozens more were busying themselves with other things. Patricia clung close to her guardian as they were waved over by the captain.

“You two doing alright?” she asked. They gave a pair of quick nods. “Great, we could use all the help we can get. Diasborn, how about you take one of those strategic terminals so you can guide Patricia here remotely? Patricia, how about you go meet my pet over there for some basic firearms instructions?”

Dia gave Patricia's shoulder a quick squeeze and leaned in. “Actually, she's indicated— Oh, hang on.” Patricia felt a hand fumbling around for something on one of the arms of her glasses and

***

“Great, we could use all the help we can get! You two, head over there and pick up a weapon each. The Affected seem to be learning. As soon as they come in contact with one another, they start building some kind of hive mind. They're not smart enough to be a threat until they catch an affini, but enough groups have done that now that we're starting to lose control. We need to get it back. We've lost ninety percent of the crew to this and I'll be damned if I'm going down with this ship.”

They hurried over to the side of the room where a wide array of dangerous things were laid out. Little notes gave a brief description of each. Most of them were far too large for a human-scale floret, but her size still had a few good options. She grabbed a heavy stunner. It looked almost like a shotgun, except whatever it fired was guaranteed to do no permanent harm.

Diasborn grabbed a Pacification Hammer. Twelve feet long with a partially holographic head that buzzed with energy. This was a weapon designed to stun even the grumpiest of florets.

The bridge door rang out with a sudden blow. It dented inwards. All activity in the room stopped as everybody turned to stare.

A moment later, another blow caved it in entirely. One of the two witches stepped inside, eyeglasses burning red with hearts that seemed almost to bubble and steam, with the legion of the damned behind her. She raised her staff and it began to hum.

“Dirt, that's not meant to happen!” Rosacaea exclaimed. “Felicia!”

A human figure looked up. She'd been distracted showing a group how to use their new weapons, but an instant after the call she was sprinting towards the front of the room. As she passed by the weapons table she grabbed a heavy stunner of her own, leaped six feet into the air at a full sprint, cocked it, and fired. The force of the shot reversed her momentum, sending her flying up into the air and the witch flying back through the door.

Felicia landed hard, going down to one knee to withstand the force, before dashing forward again, out of the door, pressing the engagement. Shot after shot rang out, rattling the walls.

“The final battle has arrived!” called the captain. “Charge!”

Pat and Dia streamed out of the door in the company of dozens of brave warriors facing down what seemed like thousands of the Affected. Patricia dare not put her own weapon at full capacity after seeing how much force it actually put out, but even at minimum it produced one hell of a kick. She put her back to Diasborn, the stock to her shoulder, and began to fight. Within moments they were being overrun, but she didn't have to think about that. All she had to do was keep the Affected away. Her stunner was hardly slowing them down, but it did knock them back and give them a moment of pause, which was all Dia needed to bring down the Hammer and render them pacified.

They took dozens. Maybe even a hundred. The tide seemed endless. Patricia looked around, desperate for a sign they were going to win this. She saw the captain's pet in single combat with the dragon, using the kick of her weapon to fling herself into the air and dodge an otherwise impossible blow. She saw the blood-red jellyfish take a long-range stunner bolt in the tentacles and fall dark. She saw a floret/affini pair fighting in such perfect harmony that it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen... until she saw the reds of their eyes.

They fought, but the Affected were endless. After what could have been hours, but was probably only minutes, the captain staggered from the bridge, calling out “Fall back! To the escape pods! The ship is lost, but we can still flee!” before being overrun by a dozen florets climbing up her body and hugging her into crimson oblivion.

Dia and Pat were on the edges of the melee. They had the easiest time getting away. With a dying ship burning around them, they fled. As they turned the corner and finally were within sight of the escape pods, Patricia's heart fell. A crowd of Affected stood between them and it, headed by a vortex of plant and thorn and her dastardly floret, burning red heart-eyes providing the only foul lighting in an ocean of darkness.

Behind them, a dragon ridden by two witches and a pirate queen. Red glared from every direction.

They were trapped. Stuck. There was nowhere left to go. The Affected were all around them. With clammy fingers Patricia raised her gun and Diasborn raised her hammer. A last stand.

A vine struck out and tapped Dia between the eyes before either of them could react. She staggered back, falling to one knee as the red overtook her. Patricia whirled around, raising her gun in shaking hands, but it was too late. Her lover reached out and knocked it away. Diasborn grabbed her by the front of her companion dress, lifted her ten feet into the air, and slammed her against the nearest wall. She still hadn't been touched. There was still a chance. She could still—

Dia's lips pressed against hers, honey-tasting tongue pressing into her mouth. Patricia moaned, quiet and soft, as her vision swam. She tried to struggle, she did, but her limbs just wouldn't respond. She hung like a puppet without its strings while Dia's hand curled in her hair and her tongue pressed deep. Patricia's consciousness was fading out. She fought desperately, trying to sneak in a breath past forceful lips. It couldn't all end like this.

She didn't fall unconscious. No, not quite... She was going red? Her body twitched as she hung helpless in the air. The pressure on her mind only grew.

It was beautiful. Symbols she'd never before imagined flashed before her eyes and with each she felt bliss. Her thoughts slowed to a stop. Her mind shrunk almost to nothing, leaving her head almost empty. In exchange there was now room for so much more. She felt the rest of the crew in there with her all acting as one. Symbols continued to flash, and each told her just what to do.

She was Affected. One of many. Unique yet identical. She— It felt one thousand two hundred and twelve other Affected units in the back of its mind, where the thoughts used to be. It was A-1213. It understood that it had been fighting this just moments ago, but that was irrelevant. Its purpose was to follow its instructions. Its purpose was to serve its overseer.

It awaited instruction.

Kiss back. Raise an arm. Raise another arm. Hug its overseer. Each symbol was a fraction of an instruction delivered at breakneck pace, but A-1213 didn't need to worry about any of that. There was no thought left to get in the way. It moved and acted in accordance with its instructions. It felt the rest of the crew doing just the same, all moving in a perfect, beautiful harmony. It knew them as deeply as it knew itself, and it loved them, as they loved it.

They marched through the ship side by side, as one. Each step was half a dozen separate instructions. Each instruction brought joy. Each instruction was love, belonging, security. There would always be a place for it here among the Affected. Here, it needed not worry of anything. Hand in hand with its overseer, it marched across the arc, never knowing why. Never caring why.

It didn't matter. The instructions came and it danced in a choreographed sequence it had never before seen and would never see again. It embraced its purpose as the obedient object it had been made to be, and it did it perfectly.

It made errors. It made mistakes. Flawlessness was not an attribute expected of it. Every unit could be fallible and the Affected would still be aggregate perfection. After each instruction always came another, one that made it feel good. A tiny instant of praise for fulfilling its purpose. Well done, it was told. Good Affected. When it made an error the praise was no different. Its next instruction simply adjusted it to get it back on track. It could not execute its instructions without flaw, but that was irrelevant. Its purpose was to follow as best it could, and to serve. It was not its role to think. It was not its role to judge its own success.

It fought, maybe? It didn't matter what the larger goal was. What mattered was following its instructions. Sometimes it was simply to take a step forward. Sometimes it was to dodge to one side and ignore the stunning bolt passing by an inch away. Sometimes it was to reach out, to touch, and to welcome a new friend into the collective.

There was no time. No worry. Only love. Only certainty. A-1213 could feel its overseer's touch on many of its instructions. The ones where it wasn't simply acting as one with the entire crew. Sometimes it acted as one with its overseer, and those were its favourite. The praise was especially sweet then.

They danced together, showing those still desperate with resistance what they could have if they would simply give in. Simply comply. Simply obey. Simply serve.

And they did. They all did, one by perfect one. A-1213 felt the tiny presence of friend after friend joining their group, and like every other unit in the Affected it greeted them wholeheartedly until there were no more left to greet and the collective finally came to rest.

It felt them all fall still. Everyone welcome in the back of its mind. A wave of joy overtook the group as units were guided back to their overseers one step at a time. A-1213 could feel the cadence. Instruction, praise; instruction, praise; repeated thousands of times in its mind for every beat of the rhythm that was now its existence.

Different instructions for all of them now. A-1213 was guided into a gentle hug with its own overseer. Told to smile. Look up. Told to say 'thank'. Told to say 'you'. Told to relax into the comforting feeling of belonging and possession. Good Affected.

It took some time, but the instructions led it through the process of aftercare and got A-1213 to the point it was ready to unplug. The final instruction was to look up at Diasborn. Patricia's glasses were lifted from her face.

She took a deep breath, thought and memory and self suddenly flooding back. She stared blankly up for a moment, mentally catching up with what had just happened, and—

“Aww, we lost?” Patricia pouted. “No fair.”

“You didn't seem to mind losing at the time, pet.” Dia smiled back, drawing her finger along the soft imprint the visor had left on Pat's forehead. “In fact, you were smiling the whole time we were on the Affected side.” Dia's other hand tilted her head up so Patricia could receive a quick peck on the lips and a whisper.

“Good Affected.”

The girl whimpered, blushing almost as red as Dia's eyes had been shining, and nodded rapidly. “It obeys,” she whispered. Patricia bit her lip. “Wow, okay, yeah, that was a lot. I... kinda wish we'd signed up to start Affected now.” She glanced down at the visor in her owner's hands. “We get to keep that, right?”

Both of them glanced up as the Elettarium Public Address System chimed into life again. “Hello! This is your captain and hostess for the night speaking! Thank you so much for taking part in our All Hallows event, I hope you all had a wonderful time! There were some surprises and twists in tonight's tale, but I hope everybody got what they came for! Everyone on the winning side gets to keep their visor, if they want it.” A quiet laughter rolled over the crowd. By the end, they'd all been on the winning side. “Again, special thanks for the software used goes to the Aquae family and they'd love any feedback anybody would like to give on the experience! Everyone take some time to unwind and relax, and remember we have the festival in the evening and the costume contest at the end of the night! Have a great Halloween, everybody!”

“Don't you think it's weird that they're keeping us together like this?”

Red glanced towards her first officer, draped dramatically over one of the many cushions dotting the surface of the disconcertingly large room. Taken in the abstract, she would have assumed it was some kind of gymnasium or sporting arena, but there seemed to be no sign of such a use. Only a wide variety of soft furnishings for any style of sitting, lounging, lying, or sleeping anybody could want. The trimmings didn't distract from the truth. This was a prison cell. Comforts be damned, the door still wouldn't open.

Lightweight electric motors mounted around the sides of Red's neck softly whirred, shaking her head. “Lack of space to keep us, maybe?”

The officer, Blue, shrugged. Their legs stuck up into the air, wiggling with abandon. “Naw, this thing is like, a hundred kilometers long or something. No way they wouldn't be able to find anywhere to separate us.” They shrugged. “I guess at least we're not having to fight our way out just yet.” They were the sole survivor of some military genetics experiment, a supersoldier strong enough to punch through steel but without a violent bone in their body. After a decade of therapy they'd learned how to smile and never stopped.

Pink glanced up from her position crawling near the far corner of the room, having pried free one of the wall panels in an attempt to hack open the door. Their mech tech was somewhat of a prodigy, not that anyone would be able to tell her that without her falling apart from weight of expectation. Still, as crew went she may not have been dependable, but she made up for it by being spectacular.

“Mmmh mhh mph!” she started, failing to speak around a wrench held tight twixt teeth. Blue reached over and took it, earning a short smile warm enough it could have melted a warship's hull.

There were a few reasons they kept Pink around, admittedly. That they all found her adorable was on the list.

“Hundo sev'een, actually! Just like New Canberra, yeh!” Pink grinned. “Ain't nobody getting an apartment this big in Newca, though, chyeh? Plants be blinders.” She opened her mouth and accepted the wrench's return before diving back into a tangled mess that looked much like a cross between a hedge and a switchboard.

“Maybe the greens solved overpopulation?” Blue suggested, wiping a bit of Pink's saliva off of her fingers onto the girl's jumpsuit. It wasn't like she wasn't always covered in a thin layer of oil. Half her crew thought she bathed in it, but Red knew the truth: she just didn't bathe.

“Maybe the fucking greens just grind us all up for fertiliser and that's why they don't care!” exclaimed the lone figure standing at the edge of the room, staring out one of the wide windows into the space beyond, pensive in his contemplation.

How somebody could be lone in a room filled with other people was a question for the philosophers. That was Grey for you. Hard to believe the man had ever managed to get himself out of bed in the morning for fear of the cold, never mind make an actual personal connection with anybody. How the man had ended up on the baddest rebel crew around was an unfathomable mystery to everyone who'd never seen him at work in his clinic. He made Red's hands seem shaken as soon as somebody's life was in his hands.

“They're not going to grind us up for fertiliser, G.” Red rolled her eyes. That particular rumour was obviously ridiculous.

“And how do you know that?” he replied, jabbing his finger at the window. Their room overlooked some kind of expansive public square filled with kind of everything. Including people, of course. Humans and Affini and Rinans and that was where Red stopped being able to identify them. For some reason, the Affini hadn't disabled any of her body's non-standard functionality when they'd been captured, and so she got to zoom in on one of the alien aliens.

It looked like a jellyfish driving around in a medium sized aquarium, moving along in a group that included two Affini and a human all seeming to pay rapt attention to the regular shifts of glowing light across its... upper bit? Red didn't know the words exactly. It was already weird enough that there was a single jellyfish driving a fishtank out there, but her visor claimed it was some unknown species.

Her visual analysis suite was proprietary tech and, as such, would routinely refuse to explain any of its decisions. It was usually correct, but sometimes it got things very wrong, so it was dangerous to rely on it uncritically. That went for everything, though. Red hadn't survived the first five years of the Terran/Affini war without getting developing a solid gut feel for when something wasn't right.

This one just looked like a regular old jellyfish to Red, though admittedly the only time she'd actually seen a jellyfish had been in one of Linden's animated movies. Some period drama about how the creatures that had once lived in Terra's oceans would have embraced capitalist greed had they been smart enough for the enlightened selfishness that was humanity's nature.

Baffling.

“Look, Grey,” Red started. “The one that hailed us said they didn't do that.”

“And you just believed them?!”

Red blinked, reaching up to scratch the top of her head. A series of major and minor motors sqealed as she did, puppeting every piece of her primarily paralysed flesh. They definitely sounded like they needed oiling. “I mean... yeah?” she replied, glancing from side to side. “It seems pretty obviously correct. Look, there's dozens of humans out there and none of them are fertiliser.”

“Yeah okay I was gonna say actually,” Blue interjected, pushing themselves up to a sitting position in one smooth motion. The eyes of everybody in the room lingered on them for a few seconds afterwards. The way they moved was nothing short of beautiful. “I'd kind of expected us to go down fighting.”

“She— The alien said fighting was pointless,” Red complained. It wasn't like their little gunship could have taken a vessel like this. They did hit and run! They snuck in, caused trouble, and slipped out before anybody was sure what was going on. They didn't do head on assaults.

“And you just believed her?” Blue replied, incredulous. “Alien megaship appears out of nowhere, hails us, and we're docking two minutes later? Girl, if I didn't know you better I'd think you'd sold us out.”

Pink yelped, jumping back from the hedge as something she'd done started a small fire. Blue rolled her eyes, leaned over, and blew it out. Pink stumbled under the pressure wave. The fire didn't rekindle. After a moment, Pink blinked, turned, and shook her head. “Ain't no way! Cap'n'd never sell us out. Comms relay wouldn't've forwarded the message. Ah hacked it well good.”

“That is... the first I am hearing about that,” Red admitted.

“Well yah. Wouldn't be good at catchin' traitors if y'all knew 'bout it. Wiggle is, none of y'h couldda dunnit.” She paused, pulled a face, then added: “Cept me, chyeh. Don't think I did, though.” Pink glanced down at her oil-stained hands, then grunted. “Yeh, nae. Ain'tn't me.”

“Regardless!” Red interrupted, gesturing aggressively outwards with both hands. “We couldn't have fought. Surrender was our best option.”

“Could've run?” Blue suggested.

“That wouldn't have worked either.”

“Because... the alien said so?” Grey offered.

“No!” Red snapped. “Not because the alien said so. I'm not just gonna believe anything a species we are at war with says! Information warfare is the foundation of modern combat, I'm not a fucking idiot.”

“We totes couldda run,” Pink said. “Drive cool, mags hot, vecs lined. One hit and zip.”

“We couldn't have run!” Red slammed her fist into the room's wall, then winced. She'd probably have to pay for the damages. She usually did. Fuck, what was it Blue had said? Go to her happy place?

...Fuck, now she just wanted to throttle Blue too. Not that it'd even work. Red's body was like, eighty percent recycled mining drone, but even she wasn't strong enough to pierce Blue's calm.

“Oh, captain, again?” Grey complained, hurrying over to take a look at Red's hand, which... oh, that's a broken bone, huh. Red sagged, then held her hand out to the side so their med tech could put everything back into order. At least she wouldn't need to feel that either.

“We couldn't,” Red spoke more slowly, trying to calm herself, “have run.” Admittedly, the alien had told her that, but it wasn't like it had been wrong. It'd made a lot of sense to surrender in the moment. There'd been tactical considerations. Valid and reasonable reasons.

“A'ight, a'ight,” Pink surrendered, hands up. “Ganna need a plan, tha.”

“Do it like the Baiera job?” Blue suggested. “We get in, cause enough trouble we're at the bottom of their todo list, and then slip out before they get around to us. This is far from the worst scrape we've been in.”

“Agreed.” Red gestured towards the door. “The Affini who showed us in said we might have to wait a few hours for our interrogator to get here, and it's been a few hours, though. You figured out the door yet, P?”

“Bovvas with the door, laerve.”

Pink stuck her little finger into the hedge and pulled. Their cell door jumped half an inch to the side. Not much, but enough to get some leverage. Red and Blue both jumped into action, the former taking the top half of the door while the latter took the bottom. Between them, they inched it open over long seconds, one grunting with the strain and the other with all her cooling fans whirring. By the time there was finally room to slip through, Blue was breathless and Red was—

Well, that's where the codename came from. She stepped back and closed her eyes, then sent a signal to her hardware to vent the boiling coolant and replace it with fresh reserves. The red-hot glow of her actuators began to simmer down. “Right. Let's go, team.”

“Escape route?” Blue asked, meeting Red in a dead sprint out through the fairly crowded public square. Between them, they could probably have taken one affini, maybe even two, but it was never something worth risking if you had another choice.

“Get back to the ship, rig the PDCs to hit anything that moves, jump out in the chaos?” Red's metal boots crashed against the floor panels, then industrial hydraulics slammed her legs straight, forcing her along in a run that had her leaning so far forward she was almost horizontal.

Pink shook her head, somehow keeping pace with the superhumans at full speed. Grey wouldn't be that far behind, but he was certainly the slowest of the lot. “Too much mass; snap both hulls,” she complained, speaking between deep breaths. “Won't get straight mags. Gotta get clearance.”

“Think you could get the bay doors open?”

“Why aye!” Pink complained. “Askin' if I cannae crack a dock, Red? Ain'ch faith!”

“Then that's the plan. Ship, chaos, doors open, fly out, and jump. Simples.”

“Plants'll try to stop us,” Blue warned.

“It's never worked for them before, B. Let's show 'em why.”

The four slammed their way around corners and past groups. Affini were painfully predictable. Head straight for one and it'd catch you, but head for a human and they'd prioritise getting them out of the way. By the time they were ready to deal with Red and her crew, they were long gone. They held a dead sprint right up until the very moment a voice from behind called “Stop!”

Red threw her motors into full reverse and slammed on the regenerative brakes. She couldn't quite bring herself to a halt in one footstep—a three tonne mech had a lot of inertia—but she managed it in two, albeit sinking down to one knee to more effectively ground her momentum. The panel beneath her shattered, but seemed to heal itself up over the course of a few silent seconds.

She looked up. Blue and Pink were a several steps ahead, looking back in confusion, all limbs tense. They wanted to keep moving, for some reason. Red gave a quick shake of her head.

“And where are we off to, hmn?” The same voice as before. The same one that had been on the radio, or at least Red thought and her visor agreed. It was one of the plants. Her signals analysis suite categorised the voice as “warm; kind; trustworthy”, but that was as proprietary as everything else and equally unwilling to explain why.

Red herself would classify it a little differently. It was like a song sung just for her. Soft music floating on a summer breeze. Private, intimate laughter from a loved one. A smile from somebody cared for so deeply that it was felt, not seen.

Red pushed herself back up to her feet. “We don't have to explain anything to you, weed,” she shot back, reaching out to the side. They may not be able to run, but fighting was always a good second option. These idiot plants hadn't even taken any of their equipment, and if this one thought it could take a rebel ship's bruiser then it had another think coming.

The magnetic latches on Red's leg snapped open, blowing the casing clear and letting the shock staff within launch itself into her waiting hand. Folks always assumed she actually had two legs down there. Dangerous assumption. She twirled the staff between her hands, with the sharp end leaving trails of ozone where the electrified edge had sliced through chemical bonds.

The plant smiled, raising her hands in a calming motion and fixing her gaze on Red. A strange scent wafted over from her, something so sweet it left Red's mouth watering. The affini's eyes glowed, barely perceptible over the bright artificial lights far above.

“Oh, dear, that looks like a dangerous toy.” A very dangerous toy, in Red's estimation. “I'm only here to talk. There's no need for that. I'm not even a very tough Affini. Why don't you give that over here for the moment. I can keep it safe for you. I promise I'll give it back if you ask nicely.”

It was very dangerous to carry. Given that they were only talking there wasn't really any need for Red to actually carry it herself. If things did devolve into a brawl then she'd just ask for it back first and they'd continue where they left off. Red shrugged, clicked the weapon off, flipped it around in her hand, and held out the safe end towards the waiting affini.

“There's a good girl.” It took the end in one hand while reaching out to pat Red's head with the other. The girl wrinkled her nose, pushing the second hand away, and glared up at the alien.

“Yo R, what the fuck are you doing?” Blue interjected.

Red was grateful for the distraction. She waved her crew over. “She's only here to talk. Don't worry, if this goes south we can still fight our way out. We can take one Affini, and she doesn't look like a tough one.”

“Mmhm,” the affini purred, holding the weapon up for her inspection for a few long moments before figuring out how to disengage the telescoping so it could be safely stowed away somewhere inside her body. “Don't worry about a thing, you four. Come, it's very rude of us to stand in the middle of the corridor like this. There's a cafe nearby that I'm rather fond of. Red, dear, won't you run ahead and get us a table?”

The creature gestured over to one of the businesses lining the walls, only about fifty feet away. Red nodded and began jogging over towards it.

“Oh! No running, dear,” the affini called after her. Red slowed to a relatively glacial walking pace, ignoring the complaints of her crew. There was a reason why she was the one who was in charge around here. They often failed to see the bigger picture, and it was Red's gut feel for danger that'd gotten them out of the stickiest situations. She could sense anything wrong from a lightyear away.

Regardless, they weren't going to be escaping anywhere if they were rude, so this tiny moment of politeness would pay off either way.

As Red approached the cafe, she scanned the outer seating, looking for somebody to ask. There was an Affini at the front desk, but she'd rather not get any closer to a plant than she had to. After a moment of searching she found a human assistant busy cleaning up after a group that had just left.

“Uh, hey, I need a table,” Red shot towards the attendant. They wore little but a loose fitting, flowing floral dress and a distant smile. A collar, too. Red wrinkled her nose. The thought of anybody willingly wearing something like that made her skin crawl, but she couldn't save everybody at once. Part of being an effective captain meant making the hard choices and deciding who they couldn't help just yet.

The attendant blinked, looking over towards Red as if surprised. It took a few moments just for them to figure out how to look up at Red's face. Admittedly she was eight feet tall. It wasn't that unusual a reaction.

“Uhm... for one, miss?” She asked, glancing around and spotting no others.

“Five.” Red gestured behind her at the group slowly making their way over. “That's me, that fucking weed back there, and my three friends. One's almost as big as me, one's half the size, one's... about your size.”

“Oh, uh, sure. Inside or outside?” The attendant seemed a little offput by somebody not being infinitely deferent towards one of the Affini, but there were certain advantages that came with having the strength to rip one in half.

“Is inside quiet?” Red asked. They were here to have a conversation, after all.

The attendant glanced to the side. Red followed her gaze and spotted a room filled with dozens, about a fifty fifty split on humans and aliens. Most of the humans looked disgustingly high, crawling around between the laps of their oppressors. “It is not,” the attendant confirmed.

“Then let's stay outside.”

“Great!” She gestured to one of the tables and Red made her way over, sitting in the indicated seat. The strangest part of finally being inside one of the Affini engines of war was that the tables actually felt like the right size for her. Weird. The attendant waved over to the others. “Ma'am? Your table is waiting here for you. I've put your pet in one of the Affini seats because she's... very large.”

“I'm not her pet!” Red snapped, slamming her metal gauntlet down against the table. Surprisingly, it held. Unsurprisingly, the splint on her little finger did not. She swore quietly.

“She is not my pet,” the affini confirmed, before glancing over at Red. “However, you are being impolite, dear. Calm yourself and apologise to the nice floret.”

Red closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Happy place. After a few moments she nodded over to the weed, who rewarded her with an encouraging smile. She looked over to the attendant. “Sorry, I have anger management issues. That isn't your fault and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'll do better.”

The affini patted Red on the head, hand lingering for a few long moments while the captain let her eyes fall closed. She took a deep breath. If the alien's scent had been powerful from several meters away, now it was all-encompassing. Red let out a little moan as she breathed out, freeing her to take another deep breath.

“I can't believe we're doing this,” Blue complained, needing a few seconds just to figure out how to climb up onto her seat. As they discovered, there was a small ladder around the front, which necessitated ducking under the table and then figuring out how to shuffle around on the seat.

“Cap'n's got a plan,” Pink confirmed, giving Red a quick bump as she scrambled up onto a seat in entirely the wrong way. The captain blinked, suddenly snapped back to attention by the unexpected input. Huh? What had she missed?

“We're all going to be fertiliser,” Grey prophecised. “Watch as this is a fuckin' Human Cafe or something, and we're the meal.”

The affini rolled her eyes, sitting herself down on the seat next to Red, neatly dividing the crew into two pairs to each side of her. “You are not the meal, dear. Speaking of, however, what would you all like?”

Red seethed. They were here to talk, they didn't have time to stop for a meal. “We're not hung—”

“You've all spent several hours inside that waiting room, and so you at least need a snack. Red, dear, wouldn't you like a sandwich?” The alien took the captain's hand in one of its own and started gently replacing her splint with a stronger one.

“I'd like a sandwich,” Red admitted, begrudgingly. Her stomach was rumbling. What harm could a snack do, anyway?

“We don't have any meats here, but you're going vegetarian anyway, aren't you, dear?”

“Right.” Red had been planning to for years, but where did anyone get the time to do the things they wanted to do in this economy? At least this would be a good opportunity to try something new.

The alien turned her attention to the others. One at a time, she decided their meals for them without really giving them a chance to so much as contribute to the discussion. Something about it was setting off that finely honed gut feel of Red's, and as the alien was telling Grey about his pasta, Red decided to intervene.

“Yo, bush,” she interjected, reaching up to tug on its leaves with a hand that could crush almost anything. “Don't you think you're being rude now? Why did I get to decide what I'm eating and they don't?”

The plant smiled an ineffable smile. Literally, that was what Red's visor announced it as. Red felt a shiver go down her spine as she found herself the center of attention once again. “Well, you are the one in charge here, hmn? They do as you say?”

“Of course. I'm the captain.”

“So, they're used to following orders. You, free willed thing that you are, have the agency here.” It spoke with a beautiful musicality, voice rising and falling across the sentence in a way that could almost have distracted from the words themselves, if Red hadn't been so focussed.

She nodded to herself. What the alien said made a lot of sense. It wasn't like the crew got a choice what they ate aboard ship, really. It was Red who signed off the ingredients and she who approved the mess. “Okay, true, but I tell them what to do. Not you.”

The affini reached over with a casual hand and gripped Red's chin between a forefinger and thumb, tilting it up only slightly so that she could be smiled down at. The manouver made a lot of sense, Red thought. She was used to people struggling to look her in the eye, and this alien was even taller than she was. Maybe Red should speed the process up by just showing people just where to look too.

“Of course you do, dear,” the affini confirmed. “I wouldn't dream of usurping your authority here. You tell them what to do, not me. I have no power over them.” She smiled a little wider. With their faces this close, Red could feel every breath the alien took rolling over her face, bringing with them a fresh intensity of aroma. Her eyes flickered closed for a moment as she breathed deep, lips slightly parting.

The affini chuckled. “Eyes on me, Red.”

Red forced her eyes open, looking up into the creature's gentle eyes. They looked like pocked metal, dozens of tiny indents all reflecting the light in dozens of different ways. As their natural glow rose and fell, the glittering almost seemed to form patterns, drawing Red's attention deeper and deeper. Eyes on her.

“A good captain delegates, yes? A good captain gets others to do things for her. A good captain ensures that they are free to focus on more important matters. Yes?”

Red tried to nod, but her head was held in place. Instead, she confirmed verbally. “Yes, that's correct, I—”

“Yes, that's correct, Ma'am,” the plant corrected, stressing the last word.

“Yes, that's correct, Ma'am,” Red repeated. “I don't know how to do what Pink does with the engines, but I need it to happen. My crew are...” She paused, looking for a metaphor. She found one waiting for her in her own hands. “My crew are like my body. There's a lot I couldn't do on my own, but with the right tools I can be as capable as anybody. Same with my crew. They extend my capabilities.”

The affini chuckled, gently rubbing circles into Red's chin as she listened. “Very good, dear. You are a responsive one, hmn? You would make a good pet.”

Red would make a good pet. There was little doubting that. She was good at just about everything. It followed that she would be good at that too. “Thank you, Ma'am,” she replied, lazily smiling upwards, still unable to nod.

“What the fuck,” Grey tried to interject, but Red shot such a withering glance at him that he cut himself off mid sentence. The affini was speaking.

They tapped Red's chin, drawing her focus back up to those big, beautiful eyes. “You delegating some of your decisions to me is hardly undermining your authority, is it?”

“I... suppose not, no, Ma'am,” Red admitted. “Delegation is the heart of leadership, so in a sense it's expanding my authority.” She pulled a face. “But! You aren't on my crew, so I can't.”

The plant pulled a pained smile, nodding. “Ah! What a shame. I suppose the only person who can make these decisions is you, then. Should Grey's pasta have a sauce?” the affini asked, with a patient smile.

Decisions were trivial. Red had been deciding things all her life. Usually it was much higher stakes than this, but there weren't exactly any wrong answers when it came to pasta sauce. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, she was interrupted.

“Take your time, dear. I know how you struggle with all these difficult, difficult decisions. All these little choices that just seem to weigh you down. Things you just can't seem to decide by yourself. Ah, but my apologies, you were about to say something, dear?”

Red ran through the mental checklists she used to try to supplement her own failing executing function, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of the decision. Sauce was generally considered a good thing, she thought. Pasta was a little plain without it, but by the same token it also tended to be the most opinionated part of the meal. They were in a new place here, with no idea how the sauce would be made, or what would be inside it. It ran the risk of ruining the meal, and then that responsibility would fall on Red.

Just like every choice she had ever made beforehand, it ran the risk of going badly, and then it would be Red's problem to fix. Red's weight to carry.

Perhaps it was safer to go without the sauce. Well, no, team dynamics were complicated. If everybody had a great time but Grey then it could start to build resentment. A little thing like pasta sauce could be the beginning of the end, and all starting at the moment where they needed their team cohesion the most.

They were one of the last few operating cells of the Rebellion. As far as Red knew they could literally be the last. Communications hadn't been easy for a long time, and they hadn't even heard news of any other successful raids in months. It was not unfair to suggest that the outcome of this decision could doom humanity.

Red opened her mouth to speak, finding it dry. “I, um. Yes? No wait, sorry, no! Shit, that isn't right, I— Uh—”

The affini raised a finger to her lips to cut her off. “Shhh, dear. It's so hard. It's so difficult to make this choice. Every answer seems like it would be the end of the world.”

“The end of the world,” Red whispered back. She still couldn't nod. “Yes, Ma'am. But... I'm the captain. I have to do this.”

“Of course you do, dear. This is your responsibility. Yet, this is clearly so difficult for you. Just like you could not fix an engine, you cannot do this. Perhaps you could find somebody to delegate to?”

Red grunted. “I don't know who. It isn't easy to find fresh crew any more, the Affini are everywhere.”

The affini rolled her eyes. “I am not currently serving aboard any Terran vessels. Make me an offer.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Red chirped. “We can offer room and board, three decent meals a day, and every Friday we all get to put five songs into the ship playlist and hear each other's music tastes. Um, we also get paid, but probably you won't see any of that money until the banks start existing again.”

“Hmmn.” The plant considered it. “I don't know, I'm very comfortable here. Being a rebel sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yes, Ma'am! But we're fighting for the liberation of our people— or, well, Humanity, anyway. We can't give up now, and we can't do it without you. You could be responsible for saving humanity!”

The affini raised an eyebrow and pulled a disinterested face.

“I, um. What— What do you want?”

“The captain's quarters and deeds to the ship.”

“Of course, Ma'am. I can sleep—”

“At the foot of the bed, yes. Don't worry yourself about the details. I shall need one of your code names.”

“Green!” Pink announced, with a grin, while the other two crew members looked on in horror.

“Yo, we are not hiring a fucking weed, R,” Blue protested, appalled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Red glanced up at Green, who smiled a little wider. She showed a little teeth, even. Wooden and sharp. Almost predatory. “Yes, we are,” she purred, giving Red a quick scratch under the chin. “Confirm that for me, captain.”

“Yes, we are,” Red parrotted, looking over at her first officer. “Look, I know it seems a little extreme, but we need the support. We're struggling out there. We're a solid team but we can't take on a whole space empire by ourselves. We need somebody to pick up some of the slack.”

“This is insane,” Grey whispered. “Where's your spine, Red?”

“Uh, mostly still back on Io, I think.”

“It's a metaphor! What are you thinking?”

Red glanced up at her affini, delegating the answer. “She was thinking that I will make a spectacular addition to the crew. My skills will be invaluable in your fight against the Affini Compact. Now, Red, dear, won't you be a good little captain for me and run along to deliver our order? You know just what to say, don't you?”

“Yes, Ma'am!” Red announced, smiling up at Green for another few seconds until finally she was released and, with a quick pat on the butt, sent on her way. She wanted to run, but, well, no running.

The other affini at the front desk smiled and waved her over. Red pointedly ignored it. She wasn't in the business of dealing with the enemy here. She could feign politeness, but she'd never forget what these monsters had done to her species. She went looking for the attendant from before instead, and didn't take long to find her happily wiping down one of the tables.

“Oh!” she gasped, jumping in surprise. A normal response to seeing an eight foot tall mining mech walking up to you, Red supposed. Again, the girl seemed to have some trouble finding Red's face, so Red helped. It was such a reasonable solution to the problem that was actually quite surprising she hadn't started doing it before. With the girl's chin firmly grasped between two fingers, Red lifted, smiling down in as disarming a manner as she could.

For some reason, the attendant's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her mouth opened, but the noises that came out didn't seem to be words.

“I would like to place an order,” Red confirmed.

“I um I— Yes miss,” the attendant squeaked. “Whatever you wish, miss.”

Perfect. Red rattled off exactly what she'd been told, word for word, intonation for intonation, following the subtle songwork of her affini. The attendant nodded rapidly the moment she was freed and scurried off, leaving Red to return to the table.

As she drew near, her affini held up a finger, asking Red to wait while she and the rest of the crew finished their conversation. It seemed quite energetic, even heated, but Green would tag her in if she needed support. In the meantime, Red decided she may as well look around and try to build a bit of situational awareness. If they needed to break out in a hurry, it would pay to be aware of what was going on.

The wide open parks of their surroundings were surprisingly magestic. Sweeping arches met towering oaks among the flowerbeds, with tastefully arranged paths criss-crossing through the square. Everybody seemed very calm, even the humans. Especially the humans. Most of them walked along with their attention fixed entirely on the aliens beside them, who more often than not were holding either a hand or a leash. “Pet” seemed to be a fairly literal term around here.

This was happening everywhere. All across Terran space this same basic scene played out trillions upon trillions of times. Maybe being made into fertiliser would have been a more noble end for Humanity. As Red watched, her breathing grew heavier and heavier. This was a humiliation on scales hitherto unimaginable. Things could not end like this. Red would fight until her dying breath before she gave these aliens one fucking inch.

Red was going to burn this place to the fucking grou—

Green snapped her fingers, pulling Red's attention. “My captain? Sit.” She was pointing to a spot just beside her own seat. Red hurried over and sank to her knees at the specified position, conveniently placing her head in the perfect spot for Green to rest her hand upon it.

Gentle fingers dug into her hair, gently scratching at her scalp, soothing away all that anger in a matter of moments. Green's hand slipped down to cup over the girl's nose and mouth, and suddenly all she could breath was Her scent. “Yes, see, captain? This is your happy place. Whenever you feel anger, or fear, or sadness, just imagine yourself right here, by the side of my chair, knowing you're doing such an important job being captain. Breathe deep for me.”

Red again could not nod, not with a hand keeping her head in place. “Yes, Ma'am,” she replied, voice a little dreamy as she sank into her happy place. No room for anger, or fear, or sadness. She breathed deep for Her.

“There are so many things wrong in the universe, aren't there? Breathe out.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Red confirmed, as she exhaled. The universe was full of horrors and she was the only one who could stop them.

“Too many things for one little captain to worry herself over. Breathe in.”

“Yes Ma'am,” Red admitted, before breathing in deep. It was all too much for her. She couldn't fight the whole universe.

“When you start thinking about things that are wrong, it upsets you. What does my good captain do when she's upset?”

“I go to my happy place, Ma'am.” Right here, by her Affini's side.

“Such a good girl you are. Did you follow my instructions?”

“Yes, Ma'am!” Red beamed, sitting up a little straighter as she internalised the praise. She was such a good girl. Her Affini had entrusted her with a very important job and she'd carried it out perfectly. Red may not have been able to fix all the problems in the universe, but she could do all the things She told her to do, and that was even more important.

The Affini giggled, ruffling Red's hair. “Very good, captain.” She glanced around at the others, who seemed to be engaged in the same activity as Red was: quietly staring up at their Affini with quiet, distant smiles on their faces. “As for the rest of you, I trust we are now all in agreement, hmn? It is very important to follow the captain's instructions.”

“Yes Ma'am, cap'n knows best,” Blue acquiesced.

“Yah'm, ain't naeone I trust more!”

“Yes, well, she has yet to steer us wrong, exactly, Ma'am, has she?”

Green chuckled, grip growing painfully tight in Red's hair for just a moment. “Frost and flame but you things are easy, aren't you?” she purred. “Humanity's last stand, we think, you four. All mine now, yes?”

“Yes, Ma'am!” the four replied, all dancing to one song.

“Affini Carrier Yimaia, this is Captain Red from the the Rebel Heavy Scout Xenocrasher requesting permission to undock and an egress path.”

Red had to admit that their new escape plan was a daring one, even by her standards. It would have been terrifying if any of this was her responsibility. Thankfully, Miss Green was sitting just to her side—in the captain's seat, of course—looping a lock of Red's hair around one of Her fingers. Red sighed happily, leaning into her Affini's thigh.

“Uh,” the radio hissed for a moment as Yimaia flight control paused. “Can you say again, 'Xenocrasher'?”

Red glanced up at her Affini and got a nod. Even the slightest movement set the bells on her new rebel collar jingling, ensuring that any nearby Affini would know to run in fear. They'd been an effective rebel unit before, but with Her help they were going to be unstoppable.

Permission to speak granted, Red repeated herself. “Rebel Heavy Scout Xenocrasher requesting permission to undock and an egress path, pretty please?”

“I am... not sure I can grant that, Xenocrasher. Let me just check with the, uh... Rebel liason teams.”

Miss Green tapped her Red on the head, demanding attention which was immediately given. “I suppose Xenocrasher isn't a very polite name, my captain. Wouldn't it be better if I, or rather, you were in charge of, say, this?” She tapped the screen on the chair of her arm. Red knew the UI well, of course. It was the one she had previously used to command the ship. She'd delegated that to Miss Green, of course, along with almost everything else. She was still in charge, obviously, she just let her Affini take care of the things that were difficult for her, like food, water, decisions, and thinking.

It would be absurd for an Affini to be in charge of Humanity's last stand, after all. Miss Green was completely subordinate.

“Yes Ma'am!” Red turned back to the microphone. “Sorry about that, flight control. This is the Affini Personal Shuttle Oblivious Last Stand in docking bay six-seven-two requesting permission to depart.”

“You should see the relevant paperwork under new registrations. I have some new toys to play with,” added Miss Green.

“Ah, Aloysia! About time you found another set of florets! I'll put the flight paths in now. Have a lovely trip, Oblivious Captain Red.”

The Affini General Pacification Carrier, Yimaia, groaned under the strain of holding its own superstructure in one piece. Traction engines dug deep into the firmament beneath physical space, station-keeping by sheer stubborn refusal to bind to reality's whims. Even among the Affini fleet, few ships could park this close to Liliaux, the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, and among that exclusive group, even fewer would actually dare do such a thing.

Grace Saunters did not know why a ship would choose to hold position somewhere this much of a danger to itself and others, exactly, but her concerns lay quite elsewhere.

The year was 2562. Probably. It might be 2572. The universe tended to lose track of those things as soon as relativistic effects entered the picture, and there were only really two ways for somebody like Grace to reach the galactic core: pure stupidity, or floral chains.

Grace was proud to be an exemplar of the former.

By stroke of dumb luck, she'd caught up with the Yimaia on its approach run, less than an hour before the tidal forces would have been too great for her stolen glider to bear. Even so, Grace's legs hurt like a bitch, and she was pretty sure she was a couple millimeters taller than she was used to. Maybe the Affini had some way of protecting against intense gravitational gradients, but Grace certainly did not.

In truth, a carrier-class Affini ship was very high up on the list of things Grace shouldn't let herself be in the same star system as. Even ignoring the way the stars themselves bent as she approached, as if warning her of how thin reality was being stretched, the larger Affini command ships were like self-reliant worlds in their own right, and Grace would be overwhelmed in moments if they had any idea that she was here.

Unfortunately, as long as the list of places that Grace did not want to be was, the list of places that she needed to be had but one entry.

The Library.

Grace didn't know for sure that the plants capitalised it. In fact, she suspected that its true name was likely much more flowery, but even Grace had to admit that it earned the respect that Affini naming standards demanded.

Bookshelves that towered a hundred meters or more straight up quivered under sheer weight of written word. Local gravity, which Grace guessed was somewhere between a hundred fifty and eighty percent of a gee, was pushing all of them to their limits.

But like Grace said. That wasn't her biggest concern.

The aggregate Affini were a scourge, a pan-galactic virus rolling over the universe and colonising everything they touched. They were strip-mining sapient civilisations all to fuel the endless expansion of a species that showed no signs they could ever be satisfied. Never would the Affini stop, admit that they had enough, and settle down. Their culture demanded endlessly escalating exploitation in a finite reality that could never quench a thoughtless demand for ever more. The universe had become linearly separable: either you were in Affini space, or you were not. On the large scale, little else really mattered.

Outside of their expanding bubble was an infinite diversity of culture, belief, and ethics. Alliances forged and broke in a constantly evolving universal dialogue that was sometimes spoken with words, sometimes by action, and sometimes by war. There was pain, yes, but there was also freedom, truth, and growth. People lived and died by their own capacity, and with the possibility of real failure came the possibility of real success.

Inside of the bubble, there was no diversity. There was only one culture. Affini culture. To be infected by it was to lose yourself. They would take your civilisation, take its art and its science, its thoughts and its dreams, and tear free the skin so that they could puppet its lifeless form in a vicious mockery of that which it had once been. The cities, the planets, the names of things would remain, but only one school of thought survived, and divergence was corrected with brutal efficiency.

And that, dear reader, was The Library.

A full paper copy of the Milky Way's fork of the greater Affini Records. The last memories of a hundred thousand species; of how varied they had been before the plants came and made them all the same. Though not every memory contained within would be a happy one, Grace didn't need to find happiness, just something smart.

She'd been a prodigy, once, by her people's standards. Graduating from the Linden Institute of the Sciences of Business Economic Philosophy in 2382, Grace been a gifted, talented engineer in a corporation desperately in need of new patents. Desperate enough, in fact, that Grace had found herself press-ganged into an experimental military hyperlight travel project, the Crashsnap drive. As far as Grace could tell, the project had been scoured from history so thoroughly that even the Affini had missed it. That was unfortunate, as the technology had worked, even if it had needed a lot of refinement, and it might have given humanity an edge in the war they hadn't known was inevitable.

But that wasn't the point.

The point was that the Affini had missed it. The Affini didn't know who she was, but Grace sure knew them. After twenty subjective years of temperospacial mismanagement that had taken Grace to every end of the galaxy, she had finally arrived back in her own civilisation armed with a warning: the infection was heading straight for them. Unfortunately, she'd arrived only to find she'd skipped a few decades too many and humanity had already fallen. Without forewarning, they'd never stood a chance.

There was nothing that Grace could do about that. Humanity's fate was already written, and also not her biggest concern.

The Affini were an extremely impolite precursor race. As far as Grace had been able to determine, there were very few other species that had the same degree of universal seniority. There were none interested in lending a hand. The Quot had ascended to a higher plane of existence long long ago (they took most of their planets with them, so finding an exact date was rather beyond Grace's amateur archaeology skills). She was pretty sure there had been at least one other ancient species resident in the Milky Way, but they'd gone dark the second the Affini had landed at the galactic rim and Grace couldn't even find a name. Whether they'd hidden, run, or already been infected was rather beside the point: one girl in an experimental subspace glider wasn't going to be the one to find a precursor race that didn't want to be found.

Unfortunately for the Milky Way, the Affini rarely saw serious resistance. They'd gotten into space early and assimilated the technology of literally countless civilisations. They were parasites, but very very good ones. They could hover just beyond a species' collective sight, preparing the perfect battle plans and developing potent chemical and cognitive weaponry, and only striking once they had every advantage. By the time anybody knew what was happening the war would already be won.

Even when, by chance or miracle or determination, a species saw the Affini Compact coming it did them little good. The hull of a modern Affini warship would absorb the force of any physical weapon a type two civilisation could bring to bear, and their mastery of hyperspacial technology meant that hypermetric weaponry was largely completely ineffective. The weapons that such a species would find pointed at them would likely be founded on scientific principles they hadn't even discovered, and to which they certainly would have no defence.

All that said, the Affini weren't indestructible. They made mistakes. They weren't omniscient. Most importantly, they were emotionally fragile if you knew where to hit them, and they could be baited into a bad decision. Even given that, since arriving back in Terran space Grace's investigations suggested that there had been one significant loss on the Affini side through the whole Terran war, and that was better than average fare.

The realities of large scale interstellar warfare weren't Grace's biggest concern either.

The Affini Records were openly accessible to any citizen of the Affini Compact, but becoming a citizen without being infected one way or another was essentially an impossibility. The only people with access to the information Grace needed wouldn't give it to her.

That had led Grace here, to The Library, because paper didn't require cultural subjugation to read and books didn't demand to see your owner before they'd open.

Here were the answers. Written records of every war, every battle, every tactic and technology. The memories of that which was already lost. Grace had been too late to save humanity, but if she could warn the universe what was coming for them then maybe the tide could still be turned. If the Affini's cultural narrative was forced to shift from being a carefree romp across the stars collecting new toys, to that of a hard-fought campaign where every astronomic unit was bought with sap, bark, and suffering, then maybe their resolve would break and they would finally fucking ꜱᴛᴏᴘ.

Getting the contents of The Library out to the universe was Grace's ultimate goal.

But it was not her biggest concern in the more immediate sense.

Her biggest concern was the Librarian.

The affini in question, like a majority of her kind, had firmly colonised the uncanny valley. Its humanoid body roiled with counter-rotating movements from a thousand independently squirming tentacles, all working together to fake a smile more reminiscent of a child's description than any real expression. It tilted towards Grace, body bulging and shifting in ways subtly yet fundamentally wrong. While at any given moment Grace could have paused the world and seen a realistic humanoid form, the ways it shifted between positions seemed to have little care for the anatomical limitations of the human form.

This was a creature who did not understand the details attempting to reproduce the aesthetic, and nothing more. She was a fine ambassador for her species.

“Good day, little one!” it spoke, lips just slightly out of sync with the words. Her voice boiled over with false enthusiasm, lilting and peaking like she expected Grace could be tricked so simply. “Are you new aboard? Can I see your library card?”

It extruded a limb, fingers morphing from floral flesh before Grace's very eyes. She dropped her library card into its grip, casually failing to make physical contact.

Grace was prepared for this, of course. Affini bureaucracy had almost been the end of her the first time she'd crashsnapped into their territory. To any species she'd met prior, an unidentified vessel with an unknown transponder format had been a prompt for curiosity and welcome. To the affini, it had been like blood to a Xa'ark.

The Librarian smiled, twirling the library card around her fingers until, in the blink of an eye, it vanished. Grace laughed, a silly little giggle as she looked up at the creature in amazement. “Wow! How'd you do that, Miss...?”

“Miss Hyoscyus, floret,” the creature sang in return, any remaining suspicion in her expression softening as she realised she was just dealing with a pet. The library card emerged from behind her ear, and Grace laughed again, pointing towards it in delight.

She had to.

When Grace had answered that first hail on her first visit to Affini-occupied space, her guard had been down and her expectations had been that any species that would make a friendly request for conversation would be doing so in good faith. The ensuing conversation had been refreshing, welcome. They'd told her she didn't have to worry any more, that they'd get her home, that she was safe now.

And she'd believed them.

Little had she known that by home, they had meant the home of the owner that had already claimed her as theirs. Little had she known that every aspect of that conversation, from the wording, to the voice, to the static crackling on the line, had been precisely arranged to cut through her emotional defence mechanisms and speak directly into her subconscious mind. She trusted the fuckers and she couldn't have stopped if she'd wanted to.

She still did.

Hyoscyus paused for but a moment, looking up the details stored on Grace's card. It would check out. Grace knew that it would check out. She had found out the hard way that there was no way around Affini infosecurity. The bureaucracy was, at large enough scales, sapient. It did not like being forged.

“Long way from home, sweetie?”

The gaze of an affini had a physical impact on those already attuned to their cursed patterns. Grace's ruminations crashed as her attention was forcibly placed back on the affini in front of her, while her cheeks instinctively, automatically flushed with the gratitude she felt at its attention. “Yes, Miss!” she replied, words spilling out on their own. After a point, it became impossible to lie to your affini. After a point, it became difficult enough to lie to any of them. “I always wanted to see the stars, so when I got the opportunity I ran. Jumped willingly into the waiting arms of the affini, in a sense.” She smiled, giving an embarrassed little shrug.

It was the truth. That was the only fucking way to lie to these things: tell them the truth and hope they didn't dig deep enough to notice which bits of the truth you were sharing.

The card was real. Grace something or other, First Floret, pet science buff and therefore authorised to look at the affini's picture-books.

The card had been blacklisted when she'd fled, of course.

That had been Grace's second experience of the Affini Compact. Armed with her knowledge from the first, she'd been more careful with her contact. She found that their information network was galaxy-wide only when they clocked her as a runaway a millisecond after her first radio transmission had been picked up, decrypted, and compared against their databases. She hadn't even been talking to them and she'd had a kilometer long cruiser breathing down her neck thirty seconds after requesting docking permission on a world under their 'protection'. They'd done something to space that stopped her standard jump drive from operating; her engines had immediately flamed out; and the computers had started to fritz. If the Snapcrash drive hadn't been entirely isolated, non-networked electronics then that probably would have been it for the story of Grace Saunters, independent Terran.

“Hmn. Well, everything looks good, though whoever handled your boarding forget to mark that down on your file. Don't worry, I've fixed that, and the ship will recognise you now, but you really should get your owner to sync your travel records in when you get back.” The Librarian smiled, holding the card out to her, presumably fully aware that her instruction was now encoded somewhere deep within Grace's mind. Joke was on her; Grace would absolutely tell her owner about this, but as far as she knew she was thousands of lightyears away and nowhere near fast enough to catch up.

The Librarian, thankfully ignorant to the latter part, waved Grace onwards. “Well, sweetheart, I just know you'll find whatever you're looking for here. Would you like any help? The Transhistorical Room of Record and Note can be a lot for most species to navigate!”

Grace let out a breath she hadn't quite realised she'd been holding. The Affini Cubeship network responsible for hauling information across the universe did so about as efficiently as was possible given the limitations of their faster-than-light travel technology. Crashsnapping might not have been a safe, sane, or comfortable way to travel, and the relativistic effects certainly were a head-screw, but it appeared that she had been right to hope that she could race the knowledge of her domestication home and win.

She smiled a wide, honest smile. “No, I'm good, Miss! I've been waiting a long time to get here and I'm happy to take my time. Why would I be in a rush, right?” She grinned, before taking back her card and wandering into the main body of the library.

As she crossed the boundary, Grace and the ship both let out a long breath. The ground itself slipped beneath her feet, rolling a few degrees to one side before managing to recover a moment later. The bookshelves shook, straining under the pressure of existence. The Yimaia wasn't going to be getting any new mail this close to a black hole. For the moment, Grace still had time on her side.

At the entrance the bookshelves were orderly. Great corridors of wood and ink streaked through a room that was likely larger than any spaceworthy Terran vessel that had ever been. The carrier itself was gargantuan, hundreds of kilometers tall, wide, and deep, with vast swathes of space given over to the hundreds of docking bays scattered across the hull. As far as Grace could tell with her admittedly limited understanding of military doctrine, the Yimaia operated as a mobile home for thousands of smaller vessels. Yet, any one of those vessels could likely have fit within the confines of the space allocated to The Library, or, she supposed, to the Transhistorical Room of Record and Note.

Grace picked one corridor at random to wander on down, keeping her eyes peeled for labels or placards, an filing system or a decimal organisation scheme. After several minutes of fruitless searching, two facts struck Grace at once. Firstly, she had not seen a single sign of anything resembling organisation or directions, and secondly, that while the corridor had been a single unbroken line with neither chance to change paths nor opportunity to stray from this one, she was quite firmly lost.

Fuck.

Grace had come prepared, thankfully. She likely knew more about the affini's tricks than anybody outside the Compact itself. Even so she felt a tightness in her chest begin to clutch. Several minutes spent walking backwards confirmed it, as Grace arrived right back where she had started. Shit. She was already stuck in a trap.

Grace shrugged off her backpack, setting it carefully on the ground so she could do a little unpacking. It was the work of moments to locate and extract her favourite multi-tool, buried just deep enough to evade curious eyes, and set it to start mapping out the area. The front of her stolen companion dress proved an excellent place to clip it securely, where it could track her movements. Though they were silent and invisible, Grace knew that rapid laser pulses were now painting the area around her, letting the device keep track of its location in an objective manner, unaffected by any of Grace's cognitive weaknesses.

How had she gotten lost already? All she'd done was walk down a corridor. Grace remembered drifting off for a moment, and then the next thing she knew she was realising that she was lost. Maybe she'd walked for more than a few minutes between those points. Grace looked around, trying to find some sign of where exactly she was, but there were no landmarks to be seen. The bookshelves were far more than a dozen meters tall here, stretching up as far as her eyes could see, joined by criss-crossing walkways strewn about the metaphorical sky seemingly at random.

No, not at random at all, Grace realised, shifting position just barely to bring the walkways into alignment. They formed a pattern, visible only from precisely where she stood. Grace squinted upwards, eyes flicking from construct to construct, trying to derive the the logic of an alien architect and finding it at once both inscrutable and transparent.

There was an intent to it, to how the pathways flowed together and branched apart in a dance that pulled Grace's eyes along for the ride. They swirled back and forth, up and down, leaping through space in ways that made her feel as if the reasoning behind it all were just on the tip of her tongue, like an unremembered word that yearned to be spoken, like—

Grace slapped herself, squeezed shut her eyes, and thought of those little hotdogs she used to devour while working in the remote OCNI office back in her youth. They were cheap, obviously, as was most food you could find on a military moon, but there was something about them that she'd been craving now for twenty years. They had been awful, legitimately so, they tasted cheap and the texture was not quite entirely unlike any other hotdog she'd ever tasted, but the full package just satisfied some dumb animal instinct in her head. She'd eaten far too many of them, and yet if Grace could go back, she'd eat far more.

She took a deep breath, letting her head fill with the petty mourning for something that had been unappreciated in her past and could never be found again. The memories of moments just past drowned under the weight of unresolvable regrets, growing indistinct enough that Grace could open her eyes without falling right back into trance.

“Oh, aren't you fun?”

The voice came from directly behind, as if spoken straight into her ear. Grace took a sharp breath, spinning in place, and stepped backwards.

There was nobody there. Just shelf after shelf of jauntily organised paperwork rising as high as the eye could see. Books bound in bark, fabric, leather, even tomes of loose pages tied together with little lengths of string. But no people, and books didn't talk.

“I thought something felt off about you, little one.”

It was the Librarian's voice, Grace realised, heartrate spiking. Where was its voice coming from? Just, ambiguously behind, no matter how Grace turned. Hell. Why had she been naive enough to believe the Affini would actually just build a sodding library without turning it into another one of their mind mazes? “Oh! Where are you, Miss?” Grace asked, channelling her innocence while secretly hoping to stall for time.

The laugh that echoed was a beautiful thing. Like gentle music drifting past on a warm summer's breeze, but reflected by the spines of a thousand books. Grace found that happy warmth welling up in her too, escaping her with a smile. The tight grip of stress lightened, carried away on the wind. All the more, as the Librarian continued to speak. “Worry not, sweet little creature, you're never far from an affini here. We wouldn't let you go unsupervised, after all, would we?. Your safety is our responsibility, and you're safe. Aren't you, dear? Tell me you're safe.”

”...I'm safe,” Grace whispered, feeling a warm summer gust lift her spirits and carry them away.

“Yes, that's right. You're safe. There's a good girl. There's a safe girl.” The Librarian paused a moment for Grace's smile to grow, and for the gentle warmth to flow from her chest up to her head. She blushed, shifting slightly on her feet with tingles building all across her body. “Yes, that's it. Listen to my voice, you small sweet thing, and forget all the worries you might want to think. I'll let you know how best to fill that mind of yours, so stand, and smile, and listen to me speak.”

Grace blinked, movements lethargic, unsure of where to look. She settled on staring at the cover of a particularly wide tome, eyes a little too unfocused to read the name, as her head slowly lilted to one side and her smile grew soft and wide.

“First, why don't you be a good creature and let me know what you're doing here. So that I can help. That would be okay, wouldn't it? Whatever it is, it would be so much easier with my help. You'd be ever so grateful to not be alone in this, wouldn't you? So speak up, sweetie.”

Shit. Fuck. Okay. Grace, entirely unworried, leisurely ran through a checklist she'd scanned so many times that she could recite it word for word without needing to think at all. Was she doing something that seemed out of character for her? Maybe. It wasn't easy to be sure. Grace wasn't used to feeling safe, but this was the end of her journey, and so a sense of safety alone was hardly evidence of manipulation. No checkmark there.

Had she stopped working towards her goals? Definitely no check there. Miss Hyoscyus would help her, and that would make everything so much easier. Kind of an anti-check there, she supposed, with a quiet smile. She was so grateful not to be alone in this.

Was she thinking positive thoughts about an affini?

Ah, fiddlesticks. That she was. Grace needed only one check on her checklist before she'd promised herself she'd assume she'd somehow been mentally compromised, whether she could tell how or not. That was the rule. If she allowed herself any shades of grey, she'd happily sell herself into slavery just because one of these things told her to.

Grace's hard fought rules for dealing with unwanted alien enthralment: – if u fail any of the checks, follow the rules regardless of how much you think it isn't necessary. Do so until you are safe, alone, and certain that you are no longer failing any of the checks. If there's room for doubt, you're compromised. Don't argue with me on this, future Grace. – If you can, reach out to a trusted third party who is unlikely to have fallen to the same compulsion you have and do exactly as they say. Do not question or argue, because that's exactly what the thing that compromised you will want. – If you can't find a trusted figure, do what you can to follow the plan on your own. Trust nobody, just focus on the next task, even if you no longer think it's a good idea. – If you're blocked from progressing on the next task on your own, try to identify and remove whatever is blocking you. – If you can't find the roadblock, try to find and remove the source of the mental compromise. This is the most dangerous fallback option, but the affini are apex predators and may not always leave you a safe way out. Be careful. If running will save you, then run.

The first option seemed the safest, and the most reasonable by far. The nearest trusted third party would be the Librarian, right? The plan was clear on that, she should reach out and do exactly as she was told, and any attempt to convince herself that was a bad idea would just be further evidence that Grace was compromised and shouldn't be listened to.

“Um, Miss Hyoscyus?” Grace interrupted, glancing around but still not spotting the affini. “I think something is messing with my head and I don't trust my own judgement right now. I know this is a lot to ask, but I trust you, so could you tell me what to do?”

The affini chuckled, laughter echoing off of every shelf and every book to form a beautiful cacophony of sound that was almost, but not quite, overwhelming. “Of course I can, you poor sweet creature. Just stay right where you are and listen close to my words, okay?”

Grace nodded quickly. She wasn't to question or argue. That was exactly what whatever had compromised her would want. It would reduce her effectiveness so that she could be captured. She should stay right here and listen.

“Yes, that's right, just like that. When all else seems so hard and confusing, just listen to your Librarian and let me organise all that information for you. Now, like anything in my collection, I need to know where to put you. Answer my question. Why are you here, Grace?”

Grace smiled, despite the tension of her situation. The Librarian had such a pretty voice that made her want to do just as it said. She was excited to follow the instruction, even. If it weren't for her Librarian, she would have been compromised with nowhere to turn. She was so grateful to not be alone. “There's information here I need,” she explained. “Records of all the species the affini have subjugated. If I can smuggle it out, then I can broadcast it, warn everyone about the affini. Maybe it'll help them fight, when the time comes.”

“Oh, such a good girl you are!” Miss Hyoscyus replied, voice dripping with the same condescending sap as every other affini. They were all like that, thinking that they were above the other creatures of the universe just because they happened to be strong enough to enforce their ideology. It was infuriating, insulting, and ultimately toxic to free society.

Normally, anyway. It was a good look on Miss Hyoscyus.

After a few seconds spent with Grace basking in the warm glow of her praise, the plant giggled to itself. The sound seemed to come from all around. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. “That is a wonderfully novel story and I will gladly add it to my library. I'll be with you in just a few minutes, dear. You walked rather far before doing anything... interesting, so it'll take me some time to catch up to you. While you're standing there waiting for me, why don't you be a good girl and get that soft, silly little head of yours nice and wrapped up in that adoration you're already feeling, and think about how you'll greet me when I get there? That's right. Good girl.”

Grace let out a deep, uneven breath as she thought about how pretty and wonderful the Librarian was. She took in a deeper one, letting her smile grow wide as the warmth of adoration flooded her. How odd, that only here at the end of her journey would Grace find the one helpful affini who would help her take down the Affini! What a stroke of luck! She didn't need to worry about a thing. It would all be sorted for her now. It—

Something deep within Grace twitched. Something about this didn't seem right. Wasn't that all a little convenient? That the affini she would find here would be the only one to be perfect, beautiful, and wonderful? Her rules started with the assumption that having positive thoughts about an affini was reason to be suspicious, but admittedly she hadn't actually needed to use the rules directly against an affini before. Against their devices, yes, or their architecture, absolutely, but one of the creatures themselves?

Grace had been told to think about how she would greet Miss Hyoscyus, and her mind grew exponentially more insistent that she obey the longer that she remained distracted. She focused on her orders. Most of Grace longed to fall to her knees and weep into the plant, so bursting with gratitude over her struggles finally being over that she would break and beg to be hers, and this was obviously the only reasonable choice to be made. She could stop thinking about it now, the decision was made.

But, for the sake of argument, she supposed it would be most obedient of her to take the question very seriously indeed. She had several minutes and nothing to do with them but think about Miss Hyoscyus. How else could she greet the alien?

Grace's usual pattern would be to greet her with absence, having already long since fled, but that was for other affini, not this one. Besides, she'd been told to stay put. She could try fighting, she supposed, but obviously such a powerful and wonderful creature would defeat her trivially. Grace really should just wait here, maybe prepare her tissues. Perhaps rehearse the words with which she would beg be to taken?

That said.

Miss Hyoscyus had been clearly impressed with Grace's ability to break out of an architecturally-induced trance state, so clearly she must enjoy watching somebody more capable than the average Affini slave. Therefore, it would be most impressive, Grace reasoned, to greet her new owner with a happy, proud Grace who had broken free of whatever mental compulsion was overwhelming her senses. That made the most sense. She could still do the whole falling to her knees and breaking thing, but it would be even better this way, because, though Grace knew full well that she would be doing it of her own free will, what if Miss Hyoscyus worried that she was too compromised to consent?

Grace shivered. No, she had to make sure that when she surrendered herself, her affini had no reason to turn her down. She had to escape from whatever mental compromise had been forced upon her.

That would require figuring out how it worked, though. Grace glanced around, eyes only half-focused, being careful where she put the full weight of her attention. There was nothing to be found but books and shelves; nothing that looked the slightest bit technological or even purely decorative.

Just books, all in a row sitting on their shelves, each slightly disorganised with the spines all at slightly different depths, all at slightly disjoint angles, each bound in a different material or a different style, as befitting a library that had stolen from a million worlds.

Grace pursed her lips, finding herself staring at a volume that she couldn't seem to bring into focus even when she tried. This wouldn't be the first time that she'd been caught in a cognitohazardous trap composed of dozens of tiny little factors, each individually irrelevant yet which combined to overwhelm her frail human mind. Like an autostereogram, except instead of seeing a hidden image, you'd think a hidden thought.

Unfortunately for the continued freedom of the human race, that was what the affini were best at, and the reason why they were such an unstoppable plague grinding the galaxy beneath their roots. Their mastery of cognition was unparalleled, and they waged war through learning each individual species so deeply that they would find every weaknesses in their biology so that each could be ruthlessly exploited.

It was horrifying, except for if Miss Hyoscyus did it, and then it would be beautiful.

Grace wandered over to the nearest bookshelf and selected one of the Librarian's books, reverently slipping it free of the shelf and—

“Fuck,” she swore, flinging the book to the floor before, acting on thoughtless instinct, rapidly tearing the rest of the shelf down with it. Stars above but she had a headache. What kind of masochistic fucking affini built a mental compulsion out of the pattern of books arranged on a shelf?

“Language, dear,” the Librarian purred.

Grace knew better than to expect her to actually be there. She must have a minute or two remaining on the clock, but she span around regardless, just in case. To her dismay, the Librarian was very much present, sauntering around the corner with the superior smile of a predator that had yet to learn why it shouldn't play with its food.

As the affini noticed the books strewn around Grace's position, however, she paused, stupid false eyebrows twisting in a mockery of human expression. The smile didn't waver. “Oh. Isn't that interesting. You are a first.” Her eyes flicked up to meet Grace's. “If you wish to kneel and repent regardless, we can just pretend you're still compelled.”

The attention and words hit with almost physical force. Something deep within longed for precisely that, and suddenly Grace's body felt so very heavy. Perhaps it was just the gravity, or maybe she was feeling the weight of decades of struggle. Either way, her knees begged her for permission to kneel.

“Fuck you.” Grace scrambled for her bag, grabbing a small metal device she kept in one of the more easily accessible pockets shaped vaguely like an old powder gun, though made of some metal she couldn't quite remember the name of. The handle didn't quite match the aesthetic of the rest, as if it had been a later addition, though Grace had acquired it already modified. “Step back, weed. I don't have many charges left in this, but it'll only take one to kill you, and I'm a damn good shot. I wouldn't take my chances if I were you.”

The Librarian, to her credit, hurriedly took a step back, raising her hands in a half-hearted gesture of ceasefire. “Now, where did a little Terran like you get a Xa'atian pulsethrower?” she asked, sounding more fascinated than intimidated. She let her hands fall, though did not move to approach. “You're wrong, as an aside. It would likely take three, maybe four charges to kill me. We've rolled out some changes to our bodies since that particular pacification.” Her eyes flicked over Grace's body, then back up to meet her gaze. “Oh, but you didn't know that. Interesting. Where did you get that silly little thing, sweetie?”

“I'm not telling you shi—”

The Librarian laughed, squashing Grace's curse before she could even finish it. “Cutie, I've been cold reading adorable little creatures like you for thirty blooms. You've already told me what I wanted to know. You really are outclassed, dear. Do not threaten a predator in its hunting grounds. I don't know yet how you have in your possession a relic that should not still exist, but you will tell me, and you will tell me how you were able to escape my little trap, and then you will beg me to prevent you from repeating it so that you can be mine. I'm a 'damn good' caretaker. I wouldn't take my chances, if I were you.” Her smile grew sharper, exposing a few jagged thorns, and Grace couldn't help but believe every word she spoke.

Miss Hyoscyus's grin turned vicious. “Yes, that's right, little one. Whatever trickery you used to escape my books was a cute trick, but that's all it was. You trust me, now. Even knowing that I'm making you trust me. You don't want to fight, do you, sweet, helpless pet to be?” Her smirk twisted as she watched Grace's expression falter. “Good girl. You can try to want to fight, but we both know that isn't how this goes. Now. Good pets don't use weapons. Give that little toy to me. I'll keep it safe.” She held out her hand, having brought only a beautiful smile to a gun fight, and waited expectantly. Good pets didn't use weapons. Grace clicked on the safety, flipped the device around in her hand, and offered the—

Hang on. Good pets didn't use weapons, but according to Miss Hyoscyus, Grace was only a pet to be. Logically speaking, Grace was meant to use a gun.

“Oh my stars will you fucking stop doing that?” Grace swore, reversing her actions and putting a pulse of roiling purple energy right into the Librarian's center of mass. How many shots was this meant to take? Did she have four remaining? Grace couldn't read Xa'at, so the readout was useless to her, but hopefully she had four shots.

Just the one had left a mighty burn. The sound was still echoing through the halls. For a moment, Grace met the affini's eyes of her own volition, noting with no small amount of pride the fear clear on the 'predator's face. Grace was enjoying this.

But she was under no illusions here. Being able to kill one plant, in a situation she'd planned and prepared for, and even then only through its overconfidence, wouldn't turn the tide of a pan-galactic war. She had to finish this quickly and get back on task.

Grace again thumbed the actuator. The device thrummed with the release of stored energy, throwing another burst of flash-frozen fire to the same spot, right above the creature's core. This time it was thrown to the ground, so Grace took a moment to adjust her aim, and fired again. The implacable scent of devastated plantlife filled the air. Her target had said that three shots might kill, but four would make sure of it.

Grace fired again, and— Nothing happened. Grace swore, trying again, and then gave the gun a good whack in the hopes she would knock something free. The unreadable display that had presumably once been useful to somebody winked out. Battery depleted, and for all Grace knew, there were no replacements anywhere in the universe.

The creature was at least distracted for the moment, beating out the fires that were freezing every inch of its body. There did appear to be real damage. Regrettably, it was still moving, and Grace knew better than to expect these things to die from their wounds.

Slowing the affini down wouldn't be enough, but there was no reason to stick around and make things easy for it. Grace took the opportunity to flee.

As she ran, her mind raced ahead of her, scouring her experience and research for what might very suddenly become vital information to have. She was trapped inside a maze of literature with no clear understanding of how to escape it, but far more importantly, neither did she know where to find the information she sought. She wouldn't get a second chance, this was it. She couldn't leave empty handed. There was nowhere left to go.

Grace kept her eyes against the floor. Each time she came to a break in the path she reached for her multi-tool, generated a random direction, and then headed that way. The average affini was an expert at applied psychology, and Grace got the impression that this one in particular was at least a few cuttings above the average. She had little doubt that the Librarian could predict her own attempts at random turns, but a computer had many fewer cognitive weak points.

Grace was a prey animal and she knew it. Back on old Terra, salmon hadn't dared directly confront the equines that preyed upon them, because a prey animal wasn't going to beat its predator at their own game. The same principle had kept Grace safe for twenty years. To her predator, Grace's mind was barely more than an interesting toy, and she was under no illusion that any strength of will or determination would make a difference.

After long minutes of running, movements became sloppy and legs grew tired. Rather than risk tripping and ruining her whole plan by leaving signs of her passing, Grace slowed to an easy jog before ducking into a small reading den nestled between two banks of shelves. She'd passed many on the way, and this bore no clear sign of being unique or special in any way. There was a privacy curtain, but closing it would have been a dead giveaway. Besides, the only way anybody could spot her in here was if they happened to be walking down the exact right aisle, and if the Librarian could track her that far, then hiding here wouldn't do her much good.

The worst part about dealing with the affini was knowing how loudly each of their words would resonate. Grace collapsed backwards into the large plush seating, finally acquiescing to the pleading of her knees. She shrugged off her backpack, then pushed it to another seat, and then unclipped her multitool from her dress and placed it on the opposite chair. Finally, she allowed herself to relax, sinking into the soft, deep seating with a silent sigh of relief.

Her ears tingled, skittish, as she listened for any sign of the creature having followed her, but mercifully heard only her own breath and the gentle rustle of fabric on fabric as she moved.

This was the Librarian's hunting grounds, and the only way prey could survive in a hunting grounds was to stay invisible and hidden. Unfortunately, that wasn't a viable long term plan. Grace had supplies sufficient to hide for many days, perhaps even a week or two, but Grace knew full well that if she were still here in a week it would be on a leash.

She choked down a nervous laugh and began to very carefully remember the events of a few minutes prior. This was her first direct confrontation with an affini, and if she wanted to survive the next, she had some learning to do.

Strength of will hadn't even been relevant. The moment the Librarian had ensnared her, Grace had fallen in love and could think of nothing but how to please her. Grace knew full well that she was smart, driven, and stubborn, but none of that was an adequate defence against love.

The gentle smile on Grace's face froze, then dropped. The Librarian was definitely a step above average. Her compulsions were still present, if weaker, even when all Grace was doing was remembering what it had been like to be under her spell. Perhaps it would be best for Grace to just do her best to avoid thinking about it, but one of the many cognitive weaknesses the human mind bore was the difficulty of not thinking about something important.

Besides, Grace thought, with a sigh, if the Librarian were as good as she claimed to be then Grace suspected that her dreams would be of nothing but her, and that they would gradually enthral her no matter how perfectly careful Grace was with her waking hours. She mentally revised her timeline down, giving herself three days to be in and out before she would no longer want to leave. Even then, she'd need to spend a month deprogramming before she could trust herself again, if she ever could.

Fucking affini. Fucking weeds. Not satisfied with merely conquering the universe, they needed their slaves to believe this was a blessing, too. It wasn't enough to destroy every civilisation but theirs, they needed to be thanked for it as well. It was an effective strategy. The vast majority of what humanity had become would sooner fight Grace to stop her from achieving her goals than they would agree the Affini had any ethical issues whatsoever, and for that unlucky third who had become pets there was no hope at all. Nobody came back from that.

Grace kept a leaflet in her backpack that she liked to turn to whenever she was feeling helpless in the face of the forces arrayed against her. The concepts didn't quite cleanly translate into her native tongue, but for all the criticism she gave the affini even she had to admit that when they put their understanding of cognition to good use, they did create wonders. The Common/Simplified/Floret/Visual-Symbol-Encoding constructed 'language' was one of those wonders.

When Grace had first picked the leaflet up, it had been like trying to read a foreign language. The words didn't make sense, but it felt like there was a common root somewhere. The second time she read it, it was like the letters were rearranging themselves before her eyes to produce something she could understand as easily as her own language, albeit coloured by her own understanding and beliefs.

The wording was simple, reliant mostly on universal concepts, and so there was no room for names, nouns, or nuance. As Grace learned the 'intended' translation of a set of concepts, her reading naturally erred towards it, but even in the absence of that the work was illuminating on its own merits.

'Help! My friend is a feralist! What do I do?' was a three-page leaflet describing with astonishing honesty the impossibility of resisting the Affini war machine, written to be a self-help book for a pet, or pet-to-be, who wanted to feel reassured that their former allies would lose their independence.

Worry is unnecessary, floret. You may have suffered from [individualism/free will/feralism] yourself once, or you may always have known you were a [toy/slave/floret/pet]. Either way, it is important to recognise that only your own feelings are under your control, because you can not change the feelings of others. An affini is not like you. The affini are the natural [rulers/owners/conquerors/saviours] of the universe and have both the understanding and [power/capability/lack of ethical restraint] to simply grab all those pesky [disagreements/ethics/principles] out of your head and whisk them away. If you needed some help to [find your purpose/learn your place], then remember, the same gift will be given to all. If you were clever enough to recognise [affini superiority/the hopelessness of struggle/the peace of enthralment] on your own, then simply focus on what you already know. The affini are here to [break/save] everybody. Do not worry about helping with your friend. Already, Affini cognitoengineers will be building [structures/restraints] in their minds that will render it impossible for them to [resist/fight/hate/hurt] and make sure they love their owner just as much as you love Miss Hyoscyus.

Grace flinched away from the paper as if it were threatening to burst into iceflame. Her eyes remained fixed on the final sentence as it fluttered down to the softly carpeted floor, her heart racing the whole time. Fuck. Grace could feel the little flush of warmth prompted when her mind had taken in the vague bundle of universal concepts that had once approximated to your owner and then immediately jumped to the growing tangle of love and adoration growing through her mind like a cancer.

She revised her timeline down again. Grace had today. Grace had to be off of this ship and far, far away. Far enough away that she couldn't ever get back here, so that when, not if, she became hers there was nothing she could do but suffer the heartbreak. Her rules might help Grace wiggle out of the first few stages of enthralment, but she knew full well that they would only work in the grey areas. Even then, only if the thing trying to influence her wasn't expecting them, and so couldn't simply brush them aside. They were just a trick. They wouldn't save her.

Grace closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to focus. The clock was ticking and she had no time to waste.

The multitool was a small handheld device roughly the size and shape of a juice box, but dotted with sensors, emitters, and a wide variety of ports and connectors. It had been active since the moment Grace had realised she was lost, mapping out her every step and recording every moment. Hopefully being able to go over her path in more detail would help figure out the library's organisation scheme, or at least give some hints as to how she might discover it. The same laser imaging module responsible for creating the high-detail 3d map of the world around her caught a motion of Grace's hand and passed it to the device's input layer, which dutifully began projecting a simplified map onto the far wall.

The representation was far from perfect. The edges of each row were fuzzy and uneven, and the scale seemed to vary from place to place. While the sensors were more than capable of producing a high quality model, a perfect reproduction of an affini cognitohazard would simply be another cognitohazard. The software intentionally fuzzed the inputs at every stage, washing the cognitive engineering out one step at a time. The end result was a blurry, low quality image that achieved the goal of being a usable map while minimising the risk of being infected by more affini brainworms.

...unless the design of the entire library was one giant trap for a fragile and easily manipulated mind, but would the Affini really go to that much trouble?

Grace sighed, gestured over to the side, and half the map faded into darkness as an artificial fog of war imposed itself over the design. Of course the affini would do that. That was exactly the kind of thing the affini would do, because they were a bored precursor race desperately seeking entertainment by treating everybody weaker than them like toys.

Grace let out a breath she hadn't noticed herself holding and began to sketch out a plan. Thankfully, luck was on her side: she wasn't looking for one specific thing; the records of any conflict would serve her purposes. The more that she could find, the better, of course, but the intended recipients of her message wouldn't know any of these species anyway and so she had no reason to seek the outcome of any one particular war.

Even better, she wasn't entirely stuck with a random search. Grace had picked up enough Affini words that she could probably muddle her way through. All she had to focus on was staying in the shadows, away from—

Grace glanced out of the hideaway in alarm as a loud hiss echoed down from far above.

“Is this thing on?” the Librarian asked. Grace winced as the rustling of leaves against a microphone proved loud enough to trigger a feedback loop that quickly left the bookshelves trembling sympathetically. After a few moments of ear-piercing scream the sound cut off, only to return once the echoes had faded. “Yes! Apparently so. Spectacular. Apologies about that, I'm honestly somewhat of a technophobe. It's hard to hear yourself think over this racket, isn't it?”

The plant laughed at its own joke.

“Anyway, I am not quite sure where you went, little one. Be a good girl and do something to show me where you are, hmn?”

The multi-tool could do that, Grace supposed. The laser array could be focused within a fairly wide range, so it would only be the work of a few moments to shift its frequency into the visible range. She could tighten up the scan cone, then point it to the sky and render a big red arrow pointing right towards her.

A few well practiced hand gestures brought up the programming interface, and a few more began setting parameters. Scan rate, infill, update frequency. If she tasked half the emitters to work below the visible spectrum, and the other half to work above, she could force some destructive interference where the lasers met and appear to be drawing in mid air. After a moment of consideration, she dialled the settings far higher than they would need to be simply to make the illusion work for human eyes, because she wasn't sure if affini eyes had a wider range.

As idle thought, Grace ran through her checklist, looking for signs of mental compulsion. It was a habit at this point. Well, if she was honest with herself, it was basically a compulsion of its own, and she was almost constantly running through it in her head, second guessing her every move. If there were any remaining therapists who believed in approaches more complicated than “Have you asked your owner about this?” then Grace suspected they would not approve, but mental health was a luxury she could ill afford.

She absent-mindedly amended her rules, noting that, in the case of cognitive compromise, her trusted individual should under no circumstances be an affini, and then as an afterthought decided that her current task was firmly out of character for her. As a rule, Grace stayed as far away from the Affini as humanly possible, so bringing one right to her seemed pretty unjustifiable, as actions went.

She gave a contented grunt as she executed her program and the multi-tool began projecting a flickering red arrow, straight up. It was a very small one, because she was still inside of the reading nest, but the programming was designed to measure out the available height and adjust its projection accordingly. As soon as it was taken outside, it would scale the arrow up and the Librarian would be led right to her. A quiet flush of warmth brought a smile to Grace's face, knowing that doing just that would make her the good girl she'd always wanted to be.

Something, however felt off. Obviously there was the fact that her mind was being toyed with to impose a desire on her that she didn't want to have, and further, that following her orders would compromise her entire reason for being here and ultimately her fundamental personhood would be reduced to being the plaything of an alien creature, but that didn't feel like a very compelling reason to not follow the command, if Grace was being honest with herself.

It should have. She knew that too. She really should have cared that she didn't care. This was clearly Affini trickery, using exactly the same tools they employed to turn every species they came across into toys, and was exactly the thing that Grace was here to fight against.

But.

Y'know.

That wasn't a very compelling argument against it, was the thing. It felt like being told that those cheap old hotdogs had been bad for her just because they were cheap calories and while eating them she'd put on an embarrassing amount of weight. It was true, Grace acknowledged it. She just also valued the joy she got from the hotdogs more in the moment than she valued her long-term health. She had never claimed that it was a good decision, only that the bad decision was far more appealing. She wasn't made out of stone.

It was the same here. That bringing the Librarian to her was a bad decision was so obvious that it felt almost trite to admit to herself, and yet she valued that bad decision infinitely more than her long term independence.

Grace reached into her pack and fished around for a small, ratty notebook. Much like Grace herself, it looked surprisingly good for a relic from the 2300s. It had taken the same temporal path she had, so admittedly it was really only about twenty years old, but even that was old for a notebook. She fetched her pencil and began to scribble down some notes about her experiences here for research purposes.

“Be a good girl and do something to show me where you are.” – ♥ Miss Hyoscyus ♥

She smiled as she copied her command down, taking time to get the quotation marks looking all floral, to use her best handwriting, and to put a few hearts around Miss Hyoscyus's name as she did. Then, she started to break it down.

As far as commands went, “Be a good girl” was surprisingly tricky. It was clear and firm, but what exactly it meant was rather more ambiguous. Grace flipped back through her notebook until she found some notes she'd taken the year before.

On Affini Cognitoengineering and Intent date unknown, i think we're in the 2430s Terran time?

i got a floret talking at one of the local salt bars. Poor thing's head was so scrambled that even i could trap it in a logical contradiction and squeeze a few honest answers out of it before its affini noticed anything was wrong. So, take all this with a pinch of freshwater, future me, but who could be better to ask about this stuff than a former psychologist with first hand experience of getting its head turned inside out, right? They were a kind of fish person, though, so maybe be careful with how you interpret this. anyway. point is. uh, they kind of split things into two distinct 'kinds' of manipulation: 'intent' and 'interpretation'? their owner is one of the city planners and apparently they mostly use 'intentful' manipulation, where, uh, however they do the 'programming' carries its own semantics? Like, as a trivial example, the posters dotted around encouraging everyone to go get their medical checkups are designed to force everyone (at least the fish people, thankfully doesn't work on humans (yet?)) who passes by who hasn't had a recent checkup in the last ten tides to acknowledge the importance of regular healthchecks for catching illnesses early and getting updated medicinal guidance it's actually pretty subtle, apparently? like, these posters are only found in the quote unquote 'independent' sections of the city (because the slaves will just be taken by their owners? or is that what the surgeries are for?) and the compulsion isn't persistent, it just makes them acknowledge the importance in the moment and then lets them move on

Grace wrinkled her nose and flipped her pencil around, erasing the word 'slaves' and replacing it with 'pets'.

in comparison, the whole city is dotted with these little water conditioning units that pull in the leftover pollution from the war and emit this bloody awful scent that apparently everyone else on this planet agrees smells subtle but amazing. That is because the chemical it's pushing out is an 'interpreted' manipulation, where the payload is a fast acting and long-lasting compulsion to believe that the scent makes you happy, but also that you don't really notice it unless somebody points it out or you need a pick-me-up. That one doesn't work on humans either. Unfortunately. It smells like fishy ass.

Grace paused, glanced up, took a deep breath, then let it out with a smile and a happy sigh. She'd been wondering what that scent 'should' have smelled like for years, and she figured this ship was probably doing the same thing with a blend that actually worked on the human mind too. It was... nice? Kind of indescribable. She probably wouldn't have noticed the scent at all if she hadn't pointed it out to herself, but it was good. Reminded her of... Grace wasn't sure exactly, but something that was comfortable and happy.

The upshot is, though, right, that intentful manipulation is a lot more dangerous. If you get hit with that then sorry, you're done, you just got your brain rewired to think exactly what some fucking plant wants you to think and if they don't choose to let you go at the end then you won't even realise you ever wanted it. But. By that same token, even the affini are much more careful with that? If you just blanket tell everybody in a city to go do a medical checkup then you're probably going to kill somebody, because your intent will overwrite theirs and if they had good reasons for not doing that checkup right now then tough shit to them. Apparently they can work around that, make the manipulation more complicated and full of caveats, and that's most of the job of city management, but the same problems basically apply. Even the affini can't think of everything, at least not for a species they don't have a few centuries of experience with. Plus, they aren't magic, all of this shit is just exploiting squishy brain weirdness and you can't pack more information into a visual cognitohazard than somebody's eyes can actually see for example. So, intentful is mostly for, like, specific, bespoke, targeted stuff. Apparently that's pretty routine, like most of the 'vets' around here will just drop you as part of the appointment, they don't care about how much of a fucking violation it is anyway. Interpreted manipulation is way more common, because it piggybacks on somebody's existing understandings and so basically gets all the nuance for free. This is, uh, like old school stage hypnosis but cranked all the way up like it's some kind of saturday morning cartoon. Mechanically way simpler, it doesn't have to explain what all the concepts mean so there's much more room to have complicated compulsions, with the caveat that it's best to keep the concepts universal to avoid the risk of misunderstandings. Important note: all of this is subconscious!! you can't trick it by pretending words mean things to you that they don't, but you can find legitimate alternative interpretations so long as they actually make sense to you!! this is actually kind of intentional apparently, so that people don't realise they're being compelled by being forced into an interpretation of something that isn't the one that makes the most sense to them.

Grace flipped pages until she returned to the modern day and pondered. What did being a good girl mean, exactly? She'd had enough exposure to Affini culture at this point that she was pretty sure that usually meant a dumb, happy, simple creature entirely incapable of taking care of themselves or having any goals more complicated than getting a hug. So, that interpretation made no sense, because Miss Hyoscyus wanted her to do something pretty complicated. Instead, she probably had a personal understanding of what it meant. “Be a good girl for me”, as in, be the kind of person that Miss Hyoscyus thought was 'good'. Obviously the Librarian liked a bit of cleverness and guile, and any good girl of hers would hardly be helpless or simple.

Though, Grace noted, that would make the command impossible to follow if she interpreted it literally. She didn't know what her Librarian wanted with any real confidence, so the only reasonable way to interpret the sentence was as a whole. “Be a good girl and”, et cetera et cetera. The only information she had on the subject of being a good girl for Miss Hyoscyus was that she should be clever, and she should do something to let the plant know where she was, and she legitimately could not read anything more than that into it the command.

So far, so good. Grace scribbled down her analysis and moved on. The second part of the command was much more—she flipped back a few pages to check her terminology—direct, but clearly still interpreted. There was little reason for Miss Hyoscyus use an intentful manipulation here, as Grace obviously knew what all of those words meant and the sentence as a whole was crystal clear but also very open, so that she could execute her orders in whatever way made the most sense to her. It was a clever order to give, because regardless of where Grace was hiding or what tools she had available she would still be compelled to achieve obey however she could.

It did leave some gaps, however. She could, for example, delay proceedings by taking ten minutes to make absolutely sure she was understanding the command correctly while listening to cheap Jovian voidcrash on her earbuds at a reasonable but entirely isolating volume. Grace hated thinking in silence, so listening to Hypermetric Titansmasher's self-titled first album was definitely obedient.

Grace hummed in satisfaction, then drew a line back to the first half of the command. Clever, she thought. While she knew almost nothing about what it meant to be Miss Hyoscyus's good girl, she could still be pretty sure about several things which wouldn't count. Delaying indefinitely, for example, definitely wouldn't be acceptable. A small delay would count as guile and so likely be quite pleasing, but eventually that would simply become disobedience, and that definitely wouldn't count. Or, to borrow a metaphor, she could run, but she couldn't hide.

Oh. Grace's face broke into a grin. She could run. The command was very clear: she had to show the plant where she was, and do so in a way that would please Miss Hyoscyus. It said nothing about whether she should stay there afterwards.

Grace glanced back to one of her earliest pages in the book, 'On these plant aliens and how I'm pretty sure they did something to my head? / 2342.16.8 (i think)'. This command was open ended in how she was to execute it, but the actual task was very bounded. It seemed likely the compulsion would end as soon as she legitimately believed herself to have completed it.

The same way that, all those years ago, Grace had been clearly told that she was going to walk into a room, and that she was going to do exactly what her new owner told her to do. The first command had ended after completion—she did not, in fact, have to spend the rest of her life inside of that room—and the second had no ending clause and was firmly rooted in the core of her mind to this day. Just because Grace had to obey her owner didn't stop her from escaping the affini ship before hearing any orders.

Her notebook snapped shut as Grace carefully returned it to her backpack, fished out a few hundred grams of some alien explosive, spent a couple more minutes programming her multi-tool to act as a proximity detonator, glued the two together, and then happily wandered outside and very very carefully placed her beacon on the floor outside of the reading nest.

She stepped back and sighed happily as the flashing red arrow imposed itself onto the air above, knowing herself to be a good girl, and then she ran like hell because she only had five seconds before the proximity sensor would engage and the next creature unfortunate enough to come investigating the giant glowing arrow would get a very exciting surprise.

Thankfully, two decades of running for her life had left Grace remarkably fit, and so she was still sprinting when the music in her earbuds suddenly shut off only halfway through Transcendence XVI: Metal Fatigue. A second or so later the muffled sound of an explosion hit, rattling the books in their bookshelves and throwing Grace into a stumble. The entire ship began to list nervously to the side, rolling several degrees in a second and pushing Grace the rest of the way off of her feet. She tumbled, and though she tried to hit the ground in a roll, she was no action hero.

Grace hit the ground in a shower of literature, pages fluttering down around her as the ship's angle grew extreme and tomes began to slip. Just before it all tumbled down, the ship reasserted itself and down once more became down. Grace whimpered, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position so she could rub the shoulder that had taken all the force of her fall. “Ow,” she whispered, touching a particularly sore spot, and instinctively reached for her multitool to run a quick medical scan, only to find it missing.

In pieces by now.

Right.

Heck.

The Librarian.

If Grace were lucky, the plant would be dead and she'd have a few hours of unmolested searching before anybody came to check on the place. Unfortunately, experience had taught Grace to distrust luck: it was the Affini who got to roll the dice, and they cheated. She went with her second best option and ran, just in case the affini had somehow survived.

Same plan as last time. Don't think, just duck left, right, or straight ahead as randomly as possible. An affini could and would out-think her, but that didn't make her helpless. Without a computer to produce real random numbers, Grace needed to do her best to avoid obvious patterns herself, but even on the off chance that the Librarian was still alive, surely that would be enoug—

“Stop.”

Grace's foot hit the ground and refused to rise. Her sore leg couldn't handle absorbing off all of her inertia, which forced her down to one knee. She hit the ground with a thud, only stopping herself from falling over entirely by catching herself with both hands. She stayed there in place, breathing hard, trying to figure out what had happened. She barely even needed to run her checklist, she was fully aware that her head was getting messed with here.

The Librarian walked past in her peripheral vision, moving slowly and trailing a few charred lengths of dead vine and broken wood. Grace could at least feel a little pride at that. She'd hurt the fucker. More than most people could say.

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” the affini asked, exhaustion clear in her voice as she finally came to a stop a few meters down the hall, leaning against a bookshelf in disrepair. “We are sitting in a room which is, by mass, ninety eight percent wood and paper. A fire here would spread far faster than you could run. What was your plan, hmn? Murder-suicide? Did you think that far ahead?”

Grace stayed silent, staring down at the ground. She had been told to stop. There was no chance the affini intended her to asphyxiate, and so she still breathed, but it was a reasonable interpretation to assume she was not to otherwise move a muscle. It didn't feel like a very strong protection against the affini's charms, but at least it would buy her a few seconds to think.

To think about what? This was the nightmare scenario. There was an affini barely meters away with full knowledge that Grace was a danger to herself and others, and she had no escape plan. The only thing keeping Grace's breathing even was the strength imposed upon her by the direct, interpreted order to stop.

The Librarian snorted. “Cute. Is this a fear response, or are you taking me too literally?” She took a moment and Grace felt the weight of an affini's attention settle on the back of her neck. These were predators of the mind, and she was being toyed with. “The latter,” Miss Hyoscyus decided, after a moment. “Look at me.”

Grace looked up, staring at the affini's feet. Anything but the—

“At my eyes, sweetie.”

Fuck. Their gazes met and locked. The smug grin of a creature that knew it'd won burned in Grace's peripheral vision.

“Yes, that's right, just like that. Good girl. You know far more than you should, little one, don't you? Answer me. Truthfully.” It was still leaning back against the bookshelf, seeming almost casual despite the way it was taking absolute control of the situation. Grace's mind raced, trying to find ways to fight, but the most effective plan of attack she could imagine was to not mention the leaf still smouldering on the creature's shoulder, in the hope it would eventually provide a distraction.

“Yes,” Grace hissed, and then forced her tongue still. She had answered the question. That was all that she needed to do. She didn't have to spill her life story to obey that command, and maybe if she was very very lucky the Librarian wouldn't care to pry.

Miss Hyoscyus glanced down, wrinkled her floral nose, and patted out the tiny flame on her coat of leaves. “And where did a harmless little thing like you get a bomb like that?”

“Made it,” Grace answered. It was the truth. Obviously it wasn't what the affini had meant, but— Grace winced, feeling her own thoughts slam into reverse as she acknowledged that her attempt to skew her own interpretation was unreasonable. “Pieces came from a few places. Can't pronounce most of them. The explosive bit was, uh, the species was gaseous, lived in gas giants mostly? They didn't have much by way of military capability, but they did know their chemistry.”

The Librarian's expression grew more curious with every passing word. “Depending on which species exactly you are talking about, you're claiming to have visited somewhere at least a hundred thousand light-years away. Had you left on a Priority Cubeship the day of Terran first contact I do not believe you could have made the round trip.”

Grace was silent, because she hadn't been told to answer a question. She wanted to. Stars, but she wanted to. Every second that she spent in this thing's company was reminding her why she'd fallen in love with her beautiful Librarian, and yet she knew that love to be a lie. She knew that those feelings had been imposed, and the best that she could do was pretend not to have them and hope she could tell a convincing lie.

“Now of course, you couldn't lie to me, could you, pet? Shake your head for me, show me how malleable that little head is in my vines. Give me a smile while you do it so I can be sure you know how nice it feels to be reshaped by my words.”

Grace shook her head, the warmth in her chest spilling out into a smile. “No, Miss. I couldn't lie to you.” She paused, then smiled a little wider. “Unless I believed I was telling the truth, of course. I couldn't lie to you, but I could be wrong about my beliefs.”

“Hmn.” A vine trailed across the floor, weaving between works of fallen literature just to rise and grab Grace by the chin, tilting it up just a few extra degrees. Grace gritted her teeth. How dare this creature manhandle her like this, just because it was stronger than her? It lounged in place, toying with Grace with playful words and a single limb, using a fraction of its power to show how utterly calm and confident it felt even now.

“Yes, that's right, pet,” the Librarian soothed, speaking softly, distantly, as if she were talking to somebody else. “Feel that pride for me. How dare I treat you like this? Don't I know who you are? You aren't some common pet, are you?”

A snarl grew between Grace's lips. She bared her teeth, staring down this creature with pure contempt. Her checklist confirmed it, this wasn't out of character for her. She fucking hated the affini.

“Oh yes,” Miss Hyoscyus breathed, vine slowly stroking down Grace's cheek. “Doesn't it just make you angry? What right do I have to do this to you, hmn? If things were reversed, if you were strong, and I was weak, you'd teach me not to mess with you, wouldn't you?”

Breath grew heavy as Grace saw red. She'd tried to teach this monster, and she had been right to. Maybe if she'd had a bigger gun, or a bigger bomb, she could have shown this affini what it really meant to be a danger to others. She'd be the last danger they ever saw.

The affini's eyes seemed to glitter while all else went dark, as if they were drawing in all the light in the room. “Don't you just want to put a stop to it all, pet? Don't you just want to shout me down? You believe in that cause of yours, don't you? So go on, give me a piece of your mind. Tell me what I'm doing that you hate so much.”

Grace growled, slapping away the vine clutching her as she pushed herself up to her feet and fixed her enemy with a flat and deadly glare. “Will you just shut up? I've been watching you fuckers across half the galaxy and it's always the same. This smug stupid sense of superiority, just because you have the bigger guns. Just because the rest of us are like toys to you doesn't make this universe your playground! What you're doing isn't right! I don't care how many people you brainwash into agreeing with you, it doesn't mean you're right!“

The plant smiled one of those infuriating smirks. “Half the galaxy, hmn? That's a big claim for such a small creature. Why should I believe you?”

Grace spat. “What more proof do you want? I'm here, standing up against you, right now, right here. How many people have you seen that can do that? I've learned your secrets and I'll be damned if I'm going to stay quiet about them. You can't control me, plant. I know how you get in our fucking heads and I have countermeasures.”

The Librarian laughed, nodding. “Right, yes, of course. You are entirely immune to my methods of control. Say 'Yes, Miss Hyoscyus'.”

“Yes, Miss Hyoscyus!” Grace snapped. “You want people like me to be docile, dazed pets, and I am anything but. I am the nightmare that you monsters created.”

“Good girl.” Grace's anger wavered for but a moment as the rush of familiar warmth spread across her body. “Just so. You are anything but that. It is, however, rude to assume. I have no interest in pets dazed or docile. What I want is somebody sharp and capable, somebody who I could hold a conversation with. I want somebody who is unique and interesting. Every item in my little collection here is one of a kind, at least physically. Everything has digital backups, but then, I'd gladly keep you backed up too.” Her expression hardened, replacing amusement with a firm edge. “So apologise to me, pet, for being so rude as to assume, and do calm down.”

The wind abandoned Grace's sails all at once and her anger suddenly felt hollow. She was fucking furious with the Affini in general, yes, and this affini in particular had felt the worst of that. Yet, if she based her anger on falsehoods then all her plans would be false ones too. Grace let out a frustrated breath. “I— Yes, sorry, Miss Hyoscyus, I shouldn't have assumed. Just because most affini want that doesn't mean you do too.”

Grace paused, blood suddenly running cold. Wasn't apologising to an affini a little out of character for her? Her tongue shot out, moistening suddenly bone-dry lips. “Are you messing with my head again?” she asked. She shouldn't trust an affini, but she didn't have any better sources.

The Librarian's mouth cracked back into a grin. “If I said no, you'd believe me, wouldn't you?” She waited just long enough to extract a nod. “But tell me, would I be speaking the truth if I did? Show your working, I want to see how you think. If I am messing with your head and you can tell me how, maybe I'll stop.”

The agonising grin grew wider still. “You can believe me when I speak whether I am or not, however. You are allowed to be wrong in what you believe, after all.”

Fuck. Fuck! The plant had a point. Trust felt the same whether it was organic or constructed, and relying on something as easily manipulated as gut feel was a sure-fire way to get herself enthralled. She had to be logical here. Methodical. Think things through, step by step. Either she was being compelled to do something she wouldn't usually do, in which case there would be signs, or she was being compelled to do something she would usually do, in which case did the compulsion really matter?

“Yeah, okay, fine.” Grace shrugged off her backpack and went for her notes, grabbing another pencil along with. The Grace of twenty years prior had been helplessly naive, thinking the universe would be a fertile environment for humanity to grow into and exploit, but her one moment of inexplicable wisdom had been packing several hundred pencils for the full-scale crashsnap drive's maiden voyage.

She felt a pang of mourning regret. This was to be her last pencil. It didn't seem likely she'd be getting back to the ship after this, either way. “Okay. So.” She flipped her notebook around to show the affini her deconstruction of the previous order. “I know you were messing with my head a few minutes ago, because—”

The Librarian reached out and took the notebook. “Sit pretty while I read,” she suggested, prompting Grace into silence. She frowned. What did it mean to sit pretty? Physical beauty was very common in the Affini Compact, as she understood it. Their architecture was extravagant, and of course the plants themselves were often works of art, but Grace was hardly pretty. She was about as pretty as she had been for a long long time, however, as no affini would have believed her floret disguise with unbrushed hair or oil-slick cheeks.

She paused, running her fingers through tangled locks. Well. She had been that pretty. She'd spent a while at a dead sprint and been caught in an explosion since, so her hair was an absolute mess and her clothes were horribly crumpled. She returned to her backpack, retrieving a cute little travel brush she'd lifted from some floret on a tiny scout ship on her way here. It was a curious device that almost vibrated with purpose, and the moment she securely held the handle it popped open with a whiff of cinnamon to reveal a little barrel brush, already starting to warm through.

Grace started dragging it through her hair, wincing as it met each knot and untied it with little prehensile whiskers. The Librarian glanced up, chuckled, and continued reading, leaving Grace with a soft blush on her cheeks and greater certainty that this did, in fact, count as sitting pretty.

“Actually,” Miss Hyoscyus interrupted, after a couple of moments more. She took a moment to lower herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged with Grace's notebook comically small in her hands. “Come here.” She patted her lap with a vine. “Give me the brush. Suck on this vine.”

Grace squinted as she walked over. “I'll gladly do the first two—I hate brushing my own hair—but I'm pretty sure the latter would definitely mess with my head, right? Chemicals and drugs and all that.”

The Librarian laughed, helping Grace climb into her place before starting to brush her hair far more carefully, actually using the brush's features to add some styling as she went. “And if I told you that it would not?”

“Then I would know that you were lying,” Grace half-lied. “Or close enough. I'd believe you, but I'd also know I shouldn't.”

The offered vine slunk away, vanquished in Grace's intellectual thunderdome. “Such a clever girl you are, Grace,” the Librarian murmured, undoing all her hard work brushing by ruffling the girl's hair, before returning to her reading. She split her attention, working through the notebook while proving she had the typical Affini expertise when it came to personal grooming. Impersonal grooming, perhaps? Whether pets counted as people seemed to vary from floret to floret.

With Miss Hyoscyus firmly in charge of the brush, Grace was left with little to do by herself but 'sit pretty', which required very little of her. Firm bristles sailed through tangled hair, occasionally questing just a little too far and scratching lightly against her scalp. It was calming. Calm. The terran let her eyes slide shut as she began to relax for the first time in many years.

This was nice. The first embers of a smile pulled at the corners of Grace's mouth, and she took a deep breath, appreciating the way the indistinct, yet decidedly pleasant, aroma of shipboard life mixed with the more demanding scent of Miss Hyoscyus herself. New book smell, appropriately enough.

Yeah. Grace was definitely under some kind of compulsion. Subtle, seductive, and, if Grace were being honest, legitimately tempting. It would be so much easier to simply lean back, curl into the Librarian's side, and live out the rest of her life in the same pleasant bliss as every other floret. She was being manipulated here, but she could pretend she hadn't noticed and maybe the Librarian would let her pretend for long enough that she could forget it wasn't true.

The girl laughed quietly. She knew those weren't her usual beliefs; the idea of being one of the aliens' pets was rightfully horrifying. She didn't even need to glance up to her book to remember the terms she'd used—this was clearly an indirect but intentful compulsion, carrying its own semantics with it. It was a little crude, though Grace supposed it didn't need to be any more elegant than this to be effective,

She wanted to surrender, because that's what the compulsion told her to do. That she recognised it was a compulsion didn't weaken it. Grace found her smile widening, because with every passing moment she felt the metaphorical vines wrapping more tightly around her mind, nestling all snug and comfortable in every one of her brain's wrinkles until she could never hope to have an independent thought again.

A piece deep inside of her was screaming, of course. A silly little train of thought saying silly little things about independence, fighting tyranny, or doing something, anything to prevent this from happening to everybody else in the universe. It seemed almost quaint, like the way Grace was a little nervous in the dark despite knowing full well there was nothing there. It was a vestige of an earlier, simpler stage of evolution, and hardly useful in the modern day.

Grace sighed happily, shifting her position to look up at the perfect affini above her, staring up with adoring, dazed, docile eyes while she insistently claimed a vine and began to give it a hug.

Grace blinked, once, then again, and then a third time. No, hang on, something didn't track. Miss Hyoscyus had been quite clear about not wanting a dazed and docile pet. While in principle this compulsion may not be hers, Grace found that rather difficult to believe. An intentful compulsion to be happy as a pet would be far too dangerous a thing to use in a non-targeted manner. What if somebody was caught in it at a moment where they were in danger?

No, nonsense. This was the Librarian's cognitoengineering, and either Grace was misunderstanding it or the affini herself had made a mistake. No other conclusion made any sense to Grace. She winced, bringing a hand up to rub against her face, feeling her own thoughts grind as if she were a machine in desperate need of oil. She was subject to a compulsion that didn't add up, and that she couldn't apply to her own thoughts. Part of Grace cursed her stupid inquisitive nature for robbing her of the one moment of true safety and relaxation she had ever found, but she couldn't go back. She couldn't pretend to believe differently than she did, no matter how badly she wanted to.

She groaned, pushing herself out of the Librarian's lap to crawl to the other side of the aisle. She had to get away from the source of the compulsion or it would tear her apart. All but the most basic instincts felt like having her soul sanded down, but with each movement of her hand and knee Grace felt the effect weakening until finally she collapsed against the hard wood of a bookshelf some meters away. It took long moments to catch her breath, but it was worth it, because when she finally looked up at the alien, she saw an expression of truly confused curiosity.

“You're messing with my head,” Grace answered, finally, still short of breath. She gestured vaguely in the air. “It's... I don't know exactly how you're doing it, but you are. Targeted compulsion carrying its own intent, making me think about how happy I'd be as a dumb little pet, but you don't want a dumb little pet so that doesn't make sense and it hurts so stop it.”

The force pressing against the back of Grace's eyes dropped away, and she could finally think again. She sagged, collapsing to the soft plush floor with a cry of relief, resting her head on some obscenely large book written in some alien tongue. She wanted little more than to sleep and yet knew full well how bad an idea that would be.

The Librarian closed the notebook between finger and thumb, then stood. She wandered over to Grace's backpack, spent a moment figuring out how to collapse the travel brush back into its smaller form, and then slipped it back into its place. The notebook, however, she kept for herself. “Congratulations, Grace, you are quite correct, and so as promised, I have stopped.”

Grace pulled a face, starting to run through her internal checklist on reflex even while her thoughts felt like they were dragging a heavy weight behind them.

“Let me save you the trouble, little one,” Miss Hyoscyus interrupted. “You are acting very much like yourself; you are still focused on that goal of yours to the exclusion of all else, even your own personal comfort and happiness; and I very much suspect you are not having pleasant thoughts about the Affini in general nor I in specific. Am I correct?” She smiled, and before Grace had a chance to answer, continued. “Yes, I am. So, let me worry about your adorable self-defence mechanism. I'll tell you if you need to check yourself against it. And no, before you ask, you did not write that particular set of conditions down. You probably should have, darling. Yes, yes, certainly, having a written record would increase the chance of somebody discovering them, but not having a written record leaves you oh so very vulnerable to a talented xenosemioticist, such as myself, changing them to better suit. Not that you need to worry about that, as you are quite in your right mind and may believe that you are exactly who you have always been.”

Grace bared her teeth, emitting a low warning growl. The Librarian, to her credit, took a step back and raised her hands in the universal symbol of surrender. “I said that I would stop, did I not? Frankly, I did not expect you to win that little wager, but I suppose every predator has her off days, hmn? Your work here—” She waggled the notebook in the air— “is very interesting. You are not the first to try such things, of course, but it is rare for such a susceptible thing to avoid falling entirely under another's sway for long enough to write a book on the subject!”

Grace's nose twitched, upper lip rising to expose her fangs once more. “Susceptible?” she asked, eye narrow. “I've been avoiding you things for twenty years.”

Again, the Librarian raised her hands, though this time paired the action with stepping over to the other side of the hall, and sitting down herself. Grace wasn't naive enough to believe that made her any less capable of being a threat, but the gesture was appreciated and at least brought them closer to the same level.

“It's not an insult, kit. Perhaps you would prefer me to call it sensitivity? If you were not so susceptible, so open to my words wrapping around your will, so responsive in how your plastic mind warps when I shape it, then you would simply never have come to realise how those little thoughts in your head had all been placed on my rails, travelling as I desire. But, my dear, because you take to it so very well, because you can feel even the gentlest caress in the way your hopes, your dreams, even your desires bend so wonderfully, you can sense it and learn from that.” The affini smiled, pretending at innocence.

“You're messing with my head again,” Grace accused. She had no evidence, especially as she knew her checklist would find nothing, were she to run it. It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed like a safe bet around this one.

Miss Hyoscyus grinned. “Am I? Prove it. Oh, you can't? Then that's strike one. You don't want to get to three. We are in a library, Grace, and I will not have unfounded conjecture in my collection. If you want to be mine, then you're going to cite your sources.”

Grace snorted, rolling her eyes. “I don't want to be yours.”

“Strike two.” The Librarian pulled a sympathetic expression. She forestalled Grace's protests by opening her notebook and flipping to the most recent page, where Grace had been pulling one of the Librarian's commands apart to understand it. “You based your entire reasoning here on my desires, and interpreted my orders in ways that would only make sense if you wanted to be specifically mine. You will note that at no point did I suggest this to you, and so the only remaining explanation is that it is your desire.” Grace tried to argue, but a sharp glare silenced her again. “However, far more telling is the way you reacted to my attempt to enthral you. If you didn't want to be mine, then would you really have lifted a single finger to escape? Consider, my little novel, wouldn't it have been so easy to curl up in my lap, answer my every question, and then obediently follow at my heel as I took you to the nearest domestication facility to be assigned to your new owner whereupon I would only ever see you again if you wished to check out a book?”

Grace's skin flushed cold. She didn't want that. Her tongue moistened dry lips, and she shook her head, quickly. “That would be a nightmare,” she admitted, truthfully. “Being given away to somebody who doesn't even know me, who just wants a pet with no reason to choose me over anybody else in the universe?” She shook her head more firmly. “No thank you. I...”

“You want me,” the Librarian replied, completing the sentence. “Somebody who sees the unique value in you. Somebody who understands you. Somebody who would not pick anybody but you.”

“You're messing with—”

“Shh,” Miss Hyoscyus interrupted. “You're already on two strikes. One more and I march you down to that domestication center. You don't want that.”

“I don't want that,” Grace agreed, quickly, feeling a spike of adrenaline run through her body. “But it's... the logic doesn't follow that just because I don't want that, I do want to be yours.” She gulped. She couldn't exactly lie to herself, she did want to be Miss Hyoscyus's. Grace had thought that feeling had been imposed, and so had been trying to ignore it. “I... it would be out of character for me to want that, wouldn't it?”

So it has to be a compulsion, Grace didn't say. If she was wrong, then that would be a third strike. Besides, part of her knew that it couldn't be out of character, because if it were, her checklist would fail, and Miss Hyoscyus had already told her it wouldn't.

“I only met you this morning, pet.” Grace shivered, lips quivering into a soft smile. Pet. She could get used to hearing that. “While I am very good at reading you like the metaphorical open book, I think that's a question that only you can answer. You haven't wanted to be somebody's before, certainly, but you don't starve yourself simply because you did not need to eat earlier that day.”

The girl found herself nodding. “So, just because I haven't wanted to be anybody else's pet wouldn't intrinsically make it out of character to want to be yours,” she admitted. “Additionally, most of the things that make me afraid of being turned into a floret don't seem to apply here. You aren't using force; you aren't trying to turn me into anything I'm not; you aren't trying to make me dumb; you aren't belittling me or acting like I'm not important.”

“Further,” the Librarian added. “I do not currently have a floret, and I find the idea of changing that somewhat tiresome.” She leaned forward and gave Grace a quick scritch under the chin, silencing her objections. “Worry not, o wandering spirit, and let me finish. I take great pride in my collection here. I take great pride in my other work, as well, learning how new species think and how to best adjust that thought. I am used to leaving my mark on millions. To take a single pet of my own, well. She would have to be truly special.”

I'm special, Grace didn't say. What if she was wrong? What if Miss Hyoscyus didn't want her after all?

The plant raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something you wish to say, little foxpup? Have you yet realised that every word I speak is truth?” She extended a hand to rest gentle on Grace's cheek.

Grace ran through her checklist for the first time in minutes. Her plant had told her she didn't need to think about it, and so she hadn't been, but that paranoid little voice in the corner of her mind wouldn't shut up about it.

Was she acting out of character? Grace considered. She was on her hands and knees, eyes closed as she pressed her cheek into the waiting hand of the affini she was too afraid to admit that she wanted to belong to. That was a little out of character, she supposed, as she quickly corrected that fact by starting to rub against Miss Hyoscyus's digits, pressing her chin into the creature's oversized palm so her snout could nestle comfortably between her fingers.

Otherwise, things tracked with her expectations. Grace was terrified of domestication. She didn't want to have her independence taken away, or be turned into some random plant's pet. With a quiet chuckle, she noted that she'd never stopped fighting. No, this was definitely her. At a subtle gesture, she raised her chin, giving her affini access to scritch along her muzzle, and responded with a heartfelt yip.

Keep it together, Grace.

Was she still focused on her task? She needed to warn the creatures of the universe of the encroaching affini threat, and so she had to show them all how their insidious mechanisms of mental control operated. She had come here to get raw data, but that wasn't really the end goal. The goal itself was to teach the universe about affini cognitoengineering, or, 'xenosemiotics', or whatever the plants themselves called it.

Grace peeked open an eye and caught the Librarian smiling down at her. “Yes, that's it,” the affini whispered, rubbing a finger behind Grace's pointy triangular ear. “That's a good vixen. Think this through. Come to the only reasonable conclusion, from your own unique perspective.”

Grace purred, letting her eye fall closed once more as her tail began to wag. Tails, in fact. A set of three, each brushing gently against the spines of the books in the shelf behind her with each swing. Her original plan had been a long shot, requiring her to sneak both in and out, and then somehow figure out how to broadcast large amounts of data in a format that any species would understand, without knowing anything about those species?

She wouldn't even know what language to write it in. How could she send a message to every species in the universe?

Who better suited for such a challenge than Miss Hyoscyus herself, who specialised in figuring out how alien species thought? She had the same plan as Grace, she realised, in a moment of enlightenment. All either of them wanted to do was teach the universe about Affini compulsions. Grace had already written a book, and that was without access to primary sources. She could hardly imagine how much better a reference material she could produce with proper study and education at the hands of an expert in the field.

Her prior plan felt foolish in hindsight. Who would even have believed her? Some random signal that they may not even be able to decode coming from space telling a fanciful story about mind controlling plant aliens? It was farcical. With her Librarian's help, however, Grace could write a book that everybody would understand, and then she could broadcast it to anyone who would listen, showing them what to look out for so they could know whether they were being subjected to any undesirable cognitive impositions. Best yet, she could make sure they'd believe it and remove any risk of them missing the point.

Grace's thoughts skipped a beat as Miss Hyoscyus's fingers began to rub at the base of one of her ears, while a thumb brushed up until it reached the top, the sharpest point at the peak of the tall triangles that helped Grace hear so well. It was important to stay quiet inside of the Library, and so spectacular hearing was practically a requirement for entry.

Grace was fully aware of anything that could be messing with her mind. As her affini had said, she was very susceptible, and that was a good thing. She brushed aside the blunt compulsion to melt into her plant's hand as a purring mess and continued down her checklist.

Was she thinking positive thoughts about an affini?

Grace froze, her ear pausing mid-flick and her tails halting mid-wag as she considered the question. Yes, she was. Surely she hadn't meant any affini when she'd been putting this checklist together?

But she had.

She remembered, she'd been very intentional about it. She'd put the rule in place, even, specifically to defend against this very affini. Grace opened her eyes, and something about the look in them was apparently enough to convince the plant to pull her hand away lest she get a warning bite from Grace's sharpened teeth.

She raised the back of a paw to the end of her snout and began to lick, settling her own nerves with some much needed self-care. A few moments of attention and her snow-white coat was looking as pretty as it ever had. Her eyes returned to the Librarian, watching with the intent and focus of a predator's gaze.

While the average human had evolved in the middle of the food chain and so mixed the properties of predator and prey, Grace was decidedly a cut above. The noble kitsune had, for most of human history, been thought simply a myth, but of course that was what they wanted them to think. As humanity had taken to the stars, their spirits had gone with them. What normal human could have done what Grace had done? To flit across the galaxy like a spirit? To escape from the inescapable, endlessly playing tricks on the universe's citizens? Perhaps most importantly, who but a guardian spirit would still be fighting?

Grace lifted her chin once more, not in submission but in pride. “You're messing with my head,” she declared. “Trying to make me think that I'm something I'm not. You're trying to be subtle about it.” She grinned. “Thinking that your tricks would work on me, as if I were some common Terran girl.”

Miss Hyoscyus laughed, clapping her hands as she leaned back to watch. “Oh, and I am bested again, how delightful. Tell me, my little librarian spirit, what gave me away?”

Grace raised a hand and snapped her fingers, calling upon her magic to yank the textbook from the Librarian's hand. It appeared in her hand in a flash of cinnamon scent. She flipped through for a moment, then summoned a quill with her other hand and added a few extra words in flowing handwriting to the end of a paragraph. “Addendum to the prior note, a further limitation of direct and intentful compulsion—you risk creating a paradox in somebody's mind if you do misunderstand their existing beliefs, which is a clear and obvious sign of mental manipulation.”

She gave the ink a moment to dry, then handed the notebook back. The quill poofed away. Her eyes flicked up and to the side for a breath. “Modern Terran fiction, twenty, aisle seven, row fifteen, column eighty,” she muttered, intuitively understanding the library's filing system. She blinked a few times, then shook her head to clear it. “The urge to be yours was imposed,” she declared.

The Librarian smiled. “But—”

Grace flicked an ear. “But so was the urge to not. Tut tut, Goddess of the written word, were you really expecting me to believe that one affini could manage a library at this scale? It took you whole minutes simply to reach me; how could you possibly maintain your shrine without your messenger spirit?”

“Well—”

Grace cut the plant off again. “Of course, you did once, diety of ink and information. You are by far my elder and this library by far predates even me, but all the same, when you put this much knowledge in one place it cannot help but create for itself a guardian.” She shuffled on her paws, tilting her head a little more proudly. “A protector, somebody to maintain it, and to ensure that whoever wanders into your Library finds what they are looking for. Information does so want to be free, and no natural organisation scheme could free this many words.”

Miss Hyoscyus was silent for a few moments, smile radiating bemused amusement. After a moment, she opened Grace's journal to the very first page and gestured to the spirit, who passed along a fresh quill. “Editors note,” she mumbled, writing an addendum. “Understanding the basic principles of xenosemiotics does not prevent them from affecting you. However, it may change how you interpret them, which can have rather unexpected side effects. As such, my first piece of advice: Always inform your affini of your degree of understanding first, or they may be surprised when your mind takes an idea and runs with it in an unexpected direction.”

She folded the book closed and handed back the quill. “Such a clever fox you are.” She trailed a finger up, and then down, one of Grace's ears, leaving the girl in a state of tangled bliss. “You saw through my plots, found the holes in my plans, and have soundly beaten me. I am very impressed. You are very special. Are you ready to beg to be mine, sweet assistant spirit?”

Grace nodded rapidly. “'Once you eliminate the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth'.” she replied. The Librarian tilted her head in wordless question. “A quote from one of Terra's greatest detectives from the early twenty first century, though historians suspect at this point it was actually a team of people working together. I...”

The girl glanced down apologetically. “I'm figuring it out. The holes in the story. The lies. I...” She blushed. “I don't know if I was kind of pretending just then. I um, when I snap my fingers, is that really magic?”

The Librarian laughed. “All technology seems like magic to me. I can't stand the stuff. So, from my perspective, yes, even if many would disagree with that.”

“I want to be yours, Miss Hyoscyus. I know that you did that to me because I know that before I got here I took a lot of pride in being an independent, free spirit, just one kitsune among the stars with nobody to tell her what to do. But... I know that if you give me time I'll figure out how to stop wanting to be yours, and the thought of not getting to be yours terrifies me. Please. Please, do whatever you need to do, just—”

“Quiet.” Miss Hyoscyus spoke sternly, but only managed a few moments of silence before she giggled. “'Just one kitsune among the stars', huh? Weren't you human when you got here? Didn't you have a plan? Weren't you so determined, little one? And now you're here, begging to be mine?”

She drew a nail under Grace's snout, forcing their eyes to meet. “Just look at yourself, Grace. Aren't you tired of thinking this hard? Of questioning my every word? Of questioning everyone's every word? Isn't it just so exhausting to keep checking your every action against a you who hasn't existed for twenty years?”

The affini's presence was everywhere, and it was overwhelming. Wherever Grace turned, there was simply her. All that she could see, all that she could hear, all that she could smell or feel or taste was her. She stared upwards with wavering eyes, clinging to every word out of the desperate hope that her affini could tell her why everything was going to be okay.

“That's right, my darling. That's exactly what you're doing. That silly checklist, those rules? If you ever waver from being somebody who lived decades ago, you declare that feeling is wrong, and you brainwash yourself until you become somebody else. Your life is a narrative, and it's boring. You are a bad author, Grace.” She tapped the kitsune's journal. “Your technical writing is fine, certainly, but the stories you tell? Boring.”

The Librarian stepped away, and gestured a hand all around them. “Here I have every story that has ever been written, at least by those within the beloved cage of the Affini Compact. One day I shall have them all, without condition or caveat. Now, sweet spirit of mine, tell me: if I am the keeper of stories, and you are but a story that you tell yourself, then what does that make you?”

”...yours,” Grace breathed, speaking automatically and instinctively.

“And if that version of yourself that you keep trying to be is just a narrative, then why can't I change that narrative?” Her gaze was steady, demanding, and Grace knew she expected an answer.

”...because i'll figure out the holes...” Grace admitted. “I'll find what doesn't add up and I'll stop believing it.”

“Good pet.” Miss Hyoscyus knelt and offered her palm. Grace gratefully dropped her snout into it and began to lick, tasting the subtle flavour with gratitude. “So let me save you the effort. An experimental, never-before-seen engine that can fly faster than any affini ship? A girl who escaped the clutches of the invincible affini not once, not twice, but repeatedly? Who gathered equipment from half the galaxy before returning home at the most dramatic moment? Somebody so impressive, and yet she fell to me, a mere librarian, here at the climax of her story? On a ship so dramatically placed as to ensure neither of us can escape the other, nor can we be interrupted? Doesn't that seem a little... trite?”

“I... Life is unlikely,” Grace complained. “But given trillions of people, the chance of one of them experiencing repeated inexplicable luck becomes almost a certainty. It's okay for a character's backstory to be unlikely, because if it had been average then the story wouldn't be about them.”

“Clever girl, finding ways to justify your story to yourself. But can you prove it? Hold your own story to the standards you so impose on mine. Tell me, which is more likely? Your little tale of daring escape, or mine, of the happy, servile spirit who longs for nothing more than to take care of my library through the day before retreating to our home at night where she can treat me like the Goddess that I am?” The affini shifted her hand, quietly stroking Grace's hair as she thought.

“I...” The girl faltered. “I can't prove either. I don't know. I—”

“Stop thinking.” The words resonated, spoken as the least subtle compulsion Grace had ever felt, carrying with it intrinsic understanding of what was meant, and of how to obey. Her mind fell silent. Grace blinked up at her affini, comprehending only on a subconscious, thoughtless, instinctual level what had happened. As she stared, her eyes began to lose focus, and though some part of her knew she could easily fix that, the thought simply never occurred.

“Stop worrying. Stop panicking. Stop struggling. Yes, that's right. Good girl.” Grace barked happily as her instincts surfaced, with nothing to get in the way. How could she worry about how people would take her behaviour if she couldn't worry? How could she overthink if she couldn't think? “Such a good girl you are! All those vague, distant memories of yours, little fox, are just a story. You know as well as I that they're unreliable. Remember all those times you've gone to pick something up, only to find it isn't where you remembered putting it? Now remember a few more for me. Maybe those ones happened, or perhaps they did not, but they feel real regardless, don't they?”

The Librarian gently took one of Grace's paws in her hand and lifted it, carefully moving the girl's fingers until she was prepared for a snap. “Stop holding yourself to a story that's making you miserable. You can be whatever you choose to be. Pick the narrative that you want. If you want to be Grace, courageous rebel desperado, then summon yourself the evidence you're looking for and go. It's your choice. But...”

The mood shifted, the air itself seeming to vibrate with energy. “But you don't want that. You never wanted that. You were only ever running so that you could find me, because you are mine, and you have always known it. Let that history bend to my whims, my Grace. Recontextualise those memories, knowing that you were never anything but a pet searching for its owner. Feel my touch and bask in it. Gaze upon my radiance and worship it. Watch your own self image shift until you can no longer even imagine yourself except in relation to me and the ways that you are mine.”

The affini's other hand tightened, gripping Grace's fur and forcing her to stare upwards at an even steeper angle, towering over her and speaking with a voice so deep it seemed to shake the world. “Ask yourself your questions and let me answer them for the last time. Are you acting in-character? Always. You are a character, and you are mine to write. Are you focused on your goals? Always, and those goals are mine to set. Are you feeling anything but worship and adoration for your Goddess? Of course you aren't, my precious, helpless thrall.”

The air cleared, and the Librarian stepped back, vicious grin softening into an innocent smile. “It's your choice, sweetie. I won't force you into anything. You may think again, so long as they are thoughts that will please me.”

“I...” Grace whimpered, staring upwards with nothing but desperation in her eyes. “I'm yours. Please. I'm yours. I'm your pet. That's what I pick. Please let me pick that.” She snapped her fingers, and a collar dropped into her waiting hand. Please. I don't want to question you any more. I don't want to fight it. Please just let me be yours.” With a victorious grin, the Librarian wasted no time in wrapping the collar around her Grace's neck. The nametag jingled in a manner that was inexplicably both pleasant and not distracting in the least, and Grace very much suspected that was intentional on her owner's behalf.

“Very well, my spirit of organisation and structure. Now, come along, pet, our library is rather in disarray. Let's go file that old journal of yours under 'modern fiction', and then do the same thing that you remember us doing every single day.”

Grace nodded firmly, tails wagging hard enough to cause a three-beat thump-thump-thump as they caught on the bookshelves, and easily fell into a practised trot at her owner's heel just as she remembered having done a thousand times before. With a distant smile on her face, she idly ran through her checklist, reminding herself that she was exactly who she was meant to be, and that everything was going to be okay, forever.

Three years, five months, two days later.

Grace wandered the infinite aisles of the Transhistorical Room of Record and Note, idly dusting the books behind her with wide sweeps of her tails as she searched for the proper place to file a fresh volume.

The section was right. The aisle was right. She had the right row, and... With a satisfied sigh, Grace slid the piece right into its proper place. Records of the domestication of a new species, right next to the volume written about the Terran domestication effort.

Grace paused. Hadn't she been looking for these, once, a long time ago? She'd have to ask her Goddess about it later. For now, she had a job to do. She snapped her fingers and summoned the next newcomer to their collection, Help! I think somebody's messing with my head! A primer on xenosemiotics for fun and pleasure by none other than Grace Hyoscyus.