Klaxons seared over C.N.S. Oklahoma's speakers.

"All men to battle stations. All men to battle stations!"

Crewmen scrambled from deck to deck, attempting to raise shields and charge the cannons. Navigators began plotting coordinates for an emergency jump. A choreographed, well-oiled act of naval prowess unfolded across the bow of the ship under Captain Samuel Dirkost's watchful eye. 

Those alarms could indicate only one thing, Sam knew. The Affini were here in their sector. 

Despite his rehearsed stoicism, he felt shaken on the inside. The damn weeds moved quickly, too quickly. It had only been a week ago since the rear guard of the Resistance navy had been overtaken; he was sure their sacrifice would have bought a little more time. Still, it didn't change the facts; an Affini vessel had been detected by deep space probes, and they were next.

"I want those coil guns charged yesterday, Lieutenant Jones! Ensign Welkin, get us a solution for an emergency jump before we put ourselves on the heat map!" He heard a *sir yes sir!* arise from his crew, and his heart boiled with pride.

The sparse naval doctrine cobbled together before the Accord’s surrender gave Samuel an idea of the strategy the Affini would employ next: the aliens almost universally targeted the largest ship in Terran fleets, no doubt to disrupt organizational capacity and hamper all attempts at effectively countering the assault. While in the early days of conflict that might have included carriers, battleships and cruisers, his pride and joy was merely a frigate surrounded by wings of corvettes and fighters. Reflecting on the state of affairs, Samuel felt a deep sullenness rise through him, but he clamped down on his heart with martial vice. 

He would not let them have the Oklahoma. 

The vessel was closing now on their command ship; he could even see its leafy, pod shaped silhouette on optics. The ship matched the Oklahoma in size, he surmised, and clearly had not taken offensive actions yet. A preemptive strike might catch them off guard about now… 

Alright. Let’s see these weeds in action against a veteran captain.

The Captain snarled. "All weapons, fire at will."

"Fire at will!" The gunnery sergeant repeated, and the ship released its opening salvo. The Oklahoma shook and rumbled as several hundred petajoules of force launched into deep space silently.

He kept a close watch on the infrared sensors, knowing not to trust any images transmitted through the optical arrays. State of the art Terran laser weaponry, though deadly to conventional plating, rarely was visible to the naked eye.

When he saw the energy bloom intensely upon the surface of the Affini vessel, his hopes flickered.

"Sir, we've scored a direct hit!"

"Hold your horses, son," he drawled.

As soon as it had appeared, however, the energy bloom dissipated. The vessel continued its advance, pushing through the cloud of energy as though Newton's First Law was quite mutable. Sam frowned. It was time for Plan B.

"Alright, men, we planned for this. Tell our wings to execute the Blomen Maneuver. You're up, Welkin."

The Blomen Maneuver was simply a glorified title for the act of splitting a fleet through random emergency jumps. It would certainly catch the Affini off-guard, and hopefully make for an effective distraction. It might give the resistance more time to regroup… but it certainly wasn’t a winning move. Samuel cursed quietly to himself.

Ensign Welkin sent her tabulated nav points. "We're good to jump in thirty seconds!"

Energy readings from the Affini vessel began to spike. The Captain made a fist with his left hand, trying to ignore the sweat building in his palms.

"Make that twenty or we're a lost cause, Welkin," he urged, letting panic enter his voice.

The Ensign retorted with a strained expression. "Captain, we're giving the Oklahoma everything she's got!"

Even on optical sensors, Samuel could see the energy building, a bright lurid green charge building in front of the alien ship. Strange… he almost felt like it was aiming directly at him. He felt his throat clam up, but tried his best to ignore it.

"Dammit, jump us already!" he growled.

"Ten seconds, Cap'n!"

The beam became impossibly bright. The Captain averted his eyes from optics.

"Five, four, three-"

A staggering beam of energy registered on the infrared. Thousands of times more powerful than anything he had ever seen. Samuel gritted his teeth for the impact.

"Two! One!" 

The familiar feeling of being pulled to lightspeed threw him against the deck, and Captain Samuel Dirkost passed out.

Samuel was unconscious. He could tell by the way his limbs felt like jelly, the way he couldn’t quite see his fingers in front of him. It almost felt like… sunshine, of a sort, was burning across his skin. He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but… it didn’t matter.

Stars… am I dead?

[Oh, far from it, little one.]

A pang of anxiety shot through Samuel as a voice, silky smooth, began echoing in his mind. Someone… no… an Affini was somehow attempting to infiltrate his dream. He strained against the sluggish feeling, even as what felt like a siren song threatened to drag him further under. 

Am I… talking to some damn… weed? Show yourself!

[It was quite a dazzling display you made on our scout ship, darling. We tried to hail you, but it seems as though your proclivities towards infantile, if adorable acts of “resistance”, won out over the basic diplomacy expected from a “sentient” race such as yours.]

The voice sounded a little contemptuous, a little aloof, but steeped in sympathy, as though she were trying to get through to him. The young captain tried his best to “stand up” and right himself in his dream. He felt tingly. His nerves had a blunt sensitivity to them, as though cotton was being stuffed into his skin.

Scout ship? But with how big that was… but… 

An icy coldness sank into the folds of his brain, and thinking started to feel like wading through molasses.

[Oh, I know. You terrans and your simple little minds. I know how difficult it might be to understand the scale by which we conduct our affairs, but… well, you’ll learn soon enough. Perhaps as a young floret for a mistress such as myself.]

You. Wouldn’t. Dare-

Another wave of coldness. Almost pain, forcing him to sink deeper, retreat further. And then, immediately replaced by a comforting, soothing warmth. 

[You know, we could do this easily, or we could do this with… extra effort involved.]

The soft swaddling heat that Samuel found himself in was inescapable, penetrating every nerve in his body. It was oppressive. It was… pleasurable, like how he imagined it would feel as a puppy to be held softly by her owner. He struggled to contain a moan from escaping him.

I’ll… I’ll never… never be your pet… 

Despite his resistance, he knew he wasn’t giving a terribly effective impression, which humiliated him more. It only escalated the tension he felt in his body. He felt himself start to crack. A striking visual entered his mind – a reflection of himself… an image, shifting. Cracking. Breaking, like a geode being smashed open to reveal something beautiful and terrible within. 

He averted his gaze. He would stand firm. He would not give in.

[...I just had a novel idea. I shall give you twenty four hours to decide for yourself if you would like to join me… or if you would prefer to resist until the very end.]

The heat retreated, the haze lifting from the Captain’s head. Instead of feeling any sense of satisfaction or relief, a wave of exhaustion passed over him. He felt himself drifting even further from his body than before. 

Fuck… fuck you… you Affini bastard…

[I’ll see you soon too, little one.]

Captain Dirkost felt himself wake with a gasp. He glanced around, hands formed into fists, ready to wrestle with roots and sprouts.

Instead, he found himself in the medical wing of the Oklahoma.

Samuel let out a sigh of relief, and then a shot of concern went through him. How long had he been out? How were his crewmates? Where were they?

A Terran nurse, digital slate and pen in hand, stopped by his bed, clearly surprised. “You’re awake. Good. We were worried there for a second.”

The Captain coughed, feeling a wetness in his lungs. Hopefully that’d go away soon. “Could I get a sitrep? What’s going on?”

“You passed out on the deck as we went into light speed, Captain.” Samuel was surprised he hadn’t noticed Ensign Welkin on his right. “That was two hours ago, sir.”

He turned over in bed to face her, and she went into a salute stance. “At ease, Welkin. So…are we drifting in the dark? Safe?”

“Something like that, yes.” The ensign replied, shifting her weight. “It’s… strange. We must have been lucky… the shot they fired seems to have been miscalibrated. No physical damage to the Oklahoma, besides overload to the auxiliary thruster, which was expected. The jump caused minor injury or loss of consciousness in 10-15% of the crew, which is an abnormally high amount. On the other hand, we aren’t space debris, so…”

Sam nodded. “Right. How about enemy movements?”

“The Affini ship has not been detected in this sector, sir. We think they may be having trouble tracking us.”

Samuel tried blocking out memories of that husky voice in his dream, but trying to hold it back only made it resonate deeper within him.

[I’ll see you soon too, little one.]

“Sir?”

He grunted, trying to shake his thoughts out. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Once your team is ready I want everyone on active alert. We can’t let them get another shot at us like this.”

“Understood. I’ll inform the crew right away. And… sir?”

“Yes, Ensign?” 

Welkin bit her lip. “Well… I’m glad you’re alright, sir.” 

She then turned heel and left the medical wing.

The nurse sighed. “If that’s all been taken care of, we should make sure to do another full examination-”

“No,” Sam interceded. “Belay that. I don’t have time for this. I feel fine.”

“But sir-”

The Captain repeated, with a growl, “I’m. Fine. Allow me to retire to my quarters.”

The nurse finally relented, trying her best to conceal a frustrated expression. “Yes sir. You’re cleared to go. Your clothes have been folded and left in the locker just outside.” 

With that, the nurse departed, clicking her pen repeatedly as she did.

Samuel threw his legs off the table, testing his weight on them. Satisfied that he felt comfortable enough to move, he retrieved his items from the locker and made way for his quarters.

Everything is fine.

Sam hit the button to his quarters, and as soon as the doors slid open, he stumbled his way in, uniform and clothes still in hand. Very quickly his stomach had soured in the walk through the corridors, and it probably wasn’t because of the lingering stench of space-tile cleaning solution. 

I’m going to be okay.

Samuel’s quarters were sparse; an elegant couch, a standard Terran naval bed, a dresser, and a private bathroom. It was messy; certainly not in a state he would consider dignified, given the messy filings of documents, briefings, alcohol bottles and used clothes strewn about the place. A resistance leader’s responsibilities were simply too great to keep track of and clean out personal spaces routinely. None of that mattered, especially right now. 

It was just a weird dream.

Throwing his belongings onto the couch, he pushed the bathroom door open, and activated the light switch. A squeezing feeling pressed down upon his stomach. Gross, sobering fluorescents hit his eyes, and pain lanced through his skull. He put a hand up to try and obscure the intensity of the light. Still making his way to the toilet, he finally relented, dropping to his knees.

Fuck. Fuck. Fu-

He felt himself heave, making a choking noise as he did, but nothing came out but bile and spit. He had expected his breakfast of tasteless, prepackaged gruel to make an reappearance. He was sure he could hear that damn weed’s voice in his head, mocking him in this state.

[The little one is on her knees… so pathetic, so pitiful. Don’t tell me you’ve already lost…?]

“Fuck you, you… you damn weed,” Samuel gasped out between heaves. “I’ll never… never give in…” 

After a few moments, the sourness abated enough for him to catch his breath. He threw himself off his knees, but suddenly felt quite unsteady. He slipped, ass crashing down onto the cold tile of his bathroom floor, sending pain up his entire tailbone and causing him to cry out. His eyes stung briefly. As he attempted to get up again, he noticed something, and his breathing hitched. 

Perhaps it was the shock, or perhaps the pain that alerted him to awareness, but something was amiss. He was glancing down at his stomach, now facing up, still in the medical gown he had awoken in – and as boxy as it was, he expected it to lie flat upon his body. Instead, it was as though a small bump was protruding out from his sternum, causing the gown to pitch in a very unsettling way. 

Another lance of panic went through Samuel. He shook his head, glanced away just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. But when he looked back, the bump remained. His gut tingled uncomfortably. He trailed a shaky finger towards the anomaly, then retracted his hand before even getting close enough to touch it. It remained stationary.

“What the fuck…”

The Captain finally found it in him to slowly stand up, using his countertop to assist. As his eyes made contact with the mirror, he cursed under his breath. It wasn’t just in his head; there was a noticeable bulge sticking out of his gown. He began testing the edges of the bump with a finger, trying to feel out what it might be. He was rewarded with little discoveries – soft, bendable, but still clearly sturdy enough to hold a shape from his chest.

I… I have to know…

Without any other way of finding out the truth, Captain Samuel Dirkost steeled himself, blinking away any tears that were in his eyes.

I am a resistance leader. I am a captain. This cannot faze me. I am a Terran. I will not bend. I will not break.

He lifted the shirt up, and all of his bravado melted away.

A crimson flower had embedded itself into his sternum, with roots knitting themselves directly through his skin, wrapping their way up his collarbone. Bright. Unmistakable in the fluorescent lights. 

Several emotions flooded his body at once – terror, panic, anger, helplessness, humiliation – but for a single moment, a small corner of his mind whispered a jarring thought.

It's beautiful.

Sam tried to scream, but all that came out was a choked squeak.