Samuel stood, jaw slack, in front of the Affini for more than a few seconds before he remembered he was part of the Resistance. He tried to draw up a defensive posture, crossing his arms, taking stock of the situation. 

It almost was as though he were floating in a void. Visually the only thing that existed was his body and clothing. Everything else in his vision was Daffodila Cyprus, the Affini who apparently initiated this communication. Even though it felt like a detached enough experience that he was sure he was in some altered state (perhaps some plant-like VR), he could almost smell sweet nectar from her roots, taste the grainy pollen she exuded.

He did his best to look away and tried to pretend part of him wasn’t in awe. 

"You weed. Tell me what this… this flower is doing to me right now."

The velvety words that left his tongue (which at this point he had given up on fighting) had a tinge of desperation to them. Thankfully, it seemed like his stuttering had ceased for the moment.

Daffodila simply let out what Sam had to assume was a giggle by Affini standards. He shifted his weight from one hip to another, trying to look unimpressed.

"Oh, little one, you are a treat. For a prototype device, it has performed admirably."

Sam furrowed his brow, an action that was starting to feel more and more unnatural. “Prototype…?”

The Affini grinned, exposing razor sharp teeth, and Sam took a moment to appreciate Ms. Daffodila’s form. She certainly loomed above him, much like Affini did over most humans, but there was something in particular about her vines that captivated him. They burst with power, flexing, creaking, but with grace and elegance to match. Beautiful striations of sunrise gold contrasted with the otherwise lush greenery he was used to seeing on documented images of these aliens. Her face, which… well, wasn’t exactly made of skin and bone, nonetheless bore an element of athleticism and tough charm, with a reinforced jawline and sharp but tender glowing orange arrays of leaves for eyes. Despite the clear physical advantage that she bore, she seemed laid-back and restrained in her presentation, something which offended Sam a little. 

The weed is hiding itself. What does she take me for, some kind of helpless creature?

“Yes, Sammi. Prototype, dear. We’ve been looking to find more ways to intercept feralists who may run astray, and look to harm others of your kind.”

Sam pouted a little. “My name is not Sammi. It’s-”

“Oh, I know your legal name, dear. But you offered up a moniker that seems to suit you so much better. Or would you rather I come up with an even more satisfactory one?” 

Daffodila spoke teasingly, but there was an almost imperceptible venom to those words which caused Sam to shut his mouth. For some reason he got the sense that pushing his luck would make this interaction worse for him.

“Okay, so…” Sam said, trying to move on. “How are you doing this? No one has teleportation technology. Not even the Affini. What gives?”

Daffodila smiled, as though Sam had asked a genuinely interesting question for once. “It’s quite simple, really.” 

Even as she explained, her not-quite-human voice reverberating through the air, Sam could tell that Daffodila wasn’t just toying with him; there was a hard science backing her words, and she knew it. 

“The prototype laser that we implemented simply accesses your DNA, and reconstitutes small parts of your helical structure so that your body may begin manufacturing the biological components that we Affini use, including the haustoric implants growing in your nervous system enabling our long distance communications. This conversation that we are having is unique. Not many sophonts can claim to have produced a link quite like ours.”

Samuel blinked a little. 

“I… beg your pardon? Are you saying that you somehow corrupted my own cells into… into making this?” He tore open his shirt to reveal the crimson flower underneath.

Daffodila hummed in a rather bemused fashion. “‘Corrupted’ is inaccurate. Your own body is producing the changes. It’s quite marvelous, really. You should be proud. Locally grown implants are still in the early stages of development. As a test case, you have already done wonders.”

A ball of anger grew from Samuel’s chest. Good. Anger was useful. Better than confusion, or helplessness.

“Am I… am I some kind of test subject to you??” he shouted, trying to push the desperation out of his voice.

The Affini paused to consider the question, vines rubbing across her face as she did. “In some sense, yes. Since your rights as a free citizen were relinquished as the commander of an unregistered rebel ship – Pursuant of the Treaty on the Methods, Limitations, and Procedures for Human Domestication, Section 43 and 47, I may add – this act is fair grounds for treating you as a case study.”

He felt sick to his stomach. He was just some kind of scientific plaything to these alien bastards.

“Do not be alarmed. The Affini Compact guarantees that we will do everything in our power to make sure you are unharmed. If we believed that this prototype had any chance of killing you outright, we would not have fired it to begin with.”

“So…” he muttered. “...what’s the end goal? You’re gonna turn me into a plant? Into an Affini?”

The smile that crept up Daffodila’s lips did not imbue Sam with confidence. “Turn you into an Affini? How presumptuous, little one.”

“No,” she continued, slithering forth until she was only inches from Sam’s face, “I intend for you to become your ideal pet self when all of this is said and done. And the best part of all is… you will do this for me.”

Sam growled, a rather comical act that sounded more like a strained cry from a damsel-in-distress than a trained captain of the resistance.

“I will… I will never be your pet.”

“Then why oh why, my dear,” Daffodila extended a root to grasp Sam’s chin, pulling it towards her with a vice grip, “are you so soft and pliable already?”

Several panicked thoughts flashed through Sam’s mind at once. For starters, even if this was just a faster-than-light biocommunication channel, how was he being physically manipulated? Was Affini technology capable of transferring touch over long distances? How quickly was the flower embedded in his sternum affecting him? What did she know about him that he didn’t? What about his-

And all of these questions immediately gave way as a sonorous, whale-song of a voice smashed through his mind, purging all resistance.

[Down, girl.]

Sam went slack. He felt his body succumb, his mind sink deeper and deeper into the billowing, beautiful siren song. Ecstasy stabbed at the corners of what remained, voiding all other sensations. A low moan escaped Sam’s lips. He was helpless. All words escaped him. He was at the mercy of the Affini in front of him and it felt wondrous. 

[That’s better. Now…] 

A single visual image returned to his head, vines craning his neck until he had nowhere else to look.

[Watch.]

His body. A reflection of himself.

Breaking. 

Crackling. 

Shattering.

He was in no mental state to avert his eyes, but he cried anyway so his tears might obstruct his vision. There was something underneath sinister, tempting, something he did everything in his power not to acknowledge. A fact that was impossible, that had always been impossible. A twisted fantasy that bore itself in a full, clear view.

“Amazing,” she breathlessly whispered.

Everything faded to black.

------

Sam came to, facing the ceiling of his quarters. 

Another… Another dream?

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. He must have passed out in a ball on the floor, and then eventually ended up belly up before waking. Yes, he reasoned, this is definitely what happened. Not the weird mind-fuckery that had just taken place. 

He shook his head. Faster-than-light peer-to-peer augmented reality communication? Who was he kidding? It simply was a bad nightmare. It had to be. 

The mental haze of getting up after a long rest began to clear as he checked his digital slate. 4 Sol hours had passed since he had entered his room again. He did a double take. He hadn’t been out for that long, had he? 

As he gathered his bearings, he finally realized what had happened. Anxiety shot through him as he scrambled to open his shirt up. His fine motor skills felt blunted and unable to respond to his actions, against the buttons of a shirt that was beginning to feel a little too large. His hopes sank as his efforts were rewarded with a proper view of the crimson colored problem still embedded into his sternum. 

“Nooooo…” he let out what ended up becoming a defeated moan.

He tried to come up with a proper plan of action. It felt like his mind was trailing circles, sluggishly fixating on idea after idea. 

Everything’s all wrong… my voice is all messed up… If I show myself now they'll lock me up. They'll lock me up and I'll lose authority. If I lose authority there's no way I'll be treated. If I don't get treated I'm going to become some stupid Affini's pet. And if I become some stupid Affini’s pet… 

"Urrrghh!" He let out a frustrated sigh. 

Why didn't I propose treating Engineer Conners in the medical wing? Why did I agree to just lock them up? Why wasn’t I able to just remove the flower? Why? Why?

He sulked for a moment, briefly overwhelmed with the situation. Part of him wanted to believe he sincerely did have a cold, and that he needed to get more rest. Yes. If he just got some rest it could give his immune system a fighting chance, and begin to reject the implant in his chest. Then he'd be in the right state of mind to fix everything… 

No. No it won’t. 

He steeled himself.

I have to take matters into my own hands. 

Sam sat down on his bed, trying to ignore how sensitive his legs and butt had gotten. Using his slate, he pulled up a map to the medical wing. Even if he couldn’t cut the damn flower out of his chest with a knife, he knew of an emergency laser surgery center roughly around the area. With some on-the-fly recalibration, it could do the operation even if he wasn’t actively at the controls. The trouble would be getting there without arousing suspicion; he was looking more and more pale, and his own clothes were starting to billow on him. If he were recognized and interrogated, his voice would give him away. If he tried to go anywhere else in the state he was in, he would be put to the brig. And even then, if he successfully surgically removed the implant, he wasn’t sure that it would reverse the changes it had already made to his body. 

Still, he had to grit his teeth and try.

If they're trying to domesticate someone, they picked the wrong person. I bet they've never considered someone with the tenacity of Resistance Captain Samuel Dirkost.

Beaming with Terran pride, he nodded his head just a little, psyching himself up. This mission could be carried out; he could save himself and prove just how strong of a man he was-

The captain’s slate began to ring. Samuel froze in place. It was coming in from Lt. Jones, priority alert. It would be a complete negligence of duty to not respond.

Without thinking he slapped his slate to answer the call.

"Sir! We have a problem,” he heard Lt. Jones yelling somewhere from the helm. “Multiple crewmen have been found with flowers in their chests! Somehow we think it's spreading."

Sam felt adrenaline rush through his body, and instinctually answered.

"Dammit – this whole thing is getting out of control-"

He gasped, clamping down on his mouth with both hands. He forgot how drastically his voice had changed, and hadn’t even tried to prepare himself. 

It was too little, too late. There was a beat that felt like eternity, then Sam heard the response. 

"...who am I speaking to?”

It was a cold, detached command from Lt. Jones, frighteningly different from the deferential tone he normally used when taking orders from his captain.

In fact, it was so intimidating it caused Sam to chuck the slate across the room with a shriek. The device hit the wall with a thud, fizzling with an unhappy electronic noise before breaking apart.

Sam put his hands on his head. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...

Slowly, his perception started drifting. The walls of his quarters suddenly began to close in on him. A looming sense of helplessness and dread dawned upon him; the Captain's quarters, the upper deck, suddenly all of the Oklahoma felt too small for him. He was trapped. He was trapped in a mess he made. If he hadn't been distracted, if only he had been thinking straight, if only he hadn't been turned on by the sound of his voice and the softness of his skin…

If only those damn weeds hadn't gotten into my head, I would have made this fucking flower wilt and die already. 

Part of him felt ready to cry again, but he repressed that impulse to the best of his ability. He knew he had to act fast. Lieutenant Jones probably was gathering security together to approach his quarters, since it was the Captain's slate – his slate – he had answered. 

I am the captain. I know all of the passphrases, I have all of the knowledge. I can convince them! I… I hate the Affini too! They can't… they won't put me in the brig. They won't. 

Sweat began to pool across his skin. He stood up from his bed. He wondered whether he should show that he was unarmed… hold his hands in the air. He liked that idea. Show he was ready to comply, that he wasn't some Affini sympathizer or undercover spy.

He had only managed to finish that thought when a loud knock on the security door cut through the rest of his plan-making. 

A muffled voice shouted from the hallway.

"SHIP SECURITY OPEN UP!"

*BOOM!*

An explosion rocked the front of the door, blasting the entire section of the hull, frame and all, into pieces. Sam dove behind his bed, screaming as metal shards flew overhead. His ears rang. The smell of ozone choked his nostrils. The world closed in a little more.

A cloud of debris drifted across the room, and Sam could hear the clamor of boots stepping into the room, clearing sections and checking corners. 

"We found her!"

Her? Was there someone else in the room with them? Sam poked his head out, looking to see if perhaps there had been a mistake, that maybe, possibly, security was looking for someone else who had secretly snuck into the captain’s quarters.

*BANG*

Sam yelped as the whizz of a bullet streaked past his face, his pillow exploding in a flurry of feathers. He ducked back down, shaking and frightened. 

The boot drops came closer, and closer.

Around the bedpost, Lt. Jones approached slowly, handgun pointed directly at Sam. That same coldness that Sam heard over the slate practically oozed from the lieutenant as he towered over his Captain. Sam shrank more and more back against his bed, eyes wide, limbs shivering.

He was so fucked. 

“By the order of the Terran Resistance Force, you are under arrest.”