It had been a strange few weeks, Tsuga reflected. For the first time in a very long time, she was cohabitating with a xeno. This odd little grey-stripe terran, so sure of herself, had marched right into her life and taken up a place there as if it had been prepared for her — and while that wasn’t the case, Tsuga couldn’t help but feel that she fit as if it were. Though it had been bumpy at the outset, she and Cass had established a mutual rhythm of life that suited them both. Cass was independent enough to tolerate Tsuga’s occasional standoffishness, and that same need for the odd bit of solitude gave Cass the space to feel safe and secure in her presence.

If only Tsuga could somehow cure her of her bizarre fear of domestication. That was the one thing holding the relationship back, the one thing that kept them from falling perfectly into synch with one another. It would certainly improve the situation for Cass, who more and more looked as though she needed the kind of comfort and safety that it would bring. This morning, Tsuga was watching her frantically taking notes in her journal over a compiled breakfast of eggs on toast that she was scarcely touching. The dark circles under her eyes spoke to an unhealthy schedule on top of bad eating habits. The poor thing was going to pieces right in front of her. She’d been getting surly again, and every time Tsuga offered her a hit from her special Class-A flower, or a bit of Class-E to take the edge off her anxieties, she refused in increasingly agitated ways. Tsuga wasn’t sure why she was refusing it when it made her feel better, and wasn’t entirely sure she believed the claim that Cass felt she needed to have a clear head to do her work.

Just take her, she told herself. Stop being so selfish. She needs you.

It was selfish, Tsuga knew, to keep persisting in this forlorn hope that Cass would come around on her own, would ask to be domesticated. If she loved the little creature — and by now there was no denying that she did — she should do the right thing for her, shouldn’t she? But it was that love that stayed her vines, too. Cass’s wishes meant too much to her to simply ignore them outright, even if they were an obvious source of pain. All the training she’d received when she’d joined the Tillandsia’s crew hadn’t prepared her for such a conundrum.

“How long have you been awake?” Tsuga asked, kneeling down next to the terran’s little table.

Cass grunted, then shrugged. “Hour. Maybe two.”

“Should I check the hab’s records?”

“…longer, probably,” Cass muttered. “Working.”

“Yes, your big meeting today, I know,” Tsuga said. “Final votes on the Charter, election of permanent representatives. You must be relieved that it’ll all be behind you soon.”

Cass did not look relieved. She’d been getting more haggard, more visibly stressed out by the day. Tsuga wasn’t sure if the other terrans were noticing it, but it was obvious to her — the little trembles in her hands, the way her eyes would saccade back and forth without fixing on anything, the soft rocking back and forth whenever she could spare the motion. She was miserable, that much was certain.

“I’m fine,” Cass said, not looking up, not pausing in her relentless scribbling. She’d filled half the volume with notes already, and she’d only compiled it last week, to replace the notebook she’d already filled.

“… you don’t seem fine,” Tsuga said gently. “You seem very stressed out, in fact. Maybe you should take a short break.”

“I can’t take a break,” Cass snapped. “I have work. I have to have everything in order before this vote or everything’s fucked.”

“Cass, my darling, nothing is going to be fucked if you pause for ten minutes to actually eat your breakfast.” Tsuga hoped the tactical use of profanity would earn a smile, but alas, such was the depth of Cass’s irritation and unease that it passed unnoticed.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You come from a post-scarcity utopia where your species is the uncontested authority on literally everything. I come from a prison planet. I’m not even talking about Solstice! The Accord was a prison from top to bottom, a machine of suffering and exploitation, and I will not allow what we build here to turn into that!”

“Neither will we.” Tsuga kept her voice gentle but added an understone of firmness, of certainty. “I promise.”

Cass froze, her pen scratching to a stop on the paper. “Tsuga, has it occurred to you that I don’t consider that reassuring in the slightest?”

“…no, actually,” Tsuga said — which was true. They both wanted the same thing, domestication aside. “Why?”

“Because you don’t give us a choice,” Cass spat, slamming the pen against the table with the flat of her hand. “Because everything has to be your way!”

“Our way is best,” Tsuga said. “We have rather a lot of experience and evidence to back that up.”

“Yes, because you refuse to allow anyone else to develop to your level before you swoop in and domesticate them!” She was on her feet now, turning to face Tsuga, her face screwed up in anger. “You refuse to allow anything we do to matter, because in the end you’ll have us all collared and doped out of our minds! Why can’t you just leave us alone?!” She stood there, huffing for breath after her outburst, shoulders heaving as she stared up at Tsuga.

“Would you leave someone in pain to suffer if you knew you could help them?” Tsuga asked. “If you came upon someone who was terribly injured, who needed medical care, and who was loudly insisting that they were fine and that you should go away, would you leave them?”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Cass growled. “That’s not the same thing at all!”

“From our perspective, it very much is.” She shifted slightly, leaning closer. “I’m only concerned for your well-being, the same as we all are for all of you. You know that by now, I know you do.” Cass had been on the Tillandsia long enough, had spent enough time around Leah and other florets, had seen her own comrades accept the Affini. She was simply hurting, at her limit or near enough to be indistinguishable. The break-through had to come soon, didn’t it? Please, ask me, she thought. Ask me and let this hurting stop. You need this.

Cass must have been thinking the same thing, because she said nothing, just stared up at Tsuga for a long moment. “I have to get back to work,” she said quietly, turning back to the table. “I have to be ready. I can’t just abandon them.”

“Eat first, then work,” Tsuga said.

“Despite your fetish for domestication I am not your pet,” Cass snapped. “So stop treating me like one!”

Tsuga clamped down on the reflexive shudder, hopefully fast enough to keep it hidden; Cass’s words had been like a blow to her core. You could fix that so easily, she thought. But until then I’ll do what I have to do to help you the way we still are. “It’s true,” she said softly. “You are not my pet. But you are my friend, and I am worried about you. So please eat.”

Cass glared at Tsuga over her shoulder, but acquiesced, taking a bite of her cold toast and eggs before going back to scribbling in her notebook. Tsuga felt a bit of relief — things weren’t so bad she couldn’t get a handle on them if she needed to. Cass simply needed special care and handling. Even Tsuga knew that some xenos were like that. Maybe once this government thing is settled, she thought, we can begin making progress again.

“All those in favor? Thank you. And those opposed? Thank you. In the opinion of the chair, the ayes have it and the motion is carried.” There was an audible sigh of relief throughout the room, and a soft susurrus of whispers from around its fringes. The chair, a middle-aged man from Featherstone Cass had never met and whose only qualifications for the chairmanship were a decent understanding of Robert’s Rules and not belonging to any of the major factions who wouldn’t tolerate any of the others having one of their own in charge, smiled and lifted his gavel. “And with that, friends, I believe the business of the People’s Provisional Government of Solstice is concluded.” He brought it down with a firm, clear tap on the tabletop, and sporadic applause broke out around the room. Slowly, social gravity pulled others into applauding, some enthusiastically, some reservedly, some grudgingly.

Cass did not applaud. She felt hollow inside, both because this agreement ultimately represented a defeat and because the work wasn’t over. Elections would come next, and she’d have to ensure the right people made it in. Entryism would never work, and she knew it, but it was the only lever left to her. The slim margins of regional autonomy would never hold out against state power, not without a lot of pushback. Whoever sat in that chair would have to have some real fire in them.

Perhaps it was silly of her to care so much — the government would have no real authority. She’d read the Human Domestication Treaty, and while supposedly they were getting one of their own, she couldn’t imagine it’d be any less strict when it came to human autonomy from the Affini. No, they would get what they wanted. They always got what they wanted. Everything she was doing was meaningless, just like it had been before. It was amazing, in a way, how the Affini could simply obliterate meaning without even trying.

“Well, you got your way, the government’s totally useless for any kind of real central planning. Happy?” Mycek had come around the table as people began to mill around. The sunline shining in through the skylights highlighted his receding hairline with just a touch of glare.

Cass smiled up at him — appearances were important, and Mycek was one of those men who always had to feel like they had the last word. “If I achieve such a victory again, I shall return to Epirus without a single soldier.” Let him chew on that one for a while.

Sadly, he didn’t take the bait. “Regardless of our differences, we have to work together, if only against the Affini. We need unity on this, and I know you know that.”

“What we need, we do not and cannot have,” Cass replied. “I’ve said that this entire time. Fighting them is pointless.”

“But a negotiated solution may still be available to us,” Mycek pressed on. “Now that we have a legitimate government representing the whole planet, instead of a loosely affiliated band of individualist outposts, they’ll have to take us seriously.”

Cass knew full well that the Affini didn’t have to do anything they didn’t want to do, but she didn’t want to be drawn into this debate with Mycek. He might not have had the same willingness to descend into a screaming match as Nell, but if anything his ability to place absolute faith in historical inevitability was stronger. “Well, when we elect a representative for Elysium, you can talk their ear off about it,” she said. “As you may have heard, the provisional government’s business is done.”

“Please.” Mycek rolled his eyes theatrically. “As if the great Cass Hope would ever tolerate anyone else having their hands on the levers of power. Not only will you obviously be the representative, I fully expect you to try and lean on everyone you can and build some kind of a coalition that gives you full control.”

“…what the hell are you talking about?” Cass said, her eyes fixing on that smug smile of his.

“I’m saying you’re the worst anarchist I’ve ever met. Oh, you believe all this individualist nonsense, I’m not saying you don’t, but when push comes to shove you always glom onto as much power as you can. It’s the one rational thing about you. Even when we basically didn’t have a government to speak of, when we were all hiding in holes in the ground, everyone knew you were in charge. No one ever doubted that.”

Cass blinked. What the hell was Mycek talking about? “In the sense that Bulwark was always intended to be the point of first contact with the enemy, and therefore in a position to inform others about–“

“No no no,” he interrupted. “I’m not talking about Bulwark being the obvious bullseye, I’m talking about how nothing important got done without you having a chance to put your finger on the scale.”

“People asked for my opinion. Was I not supposed to give it?”

“They weren’t asking for your opinion. They were asking for your permission,” Mycek said. The smile fell away, and it didn’t improve his face any. “Come on, drop the act, I can see right through it.”

“It’s not an act,” Cass said, meeting his eyes and glaring. “If I take point on things, it’s because I want to make sure things get done properly, and I want to make sure we don’t backslide into the same shit we’re supposed to be overthrowing.”

He met her glare unflinching. Not many could do that. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” he said. “Don’t expect me to lie down and let you run roughshod over things the way you did over the provisional government. We’re not going to sacrifice progress on the altar of individualism, not anymore.”

“And as usual, you’re talking out your ass,” Cass replied. “At least Nell knew how to argue her points instead of just asserting them.”

“Well, Nell’s not around anymore, and even if she was, don’t assume we’d be putting her in charge,” he spat. “Clearly there was something wrong with her from the start if she gave in that easily.”

“Fuck off, Mycek.” Cass was beginning to regret explaining Nell’s absence, but it wasn’t as if she could have left the question open — and in any case, they were like as not to find out she was a floret sooner or later. The rumor mill had been spinning ever since, and every time someone came up to ask Cass to confirm something absolutely nonsensical that they’d been told, it grated on her every nerve. “Go salivate over the prospect of a dictatorship of the proletariat, for all the good it’ll do you.” She swept up her notebook and stood, stalking away, and if Mycek made any response, she didn’t listen for it.

It wasn’t as if any of it mattered. The Affini were in charge, and the Affini would stay in charge. Anything to counteract them would need to operate long-term, and that wasn’t something Mycek or his kind of centralism would countenance. To keep the embers of freedom stoked would be a project that defied infrastructure, defied government, defied geography — it would be a thing of the human heart. That was all it ever could be, especially in the face of the weaponized paradise the Compact represented.

How would they do it? Cass had plans, of course, plans within plans. Half of the last week had been planning for what happened after the final vote, the things that would need to be done to keep the Affini from encroaching any further than they already had. Part of her had been writing it down hoping she could make clandestine copies, hand them off one by one to be disseminated among the terran population. Once it was out there, once those concepts found fertile soil in the minds of the reader, even the Affini would have trouble rooting them all out. It was a long game, and one Cass would play in a single move. Then, she could let the government do what it would, and pull back. Her work would finally be done, and she could at long last unclench. That was the dream: the dream that all this could finally be over.

But it’s not, she told herself. It’s never over. Mycek was right about one thing — she was a perfectionist. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Something would inevitably draw her back in. Someone would come to her with questions, looking for advice, looking for a hand, and that would be the pebble that started the avalanche anew.

This wasn’t the end, oh no — barely even the beginning. She’d be doing this until she drew her last breath, and knowing her, her restless shade would find a way to keep working at it even afterwards. It never ends. Fight back, and keep on fighting, because it never ends. She felt the ache in her heart, and the weight on her shoulders. She needed air. Real air, even if it didn’t stink like false oak.

It was in the entryway that she found Andoa. “Ah, Captain Hope,” e purred, leaning over just a little to peer down at her. “Always a pleasure. And how goes democracy, hmm?” There was something about eir body, something about the way e carried emself, that struck Cass as different — but then, with how fluidly the Affini treated their own shape, that could have meant any number of things.

“About as well as ever,” she replied, “which is to say, it makes me question the sanity of my comrades and want to tear my hair out.”

“That well, eh?” E grinned, a little too wide as usual, and straightened. “Well, I do look forward to the negotiation with your shiny new government. I take it that you’ve finished the preliminaries?”

“We have a structure to work with, yes,” Cass said. “Elections still need to happen.” And she would need to stand in them, and while she was fairly certain no one would oppose her for the Pan-Elysian Anarchist Confederation’s seat, that didn’t mean she could treat it as de facto hers in the meantime.

“Adorable, absolutely adorable. Well, I know any negotiations will have to wait until after that, but I thought I’d come down, stick my head in, say hello, official congratulations, et cetera et cetera, and hand off a copy of the Human Domestication Treaty for everyone to peruse ahead of time. I know we Affini tend to go a little overboard on the paperwork — but really, can you blame us? — and this will ensure everyone knows where we stand going into the negotiations.”

“For negotiations, read ‘you get everything you want,’” Cass grumbled. “I know how this works.”

“Oh, come now, don’t be so cynical,” Andoa said. “I’ll have you know we’ve already revised it significantly as concerns Solstice. For example, the section on capitalism is completely different, since you have your own idiolect for discussing the nature of value and labor! Oh, you should seen Lenta when I showed it Capital, Cass, it was absolutely beside itself with glee.”

“That…actually doesn’t surprise me,” Cass admitted. “But you know what I mean. You’re never going to let us be autonomous. You’re never going to take the threat of domestication off the table.”

“Threat?” Andoa raised a random assortment of eir six eyebrow fronds. “My my my, all this time among us and you still think domestication is a punishment?”

“When you hold it over my head unless I behave, it’s hard to see it as anything but.”

“We’re not holding it over your head,” Andoa said gently. “Cass, you’ve read the treaty. You know that most of it is solely concerned with the welfare of your species. It’s functionally a how-to guide for us, a guide on how to ensure that your species is as happy as we can possibly make it.”

“Happy in a utilitarian sense, perhaps. I’m not a utilitarian.”

“You don’t seem terribly happy, either,” Andoa replied, a note of concern in eir voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Fight back, she told herself. This is just em trying to get to you. Just one more field of battle. She would have to play it off right. “No, I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “Just been dealing with people all day. Need to decompress.”

“If you say so. Well, Nell and I are going to go ahead and deliver the treaty. You take care of yourself.”

“Or else,” Cass muttered. “Wait, Nell?” She glanced around, but no one else was in the entryway, and she certainly hadn’t seen Nell inside. As she looked up at Andoa, confused, the moss-creature grinned once more and leaned in close, holding a single, long finger to its ‘lips’ as the vines that made up eir chest began to unweave themselves ever so slightly, becoming a mesh. Through that mesh, Cass saw a shivering mass of terran, red-faced and trussed up in vines, clutching a heavy binder to her chest. Nell’s eyes blinked rapidly at the light, her dilated pupils only giving the barest fraction of ground. The vine gagging her mouth made it impossible for her to talk, for her to smile or frown or to do anything but moan. Her eyes finally fixed on Cass, and she made a soft noise that might have been her calling out to her.

And there wasn’t a trace of fear in Nell’s eyes. Not a trace of worry, or anger, or frustration. For the brief moment she locked eyes with Nell, all Cass saw there was comfort, relief, and endless joy. Nell loved what the Captain was doing to her, and that feeling was written across her red-cheeked face as plain as day. Even Cass couldn’t miss it. Then, the vines slipped back into place over her, tightening back into the slightly-less-svelte-than-usual chest Andoa was sporting today. “Don’t mind us,” Andoa said, winking with three or four of eir eyes. “We’re just going to go give everyone a nice surprise.” E straightened, and walked past Cass — she was too stunned at what she’d just seen to say anything, to move to stop the Captain, or to do much of anything except dwell on what she was feeling.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. She squeezed her hands into fists and shut her eyes, seething. Heat crawled up the back of her neck, into her head, right behind her eyes. The shame of it, the overpowering shame. Her stomach in knots, she bit her lip and admonished herself. Fight back. Fight back. Fight back!

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.

She shouldn’t feel jealous of what Nell was having done to her.

But that part of her was still there, the part of her that wanted to hand off her notes on how to maintain revolutionary thought in the world the Affini were making and forget about them, the part of her that wanted not to stand for election, the part of her that just wanted to be left alone for once in her fucking life, the part of her that wanted to be held, the part of her that wanted to be allowed to be anything other than the stern, stoic, strong leader that she’d had to be for more than half her life. That part of her was still there, and it wanted that. It wanted not to have to worry. It wanted not to have to fight. It had always been there, underneath it all. She had always had to force herself to fight, because she had to fight, because there was nothing left but the fight. Wasn’t there?

Hot tears stung Cass’s eyes as she choked down the furious bile rising in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest, in her throat, in her temples, a drumbeat marching to war with itself. She couldn’t just give in like this. But what about the rule? Fight as long as you can, and when you can’t anymore, know it and say it. That had always been the rule. Why wouldn’t the rule apply to her too? Because it couldn’t — if she gave up, that was it, wasn’t it? Who would do the work of revolution? Who would burn the candle at both ends to make it all work? No one else should have to do that. That was Cass’s burden, and she carried it, if not gladly, then with resolve.

And what happened when that resolve broke? She shook her head, hugged herself, and stode out of the entryway and into the open ship beyond. The sunline was bright, the breeze was gentle, and it was a beautiful day on the Tillandsia. Everything was perfectly engineered by the Affini to be exactly as it should be. It felt like a warped mirror that reflected the opposite of how Cass felt.

She couldn’t let her resolve break. She couldn’t. She wasn’t allowed to stop.

Fight back. Fight back! FIGHT BACK!

The walking felt good. It was a place to direct her energy. The stones and moss and grass and tough little flowers bore up under her stomping pace. She walked, and walked, not really caring where she ended up. Trees, habs, plazas, transit stations — they all blurred together into a background noise of alien perfection that Cass skittered across like a drop of water on an oily surface.

She couldn’t let it in. She couldn’t let it break her.

She wasn’t sure how long she spent walking like that, how long it was before she found herself facing the door of her hab as it slid open before her. When it closed and shut out the gentle sounds of the outdoors, she felt a sense of relief flood through her. Here, at least, she felt safe. She could unclench, breathe, let the tears stream down her cheeks. The only Affini here wasn’t a threat.

“Cass?” Speak of the devil — Tsuga was already standing over her, vibrating with concern. When had she emerged? Had Cass lost track of time again, lost in her feelings? “Cass, are you alright?” She knelt down next to Cass, one hand held out, and Cass eagerly leaned into it. The pressure and weight of it helped a little, a feeling of being grounded and secure competing with the sense that she was losing control of herself, losing her grip on everything that mattered. “Did something happen at the vote?”

Cass shook her head. “Not…no,” she mumbled, still clutching at herself. “Just too much.”

Tsuga let out a very convincing sigh — she was getting better at human gestures. “I told you that you’ve been overworking yourself. No wonder you’re so wound up. I’ll run you a bath and cook you something nice for dinner. Maybe I’ll try making fesenjoon. Would you like that?”

For a moment, the thought of a warm bath and a big bowl of stew sounded absolutely heavenly, but only for a moment. No, no, no! This is the same thing the Captain was doing! Every offer is a trap! Every kindness is a weapon! Fight back! She shook her head, a sob suddenly welling up and bursting out of her mouth.

“Cass, darling, please. You’re hurting.” The pressure from Tsuga’s hand grew fractionally more intense. “Let me help.” A familiar flower emerged from inside Tsuga, the petals blossoming enticingly, but Cass batted it away before it could get close. “Cass–“

“No!” Cass shouted, her tears redoubling and half-choking her voice. “No xenodrugs!”

“Why not? You’re in pain and I can help. Let me help, please.”

Something in the tone of that last word — the desperation, the need, the echoed hurt — was too much for Cass. She felt another sob burst out of her, and with it came a torrent of emotion she had been repressing days, maybe weeks. “Because I don’t deserve it!” she blurted out, turning away and burying her face into Tsuga’s hand. No, no, no, you don’t say things like that! You don’t want it, it isn’t something you wish you could have. Fight back!

“What in the world do you mean, you don’t deserve it?” Tsuga’s other hand moved in to gently rest on Cass’s back, and even through her storm inside of her Cass felt a frisson of comfort.

Cass shook her head. Don’t acknowledge it, don’t even admit you said it. Just ignore it. Ignore it and it’ll go away.

“Cass.” Tsuga’s massive hands gently spun her around, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She found herself looking up at those enormous, shining eyes, the tears in her own the only thing keeping her from falling forever into them. “Why do you believe that you deserve to hurt? Is this about what you told me before? About what you did in the wild? We talked about that, that doesn’t have to have any bearing on who you are now that you’re safe. And you are safe.”

“Not like that,” Cass whimpered, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and looking away. Fuck, I’m a mess. No wonder she thinks I’m an easy mark. “I just…I can’t. I can’t let myself. I have to stay clear-headed.”

“I’m not going to accept that excuse anymore. Please tell me what’s bothering you,” Tsuga said gently, hovering over her. “I promise I won’t do anything you don’t ask me for, but I need to know what’s hurting you.”

She took a deep, stuttering breath, and let it out slowly. The tears began to trickle to a halt. “I’m just tired. I’m tired of all this fucking politics, and I’m tired of banging my head against statist bullshit.” She felt like there was a rock in her gut in the shape of a lie. It was a lie of omission, but it was still a lie, and she didn’t want to lie to Tsuga. She was an Affini, yes, and self-admittedly in favor of domestication, but she at least respected Cass enough to do not do it. Shouldn’t she afford Tsuga the same respect? “And I’m tired of walking on eggshells to avoid being domesticated. You say I’m safe but I don’t feel like it.”

“Why do you feel as if you’re walking on…eggshells?” She sounded puzzled. “While it would depend on the species, of course, I can’t imagine they would provide a terribly stable surface for it.”

“It’s an idiom,” Cass said. “Means I’m nervous. Like every step is about to break something irreversibly.”

“Ah. And you feel this way about living aboard the Tillandsia?”

“I feel this way about the Affini. No matter where I go, it’ll be the same, won’t it? You’ll always be there, and I’ll always be under suspicion, and sooner or later my bucking against the system will cross some invisible line in the sand and then it’s off to domestication!”

Tsuga seemed to think this over. “I can see why you might be concerned,” she admitted. “But remember, I filed a Notice of Intent to Domesticate. That’s still active. No matter what happens, Cass, if that decision is made, you’ll come right back to me.”

“There’s no if about it,” Cass said, looking away. “You know it and I know it. You always get what you want, and I can’t stop myself from fighting. You and Polyphylla went digging around in my head, you’ve seen it, haven’t you? It’s always on my mind, Tsuga, always. I see a system rife with injustice and I can’t help but want to tear it down. I don’t know how to not be that person.”

“Polyphylla’s analysis was rather pessimistic about your long-term prospects for independence, it’s true,” Tsuga said. “But there’s a non-zero possibility, according to her. Together, I think, we can steer you that way — and I think it’ll be easier for you if you let me help you with this stress you’re feeling.”

“It’s not about the stress,” Cass protested. “It’s about what I’m going to do.” Part of her squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of revealing operational secrets like this. Fight back! it told her, but she quashed it with a compromise — she wouldn’t say anything specific. “I’m going to fight, you know I will, and I’m going to drag others into it. I’m going to run for a seat in the government and I’m going to fight tooth and nail every step of the way to make problems for you. I know those problems won’t amount to much, but it’ll be enough, I know it will. If I keep this up, I’m fucked.”

“And as you said, you feel that you can’t stop yourself,” Tsuga said softly. “Is that the conundrum?”

Cass sniffed and nodded. Her eyes ached, and her sinuses felt like one massive swollen block of misery. “You always get what you want,” she muttered. “One way or another. And you want me.”

“…I do. Because I love you, and I want you to be happy, and I want to be the one who makes you happy.” She paused. “I would very much like to cuddle you right now, and I think it would be good for you, too. Would that be alright?” Cass hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and in seconds she was airborne as Tsuga stood, clutching her to her broad, soft chest. She was enveloped by Tsuga’s presence, her scent, the pressure of her arms and hands and body. She felt some — not all, but some — of her stress slip away as she nuzzled into the soft vines, as one hand clutched at a ridge of bark that served Tsuga as a collarbone.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Of all the things you cannot say, you cannot say this. But the voice in the back of her head wasn’t as strong as the feeling building in her chest, and it gave way before long, pushed aside by the sheer force of need. “I love you too,” Cass whispered. And she did. She had for some time, but had never thought to put it into words even to herself. Tsuga had been there for her from the beginning, had stood in her corner at every opportunity, and if they quarreled it was because they were talking past one another, not because they were truly at odds. Hearing Tsuga say those words had crystallized them within Cass, and now she couldn’t deny it any more than she could deny her nature.

And that was the problem, because her nature, after twenty-plus years of honing, was to fight back. Whatever she had once been, she had buried beneath that armor, that drive, and it had served her, if not well, loyally. But now there was something in her strong enough to rival that drive, the need to tear down injustice, the urge to burn corruption and exploitation to ashes and salt the earth where once it had stood. She was at a crossroads, and for the first time in a long time, there was a choice to be made.

“I’m going to be domesticated no matter what happens, aren’t I?” she whispered.

Tsuga was silent for a moment, her vines tenderly coiling around Cass’s body. “It’s likely, but not certain.”

“It’s going to happen,” Cass said. “We both know it.” Don’t. Don’t. DON’T! Fight back, you coward! She gritted her teeth, swallowed heavily, and continued. “So…just do it. Just get it over with. I’m so tired, and I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I don’t want to drag anyone else down with me.”

She felt Tsuga’s vines tighten around her. “You’re quite certain you want this?” Her voice had changed, somehow, now rich with overtones and undertones that reverberated throughout Cass, pressed up against her as she was. It shook her and filled her, and for just a heartbeat Cass went so lightheaded she was worried that she’d been somehow dosed.

“As much as I can want it…I just want this to stop,” Cass whispered. “But I have one condition.” She looked up at Tsuga, her eyes brimming over with tears again. “Don’t make me forget, I can’t– I owe it to everyone I’ve hurt, everyone I’ve fucked over, not to forget.”

“Not to mention everyone you’ve helped, everyone you’ve protected, everyone you’ve inspired,” Tsuga said, smiling warmly, her eyes flashing with gold that threatened to push out every other color in them, deep and profound and powerful. Even with her blurred vision Cass could feel their pull. “As much as I’m able, I’ll let you keep your memories. If I’m going to help you, I’m going to need to blunt some of those traumas at least a little. Is there anything else you’re concerned about?”

“Just… don’t keep me completely high all the time, please,” she said, laughing awkwardly. Take it back. You can still take it back. She’ll let you go if you ask. She swallowed and quashed the urge. She wasn’t going to do this anymore. She didn’t have to. She finally had a way out.

“You’ll be exactly as high as you want to be — which may be higher than you think you want to be,” Tsuga said, grinning. For just a brief moment, as she reached in with a few vines to brush the tears from Cass’s eyes, she looked almost like the Captain. But the grin wasn’t as important as her eyes, oh her eyes, and how they grew and grew and grew. “Oh, Cass,” Tsuga purred. “You can’t know how happy you’ve made me. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Made…me?” Words were becoming hard. There was so much of Tsuga and so little of her, and she was so beautiful it almost hurt to look.

“I could have taken you before now. I could have chased all this pain away, but I wanted you to want it. I wanted you to understand. Do you understand now, my love? Can you find it in that sweet little heart of yours to forgive me?”

Could she forgive Tsuga? Cass’s thoughts were slow, like pomegranate molasses, thick and sticky and tart and sweet, sweet like like Tsuga. Was it possible for any living being to approach perfection? If so, she’d found that being. Could she forgive Tsuga for making her wait for this? “…yeah,” she squeaked, at least thirty seconds after she tried to say that and more. There was something else there, something itchy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough to break through the lacquer of Cass’s heavy thoughts, through the beauty and radiance of Tsuga as she enveloped Cass with nothing more than her existence.

“Good girl,” Tsuga whispered, and it hit Cass like a sudden gust of hot summer wind rushing through the souks of Zerqamîsh, the kind of wind that felt as if God Himself had reached down and given you a shove. She shivered and bit her lip, even as she felt the soft petals of a flower press against her face. “Now breathe, little one. You’ve been needing this.”

Cass did as she was told, the rich and savory scent of not-quite cinnamon only slightly dampened by the state of her sinuses. Within seconds, she felt the xenodrug take hold, as every micro-movement of vines across her body rippled endlessly up and down across her skin. “Good girl,” Tsuga repeated, her vines snaking across Cass’s body, slipping up under her shirt, tugging her shoes off, gently stripping her jacket — every moment of it bliss that sent Cass reeling. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” she murmured.

“Aaah?” Cass could barely move her mouth, and even the act of making that soft noise set up vibrations in her body that set her skin tingling. She saw vines upon vines hovering over her as Tsuga began to unweave parts of herself, and then–

If what had come before was bliss, what happened next was orders of magnitude beyond that. More and more of Cass’s skin was exposed as Tsuga methodically stripped her, and whenever new skin was exposed her vines found it and set to work. She felt the prickly touch of her needles, the soft slithering of her vines, the rough scraping of her bark, all of it at once like a whirlwind. She was helpless against it, her soul cast adrift to swirl helplessly. If she were at anyone else’s mercy, she would be terrified, but in Tsuga’s vines, she knew she was safe, knew she was loved. She felt vines pry her legs apart to tease the insides of her thigh, felt a thick vine play with her lips before snaking inside her mouth. Its heady taste filled Cass’s mind, and that too set ripples and reverberations rushing within her. She was like a drum, taut and vibrating with each beat of her heart; like a diaphanous scarf, caught in the wind and shapelessly tumbling.

On some level, she was vaguely aware that she was squirming, moaning, bucking against Tsuga, the enormous Affini holding her securely in her lap as she sat on her sofa, smiling down at her as she played with every inch of Cass’s body. How long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time had ceased to matter — she was in Tsuga’s vines, and she was Tsuga’s to play with, Tsuga’s to mold and change. She had given herself up utterly to this beautiful, incredible creature, this force of nature, and that absolute loss of control gave her a paradoxical sense of safety. After all, the Affini always got what they wanted, and Tsuga wanted Cass to be safe.

“Good girl, Cass.” Tsuga’s voice, gentle though it was, broke through the whirlwind like a hand reaching down to seize and squeeze her, ripping a loud and desperate moan from her lips that crowded around the vine still playing with her tongue. In that instant of clarity, she felt every vine lovingly toying with her body, top to bottom, and looked up at Tsuga towering above her, larger than life, filling up the hab with herself and her love for Cass — and there inside her, within a heart that beat in time with the thrumming pulses of Tsuga’s own internal biorhythms, was Cass’s love for Tsuga.

And for the first time in a long time, Cass Hope felt at peace.

“Finally!” Polyphylla said as she sat on her overgrown sofa next to Tsuga. “I thought she’d never realize she was functionally already your pet. You were only cooking for her, watching over her, handling all her paperwork, handling her veterinary needs–“

“She had a lot to work through,” Tsuga said, stroking Cass gently. The little terran was sprawled in her lap, quite insensate, murmuring and occasionally gently humping Tsuga’s thigh, her eyes glazed and fixed on a point in the distance. “And to be fair, so did I.”

“Well, I’m very happy for the both of you,” Polyphylla said, leaning into Tsuga. Several of her vines began to probe at Tsuga, and as usual she opened herself to allow them in, and sent a few vines back Polyphylla’s way. “And I know Leah will be absolutely delighted. She’s been beside herself this whole time Cass has been obsessed with her little government, you know?”

“Well, that won’t be a problem anymore, will it, Cass?” Tsuga said, chuckling and petting her terran. Cass made a soft noise and looked up — she wasn’t quite gone enough to not recognize her own name — then blinked and leaned back into Tsuga, mumbling something incoherent.

“Quite the change,” Polyphylla added with a warm laugh of her own. “Trying to break her in?”

“She asked for it, actually,” Tsuga said. “She’s afraid she’ll try to back out, so she wants to be like this all the way up to her implantation. And, since I need to get her ramped up anyway…”

“That’s absolutely adorable,” Polyphylla said, reaching into ruffle Cass’s hair and earning a mewl of helpless pleasure from her. “It does simplify things a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I do miss the conversation, but I know she’s not minding it, at least.”

“And Leah will be thrilled. She should be home from her date with Imogen and Ella soon. Oh, I can’t wait to see her face.”

“Neither can I,” Tsuga said, and it was true — Leah had a way of absolutely lighting up with delight at even the littlest things, and Cass always seemed to elicit a very strong reaction from her. “We’ll have to make sure they have lots of time together.”

“About that–“ Polyphylla shifted slightly, and her biorhythms sharpened suddenly. There was no missing the change in mood, not half-in-and-half-out of each other the way they were.

“What are you being so serious about all of a sudden?” Tsuga said. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, it’s just– well, you’ve seen the two of them together. I think it’s quite clear they’re well on their way to being pinnates. Leah certainly feels that way about Cass already, I think. She misses her other girlfriends when they’re not available, but with Cass it’s getting to the point of pining.”

Tsuga thought about it for a moment. It was true: Leah was very fixated on Cass, more so than was usual for her — but then, Tsuga had only known the sweet little terran for a few months. “You would know best, I suppose, she’s your pet and you’re the terran expert. What do you suppose we should do, ensure regular visitation?”

“…I was thinking more along the lines of–“ She paused, her vines riffling in a very flustered way. What the dirt’s the matter with her? Tsuga wondered. “It’s just– I know it must feel very sudden and all, but– that is to say– ohhhh!” She nearly discorporated, but forced herself back into a terran-like shape quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m just very, very nervous about this.”

“About what? Polyphylla, you can talk to me about anything, you know that.” The two of them didn’t quite have a mentor relationship, like Tsuga did with Pisca — Polyphylla was established enough and an expert in her own (very different) field that they’d sorted themselves out into a perfectly ordinary friendship, if admittedly one Tsuga still felt as though she was feeling out as she went along. This galaxy’s subculture was very different from what she was used to.

“Yes, but you’re– you’re you,” she said. “You’re four times my age, you’ve been all over multiple sub-galaxies, you’re an experienced archaeologist and climatic engineer, and I’m… I’m good at terran brains, and that’s it! Can you blame me for feeling a little inadequate next to you?”

“You’re hardly inadequate,” Tsuga said. It seemed like the sort of time for a friendly gesture, so Tsuga curled a few vines around Polyphylla. “You are very impressive, in fact. Or haven’t you noticed me following your lead when it comes to terrans?”

“Yes, but that’s different,” Polyphylla complained. “It has absolutely no bearing on the fact that I feel like I have no right to ask someone as amazing as you to merge your hab with mine after we’ve scarcely been companions for a few terran lunar days!”

Tsuga had clearly not heard that right. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh frost, I said it, didn’t I?” Another full-body shudder threatened her shape. “Well, there, it’s out in the open. And it is the right thing for our pets, but I still worry that I’m rushing things. You understand, don’t you? And I certainly don’t mind if you want to keep your segment of the collective hab to your standards, Everbloom, I don’t want to force my aesthetic sensibilities onto you!”

“N-no,” Tsuga said. “That’s not the the thing I was– I mean, yes, you’re probably right about it being necessary, but– we’re companions? When did that happen?”

Polyphylla was silent for a long moment before she burst out laughing. “Tsuga! You have what terrans would call a masterful deadpot expression! I thought you were serious!”

Tsuga immediately froze, every vine locking in place. She had absolutely no idea how to navigate this situation. Honesty seemed, despite the bluntness, the best way through. “I don’t mean to be rude or– well, I just… I thought we were friends?”

Polyphylla went, if not as rigid as Tsuga, very still. “You are serious? But… Tsuga, how can you think we’re just friends? You do realize you have a vine about eight and a half centimeters from my core this very moment, don’t you?”

“I…do?” Tsuga hadn’t been aware of it, though one of her vines was resting on something rather warmer than the rest of Polyphylla. She tried to withdraw it immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Polyphylla said, several of her vines snaking around the vine in question and holding it in place. “I like it. I like you. I just–“ She laughed. “I just thought you wanted to take things slowly, and I certainly didn’t mind. You know I have the utmost respect for you. This Cass and Leah situation just sort of…forces things, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Tsuga admitted. “I didn’t realize– I’m sorry, this isn’t something I have a lot of experience with.”

“I know,” Polyphylla said, her voice and biorhythms synchronizing into a reassuring cadence. Several more of her vines slithered into Tsuga’s body, but remained near the surface. “That’s why–  well,I suppose that’s how I misunderstood what I thought were your advances, which were very welcome even if they weren’t actually advances. Does that make sense?”

“I was perhaps not in my best state of mind. You know how it is when you approach the end of a Bloom. Now add in anxiety and new surroundings…” In hindsight, it wasn’t that surprising that she’d somehow accidentally entered into a relationship with Polyphylla — nearing a rebloom, she’d been subconsciously seeking anywhere she might safely root herself. And this was, she thought, a safe place to root herself. And it would be good to have someone to look after Cass while she rebloomed. It wouldn’t be far off, only a few terran years. “I certainly don’t object to the idea, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“…to the companionship, or to merging habs?” Polyphylla asked. There was a tentativeness to her voice, and to the gentle movements of her vines inside Tsuga.

“To both,” Tsuga replied, and with a gentle tug she freed her creeping vine and pushed it just a little deeper into Polyphylla — not quite to the point of touching her core, but she could feel its warmth quite palpably. She felt Polyphylla relax, felt her core shift until its cilia brushed against her vine’s own, a rough and ticklish sensation she clearly appreciated, judging from the way her biorhythms shifted suddenly.

“I’ve been wanting this for a while,” she admitted, her own vines probing deeper. For a moment, Tsuga nearly tensed up reflexively, but with a moment’s concentration she let her own body shift and open up, and soon she felt Polyphylla’s vines on her core as well, a shivering feeling that she hadn’t expected. “Oh, you’re warm. Are you sure you’re nearing the end of this Bloom? Because that’s quite the biorhythm I’m feeling~”

“After seven Blooms, I think I know my own cycle,” Tsuga said, opening herself up further. Cass shifted on her lap, and Tsuga spared a few more vines for her, stroking her gently and slipping beneath her clothes. Don’t think I’ll leave you out of the fun, pet, she thought, letting the shivers from Polyphylla’s teasing of her core ripple all through her. Cass would feel every pulse, every shudder, and every touch would give her pleasure as Polyphylla did the same for her. I should have done this Blooms ago, she thought as she let her form collapse under the onslaught. She felt and heard Cass’s soft moans and whimpers as she felt her own little twitches and hitches in her own biorhythm as Polyphylla’s began to harmonize with it. But then, I might not have found you — and I’d wait a thousand thousand Blooms for you if I had to.