The final stop on the tour was the Grand Garden, and no, it wasn’t the grand garden Phoebe had walked through when entering the building. It was a Grander garden. The little spy had mostly regained her faculties on the way there, and while she’d been out her gracious hosts had procured a sandwich for her. It looked like faux-meat and vegetables she didn’t recognize, hugged by unassuming bread, and though she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisoned it smelled divine; Phoebe just couldn’t resist. 

Poisoned or not, it tasted incredible. She focused all of her willpower on not visibly tearing up as she enjoyed the most rewarding meal she’d had in years.

In contrast to the sky-piercing Reclining Room, the Grand Garden was a sprawling menagerie of plant life in every shape and shade: sheltering plush benches, resting along fountains, bordering glowing paths of synthetic stone and woven luminescent vine, and per Becca every inch of it consisted of native species, to avoid the introduction of invasive flora. The park also sat above the rim of a titanic caldera, containing a lake of milky green water. This view was a happy coincidence, the cause of which Phoebe had been informed of during her mission briefing: the missile silo had been built here due to its proximity to natural resources which could be used in construction. The mine was shallow and abandoned along with its failed artillery offspring.

The wandering paths of the Garden widened into small plazas in three separate locations. There were sand pits and grassy courts and wide pools, accessorized with nets and pegs and hoops for the playing of alien games of every sort. Phoebe had never been a sport expert, certainly not on an intergalactic scale but she did recognize a volleyball net. Probably.

Nearly all of these amenities were empty of pedestrians- for the bleeding sun had now set, shrouding the caldera and its botanical throne in purple night. Becca yawned and stretched her arms upwards, dramatically falling backwards and off of Rosifax’s shoulder. She was caught in her owner’s vines, and swept in a wide loop under one arm to land softly atop it, resting against the affini’s flowery shawl across from their other arm holding Phoebe.

“Well, I’m pooped. But I think that covered everything! Any questions?”

Her head was buzzing with information, but Phoebe had a few significant questions. Namely, “So… how do I do my job? Or my… not-job. …what do I do?”

She earned an amused chuckle from her Affini jailer, at least. “First, you get some sleep. No bad sleeping habits on my watch. Tomorrow you can return to the front desk if you want to shadow anyone, and whoever’s there at the time can help you. Otherwise, with that uniform on, you’ll have no shortage of affini requesting your attention.”

There was an important detail in that answer which Phoebe missed, because she had just remembered her actual job and how to do it. “Are there any facilities other than the three we toured where I can help? I was told this job– um, uniform can get me “behind the scenes”. I kinda wanna see how the entire place works.”

The question earned a harmless quirk from Rosifax’s brow, but Becca didn't seem to find anything suspect with it. "There's the theatre, which isn't always open. Other than that… I guess there’s the management deck, where the A/C is and stuff. We don’t really go there but there’s always a few sophonts doing techie things.”

“I’m sure they’d love any help you might offer,” Rosifax winked, “or any distraction. Tomorrow, after you get some sleep. We can show you your room–”

“Or you can stay with us. We’re chilling in the reclining room again.” Becca made their preference obvious with a grin. “We’ve got a pod too, we can project indie movies.” With a glance from her owner she tried, “Fall asleep- we can fall asleep to indie movies.”

“Ah, w-well, that sounds fun, but…” Phoebe was slipping. Who knows what the two would do with her, or to her if they had her alone in a tiny pod. She needed time to think, and get her bearings. “I kinda want to sleep in my own place, for tonight, at least.”

“Of course, petal. Becca didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” The floret in question stuck out her tongue. “We’ll lead the way, and we can help you get settled in, if you wish.” 

Phoebe nodded. Something just barely caught her attention as the trio turned away from the Garden- a pink-adorned affini in the distance, with a vine dipped in a small teacup and a sleeping terran on her lap. It must’ve been her imagination, but Phoebe could almost swear she was looking right at her.

It wasn’t a long trip, just back into the reclining room and up to the fourth floor balcony. The unnatural breezy carpeting spread up here too, but apart from the long row of hab doors and occasional closed stall, the wall opposite the center was all trunks, leaves, vines and even some fruit. Becca broke a cluster of berries from a passing branch and popped one into her mouth, offering the rest to Phoebe. She declined. 

The atmosphere in the reclining room was tempting, which was exactly why Phoebe had to close off her mind against it and isolate herself in her room. Hopefully the temporary hab, at least, wouldn’t be so aggressively beguiling. Even that turned out to be too much to hope for. 

The hexagonal autodoors of each hab were softly illuminated around the edge, easy to find in the dimmed nighttime lighting, and upon reaching hers and breaching the door Phoebe was forced to muffle a low sigh of defeat. It was just a lot; more or less a miniature version of the collective Hotel ecosystem. Rosifax’s torso splitting open to reach out a vine and return her dumb suitcase from within their chest cavity did not help. 

There was one last tour of the room, involving an oversized tub which could be requested to assist her with washing “in case she needed help”, and something called an “matter compiler” rather than a refrigerator. Phoebe made a mental note of the matter compiler and kept her mouth shut. 

Finally, Rosifax and Becca stood in her doorway, ready to leave her alone for the night. When they didn’t immediately leave, Phoebe feared she was missing common knowledge of some customary farewell. Then Rosifax dove down to give the spy a big, tight hug, getting a surprised squeak out of Phoebe as Becca mirrored her owner from behind.

“Remember, little one, if you change your mind during the night- if you get lonely, if you have a nightmare, anything at all- you can find us in Pod 5.A ‘Rabbitwarren’. You’ll always be welcome.”

Becca didn’t say anything, but when the hug finally lifted she shyly circled around to her owner, reaching into their right leg and pulling out a plush doll of an anthropomorphic bee, which she entrusted to Phoebe. Rosifax looked near ready to burst from shock and pride; Phoebe, lacking any context of the significance of the gesture, tried a genuine, “Thank you.” Becca grinned happily, and Phoebe internally fist-pumped.

Then they were gone. The door slid shut and Phoebe was met with a silence she hadn’t known since the apathetic rebel driver had dropped her off. There were a lot of emotions fighting for space and dominance within her chest, which scared her, so she decided to play with the matter compiler. 

The device was best described in Phoebe-terms as a ‘gizmo’, or a ‘doohickey’. It looked complicated, despite clearly being aesthetically simplified as much as possible. Phoebe figured that its small size was either for energy conservation or preventing residents from matter-compiling hovercycles, or bombs. The idea had piqued Phoebe’s curiosity.

She quickly scanned the room for cameras, then gave up when she realized that any cameras in an Affini hotel room would be masterfully hidden. Tossing her suitcase onto the gargantuan bed (and scowling at/purposefully ignoring the pet bed at its foot) she zipped it open and took inventory of her old dress and shoes, unassuming pajamas, a toothbrush and paste, a small razor and shaving gel, and a thumb-sized wood carving of a rabbit.

Phoebe removed the small bunny, running her fingers over the bumpy surface. It had been a gift; unplanned and thoughtless at the time, but the only evidence she had of her disappeared friend from the gross ship. Jazz had been her only sunshine in that dreary hell. They could find a way to make Phoebe laugh even in her lowest moments. Her carefree, unbroken attitude was also her downfall; Phoebe had assumed from the day she got the news that it was this same vivacious spirit, which refused to be shackled or repressed, that had gotten them transferred from the ship when the captain became fed up with it. 

Phoebe had quietly asked her once, after triple-checking that nobody was listening, whether they ever thought about ditching the ship and living out her own rebellion by herself- somewhere far away from both the Compact and the ruins of the Cosmic Navy. Jazz had only grinned, wide and unafraid as it always was.

“And leave you behind? Never gonna happen.”

Memories hurt, but the rabbit did not, and the clutching of it was Phoebe’s preferred way to control the painful feelings.

She was already dealing with a lot, so she quickly returned the little bunny to the case. She ran her hand up the inside edge of the suitcase’s backing, finding a small indentation and pressing down. The backing popped off to reveal a hidden compartment, containing a small radio, flashlight, multitool and medical kit. What was not in there was a weapon of any sort; there was concern that if a weapon were to be discovered by the Affini, Phoebe could be executed- or worse, forcibly domesticated. She was beginning to consider domestication the preferable alternative to death (preferable being applied very loosely here) but if anyone back at the base had heard that, they may have executed her themselves.

Fortunately, she may have found a solution to the lack-of-weapon problem. She approached the compiler, arms crossed and staring at it intensely, as if considering her answer to a sphinx’s riddle at punishment of death. She didn’t want to ask for anything suspicious. Rosifax and Becca had stressed that everything in the room was operable by A.I. and voice-compatible, so very hesitantly Phoebe announced, “Matter Compiler- please compile, uh… a screwdriver. And a baseball bat. …and scissors. Please. And thank y–”

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a voice responded from everywhere at once, “I’m sorry, cutie, but you’re only authorized for the requesting of food, drink, and medical essentials from the compiler while your owner is away. If you’d like, I can send him a message asking if–”

“NO no, that won’t be necessary, do not do that thank you.” After a moment with no response, Phoebe let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment as she threw herself limply onto the bed. She took in its size, imagining her false owner sprawled across it, condescendingly. So annoying. The bastard wasn’t even in orbit and he was still restricting her freedoms. 

She jumped as the room-voice piped in again. “If you’d like, cutie, I can provide you with a cuddle cushion mimicking the scent and biorhythm of your owner. I already have his–”
“No. Thank you. I’m good.” Ugh. She idly wondered if the A.I. had been informed of her reblooming “owner” and was being excessively comforting as a result. 

Now that she thought about it, Phoebe still wasn’t sure what reblooming involved. With a burst of inspiration, she sat up on the bed and spotted the terminal in the corner of the room. Of course! She could probably get overnet access from here, and do all the research she could possibly need.

She should have known better. Amaranth’s Compact network account, if it still (or ever) existed, was locked behind layers of biometric authentication which Phoebe didn’t have. She was forced to use a guest account which constantly peppered her with notifications that this feature or that website was “floret-locked” and inaccessible without an independent account or her owner’s permissions. With only the most basic information at her disposal, she was able to learn that “reblooming” was essentially the secret to Affini immortality. When their bodies became too damaged, every couple centuries or so, they simply re-grew themselves from a central core. Unfortunately, just as Celosia had described, the process often took little more than a day, if not less.

The memory of Celosia watching her in the Garden stole into her mind, unbidden. Phoebe shivered. She quickly glanced around the silent room, making sure she was alone. She needed to busy her mind with less terrifying tasks.

She quickly washed and dried in the tub, narrowly avoiding some shampoo loosely labeled as “touch-enhancing”. Now that she’d actually seen the inside of the Grand Hotel, her pajamas didn’t seem floret-y enough to pass critical inspection. Thankfully the dresser in the room came pre-stocked with a humiliating overdecorated nightgown, which was perfect. Phoebe brushed her teeth for the first time in a while before sitting on the bed with her final task: falling asleep.

She lay there for a few minutes, hugging Becca’s bee plushie. It smelled like the inside of Rosifax’s leg, which was still better than Asterid Inlex, Third Body Pillow. 

She focused every cell in her brain on conking out. It wasn’t going to happen.

She paced around the room. She had the compiler make a softer toothbrush, and toothpaste that didn’t taste terrible, as well as a number of increasingly specific foods she didn’t eat. Finally she gave up and left her hab.

There was one affini-rinan pair on the fourth floor balcony engaged in excitable whispered conversation, both of them waving to Phoebe as they took the ramp up to the next floor. The many balconies of the several-story lobby were otherwise empty. Phoebe trudged aimlessly downstairs, just needing to go somewhere.

She thought she saw a trail of fuschia flowers disappear around a corner, and her blood chilled. She had imagined it. Wandering around the Hotel alone at night was probably the last thing she needed right then, but it was already happening.

She crept quietly down to the lowest floor. Most of the idyllic couches were now vacant, but a number of the pods had semi-translucent covers pulled over their entrances, the light and shadow dancing from within confirming that many of the guests had yet to shut down for the night. She climbed up and onto the little island in the center, standing in the shadow of what, just a few hours ago, had been a bustling utopian dream.

In truth, it was a gilded cage. The Affini had swept in and destroyed an entire civilization, repurposing its inhabitants in a world of their own design. For all-powerful immortal imperialists, life was nothing more than a game, and the ironic symbolism of the gaudy Hotel had left a bitter taste in Phoebe’s mouth. It wasn’t as if the Accord had been any better.

She didn’t really feel any anger, though, standing alone in the dark under the glow of the occupied sleeping pods. Phoebe was left only with her usual aching grief. Even if she wanted to, she could never be a part of this. It just wasn’t who she was; beyond what she was capable of being. Even in humanity’s downfall, Phoebe didn’t belong.

There were more dangling vines in here than she remembered. Strange. By the time she noticed that one of them was adorned with a single pink blossom, it was already too late.

She felt the petaled needle pierce the back of her neck first, followed by the wrapping of vines around three of her four limbs, before she was torn bodily into the air, multiple stories upward until she found herself suspended upside down among the glowing pods. She tried to scream, but couldn’t- her muscles felt frozen inside of her neck. She was helpless to do anything but kick violently like a terrified prey animal. 

The vines righted her and turned her around to reveal one Celosia Pulchris, Fifth Bloom. Her own tendrils were strung taut between the pods, criss-crossing all around Phoebe’s fettered form, and Celosia was reclining across them, one leg lazily thrown over the other like a vainglorious supervillain.

“Well, well, well. Look what this spider has caught in her web. Out a bit late, aren’t you, little morsel?” Phoebe thrashed against her bindings in crazed desperation, but she could feel herself losing strength fast. “Don’t panic, dear, it’s just a mild Class-M variant. A personal favorite of mine, actually.”

Phoebe kept panicking, but only managed a few weak shivers before the drugs rendered her completely inert. “There we are; good girl. That’s much better, isn’t it?” Celosia’s vines drew Phoebe closer to her captor as the affini leaned in curiously, several of them wrapping around her torso and one gently around her neck to correct her absence of a collar. She held Phoebe’s chin, tilting it up, left and right, inspecting her catch. “Up far past your bedtime,” she tutted, “Asterid would not approve; he won’t be happy when I tell him. Or at least, I would tell him, if he hadn’t already left orbit three weeks ago.”  

Phoebe felt faint. Her awareness of where she was and what was about to happen faded away, leaving only a ringing in her ears and a grin of wicked delight on Celosia’s face. “It’s back to bed for you, flower; that timid little mind of yours needs its sleep. Right after I make some… personal adjustments, of course.” Her strange crystalline eyes began to slowly pulse, prismatic reds radiating outward from the center, as a long, shining needle gently emerged from an unfolding flower mere inches from the terran’s face. “Don’t worry, Amaranth,” Celosia purred, her hand caressing the rebel’s cheek, “you won’t even remember it happened.” 

The needle pierced her neck, and Phoebe plunged into deep, dreamless sleep.