"Nngh, let me go you stupid weed!" Brady said, grimacing as he struggled against the vines wrapped around his body.
"Such a fiery little creature, aren't you?" Came the response from above his head. "I'm delighted to inform you that allowing you freedom is simply not an option, little Brady. What with your abhorrent feralist behavior since arriving here on Gilreath, it would be most improper of me to allow you even a whisper of self-determination before your implantation. So you had best get comfortable in my vines, dear one. You'll be spending a great deal of time in them."
Rage coursed through Brady as he fought against the soft, smooth vines. They couldn't do this! It wasn't right! Terrans weren't made for confinement and pethood, it went against everything their species stood for. The Affini may have fancied themselves the stewards of the universe, but that didn't make it true. That didn't mean their definition of a good life was right for Brady. He was perfectly fine as a comms tech on Solak-5. He didn't need these ridiculous plush beds or loudly colored clothing or delicious food. They were wasting their time on him.
"I'm never going to want to be a pet, you know," he grumbled, sagging in the vines. "I want to go back to my old life. So if you could just drop me off where you found me and forget about all this bullshit, that'd be great."
The Affini holding him giggled. "Little one, it seems you don't have a firm grasp of what it is we do here," she said, slipping a vine under Brady's shirt and tickling his tummy. "It is the solemn mission of the Affini Compact to ensure that every sophont species in our care can lead the most wonderful, fulfilling lives possible. Even greasy little Terrans who would rather make a scene than accept our care. Can you really look at how you've lived since your arrival and tell me that you are better off free of my aid?"
Brady grumbled. The Affini, Coriander Apiales, she said her name was, did maybe have something resembling a point. He had eaten nothing but synthcubes since arriving, he slept on the floor in protest of his abduction, and he hadn't even looked at the shower. But none of that gave her the right to assume control of his life! Surely anybody would react to this ridiculous situation the same way. He refused to concede.
"'Aid' is a pretty generous word for kidnapping me and locking me up!" Brady protested. "Do you weeds even care about what the species you conquer want from their lives? I have a whole lot of things I'd rather do instead of being a pet. That Jackson guy seemed pretty cool, you let him be independent!"
"Little one, when you see how Jackson Meadows behaves around Acer, you'll never think of him as independent again," Coriander replied with that same musical giggle. "Honestly, it's silly that they don't just dispense with their absurd little act and make him a floret. But it's not my place to comment on another Affini's courtship, so that'll just be our little secret, hm?"
Coriander kept Brady pinned in her vines as she crossed the room to the compiler, pulling up the history. "My goodness little one," she said, somber. "I knew you were limiting yourself to those appalling synthcubes, but only one per day? No wonder you're thin as a stick! We're going to fix that, mark my words. Your new Mistress is going to fill that body out wonderfully."
Mistress.
The word hit Brady's ears like a foghorn. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a possibility, it was a certainty. This plant was going to own him, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind.
"And you're going to be my, uh, M-Mistress?" Brady asked, the word catching in his throat. "I'm just going to be your slave the rest of my life?"
Coriander went still instantly. Every leaf, every vine went stiff and silent, and a chill ran through Brady's body. "That word carries with it an innacurate and unfair accusation, little one," she said, her voice low. "I have no intention of making you perform labor. I am not going to treat you like a commodity. I am not going to buy or sell you. I am only here to help you. You are not a slave. Today is the day you are freed, not confined."
"Strange thing to say to a man you have in bondage," Brady protested. "Okay, not a slave. Sorry to touch a... well, I guess not a nerve, I don't think plants have those. But still, some of the tenets apply to your idea of being a pet! I'm still here against my will!"
Coriander relented, a soundless song returning to the rustling of her leaves and the movement of her vines. She filled the room with a nice, fresh smell. It reminded Brady of the community herb garden in his building back on Terra. Despite everything, he had to admit she smelled very nice.
"I will grant you that, little one," Coriander said. "Given the choice, I'm sure you could name a hundred places you would rather be right now than nestled in my vines. However, I am under no obligation to entertain your ideas of where you ought to be in the world. You surrendered that right the moment you threatened to harm yourself."
"But I couldn't even do anything!" Brady whined. "Weren't you listening? I never had a way of hurting myself, I didn't matter enough for CCC to give me a suicide rig! I was just trying to buy some time, I was never gonna do anything."
"Little petal, my people are not mind readers," Coriander said, typing something into the compiler. "How were we to know you had no intention of injuring yourself? And also, I don't think I believe you. So many of you Terrans are such fanatics about your so-called 'freedom' that you react with unimaginable violence when somebody tries to help."
Brady yelped as he felt a poke in his neck. He was wondering when Coriander was going to unleash those terrifying injector flowers on him.
"Let me ask you something, little one," Coriander said. "And do keep in mind that you are now under the influence of Class D xenodrugs, designed to make it impossible for you to lie to your Mistress. If you could have used one of those sickening suicide rigs, would you have?"
"Yes," Brady replied immediately, surprising even himself. "My life is best served as a tool for the Terran Accord, and if I can give my life to damage my enemy, all the better."
"Brady, if I released you right now, where would you go?" Coriander asked, the dominant tone in her voice ceding to one of deep sadness and sympathy. The words poured out before Brady could even think about it.
"I would return to Solak-5 and resume my post as a communications technology specialist for the Crown Communications Corporation," he responded, almost robotically. "I would resume the life I obviously deserve, consuming as few of the Terran Accord's precious resources as I can while advancing the profitability of my employer."
Coriander squeezed him tighter. "You're doing very well, Brady, you're being very honest with me," the Affini said. She sounded upset, but she carried on. "You mentioned the life you 'obviously deserve.' Do you feel that you would deserve a different life if your society were not bound by the limitations of finite resources?"
"I don't see the point of the question," Brady said with a scoff. "That's impossible. Every society has limited resources. It's the duty of every good citizen to consume as little as possible in order to promote productivity and profit." Was the weed high or just delusional? That was a preposterous notion. Even these compiler things couldn't create something from nothing. Civilization was a constant battle for resources and manpower, every Terran learned that as a child.
"I-" Coriander seemed at a loss for words, and Brady grinned smugly. He was outwitting her, even on a truth serum. "Petal, what did they do to you? I've dealt with a great many ferals in my time, but none quite so indoctrinated as you."
"Mental reconditioning is a prerequisite to employment within any branch of the Crown League," Brady replied, and Coriander went still again. "I went through an intensive six-month treatment course in order to reshape me into a proper employee. It got my mental processes in line with the optimal functioning of Terran society, and I'm grateful for it. Don't you all do the same thing for your pets?"
"By the Everbloom," Coriander mumbled. "Brady, I have one more question for you. What makes you happy?"
Brady cocked his head. "My happiness is irrelevant, obviously," he replied. "All that matters is my productivity. Although those nachos Jackson compiled were really tasty, they are irrelevant to my ultimate purpose."
The compiler dinged, and Brady blinked. That was strange. All of those answers were true, so far as he knew, but they came from somewhere deeper in him than his own consciousness. Affini truth serums had a bit more subtlety to them than the Terran ones. Those drugs they fed him during training were a good deal less delicate about the whole thing. He spent many a night in that hospital on his hands and knees in front of a toilet after interrogation days.
"You poor petal," Coriander whispered, reaching into the compiler and pulling out a plate loaded with sweets. Cakes, little pies, cookies, and a few other things Brady half-recognized from his old life back on Terra. "We have a great deal of work to do in order to adapt you to life in the Compact, which will take rather a while, I fear. In the meantime, however, I will be sure to give you the happiest, most comfortable life, and do everything I can to prove to you that your happiness is real and that it matters."
Brady scoffed. These plants were awfully naïve for being guardians of the universe. Living on Terra, you learned to put happiness aside as a serious pursuit early on, if for no other reason than avoiding constant disappointment. Brady Montana gave up on the pursuit of happiness long before he set foot in the CCC's reconditioning center, and it would take more than an over-emotional weed to change that.
"To whit, here's your first lesson, munchkin," Coriander said, though the cheer in her voice did sound distinctly forced. "Here in the Compact, it is your stars-given right to eat and enjoy as much as you please. When was the last time you had a little sweet treat?"
"Do berry flavor dots count?" Brady asked. Coriander said they didn't. "Then it would have to be at least five years ago, back on Terra. I'm not certain. But I don't need this, I'm perfectly fine with just synthcubes."
"You are not!" Coriander exclaimed, her vines grasping Brady tight enough to make him wheeze. "Do you have any idea how insufficient synthcubes are for nourishing Terrans? Your species is meant to have a layer of body fat in order to live a healthy life. And yet you starve yourselves all for the sake of maintaining profit! That is sickening, and such mentality is not tolerated in the Affini Compact."
