Haven had never really been in an office. Boardrooms, certainly, but never the part of the building where the actual paper-pushing was done. She knew of it only through media, through advertising, through glimpses here and there in pnning documents and presentations. It wasn't a thing she had an intimate knowledge of — and yet somehow, the building Tara had led her to screamed office at her.

  Sure, the floor in the corridor she was walking down, heels clicking with every step, was some kind of polished marble (and not the cheap knockoff stuff either), and sure, even the thin carpeting in the actual office spaces was study and seemed to actively repel any attempt to stain or damage it, and sure, the office chair at her desk in front of Ms. Dvoretskaya's office was probably the single most comfortably ergonomic chair she'd ever seen; but these were still corridors, still offices with cubicles and desks and computers and printers like terrans had been boring in for centuries, still office chairs with the familiar rich scent of leather. It looked like something terrans had made, and in most of the offices the ceiling was even set at a terran-natural height rather than the soaring ceilings common to most spaces Haven had seen since her wakeup.

  It felt, authentically, like an office, even though Haven was sure it was the nicest office anyone had ever worked in. And speaking of work, she'd arrived at her destination, head still swimming with the day's events. The door she stood in front of was at least twice as tall and wide as the others, even if it looked like all the all others, a sheet of frosted gss with a crossbar well above Haven's head and a smaller one (this one decorated with little flower decals) at the normal height, the words PACHIRA PLECTRANTHUS, FIFTH BLOOM and ECONOMICS PROCTOR embzoned across it in big, bold letters.

  (Below that, at about Haven's height, were the smaller words "Come on in, cuties, don't be shy!")

  It swung open as easily as any of the terran-sized doors in the office, perfectly banced, making only the slightest of swishing sounds. "Uhm... Mx. Plectranthus?" she called, peering inside.

  She'd been expecting something, well, Affini-ish. Some kind of gde somehow hidden inside the building, a little forest with ferns and trees and a little pond with lilypads and a frog croaking. Fairy-tale stuff, the kinds of things the Affini just casually did whenever they made anything. But it wasn't a little gde uprooted from a forest, or anything remotely like that.

  The desk in front of her looked like a desk — looked very much, in fact, like Ms. Dvoretskaya's desk, broad and stained a dark reddish-brown. Though this one was easily twice as broad and twice as tall as that desk, and as such Haven couldn't see the top of it, she was sure that it had all the necessary accoutrements, from ledger to blotter to desktop computer and back. The walls of the room looked like the walls everywhere else in the building, generic office paintings of boats and ndscapes hung here and there. There were file cabinets that, but for their size, wouldn't have been out of pce in Haven's own office. It was an ordinary (if enormous) desk in an ordinary (if enormous) office.

  And the Affini behind the desk, peering over it with a smile on their face, was wearing a suit. An actual, tailored suit, with broad shoulders over which countless flowering vines spilled like a big, floofy hairdo. They wore gsses, which they smoothly took off with one hand as they waved Haven in. "Come on, then, don't linger, little flower. Have you got something for me?" Their antennae, fluffy little ferns that sprang up from the bushy vines, did what their prismatic eyes couldn't, swaying down and towards the mani envelope Haven held in her hand.

  "Erm, yes sir. Ma'am?" She crossed the office, holding up the envelope, which a vine quickly snatched up.

  "Oh, just call me Pachira, I'm not your boss or anything," they said amicably, opening the envelope with a thorn-tipped finger and tipping out the carefully prepared reports Haven had spent half the afternoon putting together, after Ms. Dvoretskaya had so carefully worked out the details of the next quarter's product line. "Oh, very nice, very nice," they said to themselves as they paged quickly through it. "We have the digital records of course, but nothing beats a hard copy, and this looks spot-on, little one. Good job!" Another vine descended on her and gave her a gentle pat on the head.

  Haven was seized with a horrible vision of Pachira suddenly discovering something wrong with her report, something that would ruin everything Ms. Dvoretskaya had worked so hard on, disappointing not only her but everyone at the company. "Uhm... thanks?"

  Pachira gnced back down at her (if their antennae were anything to go by, at least) and set the packet down. "If I might break character just a tad, my dear? This is your first day in the game, yes?" Haven nodded. "You're doing fine. You're a natural at paperwork, for one thing," she added, winking and tapping the report with one finger. "But more importantly, are you having fun?"

  Haven thought back across the very busy day she'd had — from orientation (both in- and out-of-character, not that there was much difference between the two) to her office, she'd spent the day learning and doing, and frequently learning by doing. It was more work than she'd ever done at once in her life before. There was always a call for her to answer for Ms. Dvoretskaya, a request for transcripts, research to pull for new product development, and so on.

  But woven into it all was the real game, which was the gentle, occasional human contact in the middle of it all. The gossip in the breakroom when Haven went to get Ms. Dvoretskaya a cup of coffee. Being pulled into an impromptu birthday celebration (even if she couldn't eat the cake) during the lunch hour. The constant back-and-forth between her and Ms. Dvoretskaya.

  Stars, that was a category unto itself, and one that still made Haven feel squirmy inside. Ms. Dvoretskaya — and stars, she was actually thinking of her like that — had so naturally assumed a persona of leadership, of being in charge, that it was downright easy for Haven to slip into her wake and be carried along on it. She was given clear requests, and when she fulfilled them she was given praise and even the occasional gentle touch on the shoulder, along with a smile she'd never seen the like of on Ms. Dvoretskaya's face before.

  "Y-yeah," Haven said to Pachira, "I think I am." She wasn't sure how to feel about the fact. She felt as if there was something she should be doing to keep it from ever happening again, because she didn't deserve good things, but at the moment she was too giddy from simply having a pce to be and doing her job properly that the usual self-destructive urges had precious little room to thrive.

  "I'm very gd to hear that, flower," Pachira said, giving Haven another headpat. "Now, it's almost the end of the workday, so I won't keep you any longer. Why don't you head back to your office? Oh, and tell Ms. Dvoretskaya, out-of-character of course, that these figures look quite promising. They're doing quite well for someone who's only been here for a few sessions!"

  "I will, Pachira. Thank you." Heart still beating perfectly on time in her chest despite her excitement and nervousness, she excused herself and walked back to Ms. Dvoretskaya's office. Click, click, click. Every time her heels clicked on the floor she felt another jolt of rightness, of belonging. She had never once given thought to the idea of herself as secretary, but it turned out she made a pretty good one given the opportunity.

  Ms. Dvoretskaya was standing outside their office, jacket slung over their shoulder and hanging by two fingers as they tap-tap-tapped away at their handheld in the other. They gnced up as Haven clicked in and gave her that new smile, the one that gave her that squirmy feeling deep in the guts she didn't have. "Hey. Everything where it needs to be?"

  "Yes, sir," Haven said, stopping short at her desk. "Are you clocking out for the day?"

  "Well, it's almost 4:30, and if all the reports are filed, there's nothing for me to do until the b rats cook up a prototype anyway," they said, shrugging.

  "Oh. W-well — oh, right!" She lifted one hand to her temple, the gesture she'd been taught to use to step out of character during orientation, and added, "Pachira says the numbers look good, by the way."

  They mirrored the gesture, plunking their handheld gently against their head. "Oh yeah? Gd to hear it. How about you, hm? You seemed like you were really into it."

  "It's...really different. But I liked it." She had, indeed, liked working for Ms. Dvoretskaya very much. "I am a little tired though, I think. Just...it was a lot all at once?"

  Ms. Dvoretskaya nodded. "Alright, I'll let folks know we're not gonna be getting drinks after work, then."

  "O-oh, I don't want to keep you from-"

  "No no no," they said, tapping another message into their handheld. "First of all, I promised Anix I'd look out for you. Second of all.." They sent whatever message she'd been composing and tucked the handheld into their pocket. "I just wanted to walk you home."

  Haven had no ready response for that, and simply stared as Ms. Dvoretskaya slipped effortlessly into their suit jacket and buttoned it. Stars, it fits them so perfectly, she couldn't help but think as the arm came down across her shoulders and gently began to guide her back toward the door. "Well, okay," she mumbled, not sure what to do in a situation like this. The only time anyone had ever put their arm around her shoulders like this had been her father — and when he'd done it, he'd always dug his fingers in, made it a forceful act, a seizing of control. This was different. There was no question Ms. Dvoretskaya was in control, but rather than forceful it was gentle, a soft presence that guided not through pain but through the lightest of pressure.

  It felt nice. Things weren't supposed to feel nice.

  A few moments and an elevator ride; a handful of conversations between Ms. Dvoretskaya and some of the other pyers, still in-character, going out for dinner or drinks at some of the various bars and restaurants in the pza that marked the game space. Someday, Ms. Dvoretskaya had promised, they'd take her out to one of them, but Haven was secretly thankful that Ms. Dvoretskaya had decided to walk her home instead. The further she got from her office, from the secretary headspace she'd been inhabiting, the more she realized just how worn out she felt. And yet, it wasn't the bad kind of worn out — there was something about it that felt good. Like she'd accomplished something, even if she didn't know what.

  I should probably stop thinking of her as Ms. Dvoretskaya, Haven reminded herself as she stared out the window of the train as the terrain whipped along beyond it. That's a game thing, not an all the time thing.

  But the arm was still around her shoulders, the fingers still gently tapping against her. Tap. Tap. Tap. Gentle little touches to remind her that Ms. Dv- that Tara was still touching her. The sarcotesta let her sit perfectly still as long as she didn't actively try to move, and she was thankful for it keeping the squirming inside her from showing. The idea of Tara realizing how weird and horrible Haven was, the way she was thinking about them, was a white-hot fear slowly building inside her. Any moment now, it would catch fire.

  But the arm was still there, and it stayed there as the train slid to a stop, as Tara guided Haven to her feet and out the door and onto the path. "You have a good time today?"

  Haven nodded. "I did. It was... nice." Nice things shouldn't happen to me.

  "I'm gd. I had a great time," Tara said, squeezing Haven's shoulder just a little. "I mean I liked the game fine before, but having you there makes a big difference."

  Oh stars, Haven thought as Tara brought her to a stop on the path and turned Haven to face them. I wrecked everything. They hated it. They're going to tell me never to come back, they're going to tell me they never want to talk to me ag-

  Tara's lips were somehow softer than their touch. Haven could feel it perfectly through the sarcotesta, even if she cked lips of her own. She could feel Tara's lips against the smooth surface of her face, her fingertips gently lifting her chin, their other arm slipping around her waist. The sarcotesta picked up Tara's taste, their scent, their warmth, and transmitted it all directly into her brain.

  What?

  The kiss sted only a few metronome-like heartbeats, but even that felt like an eternity. When Tara pulled away, out came that mysterious smile again. "Sorry, was that weird in this?" They ran their fingers along Haven's cheek. "It's just that I've been wanting to do that for a while."

  What?

  "And obviously, if you want me to hold off until you're out of that, I will," they went on. "Or if you're just not feeling it. But I think you are. Right?"

  What?

  "Hello? You in there?" The smile broadened into a grin. "Did I fluster you that bad?"

  Haven screwed herself up and somehow mustered the focus and the willpower to speak: "I- huh?" It may not have been much, but it was words, and that was still a step up.

  Tara arched an eyebrow. "Okay, there's no way you didn't notice that I've been flirting with you basically since you woke up. And-" The smile faltered just a bit. "Maybe I went too fast? I've had a couple of extra weeks here to get used to how things work now. People are just... really chill with their feelings these days. It's really refreshing! But I wanted you to not feel like you were isoted inside this thing." The smile came back, followed by a soft chuckle. "Also, I just really wanted to kiss you, it's not entirely selfless."

  They were flirting with me? "But I- I was your- and you were my-"

  "Boss?" Tara leaned in, letting their eyes fall shut as they rested their forehead against Haven's. "Haven, bosses aren't a thing anymore. Except when we pretend they are, and in case you didn't notice, I'm your boss when we do that." Their eyes fluttered open once again, the sarcotesta's visual sensors more than able to focus even with them so close; Haven could see the little striations in each of Tara's irises, the subtle movements of her pupils. "And for the record, even if I was gd you weren't trying to push the issue before? If you'd given me the opportunity, I might just have gone for it."

  Haven felt a sense of distant revulsion roll through her. "But I was-"

  "Sweetie." Tara cupped Haven's cheeks and ughed. "Just because you're gay as rainbows doesn't mean I'm only into femmes. Though I am very into femmes. I'm especially into femmes who look cute as shit in office wear and make excellent secretaries, it turns out."

  "But I'm not-"

  "Shh." Tara put a finger to, if not Haven's lips, the very spot where Tara had kissed her. Close enough, and it shut Haven up instantly. "Yeah you are. You are femme as fuck, even in this sarcotesta thing. You make it look really good. And you are absolutely a great secretary." She grinned, wide enough to show teeth, and Haven couldn't help but feel like a small animal cornered by a predator. "And I should know, right?"

  The train made almost no sound as it pulled up to the station, and after a moment its doors opened and passengers began to filter out in small groups. Humans, affini, of course florets, toddling along after their owners, vines shed to their colrs as they gazed worshipfully up at the aliens that had unmade them. Trish was experienced enough not to shudder, but she couldn't help but feel her gut turn over.

  If I'm not careful, that's going to be me. She watched the crowd pass by, her eye catching at least one familiar sight — the girl from the hospital, still in the weird shell the Affini had put her in, being steered along by a — well, whatever they were, they clearly going for some kind of genderweird aesthetic. Both of them looked very out of pce in what looked like office wear.

  "It was really nice getting to see you again," Cass said, breaking her out of her thought spiral. She reached out to take Trish's hand and smiled in a mostly-sober way. "Without causing a medical episode, to boot. Dare I call it progress?"

  Trish closed her eyes, not wanting to meet Cass's gaze. Why the hell was she the one trying to make eye contact?! "I wouldn't put too much stock into that," she said quietly. "We just...it's been sixty years. Our lives have taken completely different courses. We live in totally separate worlds, and we're totally different people." She forced her eyes back open — she had to make Cass understand what she was about to say. "Whatever there may have been to salvage, that went out the window a long time ago." She left when you chose to betray humanity unsaid.

  "I don't believe that for a second," Cass said without hesitation, without wavering so much as an inch. "You don't devote six decades to publishing a book — even if you did leave out the most important part — without retaining some sort of a connection. You just never got used to who I really am, underneath Cass Hope."

  "Cass Hope was my friend." The bitterness, she couldn't keep out of her voice.

  "And I am Cass Hope. Just less miserable, and not hyperfocused on a revenge that would never be enough." She gave Trish's hand a squeeze. "I know that to you I must seem like someone completely different. That is partially my fault for hiding so much of myself for so long, which is something Mistress no longer allows me to do. But really, very little has changed."

  "Yup," Leah chimed in, glomming onto one of Cass's arms. "She's still perfect."

  "You hush," Cass replied, smiling and gently hip-checking the smaller woman.

  "Just...don't get your hopes up," Trish said, pulling her hand away from Cass's. "I'm sure Scoparia will try to mash us together a few more times, but beyond what I have to do to get through this wardship... I don't think there's anything here to save."

  "I don't believe that, and I don't believe you do, either," Cass said.

  Trish turned away. "Yeah, well, that's not exactly something you control anymore, now is it?" She stalked off down the steps without so much as a gnce over her shoulder. She might have been 94, but she was in better physical condition than almost any 94-year-old in human history before her, and she made good time. She was around the bend and behind a stand of bizarre alien trees in under thirty seconds.

  Alone. Safe, for the moment. Able to simply be herself without having to worry about interactions giving her away. Able to think, able to pn, able to figure a way through another void-wretched wardship she shouldn't be in. What a disaster this all is. She paused at a fork in the road, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, trying to let all the tension flow out of her with it, and opened her eyes again.

  Oh. About twenty or twenty-five meters down the path to the right, the girl from the hospital — Haven, wasn't it? — was locking lips with her genderweird beau, if indeed it could be called locking lips given her absolute ck of them. The two had a short conversation, and then the taller of the two broke away. Making their goodbyes, Trish thought with a smile. Kids would be kids no matter what the Affini did to humanity, it seemed.

  Haven watched them go, lingering on the spot; when she turned, she froze, then gave a halting wave to Trish. Trish waved back and, shrugging to herself, crossed to meet her. "Hey," she called. "Have a good date?"

  "I-it wasn't a date!" the girl protested. "It was just a game, uh, a LARP. An office LARP."

  Trish stopped short a few paces from Haven, letting her confusion show. "A wha?"

  "A LARP. It's a... it's like improv, I guess? You just... go and pretend to be working at a company, but the work is fake and you're just there for... y'know. The other stuff."

  "...of course they made a game out of work." Trish rolled her eyes. "Well, you have a good time with your- okay, what pronouns should I even be using, first of all?"

  "Oh, for Tara? Well... I think they'd be okay with whatever, but I've been sticking to they/them because, you know-"

  "Nonbinary. Gotcha. I may be old," she added with a smile, "but I'm certainly not in the way. Very few are, anymore." Yet another good thing the Compact brought along with them that didn't excuse everything else they did. "Have a good time with them?"

  Haven buried her ck of a face in her hands, and even if the off-white of her shell didn't change its hue Trish got the sense that the girl inside it would have been blushing. "I didn't expect them to kiss me."

  "Well, congratutions, and welcome to the Compact." It turned out that without the stresses of capital and fascism and environmental colpse and every other thing humans had fucked up along the way, people tended spent a lot more time and energy on cultivating retionships. "Enjoy the good things, but don't forget what the price is."

  Haven was silent for a moment, and slowly lowered her hands. "What price? Everything's free now."

  "Eternal vigince," Trish said. "Remember what I said back at the hospital? That if you give them half a reason they'll domesticate you before you know what's happening? Look at me: I had a bit of tachycardia because a bunch of florets dropped out of the sky on me, and now I'm in my fourth fucking wardship, this time under an affini that I don't think is going to accept anything but me having my brain scrambled." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "And sure, I've had a good run, and they always get you in the end, but damn it. Such a stupid way to go."

  "Well... maybe they won't? I mean, you said yourself you were just really surprised by it all, right? That seems like a pretty good reason."

  "The reason doesn't matter if they want to do it. That's what you're missing here, kid. The rules are made up and the points don't matter," Trish replied, remembering some quote Cass had used decades back that had lodged in her brain and never left. Probably some esoteric work of philosophy or a line from a py from four hundred years ago or something. "If they want you, they get you. They have all the power. That's how it works. Wardships are just how they py the game."

  "But you said you've been through three," Haven said. "And you're still, well, you."

  "Luck. And a bit of cleverness, maybe, and some damned good acting, but it's mostly down to taking advantage of lucky breaks. I had an affini in my corner, who didn't think I needed to be domesticated-" Because she was using me as bait. "-but she's gone now, and without her to run interference I am probably fucked."

  "Well... I hope not," Haven said, "and I mean, I haven't met a lot of florets, but they all seemed pretty happy."

  "Happiness isn't optional for florets." Yet even as Trish said it, the memory of a furious Cass loomed in the back of her mind. How the hell had someone who'd had a pnt growing through her brain for the st sixty years managed to get that mad at her? Even if she'd mostly gotten over it by their 'pydate' that afternoon, there was no denying that it had happened. Was Cass simply that strong-willed that, even six decades on, bits of who she really was still broke through the brainwashing?

  Haven had been silent for a long moment. "I can think of worse things," she finally said.

  "Give it time, Trish replied. "And in the meantime, stay safe, and stay out of their vines. Once it's something they lock you into, it's not something you get out of. You're probably in a medical wardship right now, right? The whole cryogenic accident thing?"

  "Uh, yeah?" It was strange, hearing the confusion but not seeing the slightest trace of it. Her smooth face, with only the barest hints of the structure beneath it disrupting its polished surface, simply stared back at Trish.

  "Mmm. You watch that affini like a hawk, kid. You see if she doesn't insinuate herself into your life, break you down bit by bit, start doing more and more for you until before you know it, you've allowed yourself to become totally dependent on her. Never, ever forget that. Just because they're pnts doesn't mean they aren't also predators, and they are always hunting you."

  Again, Haven was still. "Okay," she mumbled. "I will. Remember that, I mean. Uhm. I should probably go, though. Ms. Anix is expecting me home soon..."

  Trish nodded. "Yeah. Likewise, my warden will be looking for anything to nail me to the wall with. But hey: I can tell her I met a friend on the walk home and stopped to have a quick chat." She gave Haven a smile and wink. "Both eyes open, kid. Or whatever they've hooked up for you in there. Your warden live around here?"

  Haven nodded. "Just down that path," she said, pointing.

  "Mmm. I'm this way. Good to know. Yours is Anix, right?"

  "Anix Glycyrrhiza."

  "Mine's Scoparia Cryptantha. I don't think she'd mind drop-ins, but she's definitely one of the more dangerous sort of affini. Thinks everyone needs a damned colr."

  "Ms. Anix hasn't said anything about that one way or the other..."

  "Well, maybe I'll try to make my way over there sometime, then," Trish said, shrugging. "We'd both better get going. See you around, kiddo."

  "R-right. Bye!" She gave an awkward wave, hesitated for just a moment, then turned to walk away. Trish did the same.

  Poor kid, she thought. Her chances of making it out of this are slim. She was just the sort the Affini liked; soft, sweet, cute as hell, and in need of constant assistance. The sooner she healed up and got out of that shell, and started doing things for herself, the better. I might be fucked, Trish thought, but maybe I can still get her out of this. And who knows. Three times lucky. Maybe the fourth time too.