"You are being deeply unreasonable." It was not the first time those words had come out during the present argument; Trish had even thrown them right back at Scopara (who was, in fact, being deeply unreasonable, but then in Trish's experience most Affini were). This time, however, it was Scoparia firing them right back at Trish.

  "I have nothing in common with them," Trish said, for about the third time in the st fifteen minutes. It was beginning to get frustrating having to come back to this again and again. "Not only is she not the person she used to be, but it's been sixty years. Even if she hadn't been domesticated, we wouldn't have anything in common after that long! People grow apart. It happens!"

  "And sophonts who have grown apart can grow together once again," Scoparia said. Despite the rancor of the argument, her voice was perfectly level, and her face was perfectly composed, her body as tightly controlled as ever. "And that is what I want to see, Trish. I want to see you and Lay reconcile. It is that simple."

  "You still haven't expined why. Why are you so obsessed with getting me back together with someone I haven't talked to in sixty years? I know that's not a long time for you, but it is for us!"

  "And why, precisely," Scoparia said, "did you not talk to her for sixty years?" She leaned down, hands csped behind her back. "Hm?"

  "Because she and all the rest went off to go domesticate other cultures-"

  "No, you were already avoiding her for several years before that," Scoparia interrupted. "It is not Lay who broke off communication, Trish. She sent you letters on a regur basis. You never once returned the favor. You are the reason for this division, and you will either be responsible for healing it, or someone else will on your behalf."

  "I am perfectly capable of making friends, Scoparia." Trish stalked over to the couch and took a seat on the floor beside it, leaning up against it. Her hip was giving her grief again — she'd walked too much, and needed to take a load off.

  "Yes, I am aware," Scoparia said as she followed Trish along. "You are a perfectly sociable sophont. That much has never been in question. Which makes this division between you and Lay all the more suspicious. I suspect underlying feralist tendencies that have been allowed to fester by your previous care worker under a paradigm better suited to the Nascent Feralism Polrding Office than the Xenosophont Wellness Bureau."

  "Has it occurred to you that maybe I just don't enjoy the company of florets? Last I checked, that wasn't a crime."

  "There are no crimes in the Affini Compact. Not as you would define the term." She crouched down next to Trish, still looming over her. "And I do not think it is the sign of a healthy mindset to not enjoy the company of florets."

  "Look, I get it, Affini love florets. That's all well and good-" Bullshit it is. "-but do I look like I'm twelve feet tall and made of pnt matter?"

  "You do not," Scoparia said, showing a small and very intentional smile. "But floret avoidance is a cssic sign of feralism. This is broadly accepted in the literature."

  "Yeah, well, the literature can still be wrong in individual cases. Voi," Trish said, giving a little flourish with her wrist, "the sophont who just doesn't see the appeal. I don't hate florets, Scoparia, I just don't have the energy to cope with them being a part of my life."

  It was true. Trish did not hate florets; she pitied them, and mourned for the people they might have been had the Affini not stepped in and pruned them down into little bonsai versions of themselves.

  "I suspect there is more to it than simply a ck of energy, considering you seem to have plenty of energy when it comes to producing feralist literature," Scoparia countered. "But that is beside the point. I have told you the primary avenue of growth I wish to see in you. We will discuss further avenues at your preliminary wardship meeting in a few days, as well as potential health issues that may necessitate a long-term elder-care wardship, but this is the keystone. If you cannot overcome your prejudice against florets in this specific case, I do not feel that you will be able to overcome it at all. I do not hold you at fault for the state that you are in, Trish," she added, ying a gentle vine across Trish's shoulders. It took every bit of her self control not to shudder at the touch. "But as, if your own effort cannot correct this problem, it will fall to us to do so."

  "Forgive me if I don't necessarily trust your point of view on this." She did not grit her teeth. She did not let her frustration creep into her voice. Somehow, she was sure that Scoparia felt it all anyway. "You strike me as one of those affini who thinks that every problem can be solved with a haustoric impnt."

  "Not every problem, but most." Scoparia withdrew her vine, pausing only to give Trish a gentle headpat with it. "Yours, certainly. But I'm not yet certain it's the only solution to your problems, which is why I've scheduled a preliminary wardship hearing rather than an impntation, which I probably could have convinced the local Bureau office would be appropriate."

  Trish gred up at Scoparia. "You act like that'd be such an accomplishment when we both know you could talk them into impnting someone who sneezed impolitely."

  "You have such a high opinion of my rhetorical skills?"

  No, I have such a low opinion of Affini. "More that I've seen people be domesticated for things they really shouldn't have been, but with no checks on your ability to so do, it's not as if there's anything to be done about it."

  "And everyone is much better off for it," Scoparia said, nodding as if they weren't having two completely separate conversations. "Now then, before it gets too te, we should discuss dinner. I was thinking-" But even as she spoke, the Hab AI interrupted to announce the arrival of a visitor. "Hm. Well that's interesting," she said, rubbing her chin performatively, "I wasn't expecting any callers. I suppose it must be someone here for you."

  Trish furrowed her brows. She'd just come from seeing Haven, and the only other people she knew on the station were florets — whoever was at the door was almost certainly not someone she wanted to see. "I wouldn't bet on it."

  "Well, come along anyway, just in case." One of Scoparia's vines slipped beneath Trish's armpits and lifted her to her feet before she could so much as protest, and marched her along to the front door, which opened at their approach.

  Oh no.

  "Auntie Trish!" Piper all but threw herself at Trish, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug and actually lifting her off the ground for a split second. She did not let go. "Oh, I'm so gd you're okay! I got so scared, even with Jess there to talk me down."

  "Wh-what are you doing here?!" Trish managed, mostly, to squirm free, but Piper still kept her hands on Trish's shoulders, as if afraid she'd vanish if she fully let go.

  "I came to see you, obviously! I'm sorry it took me so long, I had to take the elevator up if I wanted to bring the mobile hab, and I know how much it means to do you so I didn't want to just leave it down there."

  "This sophont is a retion of yours, Trish?" Scoparia was leaning ever so slightly forward, vines poised at the ready.

  "Oh! Piper Raeburn, ma'am!" she said, smiling and waving up at the affini. "Auntie Trish is my grandmother's best friend, so, yeah, pretty much!"

  "Aaah, I see," Scoparia said, smiling and giving Piper a pat on the head, which she did absolutely nothing to resist, and indeed rather seemed to enjoy, letting out a happy little sigh. "And then, to Trish's horror, she continued: "Well, it's very nice to have you here, Piper. Why don't you come in? We were just discussing dinner..."

  "I had a good time," Haven said, fiddling with the sleeve of her bzer. "I was really nervous at first, but, uhm, as Tara gave me stuff to do, I could just focus on that, and I just sort of settled into it." As she described her day at "work" to Anix, she left out the part about how, at first, almost every task prompted a wave of horror that she'd screw it up and that everyone would hate her as a result, which in turn prompted creeping, intrusive thoughts of a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I'm such a fucking disaster. I don't understand why anyone wastes their time on me.

  "Yes, I can see the spikes in your neurotransmitters," Anix said, nodding along and pulling Haven a little closer to her with her vines. The couch was unreasonably comfortable, and deep enough that, leaning against the back, her feet barely reached to the edge of the cushion. She'd kicked off her shoes in the entryway (and what a weird feeling it was to walk after that, as if the floor dipped beneath her heels), so all she saw before were were the featureless feet of the sarcotesta, with only the barest hints of toes in the otherwise solid form. "Honestly," Anix continued, "I was a bit concerned when I saw these, and I was about to come and get you when it started to improve. And improve it did. By the end of the day, you were downright enjoying yourself, weren't you?" She pointed at the screen of the tablet, which showed peaks and valleys in a dozen colors, none of which Haven understood.

  "Y-yeah. It was actually pretty fun to just...go to work." It felt weird to say. Everything in her life up to now had done its level best to associate the idea of "work" with suffering — either someone else's, toiling away for an infinitesimal slice of the value they created, or her own, as her father tried over and over to cram her into the gears of the c-suite.

  "Especially here, just a few minutes ago," Anix added, pointing to a particurly high peak towards the end of the chart. "You really enjoyed something then, didn't you?"

  Haven desperately wished she had separate toes to curl out of sheer embarrassment. "Th-that's...w-well... T-Tara might have...k-kissed me." She buried her face in her hands. She still didn't understand why Tara had done it. Who would want to kiss a disgusting little creep like her?

  "Oooooh," Anix said, smiling and giving Haven a hug with several vines. "How exciting! I was wondering when they'd make their move!"

  "Y-you knew?!"

  "Haven, my dear, it was obvious that they had an interest in you from the moment I met them." Anix gave her a gentle stroke on the head along with an extra squeeze of her body for good measure. "And I think they're a lovely sophont, and a wonderful influence on you. They've got you out and socializing even before your recovery is complete, and that is demonstrably doing wonders for your mental health already. I think it bodes very well for your eventual assimition into Compact culture!"

  "I guess," Haven muttered. More people pretending they don't loathe me for reasons I cannot even begin to understand. Great.

  "But there are other factors," Anix added, tucking the tablet back into her chest. "And while it's certainly not an issue you need to concern yourself with just this moment, given the state of your body and your ongoing recovery from a terrible accident, eventually we will need to ensure that you're capable of basic self-care skills."

  Oh shit. "What do you mean, self-care skills?" she said, turning her head to make it clear she was looking up at Anix.

  "Things like cooking, cleaning, and so on — the things every sophont needs in order to live a fulfilled life. If you can't provide that for yourself, then an affini will provide it for you, through domestication."

  Domestication. All of Trish's warnings began to fly through her head again. This is how they get you. This is how you stop being you. And much as that thought appealed to Haven, she knew she couldn't take it — if she stopped being her, she might stop being a person who understood that she shouldn't inflict herself on others. "I d-don't think I need that," she said.

  "It remains to be seen. But, as I said, you're off to a very promising start!" Another headpat, slow and gentle. "Obviously there are certain things we simply can't test with you in the sarcotesta, such as personal hygiene practices, but the very basics we can certainly survey. I've asked your veterinary team to prioritize reconstruction of your mouth, by the way — that way, we can gradually move up to more and more complex foodstuffs, so we can try cooking together. Doesn't that sound fun?"

  "I guess," Haven muttered. She had never cooked before. She had no idea how to cook. She was pretty sure she could burn water if she had to boil it for... well, you had to do that for tea, at least, she knew that. She was going to crash and burn every single metric Anix id out for her, and she'd get domesticated like Trish said. Someone else would inhabit this awful, miserable body of hers. Someone else would have to be her. Stars, what a horrible fate.

  "And there go your neurotransmitters again," Anix said, sighing and pulling Haven up into her p to stroke her as she fished the tablet back out again. She stared down at it, shaking her head. "I may just have to work out what a proper dose of anxiolytics would be for you, my dear, because your silly little central nervous system just does not seem to want to cooperate!"

  "I- what?" Haven arched her neck to look up at Anix.

  "You're anxious even when you really shouldn't be," the affini said, tapping away at the tablet and calling up chart after chart. "It's right there, pin as day. Your medical survey didn't indicate any serious cellur damage from vitrification trauma in your central nervous system, but I'm starting to wonder if there might not be something we missed. Tell me, little flower, did you feel this way before you were frozen? Is this normal for you?"

  "W-well..." Haven felt the urge to swallow. "I mean, I don't know, a lot has happened since I woke up, and so much is different-"

  "I know, petal, I know," Anix said soothingly, "but I need to know: were you habitually nervous, even anxious, prior to your accident?"

  Shit shit shit shit shit. "I- I mean, who wasn't?" There. Made it seem normal. The st thing Haven wanted to do was to dump her miserable, shitty problems all over someone as nice as Anix.

  Anix sighed, and nodded. "Yes, well, this kind of anxiety isn't normal, and it certainly isn't good for you. It's something we're going to have to address, possibly chemically. Still, when you were out and about, and especially during your little game, you did improve markedly. You are pnning on going back for future sessions, yes?"

  "Y-yes?" Haven knew she shouldn't, knew everyone would be much happier without her there to ruin everything...but at the same time, she wanted it. She wanted, more than she wanted anything right now, to be able to just fall into that mindset she'd been in earlier. In Secretary Mode, she had something to do. She had a job, she had purpose, she had something to occupy her thoughts besides making pns for how to kill herself. Is that just anxiety? she thought, leaning back into Anix. Figures. I can't even handle a little nervousness without wanting to give up. Stars, I'm such a piece of shit.

  "Good," Anix said, squeezing Haven gently and resting her big, soft arms around her. "I really do think it's the best for you. And I think that even on days when you aren't going off to py the game, you should see more of Tara. Socialize. Make friends. It is very clearly the best thing for you, and as your rehabilitation specialist it's precisely what I'm prescribing."

  Oh, good, Haven thought. To convince her that I don't need to be domesticated, I just need to make friends. There were, no doubt, loads of people out there in this perfect post-capitalist utopia, where you could have anything you ever wanted just by asking, where you were surrounded by green and growing things to such a scale that even Haven's father couldn't have afforded it, where nothing ever went wrong- yes, surely there were loads of people who would want to be friends with scum like her who couldn't do anything right.

  I am so fucked.