NR Ch. 01: Zone Read

Jackson awoke with a yawn, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It was still strange, to wake up feeling rested like this day in and day out. A scant two months ago, he never got a good eight hours' rest. He was forced to cut his sleeping hours short time and time again to meet his employer's outrageous deadlines and quotas. It was that or end up out in the cold.

But that wasn't a problem anymore. No more employers, no more deadlines, ever again. And the only price Jackson had to pay was his species' sovereignty? It wasn't like they did much with it anyway. What was humanity's greatest achievement as their own stewards? Conquering the Rinans? Developing a jump drive? Oh yes, such fearsome achievements. Enslaving a planet full of plushies and building insane tech that would explode if you looked at it wrong.

The Affini seemed to have it all figured out. They could reconfigure matter into any form they wished at the push of a button. Their personal shuttles were the size of Terran warships and far more powerful. Despite all odds, they had managed to straddle the line between expansionist imperial force and benign stewards of the universe.

Jackson just wished they'd lay off on the whole "collared pet" thing. He had spent his twenty-six years as a pawn in the games Terran corporations played, and he had no interest in being owned again, thank you very much. His species may have been better off as just another flower in the Affin Compact's garden, but Jackson Meadows was an independent sophont and planned on keeping it that way.

He clapped his hands twice and the heavy curtains over his bedroom windows slid open, bathing him in mid-morning sunlight. He blinked, thankful his bedroom faced away from the sun itself. Acer had been kind enough to reconfigure the entire Hab unit when Jackson mentioned how harsh the glare was in the morning. Now his massive bedroom faced north, and he could leave his curtains open all day without the sun's full fury searing his retinas.

Jackson crawled out of his massive bed on hands and knees, swinging himself down onto the floor and padding over to the closet. The Affini did have a way with needless excess; Jackson's bed could easily sleep six sophonts comfortably. His bedroom alone was bigger than any apartment he had ever lived in back on Terra, and the attached bathroom was almost as big. The first time he saw the size of his new quarters, he was stunned. This kind of opulence was accessible to only the wealthiest Terrans back in the Accord. On Gilreath, and apparently in the rest of the Compact if Acer was to be believed, luxury of this nature was the norm.

The young man stopped to look at himself in the mirror and smiled. Acer and his vet had accomplished more in two months than humans could in two years. His muscles grew more well-defined every day, his curves had straightened out and masculinized his form, and there was even a nice bush right above his pussy! Choosing to keep that was inspired. For as long as Jackson wanted to look like a guy, he never wished for a cock. He preferred to keep what the universe gave him between his legs, even if everything else could go for all he cared.

"Good morning, Jackson," the Hab AI called in a high singsong voice. "Mr. Maplestone has breakfast for you whenever you're ready."

"Great, thanks Patty," Jackson replied, continuing into his closet. He selected a pair of short denim cutoffs and a tight-fitting tank top designed to show off his arms. What was the point of all that working out and those trips to the vet if he couldn't flaunt his new form?

He brushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, knowing full well it would be falling right back in his face within a minute. Jackson could tie it back or cut it short, but he liked it this way. It reminded him of the video files of so-called "boy bands" from the late twentieth century he watched on a loop growing up. He was more than willing to put up with bangs in his face if he could look like the man he'd dreamed of being his entire life.

Jackson strode out of his room, the bedroom door sliding open for him free of any input on his behalf. His room opened onto the massive living room, with enough couches, chairs, and assorted cushions to seat thirty sophonts. It was rare for Jackson to go a full day without seeing a minimum of five other beings in his home. He was always happy about it, Acer was just as much of a social creature as he was. Sometimes they would both shut their pads off when together just to have a break from the incessant message notifications.

"Good morning petal," Acer said. Jackson turned toward the kitchen eagerly to find his warden standing there. Deep down, he knew that Acer Maplestone, Fourth Bloom was technically his jailer, but stars, it didn't feel like that. He was more free as a ward of the Affini Compact than he ever was as a "free Terran." When he looked into Acer's sparkling silver eyes, he didn't see a conquering alien overlord intent on subjugating him. He saw a friend, one who wanted nothing more than protect him and care for him.

Well, Acer technically was a conquering alien overlord intent on subjugating him. Beneath the veil of bright green vines and autumnal leaves lay a suite of injectors loaded with xenodrugs designed to render him docile and obedient. He was lucky he ended up with one of the Affini who cared about human notions like "consent" and "boundaries." He knew plenty of Affini looked at Terrans and saw nothing but pets-to-be, despite any protests to the contrary.

"Morning Acer," he replied, giving him a bright smile. "What's for breakfast? It smells great!"

"Pancakes with homemade syrup and eggs benedict," Acer said, preening. Jackson rolled his eyes and punched the Affini playfully. His warden was derived from a maple tree, and his sap was multi-functional. He could lace it with xenodrugs and unleash it on an unsuspecting sophont, he could thicken it to make an effective bondage tool, or he could use it to make the most delicious syrup Jackson had ever tasted. He was rather proud of this capability, apparently food-grade sap was rare amongst Affini. Usually it had to be grafted on.

"A lesser Affini would have you domesticated for that," Acer said with a lopsided grin.

"In your dreams, plant," Jackson said, sticking out his tongue and climbing up into his chair at the countertop. If Acer was going to domesticate him for misbehavior, he would've done so long ago. They'd had "the talk" several times by now, and Jackson made it clear that while he cared about Acer and valued his guidance, he didn't want to be a pet. Acer also made it clear that he would happily collar Jackson if he ever asked for it, but Jackson advised he not hold his breath.

"Plant?" Acer gasped in fake shock, clutching his hands up to his chest. "I ought to go fetch your collar now, you ungrateful brat! After all I've done to support your independence, you refer to me as nothing but a mere plant!" He laid the back of his hand against his forehead and collapsed into a melodramatic pile of vines.

Jackson snickered as he bit into the eggs benedict, his eyes fluttering. Acer was plenty smug about his abilities in the kitchen, but he had every right to be. He insisted on making all of Jackson's meals himself unless he was at a restaurant, and the chestnut-haired Terran was grateful for it. If there was a Terran chef who made eggs benedict half as well as his warden, Jackson never met him.

Acer knit himself back into his usual form, the blanket of autumnal maple leaves draped across his body in the shape of a toga. It was hypnotic to watch, Jackson understood why so many of his species ended up as bewitched pets. The Affini moved with a certain musicality, in sync with what Acer described as a "biorhythm." Apparently all living beings had one, and Affini evolved theirs to be entrancing to other species. It made sense to Jackson, given that plants surely had to attract pollinators once upon a time.

"Very nice," Jackson commented, hurriedly redirecting his gaze when Acer smiled down at him.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my performance, little petal," Acer said, sitting down at a much larger stool at the countertop. "I never tire of amusing you. How's breakfast?"

"It's delicious," Jackson said through a mouthful of pancake. Stars, he swore Acer's syrup got better every time. It was the perfect mix of sweet and bitter, a flavor that no artificial Accord substitute could dream of replicating. "Did you change the syrup? It's incredible today."

"I change it every time, in fact," Acer said, scrolling through his pad and opening up a document full of notes. "Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, depending on your verbal and physical reactions. Your biorhythm tells me a great deal about how you respond to a given formula. Today's is more bitter and a touch more viscous than most recipes I've created thus far."

"Well whatever you're doing, keep it up," Jackson said with a pleased hum. "This is amazing!"

Acer nodded and tapped more notes into his pad while Jackson wolfed down the rest of his breakfast. The Affini looked up for a moment and admonished him to slow down, warning that it was well within his rights as warden to take over feeding his charge his meals by vine if Jackson proved he couldn't feed himself safely. The Terran flushed bright red and looked away from his guardian.

"Stop smirking like that!" Jackson complained, trying to will his cheeks back to a less crimson shade.

"You're not even looking at me, starlight," Acer said, amused.

"I can feel it," Jackson grumbled. "You're looking at me like you want to make me some kind of stupid pet."

"Well, I do want to make you some kind of stupid pet," Acer replied as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Specifically, I want to make you my stupid pet! Well, maybe less my stupid pet and more my happy, docile, pampered dog with nice floppy ears and a wagging tail."

"You're impossible!" Jackson exclaimed with a groan, hoping Acer didn't notice his little smile. The plant would make for a nice boyfriend if he weren't so hung up on the whole "pet" thing. The pair of them had established an excellent repartee over the last two months, and even when Jackson won his independence he couldn't imagine leaving Acer behind. Maybe they could be roommates or something?

"And you're adorable," Acer said, booping Jackson on the nose with a vine. "But as much as I would love to sit here and spar with you all day, there is an important matter at work that requires your attention."

The word "work" fired a neuron Jackson did not miss. Panic welled up in his throat and his mind shot back to his ten-hour days in a miserable little cubicle, with a different name and an unwelcome chest. He heard a beep, then the memories dissipated under a wave of Class E-induced calm. That monitoring cuff worked quickly.

"Relax, dear starlight," Acer said, entwining his right arm in soothing vines. Jackson did the breathing exercise his warden taught him after rescuing him from Terra: breathe in for four counts, hold for four counts, out for four counts, hold for four counts. "I'm not going to force you into labor, I simply would like your assistance with my own work."

Acer worked as an intake counselor for Gilreath's largest veterinary facility. Whenever a new sophont came to the planet and wasn't taken for domestication, they went through Acer's department. By his own estimation, over the course of two blooms on Gilreath he had worked with several thousand sophonts.

Jackson let out another breath and nodded. "Thanks," he said. "What is it?"

Acer produced a single injector, trailing it up the arm he had oh so conveniently bound in vines. "There's a new Terran under my care, and he's an... interesting case. Normally somebody with his behavioral profile would be domesticated immediately, but there are certain complications."

He sank the injector into the crook of Jackson's arm, and the Terran had to bite back a moan. Acer was such a tease with his Class Gs. "He's asked to speak with a non-domesticated Terran about life in the Compact. Well, less asked and more 'demanded.' He claims to have some method of harming himself that we cannot stop. And although every single scan and medical examination at our disposal has turned up nothing..."

"You'd rather just do what he asks than take the risk," Jackson finished. "Why me? I'm sure there are more qualified Terrans, there's got to be therapists or something around here."

"He has insisted that it be a 'regular person,'" Acer said with a sigh. "And among 'regular people,' most independents in the area would rather walk across hot coals than go into a facility full of domestication experts just to talk to a suicidal feralist."

Jackson shrugged. "Well, it can't hurt," he said, climbing out of his chair. "Let's go!"

***

The veterinary facility took his breath away every time. It was a massive campus, full of parks and gardens like everything else in the Affini Compact. There were at least 20 separate buildings that filled any number of functions, including one massive circular building just for medical fetish play. Jackson hadn't asked about that one since Acer mentioned how cute he would look straitjacketed and locked in a padded cell.

The towering Affini led him through a set of double doors and into what looked like an opulent hotel. Everywhere Jackson looked, there were plush couches, fountains, and screens playing a whole range of media. Stars above, the Affini didn't skimp on anything, did they? Acer resisted ever showing Jackson around his workplace before now, always saying that his ward needed to "recover from the strains of capitalism." Terran capitalism might've been easier to bear if it was a bit more like this.

He took Jackson into an elevator and up to the eleventh floor, where a long ring of doors surrounded a balcony that overlooked the open lobby. The Terran supposed the panopticon was a fitting design mentality for the surveillance-mad Affini. If you so much as coughed in an Affini settlement, eight different plants would know within seconds and two of them would be fighting to domesticate you on medical grounds.

"He's in room 1139," Acer said, pointing Jackson down the hallway. "I'm not going to come with you, he's threatened to trigger this blasted mechanism the moment an Affini enters his room. But I'll be watching and listening the whole time. If you need help, just stretch your arms over your head, okay?"

Jackson nodded and smiled up at his nervous guardian. "I'll be alright, you dork," he said, giving Acer another playful punch on his vine-woven arm. "If he were a threat to me, you wouldn't have brought me here. You'd keep me in packing peanuts 24/7 if you thought you could get away with it, you wouldn't put me in danger."

"I most certainly would not," Acer huffed. "Packing peanuts are a ticking time bomb, environmentally speaking. Perhaps some sort of biodegradable expanding foam would do the trick. It would certainly keep you from any unwarranted movements. You male Terrans seem to love nothing more than competing to see who can injure themselves the fastest."

Jackson glowed for a moment at being referred to as a "male Terran" before he laughed at his warden. "Whatever you say, nerd," he teased. "What's this guy's name, anyway?"

"Brady," Acer said, glancing down at his pad. "Brady Montana. He's a refugee from some far-flung Terran colony, barely more than an asteroid. Says here it's called Solak-5."

"Mining colony?" Jackson asked, peeking at the file and finding only illegible Affini script.

"No, some sort of communications hub," Acer replied. "According to the extraction team's reports, it processed signals from all over the galaxy. They're working on tracing the sources, nobody we rescued will breathe a word about the media they handled. Any information you can get about that would be appreciated as well."

Jackson gave her a thumbs-up and set off down the hallway, stopping in front of room 1139. He took a deep breath to settle himself and adopted his most winning smile. He glanced back to a worried-looking Acer, who was wringing his vines so hard it looked like he was going to snap them. Honestly, he wasn't some damsel in distress. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself with some random feralist.

He knocked on the door and heard a frustrated groan inside. "I told you plants to fuck off!" A high, yet masculine voice came from behind the door. "Set one fucking vine in here and I'm gone! CCC prepares us for you freaks, I'm a valuable corporate asset! Terra forever!"

Jackson groaned quietly. Stars, was he this obnoxious when he first arrived on Gilreath? He remembered that colonial Terrans could be a good deal more... fanatical in their allegiance to the Accord, but this seemed extreme. Why would somebody execute themselves instead of talk to beings that just wanted to help them?

"Um, I'm not an Affini!" Jackson called in, trying to keep his voice friendly. "My name's Jackson Meadows, my friend told me you wanted to talk to a regular Terran?"

Brady was silent for a moment as he contemplated this answer. "Friend, huh?" The voice came back, suspicious. "Are you one of those fucking wormheads? That doesn't count."

Jackson had to fight back an angry growl, using the word "wormheads" was enough to get him domesticated on its own. But he maintained his pleasant tone, he could enjoy the sight of this feralist getting domesticated later so long as he kept a level head.

"I'm not a floret, no," he said patiently. "I was taken to Gilreath from Terra two months ago, I was hoping to talk to you about what my life is like here! Acer's very concerned about you."

Brady scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure he's real concerned," he said dismissively. "Real concerned about the fact that I don't have some fucking plant growing on my spine! I was fine working for the CCC, we were all fine! I could've kept broadcasting football games from home for the rest of my life. You Terra fat cats sold us out to the fucking weeds, and I had to flee to some fucking rock in the middle of nowhere!"

"Football?" Jackson asked, caught off-guard by that. Whatever "CCC" was, he'd assumed it was some kind of feralist communications network. Re-routing terrorist plots and propaganda broadcasts for the Rebellion, that sort of thing. Football had always been a propaganda broadcast of sorts, Jackson supposed, but not the kind he had in mind.

"Fucking duh," Brady said. This Terran was not much of a conversationalist. "What else would the Crown Communications Corporation be doing? They ran it through us so rival raiders could never find us and disrupt broadcasts. Apparently they didn't account for the plant slavers from space!"

Jackson opened his mouth to tell Brady exactly what he thought about his opinions on the Compact, but he took a deep breath and steadied himself. On the off chance he did have some kind of suicide mechanism, he didn't want to make him angry and set it off. Football could be a good line to follow to help him let his walls down. Besides, he hadn't gotten to talk about his favorite sport since before Acer took him as a ward.

"You a big fan of the Crown League?" Jackson offered through the door. "I've been super into it since I was a kid. The Wasps were like the only thing I could ever talk to my dad about."

Brady was quiet for a long minute, and Jackson was afraid he'd done something wrong. But then, much to his surprise, the door slid open to reveal the troublesome Terran. Frankly, he looked terrible. Greasy blond hair that looked plastered down to his head, boxy glasses with a huge crack in the right lens, and a frame that indicated a diet based on synthcubes and feralist rage.

"You're a Wasps fan?" Brady asked, looking Jackson up and down. "Guess you can't be all bad." He gestured for Jackson to come in and the brown-haired Terran took him up on it, striding across the threshold without another word.

The room looked like a bomb had gone off. Brady had torn every last bit of art and homely décor off the wall and shredded them. The screen next to his compiler had its history pulled up, and a glance showed he'd created nothing but synthcubes during his stay here. The shades were drawn, and he wasn't even using the bed. All of the blankets lay in a pile on the floor, but the sheets were undisturbed.

Jackson chose not to address all that for the moment, instead offering an olive branch. "I grew up in Vancouver, we were only ten minutes from the stadium when they were still on Terra," he said, sitting down on the bed rather than trying to stand the overturned armchair upright. "We never had enough credits to get tickets, but sometimes we'd go watch the huge screens they had outside. It was nice."

Brady scoffed. "Yeah, it sure was nice," he grumbled. "Real nice up until the plants and their wormheads came and ruined everything! The Crown League had to move to some crazy super-secret blacksite just to keep running. I had a nice life in Paris until your friends showed up."

Jackson sighed. "First of all, I'd advise against calling florets 'wormheads,'" he said, wincing at having to use the word. "There's no surer path to getting domesticated than hurting florets, and the whole Compact treats that word like a slur."

"I-" Brady began, but Jackson cut him off.

"Second of all," he said, holding up a hand. "Who's your favorite Wasps player?"

The question visibly caught Brady off-guard. The sneer faded from his face and he plopped down next to Jackson on the bed. Neither of them had expected the conversation to take this tenor, but Jackson couldn't think of a better way to break the ice. What better way to defuse suspicion than to discuss a common interest?

"That's a hard one," he said, licking his lips. "I've been watching them for years, yelling at the TV just as long. God, do you remember the grand finals in '49?"

Jackson made a gagging face. "Ugh stars, I wish I didn't," he said with a groan. "My grandmother could've caught that pass! You'd think with all that genetic engineering they'd give the wide receivers sticky hands or something."

"They do!" Brady exclaimed. "That makes it even worse!" They both started giggling, and the tension in the room deflated somewhat.

"So who's your favorite then?" Jackson asked, leaning back and propping himself up on his forearms. "If you had to pick one."

Brady buzzed his lips. "I guess it's Jason Travis," he said after a minute.

"Oh somebody likes going off the beaten path," Jackson teased. "Can't say I've ever had somebody pick an offensive tackle as their favorite player."

Brady blushed, and he looked much cuter with some life back on his face. "Nobody's ever done it better than him!" He said defensively. "He went three straight seasons without giving up a sack! We had the Crown's best running game basically his whole career because nobody could touch him!"

"Nobdy except Lawrence," Jackson replied with a smirk.

"That cheap-shotting prick," Brady grumbled. "If I ever meet Taylor Lawrence, I swear I'll-"

He trailed off, blushing, and Jackson laughed. "You'll what?" He said, giving Brady a playful punch on the arm. "Get pounded into the ground like a nail?"

Brady shot him an angry look, and for a half a second Jackson was afraid he'd messed up. But then the blond boy burst out laughing and Jackson happily joined him. Once you got this boy talking about something besides "wormheads," he wasn't half-bad. And talking about football players was a great deal easier than trying to work through his clearly compromised emotional state.

"Hey, do you want something to eat?" Jackson asked. "Because no offense man, but you're so skinny you look like you haven't had a full meal since the birth of Terra."

Brady shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "I've already had a synthcube today, I don't really need more than that."

Jackson tutted and stood, crossing the room to go into the atomic compiler. "Lesson one of the living in the Compact, Brady," he said, typing in a request for a plate of loaded nachos. "Your wants and needs matter here. Whatever they were feeding you on that rock doesn't have to be a concern anymore. You'll never pay for food again!"

Seconds later, he turned around with a plate of nachos, with cheese, beef, peppers, and plentiful other goodies. Judging by how Brady's eyes widened, he wasn't quite as immune to the charms of food as he claimed to be.

"Oh God," he said softly. "Those look amazing. They're not drugged or anything, right?"

"Nope!" Jackson replied cheerily. "They could be if you wanted to, Class As are a great time in food. Though if you're not careful, you'll end up with one hell of a stomachache. Eating just feels so good you'll never want to stop!"

"I'm good, thanks," Brady said dryly, though he didn't look away from the nachos.

Jackson shrugged. "Your loss," he said, setting the platter down on the bed. Brady dug into them like a man possessed, his eyes fluttering blissfully. "Careful now, don't choke!"

"I know how to eat," Brady grumbled through a mouthful of chips, cheese, and bacon bits. But he did heed Jackson's warning and slow down."How 'bout you? Who's your all-time top Wasp?"

"Okay, favorite or best?" Jackson said, making sure he a got a bite with a bit of everything. "Super-different answers."

"Both!"

Jackson pondered that through four more bites of nachos. "Best has got to be Don Starr," he said. Brady snorted, accidentally spraying Jackson with chip crumbs.

"What are you, eighty?" He snarked. "I bet your parents weren't even alive when Don Starr played."

"I've watched every game he ever played!" Jackson said with mix of defensiveness and pride. "He was exactly as good as everybody says he was, maybe better! I've never seen anybody who could throw a ball like that."

"So you're just like, a massive dork, huh?" Brady said. "Didn't Starr play like seventeen seasons?"

"Nineteen, actually," Jackson replied with a smirk.

"How have you watched all of his games?" Brady asked. "I know what CCC charges for those archive subscriptions, it's an arm and a leg and maybe your other foot too."

Jackson winced. "Yeah, there were maybe a couple of months where I paid for that and skipped a meal or three," he said sheepishly. "Acer will still make fun of me for choices like that."

Brady's expression darkened. "Acer," he said with a grumble. "You mean that giant tree who keeps telling me how much happier I'll be as a worm- uh, as a stupid pet?"

Well it still wasn't great, but at least it was progress. "Yeah, that's the one," Jackson said. "I'm not his pet or anything, I want to be independent, but he's helped me adjust to living here. He makes better food than any Terran I've ever met."

The blond boy's expression lightened for a moment at the mention of food, but he caught himself and scowled. "Like good food and a couple fountains make up for enslaving Terra," he shot back. "Those fuckers ruined everything!"

Jackson took a deep breath. Enough dancing around it. "Yeah but, did they?" He said. Brady shot him a look, but he continued. "Brady, humans didn't do a great job as stewards of their own future. We started horrific wars, we destroyed most of the planets we terraformed. We launched orbital strikes against labor unions!"

"But none of that gives these plant monsters the right to make us slaves!" Brady exclaimed. "We are free beings! We deserve the rights to our own earnings!"

"Earnings are all we would ever get from the Accord," Jackson replied. "And even then, we didn't get most of them. I bet you ate synthcubes on Solak-5 because they didn't pay you enough to get anything better." Brady's sullen silence was confirmation enough.

"The Affini aren't here to enslave us, Brady," Jackson said. "If they were, I'd have been implanted a long time ago no matter what I said. They mean it when they say they want the best for us. It's just that for some people, what's best for them is life as a floret."

Brady groaned and flopped back on the bed. "Jackson, I'm fucked, aren't I?"

Jackson didn't have it in him to lie. "You're probably going to be domesticated once they figure out how to deactive whatever your suicide mechanism is," he confessed. "Threats of self-harm and the state of your living space are sufficient grounds on their own. Add in all the w-word stuff? You're probably going to be implanted by the end of the week."

"Phenomenal," Brady said. "The suicide mechanism isn't even real. CCC only gives that shit to people with proprietary information, I wasn't important enough. I was just stalling to try and find a way out of this. Clearly there isn't one."

"There isn't," Jackson said, scooting back to sit next to Brady's head. "The Affini aren't going anywhere, and they're not going to let you leave the planet. The cold, hard truth is that humanity does not have the tools to resist the Compact."

"So I'm just gonna be a wormhead now?" Bryce moaned. "I get everything that makes me who I am stripped away to be some stupid pet for a plant?"

"That's not what it's like at all!" Jackson exclaimed. "And stop using that word! Florets don't stop being themselves when they're domesticated. They get to be whatever version of themselves they would be if they didn't have to worry about anything. Their owners deal with feeding them, maintaining their health, keeping them housed and clothed, everything. They have all the time in the world to pursue their interests. Well, and have sex. They do a whole lot of that."

"That sounds too good to be true," Brady said.

"I know, but somehow it's not," Jackson replied. He rested his hand on Brady's and squeezed it. "Your life doesn't end when you join the Compact. It's more that your new one begins."

Brady sighed and sat up. "I mean, I'm pretty fucking pissed about it," he said. "But am I correct in assuming that they're listening to us right now?"

"You are."

"And am I also correct in assuming that they're going to come claim me the second you leave, since they know now I can't actually erupt into a fireball at will?" Brady asked.

"Correct once again," Jackson responded.

"It was so obvious I was lying," Brady said, shaking his head. "The devices CCC gives the higher-ups are detectable even on Terran scans. Why didn't they just take me?"

"Second lesson of living in the Affini Compact," Jackson said in reply. "These plants care more about your health and safety than anything else in the universe. If there is the slightest chance that they can make another sophont happy, they'll do everything they can to make it happen."

"I still don't really believe you," Brady sighed. "But I guess I don't have much choice in the matter. You still gotta tell me who your favorite player is before you go!"

Jackson smiled dreamily. "Oh that's easy," he said. "Patrick Bradshaw. I've never seen guys do the things with a football he can. Also, and this is a bit less important, stars is he dreamy."

Brady snickered and now it was Jackson's turn to blush. "What?" He asked. "Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're not," he said. "It's just... pretty gay to make your choice of favorite player like that."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that if Jason Travis said he wanted to fuck you, you'd turn him down," Jackson deadpanned. Much to his delight, Brady turned crimson and refused to answer.

"Thought so," Jackson said, grabbing the empty plate and taking it to the compiler. "Seriously though, welcome to the Compact. I know it's a big change, but I think you'll learn to love it."

Brady didn't reply as he left the room. Once Jackson stepped outside, Acer and his friend Coriander were waiting outside.

"Oh thank the stars!" Acer said, grabbing Jackson in his vines and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "I was so worried! Did he hurt you, did anything happen?"

"Acer, I think you're the most likely source of hurt here," Coriander replied dryly.

"Put me down please!' Jackson squeaked. Acer did so reluctantly, only after checking every inch of his body for injuries. That got Jackson blushing and made Coriander giggle.

"You knew he couldn't actually kill himself, didn't you?" Jackson said, eyeing his guardian suspiciously. "Why bother sending me in there?"

"I don't know what you could possibly mean, petal," Acer said with a twinkle in his eye. "This was a vital mission in which you succeeded greatly. It was particularly encouraging to hear your glowing speech on the nature of florethood."

Jackson thought he was going to blush himself into a fireball. "A-anyway," he stammered, trying to keep himself from screaming. "Coriander, are you here for Brady?"

The herbal-scented Affini's bright green eyes flickered. "Oh yes," she said, almost purring. "I love taking in strays, especially ones who have given me every reason not to be gentle in my domestication."

An array of injector vines flared out behind Coriander, and Jackson averted his gaze. Not expressing interest in xenodrugs was a key cog in remaining independent. Alright he may have suggested Class As to Brady, but that was just to put him at ease! Anybody could see that.

Coriander pressed a vine against a sensor next to Brady's door and it slid open. Jackson heard a surprised yelp from inside and the telltale clicking sounds of an Affini staring down cornered prey before it slid shut. A faint humming sound indicated Coriander had activated the room's noise cancelling features. Brady was in for it now.

"He's in good vines with her," Acer said, escorting Jackson toward the elevator. "You'll scarcely recognize him next time you see him."

Jackson giggled. "Can't wait," he said. But his conversation with Brady lingered in his mind. Truth be told, he hadn't thought about football since arriving on Gilreath. There was far too much about life in the Compact to explore, too many new things to do, too many new friends to enjoy spending time with.

But the thoughts were back now, and suddenly Jackson missed it. He missed watching chess where all of the pieces moved at once. He missed the depth of statistical analysis available for such an intricate game. He missed his Wasps. And dear stars did he miss looking at Patrick Bradshaw.

"Hey Acer," Jackson said as the pair of them rode the elevator back to the lobby. "Have you ever heard of football?"