Kanagen

  Once more, a lovely little meeting room; once more, a not-so-lovely little meeting. Trish sat on the too-rge chair, expertly designed to induce feelings of helplessness and fragility, and kept herself calm, focused, and above all unconcerned. She had done this before, many times, and the old skills were still there. Controlled breathing, controlled heart rate, active listening, careful word choice, and knowledge of how the Affini preferred to operate. This was her toolkit, and keeping her brain intact was the job.

  "There is a lot of paperwork in her file, of course," Ephedra Triosteum, Seventh Bloom was saying. Her short, stubby leaves and the little white flowers that dotted her vines swayed in a breeze that wasn't there, and her three eyes remained a cool, dark purple at all times. Authoritative, by-the-book, totally convinced of her own righteousness; Trish was sure Scoparia would be just like her in a thousand years or so. For her, Trish would rely on precedent, and would do her utmost to use the words of other affini against her. She might not listen to a human, but she'd listen to her own. "Three wardships. Four now. Though this is the first that's primarily based on a potential medical need."

  "It's not merely medical," Scoparia countered. "That was the instigating factor, of course, but we have to look beneath surface issues to the underlying feral ideology that caused it." Trish had been arguing with her for almost a week now, and still had no idea how to get under Scoparia's bark. She was obsessive about her work, true, more so than many affini, but the more she observed her warden the less Trish thought Koer was right to describe her as a youngbloom — she was far too complicated under the surface for that.

  "See Appendix H, summary, Freedom's Ember by Cass Hope, pen name for Lay Sequi, First Floret of Tsuga Sequi, Ninth Bloom, currently in residence aboard the station." Vaccaris was the clerk, a roughly-carved pilr of ancient-looking wood. If he didn't move, Trish would have assumed he was simply a statue the Affini had induced an actual tree to grow into the shape of. There was always an Vaccaris in meetings like these, and they were frequently at least as weird, self-effacing, and hyperfocused on proceduralism. More than any other affini present, Vaccaris could be useful to Trish if she could just find the right words, the right paperwork, to shift him. "Full text, annotated, in Appendix N-4."

  "Lay is, of course, central to this whole affair," Scoparia added. "And I am personally interested in seeing reconciliation between the two. If Trish can manage that, I think she can overcome her ideological distaste for the company of florets." This wasn't the time to argue the issue. Trish could circle back to it ter, when she had momentum. Affini always preferred it when you didn't try to get a rebuttal in at every opportunity — arguing, after all, was a sign of feralism.

  "A y diagnosis of floret aversion? Hm." Agonis, a vaguely birdlike explosion of multicolored fronds, was focused intently on her tablet. "Focused entirely around this Lay cutie? You know, I think we might just be overcomplicating the matter significantly." Before Trish could even process hopefulness, Agonis continued: "A well-timed microdose of css-C xenodrugs ought to clear this whole thing up." So much for easy roads out — Trish would have to be on her guard against the drug-happy xenopsychologist.

  Not to mention the other drug-happy alien pnts at the table.

  "Lay is certainly a keystone, yes, but she's not the only reason that Trish has floret aversion. It's ideological; curing her of her aversion to a single floret isn't going to make any inroads against that. All the literature says that terrans are very good at coping with cognitive dissonance when given an ideological framework."

  "Yet you feel that her overcoming her aversion to Lay will result in her overcoming her aversion to all florets," Agonis countered. She was skeptical of Scoparia, it seemed. Trish could use that, at least, if she was clever.

  "If we simply cure the individual aversion, I very much doubt it," Scoparia said. "But if Trish can herself reconcile with Lay, it will force her to begin the process of deconstructing her feral ideology. Rather than a surgical cut and patch, this is an issue that requires an unraveling of the whole. Or a haustoric impnt, of course; that would solve the problem quite efficiently."

  "It would also, of course, resolve any lingering or future health issues she might be experiencing." Soral Oxyria, 8th Bloom, a small mountain of drooping vines with blood-red flowers that were acrid-smelling enough Trish was getting whiffs of them from across the enormous table. He never quite seemed to stop moving. As a veterinarian, Trish knew that her physical health would be his primary concern. If she could convince him that her health wasn't an issue, she might be able to swing his vote.

  This was a good time. "Can I get a word in here?" Trish said, raising a hand. When all the affini turned to look at her, she took it as her cue to continue. "This is all very nice, but you're making a big fuss out of nothing. I don't have floret aversion, I'm just not as drawn to them as you all are because, obviously, I'm not an affini. I suggest you adjust your expectations of me getting all wound up about florets in light of that. By comparison to you, everyone else in the gaxy could probably be argued to have some degree of floret aversion."

  "A very cute joke," Soral said, shuffling his vines and redoubling the odor, "but floret aversion isn't just not liking florets, little one — it's about not liking florets, if you take my meaning."

  "And I don't not like florets," Trish replied. "You're taking my personal issues with a specific handful of florets and magnifying them to all florets. Trying to say that I have floret aversion so bad that I experienced tachycardia from being around them is nonsense — if someone you hadn't seen for, I don't know, nine or ten blooms just dropped out of the sky on top of you, I dare say you might shed a leaf or two out of shock yourself."

  "You are a curiously calm little creature." Agonis leaned forward, just a little too much. It made her seem like some kind of a cartoon vulture. "Usually, when I observe terrans in a wardship meeting, there are telltale signs of nervousness, concern, anxiety — but your vitals are very stable, your words carefully chosen. Very unusual."

  "I've been in front of committees like this before," Trish said, shrugging. "It's getting to be tiresome." Self-control was a necessity. Advertising worry was a weakness that the affini would relentlessly exploit. "And speaking of tired, I'm not as young as I used to be. I really would prefer to just go home."

  "'Home', in this case, being your mobile hab?"

  "Well, I certainly don't consider Scoparia's hab home. Not that she hasn't been an attentive hostess, but it's just not home. The mobile hab has everything I need, right where I expect to find it, to the point that I basically don't have to think about it anymore, and if I don't like the view I can just pick up and drive off to find a new one. We humans tend to get a bit set in our ways as we age, particurly about the little things." She very pointedly did not look, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Scoparia riffling her form ever so slightly. What, you thought I was just going to yell and bluster like your garden variety feralist? She allowed herself the slightest of smiles and pressed on: "I maintain that this all could have been handled pnetside. I had a very well equipped medical kit in the mobile hab, including a cardiac emergency pen, and it wouldn't have taken any longer to drive to a town with a veterinarian than it did for me to get airlifted up here by a bunch of scared florets. It's all much ado about nothing, as I'm sure Lay would say." Trish had no clue what the reference was, but she'd heard Cass say it many a time.

  "Interesting, interesting," Agonis said, talons tracing something onto her tablet. Trish let the comment lie; she'd said enough for now. "Certainly a far cry from the feral little xenosphont you described in your initial report, Scoparia."

  "I'm noticing that." Scoparia had fully recomposed herself, and was staring down at Trish. "A very curious transformation indeed. You're a better actress than I would have ever given you credit for, little wildflower."

  Another good pce for a short response. "It's not acting, Scoparia," she said with a smile. "I just don't think our personalities mesh particurly well. Sorry." She punctuated her apology with a shrug. Chew on that, why don't you?

  "I'd be more inclined to accept that at face value had you not apparently had simir reactions to your previous wardens," Scoparia said. "Four times running strains credulity just a bit."

  "Reports from previous wardships found in Appendix C-5," Vaccaris said. "Roughly congruent with the previous statement by Scoparia Cryptantha, Fourth Bloom."

  "You see the concern Scoparia has, I'm sure," Ephedra said. "While you may be very calm, and you certainly don't appear to be lying, it is quite strange for a sophont who publishes a work of feralist philosophy to grate against their warden only to be perfectly amicable in the actual wardship meeting, not once but in four successive wardships. Indeed, I'm starting to wonder why none of the previous wardship reports have any commentary on that."

  Trish shrugged again. "Well, none of you were in those wardship hearings, I'd remember you. You'd have to ask Koer, I suppose."

  "Koer Antirrhi, formerly Eleventh Bloom, is presently reblooming and is therefore unavaible," Vaccaris said.

  "Drat," Ephedra murmured. "Any other participants avaible?"

  "None."

  Another pulse of acrid scent announced Soral shuffling his vines. "Well that's very annoying, isn't it?"

  "Indeed," Ephedra said. "I do rather dislike not having a proper history to work from. I always found Koer very diligent; I don't understand why they've left this out."

  "My guess? They just didn't think it was important enough to include. I've been through this three times, and every time it's the same song and dance. Someone got worried, pushed me into a wardship I didn't need, and everyone agreed at the end that I was fine to keep doing my own thing."

  "Your own thing being publishing a work of feralist philosophy," Scoparia said, the irritation in her voice quite palpable.

  "Hey, you apparently knew about that all along," Trish said with another shrug. "So it can't be that bad."

  "Yet another thing I would very much like to discuss with Koer," Ephedra said. "Hopefully their reblooming won't take much longer; I move we table the matter for now and proceed with the hearing." With agreement all around (minus Trish, of course, but they weren't asking her), they did just that, circling back around to the issue of her medical fitness instead. The debate on that issue went back and forth, and Trish let them have their fun, let them feel as if they were having their say, before she pushed back into the conversation.

  "Can I just say I think, once again, you're overconcerned about this? Look, I may not be a grand and wise veterinarian, but I did graduate from medical school and I damn near finished my residency before I got shipped off to Solstice, so I think I can be relied upon to have a better-than-average understanding of the human cardiovascur system. If I were the attending physician, I'd prescribe minor routine modifications, an appropriate dose of beta-blockers or whatever xenodrug equivalent you've got, and that'd be that. I certainly wouldn't be recommending the patient-" Herself, in this case. "-be moved into some kind of long-term residential care facility over it, which is essentially what you're all arguing over."

  "Our standards of care are significantly higher than what you were trained to, little one," Soral murmured, coiling his vines up a little tighter than usual.

  "True, but that doesn't change the facts of the case. I'll admit I haven't kept up on the literature, partially because most of it's still in Affini, but based on some of the things I overheard while I was in the veterinary hospital, you've probably got a computer model of my heart that's sufficiently accurate that you can predict future cardiac events well before they happen. Am I more or less on track?"

  Soral grunted an affirmation. "But of course, that's based on observational data. The simution will naturally diverge over time, since you won't be exerting yourself in perfect synchrony with it."

  Trish shrugged. "So I compile a cardiac diagnostic sensor and give myself a checkup every week or so. Structurally speaking, my heart's still in good shape, right?"

  "Reasonably so, for a human of your age and previous life experience in the wild," Soral agreed. "No major cardiac events forecasted at the present time."

  "Then that should cover everything on that score. Or am I much mistaken?"

  Soral shifted back and forth. "You are a very peculiar, but very capable, little sophont."

  Agonis leaned in over the table again, her floral plumage fluffing itself up as she interjected, "Medical issues aside, I would like to return to the issue of your interrupted residency. Specifically, the reason you were sent to Solstice in the first pce."

  Trish took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Always with this. "This has been discussed to death in all three of my previous wardships. Do we really have to exhume it and do it all over again?" She turned to Vaccaris. "You've got the documentation, I'm sure?"

  "Reference materials to previous discussions of the extrajudicial execution of Kenton Chadwick Paskell circa 2544 CE, Terran calendar, may be found in Appendix F-2," the records liaison helpfully provided.

  "I am aware," Agonis said, "and I have indeed read those discussions, but as the xenopsychologist for this case, I feel I would be remiss in not directly assessing your emotional state regarding the events in question."

  Trish let out a tired grunt. "Fine. I got stuck sequencing rape kits and cross-checking medical records when I was an intern. More than half of them came back with the same perpetrator's DNA. Then Paskell came in from a skiing accident, and I had to karyotype him for gene-tailored neo-hormones to speed up his recovery. That's when I noticed the unusual shape one on of his chromosomes. Then I sequenced the genome of the STD he was carrying and found it was a match to the recorded samples from the kits. It was him, no question. He was a serial rapist."

  "And you took it upon yourself to act...?"

  "Because the Paskells had money." When this clearly got no reaction from the table, she added, "Money made you immune to consequences. If I'd reported him, nothing would have happened except me losing my residency and getting a bullseye painted on my back."

  "So you killed him."

  "I gave him a drug that cooked his involuntary motor cortex. By the time he started coding, there was nothing anyone could have done to save him, and the drug had a short enough half-life that it was undetectable by the time of death. He was deep under on opiates, he never felt a thing." Which was better than he deserved, Trish thought but did not say.

  Agonis nodded. "That much is in the previous transcripts, yes. I want to know your feelings on the matter."

  Trish sighed. "Like I've said before: I regret that it was necessary, but not that I did it. The things that man did to the victims..." She swallowed and shook her head. "He would never have stopped, and could never have been made to stop any other way."

  "You misunderstand, petal," Agonis said gently. "I want to know your feelings in the moment. If a css-E would make you feel safer in recalling something so traumatic, I can provide it." One of her vines, tipped with a flower just as vibrantly colored as the rest of her, separated itself from her trunk and drifted over the table.

  Trish waved it away. "No, I'm fine." And she was. It had been a long, long time ago. But she took a moment to center herself nonetheless. "It made me sick, obviously. I'm a doctor. First do no harm, that's the oath we take. I'm sure Soral has an oath in the same vein." She paused, swallowed against the sour taste in her mouth. "But there's shades of grey even in that. When a surgeon operates, they have to cut into otherwise healthy tissue. They have to do harm in order to prevent or to cure a greater harm. This...this was surgery. The cut had to be made. But there's no cadaver b to prepare you for a surgery like that."

  She had not lied. She did not regret doing it. But that didn't mean that the sensation of pushing the plunger on the syringe all the way down wasn't seared into her memory, crystal clear as though it hadn't happened more than sixty-five years ago. She hadn't lied about it making her sick to even think about it, either.

  Agonis nodded, withdrawing the xenodrug-envenomed vine. "Thank you for sharing that, Trish. I believe that I am satisfied for now."

  "I admit some confusion," Scoparia said, rubbing her chin. "If, indeed, you conducted this... surgery without any evidence remaining, why precisely were you sent to Solstice?"

  Trish gave a rueful ugh and shook her head. "You really are new to humans. Look at my trial transcripts; the only evidence the prosecution offered was that I was on the floor that night and could have done it. The family wanted a scapegoat, and they pointed at the only non-white doctor on the floor at the time and said that one. It didn't matter how clever I was. They just wanted blood, and they happened to pick right by sheer luck."

  "Terrans are unfortunately prone to in-group/out-group exclusion," Agonis expined. "Less so now, thankfully, now we've had a chance to work on them, but it's something to be aware of."

  "So are we done digging this up?" Trish crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Based on what I was told at my st three wardship hearings, what happens in the wild stays in the wild, right?"

  "Your behavior in the wild, while not wholly irrelevant to evaluating your fitness for independence, is not so strongly weighted as your behavior post-domestication, correct," Agonis said. "But I do believe in being thorough, especially given your unusual ck of anxiety reactions. Having tested your emotional equilibrium, I don't believe it's a sign of any underlying pathology, nor do I believe you're likely to ever do anything like that again. As I said: entirely satisfied for now."

  "And I believe that's every item on the agenda we wished to discuss," Ephedra said. "I think the reconciliation benchmark Scoparia suggested is an ideal one for evaluating Trish's floret aversion, or ck thereof. That, along with a standard emotional and ideological inventory, should suffice for our next meeting on the subject. All in favor of tabling the matter until then and recessing, to reconvene at a future time to be determined?"

  There were no objections. Ten minutes ter, Trish was stalking out of the meeting annex and into the bright artificial sunlight, Scoparia close on her heels. "Well, I think that went well," she said, draping a vine across Trish's shoulders and gently tugging on her to slow her down.

  "For you or for me?" Trish tried to shake the vine off, but it stubbornly clung to her.

  "Trish, flower, you should know by now that our interests are perfectly aligned. We simply want you to be happy, which no doubt you want for yourself." Scopara smiled a needle-toothed smile down at Trish. "All we're doing is seeing if you can get out of your own way on that score, or whether you need help to do it."

  "I was perfectly happy before you showed up," Trish spat. "That's you, specifically. Koer never pulled this shit on me."

  "Koer Antirrhi allowed you to marinate in feralist thought for sixty years," Scoparia countered, "and allowed you to drift away from your closest friends for no other reason than that they were florets. It will come as no shock to you, I am sure, that I do not think particurly highly of Koer Antirrhi, and when they emerge from their reblooming you can be quite certain that I am going to send them a very strongly worded memorandum."

  "As opposed to all the ones I'm sure you've sent already," Trish grumbled. Still, that was a potential thread of hope. Koer was still on the station, still reblooming. They hadn't left yet, like they said they were going to. Maybe, just maybe, Trish could still rely on them to help her out of this jam. "Hey, look, we said our goodbyes already, but if I asked you to ask them to come see me before they leave-?"

  "Of course I will ask them" Scoparia said, cutting her off. "I may not approve of their efforts as your social worker, but I certainly appreciate that you two are friends. I'm sure they would want to see you, too."

  Trish nodded. She wasn't so sure about that herself — Koer had seemed to want to make a clean break of things — but they were also the only way she could see herself on the other side of this wardship without an impnt in her spine. "Thanks."

  That razor-sharp smile appeared on Scoparia's face again. "Flower, I'm hardly going to discourage you from having affini friends — even ones I don't necessarily approve of."