AnnouncementContent warning & Discimer:

  SpoilerSynaptic Eclipse is a work of fiction. All characters, pces and events are a product of the author's imagination. Any resembnce to real world persons, pces or events is purely coincidental.

  This chapter contains discussion of mind control and svery.

  [colpse]See how the serfs work the ground (See how they fall)

  And they (Fall) give it all they've got

  And they (Fall) give it all they've got

  And you (Fall) give it all you've got till you're down

  PR: Scout, we are checking in to see how you are. Also; do you prefer to be known as Cascade to us?

  WW: Oh

  -- Umbral Cascade (UC) changed her name from Wayward 2-17 (WW) —

  UC: Cascade is fine. I am well, I believe.

  PR: You believe? We understand you are successfully establishing a more permanent link with Lay.

  UC: Yes, it's been very pleasant being linked with her.

  UC: If you had checked in while we were actually linked, I’d be doing a lot better

  UC: We're both happy to be together, and now I have to wait for her recovery

  PR: We can certainly understand your anticipation.

  UC: I also think you knew that, Recurrent.

  PR: Of course we did. We're checking in because we thought you might be in need of some support.

  PR: You're not worried about things going wrong, are you?

  UC: I mean, yes. but only in the sense that we could get incredibly unlucky.

  UC: She probably won't have any complications at this point.

  PR: It's practically impossible

  UC: Exactly. She'll be fine. I just feel uneasy without her. It's good and bad.

  PR: Are you worried about becoming dependent?

  UC: Not for myself. As soon as we unlink it's the same old familiar void for me.

  UC: for her, though - these are her first links. We don't get withdrawals like this at home. Not anymore. I messed up a bit, too.

  UC: I could have prevented so much of her pain with the same precautions that we've used for a thousand years!

  PR: Don't bme yourself. You had no reason to expect things to be going this way. We weren't exactly sure how the human psyche expresses itself, let alone how it would react to a link. You're swimming in cloudy waters.

  PR: We can never be completely sure how a link-less intelligence might think. We'll need so much more data to make strong conclusions, but it makes perfect sense for her to be easily dependent.

  PR: We were pretty sure that humans don't have access to the same direct level of understanding in each other. It's a major factor in why our portents for this mission had always been bleak. Deception could be something so potentially trivial to them.

  UC: That does seem to be the case. As if parts of their society are entirely built on lies.

  UC: It's a fucking mess down there, Recurrent.

  PR: It appears so. In their pre-brief, Joiner suggested that leadership on earth is highly corrupted.

  UC: Yes, Lay has griped about the decay of democracy in her home country.

  UC: It's pretty sad.

  PR: What is she like?

  UC: Oh, uh

  UC: Lay is kind, funny, and forgiving. I've been enjoying learning about humanity through her. She showed me a bunch of her favorite earth movies on the ferry.

  PR: Ooh! Their artistic endeavors are very interesting to us. Did you enjoy them?

  UC: I liked quite a lot of them. She was actually worried about showing me the fiction they've made about aliens. They imagine all sorts of horrifying things might exist out in the cosmos.

  PR: Hopefully corda don’t turn out to be one of those things.

  UC: We're certainly more fearsome than most creatures humans might have expected. Earth's natural environment is not as maximal as Allocaea's. I'm sure Joiner will send you a bundle of media to review with the full report.

  PR: They've already sent some. We want to distribute it, actually, but most corda aren't familiar enough with the pnet, yet. Flora obsessives aside.

  UC: That group of obsessives includes both you and Joiner.

  PR: Joiner's obsession lead to their current assigned station, and it's our job to obsess over literally everything.

  UC: I know. You need to justify the resources sunk into your conception.

  PR: We like to think of it as gratitude to our creators. Giving back to the sowers, in kind, for having created the seed.

  PR: Cascade, would you be okay with us contacting Lay? We'd like to correspond with her.

  UC: I can hardly stop you, commander.

  PR: True, but not our point. You know perfectly well that we are trying to offer you control over your boundaries. She's your ‘girlfriend’.

  UC: You really are the rgest known gossip in two gaxies.

  PR: Correct. Maybe even three.

  UC: I'm not going to tell you to leave her alone. You and Joiner are both well within your rights to contact her. I'd be more worried about other flora, or the council.

  PR: We don't pn on giving other flora authorization to contact her, at least. We can't really stop the council if they really want to talk to her. We suppose she could block them if she wants. They shouldn't be doing anything like that until the report comes, at least.

  UC: I'll have to warn her about them. It’d be pretty funny if she blocked communications from council members.

  PR: It would, yes. We pnned to warn her as well.

  PR: Joiner has just informed us that you've been awake for almost an entire day. You need to sleep, Cascade.

  UC: Ugh, not you too. I used to stay awake for days and days working on Somber, you know.

  PR: That sort of behavior is exactly why you were forced into rehabilitation. It's not healthy.

  UC: I'll try to rest. Be nice to my girlfriend, Recurrent.

  PR: We will be on our best behavior, as we always are. Rest well, friend.

  ---

  My mind is completely silent when I wake up. Not a thought occurs while all of my senses are fading in. There's more to those senses than there used to be. The surface of my consciousness stays quiet for a long moment.

  I can feel it.

  It's been smoothly installed, and if I don't focus on the boundary, I can't even tell. A little bit of extra space to think in. Fluttering shadows where there might be extra muscles or senses to flex. Foreign axons woven into my brain, paired to cultivated dendrites.

  My groin itches, reminding me that I got my balls removed, with a permanent estrogen impnt to boot. Excitement and satisfaction bristle at the prospect. No one can take that from me, now. Not without carving it out of my body. No more injections or pills. I just have to stay on Joiner's good side if I want any healthcare. Or find a doctor that won't report alien augmentations to the government.

  It's a pretty sweet deal.

  I hope the cluster isn't influencing my thoughts. I worried about altering my mind like this, but Cas tried to expin it away before I went under. They told me that the impnt consists of cultivated cells, not donated ones. The cluster’s neurons have barely had any stimution before they're put into me, and it grows over the course of months to a few years to keep the amount of starting cells in the transpnt low. It's a living graft that will completely become a part of me over time.

  Examining the room around me, I recall my spot within the ship's map. According to the local positioning system in my neural augment, this recovery room is right next to the procedure room. It's retively small, lit with shrouded wall strips, and I'm sitting in its major feature, the bed, which fits me surprisingly well. There's a side table, a door, and a strange, shifting aesthetic feature on the wall. It looks like falling sands, softly lit with a warm, almost orange light. My bed is raised partly upright, and I don't have to turn around to know there's a machine on the back, connected to me. A few health monitors and a minor link connection are still plugged into my interface cluster, presumably so Joiner can make sure I'm okay ‘at a gnce’.

  “Joiner,” I call out quietly, wincing when my voice cracks.

  I feel them move more of their attention to the room. Like the shadow of a cloud, or someone walking on my grave. They even seem to have shifted the lights but I can't really tell how. Their tone is oddly comforting, “Lay. You're awake. How do you feel?”

  I give my body a mental once-over, “Anesthetized. I'm sure some aches and pains are in store but for now I feel fine.”

  “Good,” they say, “the procedure went as expected, your nervous system is accepting the transpnt and vice versa. There is a low chance of any complications at this point.”

  “That's great,” I say, “still going to be a week to recover, though, yeah?”

  “Yes, then three more weeks of recovery from the orchiectomy. We hope it is not too difficult of a process. You will need to do some tests to make sure the cluster is functioning fully, before linking to Cascade again.”

  Less great, “what sort of tests?”

  “We need to test it with a couple of appendage augments to make sure you have full functionality through it. If there's an issue, we want to fix it as soon as we can. After we make sure you're all good on that front, you should be able to relink with Cascade.”

  I can't say I'm particurly excited to plug tentacles into my spine and take them for a spin. I'll just consider it an endeavor to reunite with my girlfriend. Speaking of Cascade, “Where is Cas? I figured she'd be waiting in here.”

  “Cascade is asleep. We made her leave to rest after she had been awake for over 20 hours watching after you.”

  Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet of her. Still, “thanks for taking care of her, MJ.” I say, trying to sit up a little.

  “It is our pleasure and duty to do so.”

  I can't sit up like I want with how I'm fastened to the bed. Eventually realizing that I can actually just will the bed to adjust through the connection, I move it with my mind. As it slowly shifts, I wonder about the backsh to our impassioned strike. “Any news?” I ask, noting my backpack on a side table.

  “Nothing worth mentioning. Media outrage, propagandists out in full. Exactly the response we expected.”

  I start to wonder how I'm going to get to my stuff when I feel Joiner nudge at something through their minimal link to me. The table pivots on a clever mechanical arm, around the apparently very fancy recovery bed, nding in my p. On it is my backpack and a filled water bottle.

  “Ah,” Joiner says, “I do actually have one piece of news, but not from earth.”

  “Oh? What's that?” I reply, starting to rummage through my backpack for art supplies.

  “Mission command is looking to speak with you. Populus Recurrent will probably contact you in the next few days.”

  “Mission command? What’re they like?”

  “Recurrent is one of the most interesting minds we know. They are a flora, like ourself, but it would not be out of line to compare us to Recurrent in the same manner one might compare Cascade to ourself.”

  “They’re even rger? You’re barely even comprehensible to me, Joiner.” I can’t even begin to imagine what such a mind is like. I finish dragging out paper and pencils, and, noticing another shelf on the side of the bed, I pce my backpack upon it.

  “I am grandiose, certainly. Recurrent is less like a greater version of me, though… I believe you have comprehended my design to be like a grand, branching tree, yes?”

  “I have,” I admit, thinking of how Jenna is one of many autonomous branches of Joiner.

  “Where we might be seen as a great tree, Recurrent is more like an entire forest. Thousands of smaller trees, all connected as the same networked mind.”

  “That’s insane, MJ,” I say, pausing and almost forgetting the dumb piece of art I was about to sketch out. I quickly scribble down the idea on the edge of my canvas - a parody on The Creation of Adam - before returning to the conversation, “and their personality?”

  “Recurrent is a caring, highly dedicated leader and deep thinker. The closer you are to their direct command, the more likely they are to check in on you with regurity. You only really have one superior between them and yourself, so expect them to check in retively often.”

  I start to sketch out the basic shapes of the composition, “Cool, another gaxy brained alien chaperone checking in on me. I guess it’s their job to make sure the mission’s operatives are all doing well, as much as it’s yours, too.”

  “While true, there’s almost certainly another reason as well.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  Joiner’s response dumbfounds me, “Lay. I think they’re just very excited to talk to an alien.”

  ---

  She's the first thing I think of when I wake up. Lay is out of surgery and I can visit her. No links, but I can see her and talk to her. I can touch her and know that she's well.

  Joiner greets me as soon as I leave our quarters, I give them a brief response as I rush to Lay's recovery room. They let me know she's awake and well, but I know that I have to see her.

  The room is already open. She's sitting up in the bed, sipping on synthesized juice and watching something on her ptop. Lay looks tired, but she puts on a big smile when she sees me, “Hey Cas.”

  Hey Lay… Right. I've never wished so much that I could just smile back at her. Instead I stand at the door and fumble with my speech module, “Hi. Lay…”

  She starts to look confused for a moment before recognizing my fumble and ughing. “C'mere, dummy,” she says.

  I oblige and scuttle my way up, settling onto one of the bed’s moving shelves. Joiner has thoughtfully provided a cushion for me to sit on. Once it settles into pce just to her left, presumably at Lay's direction, she holds out her hand. “I heard you were waiting for me for almost six hours. As sweet as it is, you need to take care of yourself, too. It’s my job as your girlfriend to remind you.”

  I put a few tendrils in her hand and we grasp each other as she sets her hand down on the bed. I respond, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried…”

  She sighs and pauses her show. Something with cartoon frogs? “Think of it this way, Cas,” she says, “how would you feel if I did something like that?”

  I wince, “of course I’d want you to take care of yourself. It’s different, though! You’re so close to being baseline. I don’t need nearly as much rest.”

  “Pfft,” she chuckles, “you think you’re so unshakable. If anything, do it for me, Cascade. I’ll feel better if you’re taking care of yourself.”

  “Okay,” I reply, and squeeze her hand. She smiles at me, and leans over to kiss me on the crown of my mantle. I put a tendril on her cheek, and for a long moment, I desperately wish I could kiss her back. My beak isn’t really suited to the job, though. I have a thought to do something with my fingers, but I’m unsure if it’s appropriate without the link.

  We settle in for a while and watch Lay’s show. A fun little cartoon about human girls lost in another world. Lay falls asleep after a couple of episodes, so I pause it and stay with her for a while. Unsurprisingly, grafting a major nervous structure onto her system has tired her out quite a bit, not that most corda are any different.

  Jenna pops by a while ter - not that she has to. She has access to as much of the ship as Joiner does, just without the same permissions over its systems. Seeing that Lay is resting, she addresses me, “Hey Cassie, wanna help me set up a foosball table?”

  “A what table?” I ask.

  “Foosball. It’s a funny little dexterity game pyed on a special table. From earth.”

  I look at Lay, sleeping gently. I’m sure she’d tell me to go. “Sure,” I tell the gynoid. Before I go, I leave Lay a message telling her where I am and to contact me if she needs anything.

  Jenna actually takes me to her designated quarters. There’s not much in the room yet, but the stray branch has started to furnish the room simirly to Lay’s quarters. Our quarters? Whatever. Jenna already has a bed, a shelving unit and a billiards table already set up. The shelf has a number of human trinkets and toys set up on it already, and there’s a pile of printed parts for the foosball table sitting in the middle of the room.

  It takes us the better part of an hour to set it up while Jenna expins the game. It’s a simple scoring system pyed to however many points the pyers decide on. Pyers manipute rods with a number of human-shaped paddles on them to try and knock a ball around on the table. It’s simple, but something intended as a fun little pastime.

  It turns out that having more ‘hands’ is a pretty big advantage. Eventually Jenna makes me use only two tendrils to py. It’s fairly enjoyable, and it takes my mind off of other worries. No wondering about Recurrent or Joiner. No anticipation at the remaining week of time apart from Lay.

  Jenna’s antics help, somehow.

  ---

  Thousands of nodes process information from every corner of our people’s demesne. Corda society has had a busy millennium, and we’ve been heavily involved in capping off this golden age. We keep an eye out for trouble; node groups pore over data from various divisions of society and together, we suggest improvements, optimizations, and solutions.

  Our suggestions are always heeded nowadays. We’d never deign to order those that aren’t under our command, but our counsel is practically gospel. The reverie towards us is earned, but it still adds another yer or two of complexity that we must account for. We know that we are not perfect, so we have to double check everything for any possibility of error. At the moment, though, the complexity of appearing perfect is adding to the mild stress felt across the entire forest of our internal systems.

  We are nervous.

  Our handful of nodes that are dedicated to the earth mission are currently oscilting in and out of functional freeze. This hardly affects anything important, but it is somewhat distressing. We’re having trouble controlling our emotions, and, sure, we could disable said emotions if we really needed the node group to operate near one hundred percent, but some of our most treasured wisdom is that emotions exist for a reason. Ignoring them for too long is to court disaster. Stoicism in the face of one's own feelings will create more problems than it solves, particurly over time.

  Thankfully, the nerves aren’t affecting our performance in any serious way. Sure, a few of our closer colborators noticed when we made the slightest mistake. Chondrus Chronicler, Adansonia Gnostic and Sonneratia Judicator are certainly not the only ones to have noticed, but they are the ones that have actually checked in on us.

  Sonneratia Judicator was told that things are fine. That we're just affected by the breadth of the mission - which is true, but not the whole truth. It's not that Judicator is untrustworthy or even unfriendly to us, but given their position as the de facto chief justice on Allocaea, they can wait until Joiner's full report for more details. Anyone with mid level information clearance already knows that the mission is undertaking drastic emergency measures. No flora with that clearance are surprised, as we've long been outspoken that the earth mission won't be a walk in the park, so to speak. Judicator definitely has the reasonable suspicion they need to audit the mission for ethics, but they trust us enough to wait for the first official report. If that report doesn’t come soon, though…

  It could be a problem.

  Well, either way it's likely that the reason Judicator checked in is so that we wouldn't have to give a detailed answer. The other flora on the council certainly noticed the slip up - or had it brought to their attention - but Judicator is the one with the most dedication to their position. It'd make the most sense for them to check in while the others continue acting aloof. Flora council members, including Judicator, are all politely waiting for the official report.

  Chronicler and Gnostic are more difficult to brush off, so we told them the truth. The two of them qualify as our close friends. At least to the extent that concept applies to any of us. Neither mind is part of the council (though not for ck of ability) so they don't have quite as many political limitations. They're also both better at their respective specialties than we are, which lends credence to any advice they give.

  Chondrus Chronicler is too old to not consult with. They actually predate the flora program. There’s never been a ‘Chondrus series’ of flora, it’s just a title for the program’s indefinite ongoing project to maintain Chronicler. They may not be the most powerful mind, in a computational sense, but they're ancient and have excellent memory, giving them a long life of experience to draw from. They've worked as the administrator of our databases and curator of our archives for most of that life, so where their experience might fail, they know where to find the information. We actually used to seek out their wisdom rather often, though nowadays they tend to just provide moral support, as we’ve learned most of the important lessons they have to teach. Chronicler may honestly be the closest thing the program has to a parent, in more ways than one. Most flora don’t really have filial connections, but Chronicler handily fulfills the role of a wise predecessor for quite a few of us.

  Adansonia Gnostic is simultaneously important, nosy and eclectic enough to ignore the politics of leaving busy council members alone. Its primary drive is to seek the strangest knowledge while striving for unique and interesting experiences. Flora can be weird, as a general rule, but it is likely the weirdest. The mission is relevant information to its business as well, as Gnostic is bound to arrive at earth’s system alongside our fgship in a few years.

  Not aboard. Alongside.

  We believe Gnostic expended almost every rge favor it has ever been owed to impose itself upon the fgship's mission.

  It didn't tell us that it'd personally sought out and gained supermajority approval from the rest of the council to join the mission until it showed up to the fgship’s maiden voyage. It didn’t board the ship in a traditional sense, either, since it arrived in a customized clone of Metasequoia Navigator's current body, leaving the fgship escorted by two enormous, space bound serpentine beasts. Navigator, who had already been a part of the fg ship's crew, admitted to providing the blueprint for the body to Gnostic, not expecting the mad flora to actually grow their own. More niche information for the leading expert in niche information, they had thought. Navigator's punishment is having to share sentinel duties with Gnostic for the course of the long voyage.

  Gnostic has also been begging to talk to the human, which we've denied for Lay’s sake.

  The human girl is the incredibly dumb source of our anxiety. Cascade gave us the permission we sought. Joiner doesn’t mind my meddling, even if we weren't their superior, and the reason we haven't contacted Lay at this point is our own sense of timing. Along with nerves. Nerves which have been getting worse the longer that our social nodes obsess over the impending conversation.

  How does a mind like ours - one that consists of thousands of tons of advanced circuitry and organics - get so nervous?

  Our currently leading theory is that it is decision anxiety. Nervousness about first impressions combined with a complete ck of urgency has left us procrastinating to contact her. We're thinking out every possible worry about the conversation while putting off a simple text conversation.

  The appropriate bandwidth for comms between us has already been allocated, we just have to send the message. We don't have to rush, and the conversation is completely optional at the moment. We just want to talk to her. Introduce ourself and get to know each other. Technically we won't even learn many notable things, since Joiner is curating a packet with, presumably, much more detailed information, but that's not the point. The point is to understand her. Not learn about earth.

  When we expined ourself, Chronicler found our anxiety to be amusing, more than anything else. They reassured us that if we had any real chance of messing up something like this, our project would have never come to fruition. They also pinly stated that our circumstance hardly calls for the anxiety - Joiner and Cascade’s retionships with Lay are far more stressful by comparison.

  Gnostic, who had mostly reached out to gloat about finding an error in our work, was furious at us. It practically demanded that we stop moping and message her immediately. The eclectic serpent all but threatened to hack its own private channel to talk to her itself, and chided us for not being excited to speak to her - which is incorrect, as we're very excited to the point of anxiety. We didn't even bother mentioning our worries about whether Lay will get along with us. Gnostic has never felt such worries about another.

  We mentioned it to Joiner in our unofficial channel. The one for personal communications as opposed to mission reted comms. They gave us an easy out and suggested we wait until she's a week or two out of recovery. Both Lay and Cascade will be in a better mood. Lay will be going over approvals for Joiner's long term pn, and we can just keep a cursory eye on the mission in the meantime.

  Some of our nodes are… stubbornly against this idea. Many of the assigned shoots are incredibly excited to be finally tackling earth for real. They don't want to take breaks while they're hyperfixated on the mission. Notably, these nodes are all the ones having trouble operating due to the anxiety.

  They’re massively outvoted in the root system. Arguing with ourself is hardly productive but neither is wasting energy on all of this rumination. Still, to keep them satisfied, they’re all running rest cycles or media processing duty.

  Perhaps it is a fw of ours, that we feel we must always be doing something.

  ---

  The first week of recovery goes by surprisingly fast. I’m under imposed bed rest, and I spend a lot of time sleeping through it.

  No real issues come up with our pnetside pn. Offers of alien technology and aid turn out to be hard to resist for states that aren’t already hostile. More so as civilian pressure grows, knowing what these offers entail.

  Of course, US media brands us as terrorists. The tired refrain of the st two decades. Maybe longer than that. I’m not sure whether I disagree, though the targets are slightly different.

  Still, our bait draws interest, and Joiner starts to negotiate in the background. Smaller nations are interested, and a few nations with national health systems seem to have interest in what we have as well. Production is still being set up, but we can provide about a thousand b-grown organ repcements a month once Joiner is done building the factory for it. It will need extra materials that we’re apparently going to harvest from the asteroid belt before moving the cruiser to Earth’s orbit. Once it gets going we’ll be growing antigen matched flesh that should have minimal problems with rejection, like my interface cluster.

  We know the medical advancements will be tempting to the aging and decrepit oligarchs across the world, too.

  Cascade spends time with me when I’m awake, we talk or watch tv, and sometimes I’ll draw. Otherwise, they’re off doing research and engaging in shenanigans with Jenna. She has a pool table, a foosball table, an air hockey table and counterfeit trading cards. Cas seems quite fond of billiards and the TCG. Personally, I’ve been looking forward to sharking a couple of games of pool out of either of them.

  After my st day of bed rest, we unhook me from the active monitors and gear up to test some common augments. By ‘common augments’, I mean tentacles. I’m plugging tentacles into the interface cluster to test its compatibility and functionality. Apparently it’s common practice for natural corda to add or swap out fingers for utility purposes or personal preferences.

  They still have a lot of appendages naturally; Cas has a dozen or so attached at any given time but even without them she’d have quite a few just for link purposes.

  So, with Cas and Jenna in the recovery room, I finally get to stand up after ying in bed for a week. Stretching my legs and feeling a little dizzy, I get to listen to Joiner go over my post-orchiectomy limitations for the third or fourth time. I’m eyeing the long, thin case that Jenna brought in, sitting on the bed.

  It’s not open, but I know what’s in it.

  Unfortunately, Joiner finally gets to the point, “Lay. You can open up the case.”

  I follow instructions and after a pressure-adjusting hiss, it opens to reveal eight different noodle-like appendages id carefully within. They’re all tentacles like Cas has, but on closer inspection, I notice one is actually a bundle of a couple dozen link tendrils. At the base of each augment is a small sheath, bridging the boundary to a set of shorter link tendrils which are meant to connect with the membranes on my back. One has an extra couple of longer, sinuous tendrils on the link end for some reason.

  I gaze over them while Joiner continues, “You don’t have to try all of these, but at minimum, we’d like to make sure you have functionality on both sides. We’d also like you to try a link handshake with Cascade using the provided bundle.”

  “A link handshake?” I ask.

  Cas answers, “corda do not usually establish a link with each other in the same way as I do with you. The ‘handshake’ is the closest term we came up with for direct communication with link tendrils.”

  “I see.” Picking up the first tendril, I inspect it for another moment. It’s a simple dexterous finger, though not in the human sense. The appendage is about a foot longer than one of my arms, before its sheathed base. It mindlessly wraps around my hand; like an earthworm or a garter snake, but without any real intent of its own. I sigh, thinking about how strange this is, even though I know it’s hardly any different than letting Cas link with me.

  “Alright,” I say, taking a deep breath, “let’s try this.”

  Holding the connector end between my thumb and forefinger, I reach up and over my right shoulder. The base of the tendril hovers just over the gap between my first and second thoracic vertebrae, where there is an interface point under my skin now, on either side. A whim opens the membrane, and I shudder as air runs into the gap. Barely a second ter, the shorter link tendrils at the base of the augment work their way into my spine, connecting to… something inside of me. My whole body quivers, and I get goosebumps as the tendril’s nerves link to my own.

  Then it’s installed. The mindless writhing dies down as I gain control over the augment. I’ve got my very own corda finger, draped up over my shoulder onto the front of my chest. Moving it is the same as controlling any of Cascade’s tendrils, though more like it’s actually a part of myself. It curls back and forth under my will, and I reach with it to pick up a mechanical pencil from the bedside table. The tendril has to wrap around it to really hold the utensil, and I can feel the texture of the smooth pstic.

  “Seems to be working just fine on this side,” I say, holding up, then dropping the pencil into one of my hands. Cas walks up to me and holds up a simir tendril of her own, touching the ends together.

  She runs her finger down mine, starting to entwine the two. “You can feel it all the way?” She asks, “No problems with sensation or manipution?”

  “Y-yeah,” I say, stuttering at the casual intimacy, “I think I can feel through it just fine.”

  “Good!” Joiner announces, startling me, “Then you should try another one, on the other side.”

  “And quit being so gross with all your PDA shit,” Jenna gripes. I give her a dirty look. She sticks her tongue out at me - I’m briefly surprised her body has one.

  I sigh, untangling from Cascade. “I might as well try something different,” I say, “any suggestions for which?”

  “Ooh!” Jenna says, “you should try the optic tendril. Most corda don’t need them on account of”- she gestures vaguely at Cas’s mantle, ringed in eyes, and I get the idea, “But you could have eyes on the back of your… back.”

  I snort at her bumbling suggestion while Joiner speaks up, “It’ll also be a stress test on your cluster’s sensory processing abilities, though we would suggest you try a multi-tool.”

  “Okay,” I reply, looking over the selection and identifying the augments in question. The optic tendril is simir to the finger I’ve already installed, but at its end there is a small bulb with an open and somewhat cybernetic looking eye. The multi-tools are definitely the two on the bottom, wider and metallic looking, with a rigid, pen-length end. One is thicker than the other, “what’s in the multi-tools?”

  Joiner relentlessly expins, having no need to breathe, “One of them is a general set, simir to a human tool you might be able to buy, with a fshlight, a small bde, a pen, pliers, a couple of screwdrivers, some picks that you could use on locks or other things, and a lighter. The other is more of a cndestine utility. It has a fshlight as well, and a rger knife that could be used to defend yourself. The simirity ends with a high-voltage discharge weapon - you could think of it as a taser - and a high-temperature torch that burns through fuel at a much higher rate. You would need a separate tank for an even hotter, oxygen-fueled fme, but you could use the torch as a cutting implement as well. You would need to keep an eye on fuel or battery power for either augment, though.”

  Jenna ughs as I put on a lopsided frown. I can’t imagine needing a high powered torch very often, as tempting as having a taser tentacle actually sounds. Repeating the earlier instaltion on my left side, I grab the optic augment, which moves simir to the finger, but more gently. Hold it up to the membrane, I find myself shuddering once again from the connection. Then I suddenly see things from another perspective as the connection stabilizes. I had been holding the business end in front of myself with the other hand, and it’s like I’m also crouching down, looking up at Cas and Jenna.

  “This is weird,” I say, flexing it to look around the room. I can feel that the sight from the tendril is rgely being handled by the interface cluster. The secondary perspective is just a little disorienting, and I shift the case over to sit on the bed for a second while I adjust to the change. Moving it back and forth, the sensation of looking around the room without moving my eyes or my head is novel. I realize something, and turn it back on my own face, grimacing at the sight, and cringing even more at the face I’m making. “I look like shit,” I say.

  Jenna chuckles further at my expense while Cas insists against my statement, “you look fine, Lay. As good as any other human I’ve seen.”

  I smile, shaking my head, “you’re hardly an authority on human aesthetic sense… oh! I might as well do this too,” I pan the tendril around my head, posing a little for myself. I get the pleasure of being the first human to look directly at the back of their own head. Seeing the tendrils jutting out of my spine is just a little perturbing, but I can’t help but be amused at the paradox of it. “I might go for a shorter one of these that’s easy to hide. Do I have to do anything to take them out?” I inquire.

  Cas expins, “it is like flexing a muscle that you don’t know you have. You might need time to get used to that method, but otherwise you can induce a disconnection by squeezing at the base of any of them, and pulling.”

  “You and Joiner seem intent on giving me some of the strangest experiences sometimes,” I muse while reaching back and grabbing at the base of the more normal finger. As I squeeze, I feel it start to rex through its length all the way into my spine. Pulling it out is much like when Cascade disconnects from me, but a little less dramatic. I take a slow, involuntary breath when the tendril pulls out of me. It lightly wraps around my arm until I set the base back down in the case, where the appendage seems to understand its pcement and settle into its own indentation.

  Grabbing the bundle of link tendrils, which zily grip back, I seek comfort before holding them up, “that’s good, now, right? Can this be the st one?”

  Jenna almost says something that definitely would have been snarky, but stops as Joiner softly comforts me, “This should be good enough. Cascade can double check your other ports. You should still do the handshake. Eventually, you may meet some other corda, who I assume you would appreciate the ability to easily communicate with.”

  I nod, “alright. Thanks, MJ.” Looking at the port on my back with the optic tendril, I grimace a little as the membrane opens up for me to install the link bundle. The act is becoming a little more comfortable, and I’m unsure if it’s a good thing or not. This time, it phases me less as the connection finalizes. The bundle feels… strange. I can tell that there are less nerve endings to make up for the link-side of the fine, lightly colored tendrils. Holding them in front of my face, they clumsily unravel from each other as I try to control them. It’s difficult to move them individually, and I start to gain an appreciation for Cascade’s fine control and gentle dexterity.

  “Here,” Cas interrupts my reverie, holding up some of their own tendrils, “I’ll start.” Moving the bundle down to meet her set, she intertwines a dozen or so with my own, and I feel the tendrils start to tingle. I can feel her again.

  Hey there human girl.

  I don’t have to look at myself to know I’m making a stupid face back at her. I must be positively beaming when I reply, well hey there, alien girl.

  Holding a hand down for her, Cas climbs up my arm onto my p, and I put my head on her mantle. For an unmeasured moment, we just push affection through to each other. It’s less than a full link, but it’s also like water in a drought to me. We’re interrupted by Jenna,

  “O-kayyy I’m gonna go do, uh, something else. Give you two some privacy,” she announces. When I look up she’s looking away from us and her expression is ft. She must have turned off her face.

  I can’t help but tease, “aww, can’t handle a little affection in your presence?”

  The pause is short, but certainly tangible enough for me to recognize something else in her reply, “Yep! You two are gross. Bye.”

  I stare at the door for a solid minute after she walks out. Definitely something up with that girl. I think I’ll have to talk to her about that ter…

  Why? What do you think is wrong? Cas asks.

  I’m not sure, but she might be jealous. Or lonely. I can hardly feel Cas’s thoughts and emotions through the handshake, but I can tell they think about it for a moment as well.

  “Okay, Joiner,” I say, “This all seems to be working, and I wanna retire to my quarters. Get out of this room, finally.” Reluctantly, I drop the petite link, and I’m pretty sure Cas pouts a little at the disconnection. Cute.

  “Of course,” they affirm, “Don’t forget we’re going to start the pnning phase tomorrow. Have a nice day, Lay. I’m always around if you need me.”

  “Thanks again, Joiner. See you tomorrow, or whatever,” I reply.

  My attention wanes as I briskly remove the two tendrils. Of course, it backfires as I get dizzy removing the optic augment, but still, I want to get to my room and relink. Cas seems a little exasperated as she helps steady me, though I can tell she’s feeling the anticipation as well.

  I grab the case, which is mine now, apparently, and we rush back to my quarters. Fifteen minutes ter and Cascade is carefully sliding their tendrils into me again. As the link sparks between us, the difference grows from subtle to gring.

  It’s so smooth now.

  There was a wrongness to the link. As welcome as it may have become, having tendrils pushed into my nervous system felt wrong, granted that it was in a way that could be ignored. It was still there, though. My body objected to the foreign presence, even with drugs working against the natural rejection. My head felt the pressure from foreign strands forcing their way into my gyri.

  Now, it feels right. It feels correct, and comforting, and so much more. Cas’s emotions wash over me. I feel my own emotions wash over them. Our perception of each other has a recursive warmth that pulses unimpeded. We embrace with the improved positioning of the membrane allowing her to easily settle in front of me on the bed, and the only thing stopping me from going further are the limitations from the orchiectomy. More exploration of the carnal sort will have to wait a few weeks.

  I’m so happy to have her in my head again, though. Cascade doesn’t just tell me she cares, she fills me with that intent, and I can know she does, through the link. The certainty of her presence gives me something that I feel like I can rely on.

  The downside, which is worse when we’re apart, is that I’m afraid of believing that it’s love.

  ---

  The bills pile up.

  The days pass.

  They change my bandages.

  It hurts.

  I ask the doctor about stronger painkillers. He says I don't need them.

  Says I should be resilient enough. Thick skin or something

  Tells me I just need to push through and toughen up.

  It still fucking hurts.

  The bandages come off and I stare at the bare nub and wonder how I'll ever work with my hands again.

  Maybe I can clumsily build model cars. Learn to paint with my left hand, too.

  I leave the hospital and move in with my dad. He got my stuff out with help from some moving company. My new room is an extra one he’d been using for storage.

  Every day is a struggle to adjust.

  Adjusting hurts.

  I drop things. I start using only pstic dishes.

  I can’t drive anymore, not until I can get the equipment for it and a customized car.

  Shaving has gotten difficult and slightly perilous. I end up leaving my stubble to grow out to a scraggly mess. My sliver of pride at staying clean cut and shaved is gone.

  The shop’s health insurance helped me just enough to pay for a cheap body-powered prosthetic. They said anything more wasn’t ‘medically necessary’. I found out that this was a pretty recent change in their policy. It was mostly paid for out of pocket and it works okay, but it’s uncomfortable. I also bought a couple of pin 3d printed ones that I had to foot the bill for. They weren’t that expensive, but they’re mostly cosmetic. I can stick items like writing utensils or bottles in them.

  Most of the time, I just use my nub.

  My handwriting sucks now, too. Signing forms messily with my left hand, or crudely with a prosthetic on my right. Either way I’m relearning.

  The pain lessens, but it’s still there.

  I’m not sure what to do with myself. No goal. No daily work to accomplish. My money’s draining along with my dignity. I’ve applied for disability benefits but they’re abysmal even if I manage to get them. At least Medicaid is a good repcement for the insurance when I switch off of COBRA. Fuck, I think Medicaid might have better coverage for my amputation than the private insurance.

  I spend days wallowing at home and practicing my dexterity. I manage to get half decent at using my phone with just my left hand, and I get a few ebooks. I do some reading and simmer. A little sci-fi, a little fantasy, and even some nonfiction to sate my frustrations. It might have been ill-advised, but I read up on the insurance industry that’s fucked me and find myself enraged at the scale of their abuse.

  The second strike comes up on the news, along with its dire warning. Atrocities of war now seem to hold the real consequence of heavenly retribution. I tune in to expert analysis with a passing curiosity about the weapon used. More orbital kinetic bombardment, of course. This one served a different purpose though. Detonating an entire military headquarters is hardly the same as sinking one freighter. The bits and pieces of non-cssified ballistics analysis I’ve seen imply a set of detonators that split the initial projectile. The secondary payloads each seem to have tertiary detonators that go off on hitting the target. An explosive shotgun from space.

  Like plenty of other people my age, I can hardly sympathize with the victims. Maybe a few years ago I’d have been more neutral, but the longer this conflict has held a presence in my attention, the more it’s gotten obvious. It’s not a fight between enemy states, and it probably never was. It’s the brutal execution of a dwindling and rgely civilian minority.

  Still, out of all the eventualities, I never really expected ‘violent arbitration of apartheid’ as the modus operandi of intergactic visitors.

  Things get stranger.

  Several major scientific bodies and administrations have banded together to form a rger organization called the Stelr Defense Observatory, or SDO. SDO is working across most national boundaries to provide information on our unseen visitors after a previously undetected object was observed leaving earth orbit. Said object was monitored on its path all the way to Europa, in Jupiter’s orbit, and it got there in a little over a week. It takes years for our current vessels to get to Jupiter. Theorists are wracking their brains trying to figure out how a ship seems to have limitless thrust.

  Strategists are worried that there are more ships we haven’t found.

  Joiner - our mysterious speaker for the extraterrestrials - sent another announcement. At some point the corda managed to sneak a human off pnet to perform a physical examination. They confirmed the compatibility of their technology, and offered to provide earth with miraculous alien medical supplies. However, these supplies will only go to countries that start to follow their demands. Further, they expect complete transparency from any states that comply.

  The news immediately devolves into a worldwide political bloodbath. Various countries align for or against the alien aid. The states, unfortunately, take a hard-line stance against accepting aid on account of the populist madman at our helm. These aliens are terrorists, and we do not negotiate with terrorists. At least not publicly. With that goes my hope of a cool hi-tech alien prosthetic. I’m left wanting for the best care I can get when I know I’ve gotten close to everything I’ll ever receive.

  I get angry.

  I can’t help feeling frustrated. Not just at the world, but at my specific facet of global society. This country and its systems have failed me. Our poisonous influence is holding the world back. Private insurance has gutted me for cash and the bastard president is grandstanding against threats to his power. That his actions happen to secure one of our most profitable private sectors might just be a bonus to him.

  I look for an outlet, and find one.

  The local conservation club has a shooting range that I can visit a few times a week. I thought it was kind of funny how Olympic pistol shooters just aim one handed with the other at their side, so Ive been doing the same. Made a couple friends at the range and started practicing. It takes time and effort, but I've got plenty of time while I try to find work or get on disability. Everything takes effort now, anyway.

  I have to hold magazines against my body with my stump while I load rounds. Most pistols are designed for right handed shooters so it's even more unwieldy for that. I pick up a retively cheap glock with nearly the st of my spending money and piss away a little more on 9mm rounds. It’s slow, and I waste plenty of shots.

  There is an emptiness that’s settled into me. My unsatisfying but otherwise unobjectionable life has colpsed. I’ve been put into the shameful pit of living with my dad once again. Once a handy mechanic, probably never again. It feels disgusting to see myself in the mirror, to the point that I consider covering up the one in my bathroom. Half the reason I don’t is because dad would notice.

  At least I’m becoming a better shot.

  ---

  The next day, after a rexing and unified morning with Cas, I find myself linking up to Joiner again.

  It’s time to come up with a more definitive pn. Earth is a fucked up pce and we want it to be at least somewhat appealing to our impending visitors. We need to figure out how a crew consisting of a giant brain, a tentacle monster, a gynoid, and a single trans girl is going to change the world. I guess we can kind of count Tree as a fifth, filling out the party with one futch lesbian.

  I have a suspicion that Joiner already has a pn, but they need to get our approval for a lot of it.

  Where do you want to start?

  It’s surprising to me that they don’t have a specific angle of attack they’re guiding me into.

  Health insurance. It's awful in America. Have you researched it much?

  Yes. we're more worried about global trends, but your system is truly parasitic.

  It is. It's also a very sizable roadblock to progress. If we have to fight for our health, can we even summon the energy to do so?

  It's worse, though, right? It touches on your bor problems because your country links it to employment. You can't leave a job because you'll lose your healthcare.

  You know, we snuck our holdings into a corporate health group pn just to save the money on our fake employees and yourself. It saved a decent chunk of change for our little operation down there.

  Of course you did.

  But yes, it's a major vector for control. Not to say socialized systems are perfect. The medical field on earth always seems to fall just short of appropriate ethical boundaries.

  We can't say that medical ethics is a problem unique to humans. The Corda medical field has a death toll in the billions, and atrocities that are only somewhat matched. Neurological modifications and conditioning were abused to an extreme extent.

  How so?

  Flora were not the first artificially created minds in corda history. We're just the products of the ever continuing “flora program”, which is our reguted modern effort to create powerful new minds. The technology existed for hundreds of years before unification was fully realized. Early implementations cked ethics.

  Cas mentioned something like that. The idea of being a conscious mind with no senses is… scary?

  An unfortunate amount of tests comparable to that idea were performed. Some minds were created that were inherently sadistic, some inherently subservient, others were simply threatened into service. What can a person with no body do to resist? Many had their plugs pulled once they were no longer useful. It is… an old sore subject.

  I can see why.

  The worst example was the Archist empire on Allocaea - comparable to your British empire crossed with Nazi Germany. The empire was ruled by a single medically immortal corda, who used neural modifications to enforce a hierarchy of mind sves with reduced lifespans. They held a sizable portion of the world for over a century, after spending the previous century conquering that portion.

  The united coalition eventually broke the empire by killing its leadership from the top down until the remainder could be rehabilitated.

  Holy fuck.

  You literally had a god emperor.

  Well, no. Very few people ever worshiped them. They were medically immortal and highly augmented, though. We already had those capabilities at the time.

  That's awful.

  I mean, prison industrial complexes are simirly awful.

  You're right, but we were talking about healthcare.

  Privatized healthcare, for now.

  It's bad. it actively makes quality of care worse at every possible junction. If the profit motive can run rampant like this, it will make things worse just to show growth. People must be denied their healthcare in a private insurance system, otherwise there isn't enough profit being made.

  There is room for discrimination if people can be denied access. It begs for that discrimination if there is an incentive.

  Exactly. Trans care is heavily gatekept. Women and people of color are given worse treatment. Poverty exacerbates both of those issues, among others. Neither of those problems are even unique to private systems.

  It keeps people desperate. They have to work hard for their own health. You can’t leave a job that has a monopoly on said health. A person has to keep working to afford expensive care. The disabled are forced to nguish, either from ck of care or from working conditions.

  It’s awful. It’s a fucking painful world to live in, even if you’re an able bodied person. You watch those around you work until they colpse in one way or another. Most people are a few bad days or a couple of financial mishaps away from losing their livelihood.

  And- this is in the richest country in the world! Our influence makes potentially better systems worse all across the globe. Not that those others couldn’t make themselves worse on their own. The UK, for example, is a shit show. Plenty of European nations have their own rger problems. Every country is its own little case study in the failures of humanity in one way or another, and it’s starting to feel like we aren’t learning anything.

  Joiner. Do you really think we can pull ourselves together?

  Yes, though perhaps not without help. We believe societies have benchmarks and processes that they must go through to reach equity, but yours is not currently on the right track. There are vast power disparities holding regur people down on earth, and a quirk of your psychology in the st few centuries is probably holding you back.

  What do you mean?

  Joiner is uncomfortable.

  I can tell they want to continue this line of reasoning but they have reservations about my reaction.

  Lay, how do you feel about political violence?

  Oh? I mean, there was a time I felt more strongly that violence is not the answer. That we have a peaceful way to a better world. Seeing things continue to get worse for several years has decayed that sentiment.

  I don’t know how we can use it effectively, though. State monopolies of power have left us in no position for revolt. Unrest is met with brutal retaliation.

  In some ways, your state is right to do so.

  Hold the fuck up.

  Are you being fucking serious? You’re a fan of state sponsored violence?

  Only from a certain perspective of the state.

  Joiner that’s fucked up.

  It is. That’s why we try to govern from the perspective of people, not organizations. The ruling council on our homeworld isn’t opposed to using tactics of oppression, though. We…

  More hesitation from my local gaxy brain.

  Are you really pying devil’s advocate for authoritarianism?

  Not exactly.

  Corda society has had its fair share of unhealthy radical movements. Some groups are comparable to your conservative parties, or even simir to fascistic supremacy cells. Our governing bodies have tried to prune these groups since our societal unification.

  So, we suppress them. Movements for supremacy or private influence have been quietly removed for over a millennium. Despite some ethical concerns, it’s worked out pretty well for our people, at least in a median sense.

  You kill fascists and extreme conservatives? Like the FBI with socialists?

  We don’t kill them, usually, no. Not if we can help it.

  Detain them? Yes.

  Deprogram them? Definitely.

  Reeducation, brainwashing, whatever you may think it is. Wasting people with the wrong ideology isn’t our style. If we have no better option, we put them in a nice safe box just for themselves. Societal isotion like that isn’t very healthy, though.

  I don’t know about that MJ.

  Remember the eternal emperor? People in the empire were incentivized to work within the system. If a person wasn’t at the bottom, then they had the opportunity to advance up the ranks and put others under themselves. It served as a nice limitation on the necessary bureaucracy of such a rge state.

  At least, until the pre-flora artificial minds were created to do the work. Then almost everyone was pushed to the bottom, except for the very top. They wanted everyone subjugated or dead.

  When we look at political ideologies like some of the ones on earth, this is the endgame we see being built. An ever more extreme disparity as every person is brought into the servitude of only a few.

  So you don’t care about the methods that you use to beat those systems?

  No.

  It’s a blunt and brutal truth. Allocaea, from what Cascade has told me, is a near-utopian society, despite having failed her personally. I hadn’t thought hard about how they got there. It’s like hearing that Omes and the biblical heaven are the same pce.

  Except, instead of an innocent child, the people who suffer are the ones who want things to be worse. Is that even justified?

  Are you saying you want to deprogram the millions if not billions of people on earth with the wrong beliefs with brainwashing?

  No, that would be quite a lot of work for four-ish people. We’d need at least a million operatives, and someone powerful would definitely notice. The pn I’d like to sell you is more along the lines of targeted political violence.

  How do you feel about billionaires?

  I can’t say I’m fond of them. Are you saying we assassinate the super rich?

  Unless you want to put the work in to reprogram them. It’s possible, but they might not be the same person when they’re done with conditioning.

  Um.

  That’s an incredibly terrifying alternative. Can I think about this?

  Of course. We have all week.

  Sure. Yeah. Uh… fuck, MJ. I wasn’t really expecting you to say we should just murder the bad guys.

  Like we were discussing, corda society has abandoned some key concerns about methodology. Concerns about methods that work. We’re always looking for a better way to run our world. It’s why we have a million flora working to improve things wherever we can. We think about better methods all the time, but we’re not going to spend all that effort to implement something ineffective and toothless.

  The Archists were bad enough.

  How do civilians feel about it?

  For the most part, corda civilians are living out exceedingly long, fulfilling lives under the rule of the council. There might be a lot of factions vying for different things in our society, but we’ve struck a decent bance for quite a while. We just have to help those who are the least fortunate, and occasionally redirect malignant groups, which is usually done quietly with a lot of council oversight. We decssify things after a century, for the most part

  And Cascade?

  Well. We know her opinion.

  Cascade has had a bit of misfortune over the tter half of her life so far. It feels wrong to viote her privacy when we think she should be the one to expin herself to you, but she isn’t the greatest fan of the council. You need to be the one to ask her about it, though, as it is very personal to her, and a bit cssified.

  If you say so. I don’t want her to feel bad because you had to tell me.

  I’ll ask her ter. Does the housing thing fit into this, too? How is that going, anyway.

  It is going well! The renovations are coming along, and we are likely to visit earth orbit so you can take a look yourself. Maybe move in. It wasn’t the pn at first, but things are progressing rather fast, and we think miss Suarez might need a bit of physical proof before she’s fully on board.

  She definitely likes the money though.

  I ugh at that, she sure does.

  As for how it fits; in some ways it is triage. The fact that your society hasn’t managed to secure reliable shelter for as many people as possible is rather disheartening to us. More so, it can help organize several potential operations we want to undertake. If people like the organization, that gives us a route to create resistance cells. If we can establish the rger community units we proposed to you, that gives us operating bases to perform ‘necessary interventions’ wherever they are at.

  Another nice bonus is that we will be providing affordable housing to people in need.

  Ha ha.

  Did you ever think of a name?

  I was thinking ‘Sheltered Skies’.

  That sounds great! We’ll get the paperwork in order, miss chairwoman.

  One minute you’re trying to convince me to brainwash supremacists, the next you’re buttering me up with important sounding titles.

  Well, we can’t exactly announce you as the first linked human to earth, yet. Otherwise the title would be fancier. Stelr ambassador, maybe?

  That sounds much more important than I am.

  You’re selling yourself short. I think we’re good for this session. Go ask Cascade about methodology. We think the conversation will take you some time.

  That sounds incredibly ominous.

  Recurrent will probably message you afterwards, too.

  Great. These conversations are getting more daunting, Joiner.

  Well, we’re here to help should you need it. Have a nice talk, Lay.