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Operation Sleepwalker. The new Free Terran movement seems to share a panache for mission naming the once and always great Terran Accord held, Brad thought. The mission was as simple as one could be after the end of the world: break into a “xenovetrinary” office and steal the weed’s drugs. The Free Terran Resistance wanted the drugs to research and reverse engineer antidotes to the Affini xenodrugs, for when they began rescue operations to save the Terrans being kept as “pets” for the weeds, and Lt. Bradly Manford was the man for the job. Years of service and promotion led to him being one of the best wetworks agents the former Office of Cosmic Naval Intelligence had to offer, and he has yet to fail a single mission.
The goal was simple; integrate into the Terran community on Telgras IV, become a known “independent” Terran in that community, and then utilize the anonymity that comes from familiarity to infiltrate the “Office of Xenosophont Wellness” and seize samples of drugs the Affini used to control the population and wipe Terran minds. Command did not anticipate Brad’s return. In fact, it was assumed that Brad would be caught and “domesticated” by the plants; the Free Terran Resistance would rescue him as soon as the drugs had been reverse engineered and antidotes were synthesized. Brad saw this as a worthy sacrifice, and on the day of the operation, he left the “Hab” unit he had been living in for six months fully accepting he would not be coming back, nor would he have his humanity by the end of the night.
The afternoon air was pleasant as always; smells of hibiscus and grilled foods filled the air of the market square, with Terrans and Affini and Rinans all lounging around and enjoying the day. Most days, Brad himself would be enjoying some of the food cooked up by Terrans in the market, talking with other independent Terrans, and doing his best to tolerate the affection and unwanted touching by the giant plants, whose presence filled Brad with terror and disgust. Today, however, he had an appointment to make. He walked through the square, ignoring his favorite grilled meat skewer place while giving his “friends” friendly greetings and his plant oppressors their desired submissiveness as they rubbed his head and face as he passed, like he was some fucking stray cat. When one of them asked why he was in such a hurry, he simply said he didn’t want to be late to his vet appointment. If the plants checked (because they ***all*** could just look up that info,) they would see he wasn’t lying, he really did have an appointment. The appointment was his ticket into the Board of Xenosophont Wellness and Care building, after all, and he knew once he entered the building, Operation Sleepwalker would begin.
The building was, of course, one of the strange synthetic constructs the plants plopped down on the planet on the site of the Wrightcorp regional corporate office, which was demolished as a monument to capitalism. Thinking about all the capital Wrightcorp lost in the aliens assault on freedom sickened Brad, but after today, he likely wouldn’t care. He entered the building and presented himself to the Affini at the front counter, and after some demeaning cooing about how cute Brad was in his Hawaiian shirt and shorts, the plant directed Brad to the office behind the desk and to the right. The large, open air space that made up this front entryway would have made any corporate lord swoon, with its crystal clear windows, and its multiple stories of height with hallways on higher floors exposed to the open space beneath the vaulted ceiling of the BXWC. What the plants did up there was a mystery, and truthfully Brad did not care: that was not part of the mission.
Upon entering the Veterinary portion of the office, he was greeted by a Terran at the sign in desk. She must be one of *their* pets; eyes blown out in drugged up bliss; it took about thirty seconds for the girl to acknowledge Brad’s presence. However, once the girl was present with Brad, he could barely tell the girl was stoned. “Class E” drugs, if Brad remembered the mission dossier correctly. She was courteous, got Brad signed in for his vet, and then began the waiting.
The walls were decorated with plant matter, as well as the kinds of posters one would expect in a funhouse version of a doctor’s office: Signs about getting your floret regular checkups, bio modification services offered by the vet, kitschy posters like that old “hang in there baby” poster, except it’s a Terran pet holding onto an Affini vine (and an Affini ready to catch the Terran should they fall; failure and struggle don’t exist in the Compact.) on a side table, pamphlets about voluntary domestication sat neatly in a holder, the cover showing a couple of Terrans showing off their collars, text saying “Domestic Life is Bliss.” Brad, having been married once, disagreed.
After several minutes (probably just enough time for a curious Terran to pick up and read the domestication pamphlet,) Brad was called back to the Vet’s office. His vitals were taken by another Terran, this time an Independent who had been a medical doctor in the Accord, but was now reduced to a nurse like role. Brad asked her if she was happy with the loss of respect she received as a medical doctor; she deflected by saying she was happy with the lowered responsibility and stress associated with being a doctor performing life-saving operations. She insisted she was happier now that she just got to help people without worrying who lived, who died, who got healthcare and who got turned away because they couldn’t afford her services. Brad personally thought that not being able to afford healthcare was a sign that a person was lazy and needed to work harder, but he kept that idea to himself.
Finally, after getting Brad’s vitals, Dr. Nurse lead him into an examination room. The room was massive, with room for several Affini, with an Affini sized table in the middle of the room. Brad did not immediately notice the bundle of plant life in the corner of the room doing something at the counter, but as the plant stood up and shifted into a facsimile of the Terran form, Brad couldn’t help but be in awe (and a little fear.) The vet was close to 6m tall, made of dark green foliage and foliage alone, no bark like many other Affini chose to decorate themselves with. Instead, this weed looked like a Terran With its skin removed; vines mimicking muscle fibers, with 8 hammered-metal eyes on it’s false face, much like a spider, with light yellow, gold, and soft blue colors shifting and swirling across the surface.
Brad mentally prepared himself, and reminded himself about his anti-memetic training as he got ready to interact with the plant. He knew their ability to bewitch other sapient creatures would be hard to resist, but it could be resisted by keeping himself grounded in the moment.
The vet spoke with a high, feminine voice, with an undercurrent of a song all Affini seemed to broadcast in their presence. Their “biorhythm,” the song Brad could hear, was one of the alien’s tools to subjugate other species. That sound they made was hypnotic in itself, and a sapient creature could quickly find themselves enthralled by the sound the closer they got to it. Apparently, Terrans are uniquely susceptible to the Affini biorhythm, and being in proximity to such a large weed, he could tell why: it was *beautiful.* Brad couldn’t allow himself thoughts like that. Not right now.
Brad realized, a little too late, that he had, in fact, been enthralled for a moment and didn’t notice he had already been picked up and put on the examination table by the weed. Brad was here, on paper at least, for his vaccinations. The people who had those brain worms, those Haustoric implants, didn’t need vaccinations, but independent Terrans did, and the Affini preferred that Terrans came in voluntarily for the injections, or else one could find themselves getting a wellness check, potentially a wardship, and likely being “adopted” by one of the weeds. It also presented Brad with his chance to execute Operation Sleepwalker; he just needed to get the shot, then the Affini would likely want him to stay in the office for thirty minutes to make sure he didn’t have a negative reaction to the injection. The Affini, also, would probably leave the room to tend to other Terrans, giving Brad his opportunity to seek out drug samples.
The shot came from a small hand-held injection device that looked like a hand gun, but with a closed flower instead of a barrel. The vet readied the injector which opened the flower revealing a long, thin, blue needle with a small drop of a dark blue substance on the tip of the needle. The vet chose to inject Brad’s backside, and to Brad’s relief and horror, he didn’t feel a thing when the needle entered his flesh. Even worse, the needle exited his flesh without even a drop of blood. The best the Terran scientists could figure with this technology was that the needle was coated with a coagulant as well as a pain neutralizer, so that as it left it’s target’s flesh painlessly, it also closed the wound it created. It would be fascinating if it wasn’t for the fact that he just willingly accepted an injection from some stars-damned xeno.
As expected, the weed left the office, leaving Brad time to find the drugs. First, he had to get down from the table, which was close to one story high. He figured he could make the landing, and so jumped down, landing with a tucked roll. He assessed his surroundings, and remembered the Affini working in the corner. He realized, however, that he would need to climb the counter somehow to get up to where the vet Affini was working. Suddenly, however, a wave of dizziness struck him.
This wasn’t right,.. the dossier expressly said that this “vaccine” was well tolerated, and actually did provide protection from most, if not all, communicable xenoviruses. It wasn’t supposed to make him woozy. It wasn’t supposed to make him forget his mission.
Oh no.
Suddenly, the vet returned. The vet said something, but Brad was too disoriented to understand. All he knew was that the vines wrapping around him felt divine. As multiple found his flesh, he had a flash of lucidity, and a flash of realization: Operation Sleepwalker was, in a way, a success. He was so fixated on completing the mission that he didn’t even realize that he had slept walked into his own domestication.
As Lt. Bradly Manford’s consciousness faded, he heard the Affini currently cuddling them speak.
“Rest well, my little flower. When you wake up, your new life will begin.”
*Special thanks to TheDarkMantis for providing creative assistance on this mini-project ^_^*