Our Flower

by S M Matthews

  “But...to just mate without any...relationship. Without purpose.” It’s such a bizarre concept that I don’t know how to go about absorbing it.

  Titus shrugs again, “Other species do it, we see it all the time.”

  “Not us though...and what if something happens to her?” Micka adds.

  I have no answer to that, other than knowing completely that if we had to go through that again, it would end us.

  And yet...we had thought our lives were over. We’d come out here because...it gave us a purpose. We could keep going. But then all we have done is work, for turns now. And we’ve not exactly been giving that our all, either.

  The Little One has given us something outside of ourselves to concentrate on, brought us together again the way we should be. We had been just going through the motions but...now we have her, I don’t really want to give her up.

  MICKA

  I’m in the station managers office going through the day’s itinerary; nothing of particular note. A few ship’s docking requests to process which I go through quickly. The final request gives me pause. I know the ship; it’s Pate and his brothers.

  Very clearly at the bottom of the form, right above the electronic signature: Nothing to Declare.

  Nothing to Declare.

  They never have Nothing to Declare. I am instantly suspicious.

  Pate says his youngest brother drives him mad with all those odd strays he brings aboard. The odd strays he buys at not-exactly-legal markets. Huh.

  There’s always been something.

  I authorise them as normal, however I send a request for them to be scanned at regular intervals and the results be sent to me.

  I think a bit longer and then take a chance; I send Pate a message. It’s a long-range hail, and I request he make contact when they are close enough for broadcast. It’s a gamble; either the scans will show I’m right, or I will have to come up with an excuse to talk to Pate about something else.

  By the Void; make idle conversation with Pate. I’m pretty certain it’s impossible.

  I monitor the ship’s speed and then make a quick calculation; I should still be on shift to speak to him if he responds.

  The scans weren't detailed enough to totally confirm my guess...but they had gone a long way toward it. I’d received an automated comm to say a message was coming though, I’d directed it to the vid station in my office and I was headed there now. My brisk jog causing a few ear flicks but I don’t care. My curiosity has more than got the best of me.

  The screen is active and a the small holding signal is swirling in the middle, indicating that Pate has been kind enough to wait for me to answer. I make the connection as I take my chair.

  “Greetings, Micka”

  “And to you Pate”

  He nods but doesn’t speak; I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

  “Our long-range scanner picked up a fourth life form travelling with you. I have my suspicions as to what it is, but the scanner is not quite detailed enough at this distance to be sure.”

  He sighs, and for a moment looks somewhat disgruntled by this. Maybe I’ve read the situation completely wrong and that fourth life form is a genuine pet. Pate shakes his head, and then leans forward and taps at his controls; he’s sent me a file. I open it on another screen and quickly examine it; it is very familiar.

  “Does she look like this?” I ask him, whilst displaying a picture of our Little One.

  “She’s human,” Pate says “yes, we have one aboard.”

  “Human,” I try the word out. “How do you know that’s what they are called?”

  Pate frowns at me, “She told us, obviously.” He says it so incredulously; I’m completely taken aback by this, “Yours can talk?”

  Pate appears utterly bewildered, “Yours can’t?”

  I have to think about how to answer; “No, we didn’t think so. She can cry, and she can scream, by the stars can she scream, but she hasn’t spoken. I wanted to pool evidence, I’m trying to build a case for her...them...to be recognised as an intelligent species, but it’s just a feeling I had, she’s shown an aptitude for working in Hydroponics, and she certainly understands the use of simple tools and such, but we can’t prove that she’s not just mimicking what she’s being shown.”

  “Micka, if she's not obviously damaged, there’s only one realistic explanation.”

  “Yes,” I reply, leaning back into my chair again “She’s choosing not to. But why?”

  Why would she not want to communicate with us?”

  Pate snorts, “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask her that yourself.” He sends me another file. All the files have Maisy in the ‘Name’ field.

  By The Void, this one is a lingual scan. A pretty extensive one...and it’s been translated and formatted ready to be uploaded to implants. Our little one doesn’t have an implant; there’s been no point. But we all do...and we could use the computer to translate what we say to her. It’s not ideal, but if we can start talking it might achieve something. I am incredibly grateful to Pate and his brothers for this, “Thank you, Pate, that is incredibly helpful. As always, you and your brothers will be very welcome at the station. Perhaps Maisy could meet our...human? It might help?”

  Pate grins “I think Maisy would like that very much.”

  POPPY

  This is it. I have finally gone the rest of the way insane. I mean, I thought I was pretty much bat-shit, but apparently there’s another level. A disembodied, monotone, female voice has just asked me if I intend to go and work in hydroponics today. I work in the gardens every day, it is the one point of sanity I have been able to maintain in amongst everything else. It has kept me who I am. I’m eating breakfast, and I am squeezing the spoon so hard my hand is hurting.

  The voice cannot be real, I’ve finally cracked. I read somewhere once about stress-induced psychosis. People who are under so much pressure they started to hallucinate. That has got to be the explanation. There’s one flaw in that though, crazy people don’t know they are crazy.

  Do they?

  Dark Tips is sat opposite me and he growls something, getting my attention to him. And then the voice comes again.

  “Are you going today?”

  I drop my spoon and make a run for it, dashing out of the apartment, other cat people turn to look once I get further down the hall so I rein it in to a speed walk along the route to the gardens.

  I automatically retrieve my tool belt, luckily I had my gloves ready in my pocket; I hadn’t given them a second thought.

  I’m earlier than usual and it shows; there are less of them around. I make my way through to the plant bed I left half-finished yesterday and attack it with mindless abandon.

  Maybe if I totally exhaust myself I’ll sleep through tonight and the world will reset itself to normal. Maybe I will wake up back home. I know I’m crying but I try and keep it to myself and keep working, using my long hair as a shield.

  After what seems like an age of working blindly, I settle into it. The reassurance of doing something familiar and comfortable helping me zone-out for a while. I could be tending to a plant bed anywhere. I could be at home in my own front garden and my brother’s going to come and get me at any moment now.

  I try not to think about it...but it’s an enticing daydream.

  Once I’m calm enough, I start to realise they are watching me. It’s kind of subtle, but nevertheless, they are.

  The gardens fill up to what I think of as Day Shift levels of staffing; the ones around me are still watching me. Subtly, they look and then look away, but they are still watching.

  I just have no idea why?

  Sometimes they watch more than others, sometimes they ‘talk’ amongst themselves, sometimes not. There really doesn’t seem to be any pattern to it. The only assumption I can make is I must look a frightful, horrible little thing compared to them.

  They are all huge and sleek and muscled, all that fur always immaculate. And on those rare occasions when you do see a female,
they are so white they seem to glow. They look like goddesses from an exotic religion. You most certainly would not see one of them on her knees and covered in dirt; that is for certain.

  No wonder they all get to have three boyfriends, they must be something special.

  They sure look it.

  Around what feels like lunch time, Doughnut shows up.

  I left in such a panic this morning I’d left my lunch box in the fridge. I haven't quite figured out how it produces everyone's lunch boxes or how they seem to summon things from it. But then I also can’t understand a word they are saying. I’d grown up sort of half watching futuristic space shows on the TV, and I sort of just assumed they could just tell it what they wanted.

  I hadn’t planned to go back for it out of sheer stubbornness...and some fear. I wouldn’t die if I went hungry for a day.

  It suddenly hits me...I can’t understand a word they are saying. What if the disembodied voice had been translating. But...how can they suddenly do that? And how do they know my language? And why haven't they been doing that since I got here? None of it makes any sense to me. I try and block it out; it’s the second-best explanation I have.

  Number one still being I’ve lost my fucking mind.

  I shake my head forward letting my loose hair fall across my face and allow myself to become engrossed in what I’m doing. His shins and cat feet appear quite close to me, but I deliberately don’t look. He puts my lunch down where I can see it.

  All of my insides clench up with a sickening dread that The Voice will come back, and I’ll finally break. Here in the middle of the gardens. I know they are looking. I can feel their eyes on us.

  But then a miracle happens, he just huffs…and then leaves.

  I wait what feels like an appropriate amount of time; they are all working again.

  My stomach rumbles.

  I go and sit with my back against a ‘tree’ where it is quiet and eat my lunch. There’s a separately wrapped package in there that I’m excited to see. They have only appeared a couple of times, but I savour what is inside because it tastes pretty close to chocolate sponge cake.

  MICKA

  I’m considering turning off the translator for the evening. This morning’s test did not go well. She’d shot out the door as if her tail was on fire.

  When I’d told Titus this afternoon his obvious response had been to take her lunch to her. He’d hate to miss lunch, so by default that means that everyone must love lunch.

  He puts a lot of effort into making the Little One’s lunches ready for her every day, too. I think he’d snuck her an extra snack in before taking it to her; his way of trying to cheer her up.

  That would cheer Titus up; the cub thinks with his stomach.

  I’m hopeful that Pate’s...Maisy will come and visit shortly after they arrive, or before Little One’s next shift in Hydroponics at least. Acer intends to greet them later on, and we have booked them into a suite not too far from ours. All being well the Little One may make a friend and gain some confidence. And considering Pate says their human speaks openly to them I have already found myself hoping against all hope that our Little One will start too. I can’t help but wonder what she might sound like, and I find myself imagining her language as an adorable, stilted thing.

  I look to Kita for answers but...it is just a reminder of where I have failed before. I do not want to fail the Little One.

  ACER

  We kept the translation program on but either she doesn’t understand it or is studiously ignoring it. From her very tightly controlled lack of reaction myself and Micka decide it is likely the second option. We eat together as usual; for Micka and Little One it is evening meal, for me it is breakfast. Titus is just grazing our leftovers before he goes to bed.

  It is an extra tense mealtime, the smell of her worry filling the room.

  It had taken what felt like forever for her to not be terrified of everything; we’d learnt not to approach her pretty quickly to start with. And then slowly she’d become so relaxed she was almost confident with it. She’d even hugged Titus once. Although we have agreed that none of us were to get in any way undressed with her present. Titus and Micka had told me that the second evening she’d been here Titus had taken the top half of his uniform off without thinking about it. Little One had been looking with interest, my brothers had not been able to put into words how overwhelming the smell of her becoming aroused had been. It’s a conversation we had picked over many times simply because she’s become aroused by one of us. When I’d suggested we subtly do it again to see if the response was the same, they’d both given a resounding ‘no’. Little One had run for it as soon as Micka had moved at all towards her. Meaning my brothers had been left with very uncomfortable problems which took multiple attempts to deal with fully. I’d found myself equal parts amused at their running for the bathroom, and equal parts disappointed that I hadn’t been there to smell it myself. The air circulation systems on the station suddenly seem frustratingly efficient.

  Now it seems the prospect of us being able to communicate has put us back quite a few steps. Micka agreed to us keeping the program running on the proviso that we do not address her directly; it seems to have been a good plan.

  The more I watch her, the more convinced I am she is following our conversation intently.

  The translator slows our conversation, it will translate absolutely everything, but with us having a flowing conversation that meant it would talk over itself, or keep talking in one continuous stream so it would be hard to tell who was saying what. As a result we are speaking, allowing the translator to finish, leaving a short pause, and then speaking again. I believe we have been pretty abysmal at making light-hearted normal conversation; the stilted nature of having to allow the translator time to work not helping us at all. Her odd sounding language playing across the room is not helping either.

  The initial smell of the Little One’s fear evoking a threat response in all of us is helping even less.

  If I hadn’t been paying such close attention, I would have missed the brief flash of surprise, and the look she shot Titus before getting herself under control and returning to studiously ignoring everything. He mentioned what she’d had in her lunchbox today, and what he intended to put in tomorrow’s. Neither myself or Micka are hugely interested in what goes into her lunch; but he insists on talking about it every day. He likes to keep it varied for her.

  Little One is studiously moving things around on her plate now...I get my brothers’ attention and in my most meaningful tone of voice say, “I’ve laundered Little One’s bedding and made it fresh for her. I washed her spare uniforms too.”

  She freezes, her spoon halfway to her mouth before she puts it back down again. She looks around at us, but none of us are being subtle about how intently we are watching her and we all simultaneously turn away, caught.

  It would be comical if we weren't all so stressed to start with.

  She very deliberately puts down her fork, goes and retrieves a clean uniform and then crosses the lounge again to the bathroom apparently stating her usual evening routine a little early. We all share a shrug. It’s so frustrating, I wish we had some indication from her. Anything. I shrug again, helplessly, to my brothers; Pate’s family couldn’t have arrived at a better time. Although she had settled into a routine and was starting to seem more relaxed and confident, I really don’t think it would have been an arrangement we could have maintained indefinitely. Besides that; the sweet smell she carries that makes us...well...we’d never be able to give her up. We’ve found ourselves caught.

  We’ve often been wandering into her room during the day, just to smell the air in there. Sometimes after she has showered the smell of her arousal will linger. Some mornings you could still smell the faint smell of what she had clearly done the night before as she had lain alone in bed. We have probably become the cleanest people in the history of the universe, the sheer number of showers we had all started taking to...relieve the issue.
Titus is the first of us to actually admit that he’d been taking her dirty clothes back out of the laundry, just to stand and breathe deep her smell. I was not yet ready to admit that I’d been going into her room to sniff the bed covers.

  I think the three of us have slowly started going mad.

  I head out to meet our guests.

  Pate answers and I am properly introduced to his brother, Abner. Though I’m pretty certain we have met before. I scan the apartment quickly, there no sign of their human. We make polite conversation and they agree a time to come and visit, they are all going to sleep first, and I have to control my disappointment. I agree and decide to stay up for this even though I should probably have gone to bed by that point.

  I politely take my leave and head to the office. I have a full day of work whilst they are all sleeping.

  POPPY

  There was no more Disembodied Woman this morning and I was grateful for it. I have enough to think about. I get dressed, have whatever has been put at my place at the table, and head out to work.

  For the first time, I wonder who makes my breakfast. I’ve been so engrossed in myself that it’s never even crossed my mind. I mean I’ve watched them in the kitchen...doing something? Sometimes? But I’ve never looked past the end of my own nose. I’m still assuming everything runs on magic food creation devices and unseen laundry robots and…I don’t know. Maybe an actual robot maid that I’ve just somehow never seen. For the first time it’s occurred to me...it’s been them.

  It’s been them this whole time. I’ve been in their home for what feels like a couple of weeks now; maybe even longer than that, and they've been caring for me.

  I’ve had my head so far up my own ass I haven't even noticed.

  Even down to worrying over what I might like in my packed lunch. I smile to myself, of course that would be Doughnut.