Chapter Text
People needed a place to sleep, and didn’t always have the money for it. Many building owners don’t have the privilege to have been an early buyer of ready-to-renovate land and family connections to pull off all the necessary loans. As a result, when others decide their market prices, they’re all looking for the median income level or above, usually comfortably floating just under the luxury market. Andrew Raymond, however, had that privilege. He used this privilege to undercut market prices and instead be the nearly unmatched provider of low-income housing.
His apartment buildings provide the most flexible leasing terms available to that tax bracket in all of New Mars; available in 36, 48, or 60 month terms with a premium 72 term rate for retired seniors aged 72 and above (and he’s very proud of having the lowest age requirement for seniors in a 10-mile radius of the poorest-by-annual-salary neighborhoods– nevermind that he’s the only terran whose built in that area),.His apartments offered Automatic Salary Deductions for ease of rent payment, and even provided utilities such as communal washing and drying stations! Andrew was even kind enough to accept Planetside Settlement Funding to be able to offer a reduced rate on units on semi-communal floors where residents also share a communal showering space. Andrew’s fulfilling a very wide and necessary space in the planetary market economy, and he’s quite proud of himself for it.
The tides of the great market economy shifted and turned, and Andrew found himself swimming with them effortlessly. While his friends were busy scrambling to redraft new rental contracts amidst newly passed legislation that was a hilariously weak attempt to control the rate at which rental prices rose, Andrew had already found himself more than comfortable at the dinner tables of local politicians and housing contractors, making deals with information he could talk himself into becoming privy to under the guise of curiosity and the more-than-fulfilled promises of kickbacks from the profits he’d made. Politicians were, evidently, more than happy to turn a blind eye to him exploiting legal loopholes through shell corporations, acting as middle-management companies who don’t significantly exist. Meanwhile, housing contractors were more than happy to satisfy their most dependable customer by allowing him cheaper building contracts than anyone else could possibly hope to get based purely off of information about market and legal policy fluctuations that most wouldn’t figure out for several more months.
Andrew Raymond was, and is, a self-made man, a fact he takes deep pride in. He made his money and earned his comfort fair and square. It wasn’t his fault that some people were born to be able to work their way through society much easier and better than others. After all, who wouldn’t use their resources and connections to leverage themself more and more opportunities to get ahead? A lazy idiot, that’s who.
Change is the only constant worth worrying about. Nothing in the Accord ever stagnates. These disruptions always came from ‘within’, whether it was planetary housing authorities changing the standards and regulations for their biannual inspections, scandals with local politicians, or even some off-planet mogul coming in hot and thinking he’d be able to moneybags his way into a pretty packed marketshare, the changes were always something someone’s heard of before, something someone’s dealt with before, something someone’s read about before.
But not this one. Not this time.
When the war broke out he didn’t pay the rumors much mind. People lose their heads just so easily. He laughed to himself gently just remembering some of the things he’s heard. The memory of a dear friend calling him worriedly about the “people-eating-gay-plants” warmed him, he recalled explaining to her in great detail how irrational that was. After all, what kind of creature goes through such extreme lengths just to be able to catch a meal? Something this intelligent was obviously a rational actor- they had deeper, more complex motives driving them. The rumors of mind-controlling brain worms and forced labor camps were less surprising, though Andrew supposed that only the weak and desperate would fall to such circumstances.
These giant plants managed to stifle even the barest whispers of mass-panic all across the city. It was impressive, sure, but he wasn’t about to drive himself up the wall or over a cliff about it. As the neighbors in his gated community disappeared one-by-one, as the beautifully engraved gates of his previously private and secluded community literally came crashing down, and even as the city loudspeakers had been hijacked to play their grating propaganda, Andrew stayed relatively calm. When it came to the point where he couldn’t look out of his windows anymore without seeing massive, sprawling weeds enjoying the previously private and resident-exclusive beaches, the thoughts of retreating further began to formulate in his mind.
The market had been exceedingly rewarding towards him; his insider trading had paid off immensely and allowed him to win bidding wars for massive food stockpiles as soon as whispers of the war had even started. Thanks to a very fat and ever-growing savings account, he’d bought his own exterior reinforcements for his house, installed military-grade sound proofing, had a completely custom home-defense system built, and stocked up on all the entertainment he could ask for.
Just before the weeds arrived, it was another day as usual. On the phone with a tenant who was just complaining and complaining and complaining…
“Listen Sir—yes, alright yeah I’ll take that I’m sorry but—Ma’am, look. Either you can go ahead and open a window or take a cold shower, or any other plethora of suggestions I’ve kindly gone out of my way to offer you to cool your unit down a little more or I can apply the management harassment fee to your balance. I’ve gone around and around in circles with you for over an hour now.” After the line was silent for several seconds, Andrew finally heard the noise of the line being hung up and sighed from relief. What an asshole! It wasn’t Andrews' fault that this tenant picked a unit on the 8th damn floor. After all, she could have chosen a unit only on the 4th floor. Who doesn’t know that heat rises?! Whatever.
He turned back towards his computer, overlooking the ledgers to ensure every occupied unit was all caught up on their balance or at least made good on any ongoing payment plans they have. Looks like building maintenance for apartment block 34-B are working slowly through their schedule, especially having already started the day late. It’s whatever, at least this company’s good about checking up on every single request they get.
Some days he thought about hiring an executive assistant, but honestly a part of him enjoyed waking up every day and being able to manage the books for his properties himself. It kept him busy, and it served as a constant reminder of the life he’d built with nothing but his intelligence and skill. Well, his family connections and willingness to give him modest 7-figure loans certainly also helped, but hey! It wouldn’t have meant anything had he not known how to apply it, and that’s aaalll him.
As the day crawled on, suddenly the Solar Event sirens started blaring only a couple hours before the end of the business day, but it caught him off guard since usually the city got a Solar-Event Warning several days ahead of when the event was planned to happen. Before Andrew could continue thinking too hard about it, the blare of the sirens was cut short. Odd. They don't usually—
“ATTENTION CUTIES: PLEASE REMAIN CALM AS WE FILL YOUR OXYGEN RESERVES AND WORK TO PURIFY YOUR WATER SUPPLY! WE LOVE YOU, WE’LL BE THERE SOON~!”
What. The. Fuck.
And now here he was. Chillin’ out in his basement, rewatching AI-generated movies from his childhood (Bored Apes take Brooklyn 103 was a classic) and happily snacking away on his premium cheese cubes, butter crackers, and salami slices. He hadn’t planned on early retirement, mostly because he’s always enjoyed being something of a busybody; it gave him something to post about on his social media and it let him schmooze around with politicians who liked to go on one-on-one business meetings late at night in moonside hotels. The flings were fun, and he liked to be tight-lipped, but he didn’t really need them. He could manage with himself and his entertainment.
At least, that was the plan.
His home-theater auto-paused just as his phone buzzed with a notification. That's...weird. Really weird. He never configured it to do that. When Andrew picked up his phone and looked at it, somehow it was entirely blank except for a single, full-screen notification that just read:
“Hello Andrew! Please come to your front door :] I’ve disabled your proximity alarms, turrets, autonomous defense pin-point lasers, and localized field mines for you, so it’s nice and safe for you to come on out and just have a little chat with me~! :]”
He glared at his phone for a moment before trying to toss it aside and just unpause his movie. Unfortunately for him, trying to do so caused the same message to appear on screen, now with an added “You can’t ignore me, hehe!”
He groaned, picked his phone back up, and reluctantly made his way out of the safety and security of his basement. He supposed, at the very least, that he should be impressed this weed wanted to actually talk to him face-to-face and stand toe-to-toe against one of the smarter terrans they’ve likely come across in the entire city, save maybe the annoying little nerds at the university who like to yap about xenoenvironmental science and preservation or whatever they’re on about.
His mansion wasn’t much, but home ownership was one of the better perks of wealth- not worth it to lease property before setting yourself up somewhere niceish. It was a little rundown- the guest bathroom on the third floor had needed renovations since before the war, and the water bill for the hot tub was getting to be a bit much, even for him- but between the marble flooring and the ancient Doric Terran style columns, the foyer was one of the most presentable parts of the house, even to the politicians whose, ah, egos, he’s eagerly stroked. As he tucked in his shirt and adjusted his tie, he hoped that the double-wide Kepler mahogany front doors weren’t somehow offensive to the plant that was standing on its other side. He didn’t know their culture, but schmoozing was, hopefully, universal- he prayed that his most expensive hospital-veteran-orphan ball-gala-benefit suit and refined architectural tastes made the best impression it could on whatever important alien was waiting for him. Him specifically, because their taste in Terrans was clearly as refined as his in wine- of course, the best of both were white. Nothing against darker people (or vintages), just a fact. Fact enough for a private joke, at least; enough to put a wry smile on his face. First impressions. First impressions.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he was saying. “If you can’t look presentable for the showing, I’m afraid that I can’t trust that you’ll keep the unit intact.” The man across from him was dirty, unshaven, and wearing a ratty jacket that might’ve once been green. Through holes in his gloves, Andy got glimpses of calloused fingers, and tears streaked through the dirt on his face. It was kind of pathetic, honestly. “Besides,” he added as an afterthought. “If you can’t afford the laundromat, you probably can’t afford rent. Good day.”
Andy shuddered. He was pretty sure that guy would’ve stabbed him if he let his guard down- exactly the kind of thing he can’t let the weed think. He popped his collar, checked his cuffs, and threw the doors open.
In front of him was a giant brown… woman? A woman-shaped statue, at least, carved of oak and adorned by what must be ginkgo, with suspiciously ephemeral-looking ball-and-socket joints made of what was perhaps ash or maple. Her clothes- insofar as the flowing, floral shapes attached to her form could be called clothes- were split between bright shades of yellow, darker earthy browns, and vital, almost-living greens, each petal-like section of cloth flowing and falling with its own gravity, more like someone’s idea of a dress than a garment meant to stay together or obscure indecency. Its face was- was moving.
“Hello, Andy!” It said cheerily, the hollow sound resonating from the buxom chest slightly above eye level rather than its uncannily morphing mouth.
“Ah, our new alien overlord,” he said faux-jovially, recovering from his shock as quickly as he was able. Clearly not a statue, then. “It’s nice to meet you. What can I do for you?” He stuck his hand out to shake, and it enclosed it within its own grotesquely huge palm.
“Nothing much,” it said. “I’m excited to see that you have accepted the Compact’s role in the Terran Protectorate’s development. My name is Hella Helianthus, First Bloom, she/her.”
It- Hella- gently shook his hand once, but she did not release him. Her grip was like iron, the surface of her hands not unlike skin, but made of something… grippier, for lack of a better term, and whatever process drove her movement was stronger than he was. Andy attempted to find any angle to salvage the situation and landed on flattery.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Hella. I take it you are first among your people, then? That only makes sense- someone as strong as yourself-”
Hella… Giggled. Maybe? “Oh, no, no,” she said through the wooden clinking rattling in her chest. “I’m no king. I’m your social worker, Petal.”
Andy frowned. He attempted to adjust his tie subtly and failed miserably. “I don’t need a social worker. I’m self-sufficient.”
“Agree to disagree, petal,” the tree said sweetly, like she was genuinely sad for him. “You’re self-isolating, self-harming, and worryingly capitalistic,”
“Hold on now,” Andrew bristled. “I do not chase as much profit as I could.” Why was that the part that hurt the most? He wasn’t lazy, or an idiot, but by his estimation, he also wasn’t greedy. Greedy men are hurt, or worse, by the kind of clients he served.
“I’m sorry?” The smile never faded from Hella’s wooden face, but Andrew suddenly felt the world fall out from under him like a phantom stair, and he felt his idiot tongue moving faster than his brain.
“Well, I mean… I’m charitable. I house people. Poor people. I reduce rent if they can’t pay. Sometimes I let them go a couple months without paying their water bills before evicting them. And, I mean, it’s not like building upkeep is free. Ten years of rent is easily cheaper than eighty years of mortgages, right? I never shut off power, even when I had the responsibility to, you know? To the shareholders.”
The plant was a unionist. Obviously. He might have to rethink his idiot status.
“The shareholders? Records indicate that you had a controlling seventy percent share in your company.”
“Well, yes, but the thirty…” Had? Hold on, had? He bristled. “Lady, if you think you can take my shares, I’ll sooner evict them all and let you sort out the income stream. I can do that right now. Don’t try me!” he yelped, trying anew to wrench his hand out of her vice-like grip.
Inexplicably, the giant looked… Dissapointed.
“There’s that capitalist streak again. I’m sorry, Andy, it really seems like we’ve gotta help you adjust to your new life in the Compact.” her right index finger opened somehow, like a blossom, and a hollow needle slid out. Prosthetic. No, plant. Right. They don’t have skin.
“Are you gonna put that in me?” Andy yelped. “You can’t do that! What’s even in that?”
“It’s an anesthetic called Triple Zed Upsilon Two-Two-Fourty, but you might find Z Class to be easier to remember. This one’s formulated to make you nice and sleepy for the next… How much do you weigh again? I’ve got it here somewhere…”
“An anesthetic? You’re gonna do surgery? Implant me with that… thing? Do… do something to me?” Andrew tried to suppress his wandering mind’s basest fears. You could do… You could do so much to someone when they were unconscious. He kicked the alien’s leg, but all that earned him was a stubbed toe. Hella hadn’t even looked up from the tablet being held by vines that had sprouted from her chest. “Sorry, looks like I drew too little. At your weight and metabolism, this dose would only last three hours, fifty-two minutes and seven seconds instead of the full four hour dose. Glad I double-checked!” The spine retracted and remerged. Andy could’ve sworn it was bigger, somehow.
“No, please,” he pled. “I… I hate needles”
“That can be fixed.”
“I’m loyal,” he said quickly. “I do what I’m told. I don’t need a reeducation camp.”
“Noted,” Hella said, retracting the needle once again and poking the injecting digit into his stomach.
“I…” These bleeding heart types were always talking about privilege, right? He played his last card. “I’m not like the really rich folks. I’m gay. I don’t like women, so I know what it is to start life disadvantaged–” He felt a pinch in his stomach, felt a squirt, knew it had been done. “Help,” he slurred, his panicked heart delivering the foreign chemical to newly heavy muscles before being, itself, slowed. “Police. Police, help me.”
“I’m not a law enforcement officer,” the blurry figure of Hella said through cotton. “But I’m proud. Asking for help is…”