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I hurried.

Chapter 7. O'li

The morning air was cool. It smelled of water from the weather barriers and the sweet decay of botanical waste from my neighbors' gardens. As a society, we tried to incorporate as much flora as possible into our cities.

Lucca pressed closer to my leg, the leash between us unnecessary for control but required by social convention.

Above us, the canopies stretched between the structures, filtering the sunlight and casting everything in shades of gold and green. I'd helped develop the photosynthetic membrane that gave them their color, though that project felt like a lifetime ago, before Lucca, when my work was my only focus.

The pedestrian plaza opened before us with its circular design. Other Aconchians moved through the space, some alone, many with human companions of their own. Nearly three centuries had passed since the rescue populations arrived from Earth, and the old guardianship protocols had evolved into more kinds of human-owner relationships than the first planners could have anticipated. No two households seemed to arrange themselves in quite the same way.

Humans were our families now, though the legal language had never fully caught up with what that meant. Aconchians were naturally solitary; lasting pair bonds outside reproduction had always been uncommon, and prolonged isolation could become unhealthy even for us. Humans had changed that. They brought noise, attachment, need, affection, and an insistence on sharing space that my species had once considered unnecessary. Some owners preferred strict hierarchy. Others treated their pets almost as partners. I had never found the distinction especially useful where Lucca was concerned. He was mine, certainly. He was also the center around which my household had reorganized itself.

"Health to your household," someone called from across the plaza, raising a hand in greeting. Their own pet, a small blonde female, walked behind them, her posture perfect, her expression serene.

"And growth to yours," I responded, the traditional reply. These small social interactions were important.

The pet kept her eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of her, the picture of proper behavior. I felt Lucca's energy shift beside me, his body language showing opinions he knew better than to voice in public. The slight tension in the leash told me he was comparing, judging.

He waited until we'd passed, but he couldn't help himself. "She walks like she's been replaced by a robot," he muttered, not quite under his breath. "Bet she's not even allowed to talk unless her owner says so."

I continued forward without acknowledging the comment directly, though I shortened the leash slightly, bringing him closer to my side. It was a warning, subtle but clear. We'd discussed public behavior extensively, and he knew that commentary about other pets while in shared spaces was inappropriate. I'd have to discipline him later if this kept happening.

We passed a younger Aconchian carrying their pet in a specialized harness, the human's wrists bound in decorative cuffs connected by a short chain behind their owner's neck, face flushed and eyes half-lidded with submission. The public display of their power dynamic was striking, though not uncommon. Some of us preferred that constant physical connection, though I found it impractical for daily activities. Lucca functioned better with a mix of closeness and independence, though he'd contest that assessment if asked.

The architecture around us reflected our society's values: curves over angles, integration over separation. Each building grew from the ground like a cultivated plant, a bio-synthetic structure with surfaces that breathed through photosynthetic panels contributing to our atmosphere management.

We encountered a friend, Dietrich, near the fountain, their twin pets walking in perfect synchronization on either side of them. The matching males wore elaborate outfits, layer upon layer of deep blue fabric that complemented their owner's skin tone, decorated with silver threads that caught the light. Their collars were works of art, intricate metalwork that must have cost a significant portion of Dietrich's resources. They were both blond and had curly hair, well-defined square jaws, and hollowed cheeks.

Dietrich was hard to miss, even in a city designed for spectacle. Their skin was a faint blue shade, glowing with the filtered sunlight. Today, they'd dressed for attention in a flowing robe of deep blue that swept the ground with every step. The robe was trimmed in elaborate silver embroidery, shifting as they moved. Their hair was styled high and tight in a shimmering violet crest, held perfectly in place by some specialized product and framed by their round horns.

"O'li," Dietrich acknowledged with a slight nod. "Dropping the pup off at daycare again, huh?" There was no judgment in the observation, though I knew some Aconchians viewed the facility as a convenience for those who couldn't properly integrate their pets into their work lives. I felt no need to defend my choice. The main laboratory's safety protocols existed for good reason.

"The weather modification team requires assistance," I replied simply. "Your pets look well."

"They're performing in the cultural exhibition next week. I hope to see you there," Dietrich said with obvious pride. "Six months of training."

Their pets remained perfectly still during our exchange, not even shifting their weight despite the extended standing. The level of training was impressive, though I privately wondered about the cost to their individual personalities. Lucca would never achieve that level of behavior, nor would I want him to. His bratty spirit, frustrating as it could be, was part of what made him mine.

After we parted from Dietrich, Lucca started muttering again. "Performing pets. Like trained animals. At least I have a personality."

This time, I did respond, my voice low but firm. "And that personality is about to earn you consequences if it doesn't remember its place."

He made a small sound of frustration but fell silent. I could practically feel his thoughts churning, weighing whether his desire to comment was worth the consequences. But it wasn't appropriate, and he needed to remember that.

The street opened into another plaza, this one with a small market where vendors sold items for both species. A few humans stood beside their owners at various stalls, some helping with selections, others simply observing.

"Look," Lucca said, his tone shifting to something more wistful than bratty. "She gets to help with shopping." I followed his gaze to see an older Aconchian allowing their pet to handle currency and count out the appropriate payment for produce. It was a level of responsibility some owners granted.

"If you behave well at daycare," I said, "we can stop at the market on the way home. You may help me select evening ingredients and even get a treat. How does that sound?"

The change in his posture was immediate, hope radiating from his small frame. "Really? Can I pick the snacks?"

"Within reason," I clarified, already imagining the chaos of Lucca unleashed in a market without clear parameters. "And only if the daycare report is positive."

He nodded eagerly. "I'll be so good, Daddy. The best pet they've ever seen."

I doubted that; Lucca's version of 'best behavior' usually still included minor infractions, but his earnest desire to please me was genuine. My hand found his head, and I petted him.