Vigilantes by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

class had focused on the importance of different kinds of wood, and how different trees were galaxy-wide, how some trees were considered sentient and couldn’t be used for furniture and how some trees weren’t sentient at all. And also how certain public places that would cater to aliens from sentient tree planets couldn’t have any fake wood at all in them for fear of offending.
    Offending, yeah. Right. Offending. Because if they offended aliens, the aliens would fucking bomb the city.
    A tear leaked out of her left eye, and she rubbed at it furiously.
    The stupid therapist had told her not to shy away from thoughts that made her feel bad. He probably wanted to come into this room and find her sobbing on the couch so that he could feel useful.
    She wasn’t going to do that.
    She wasn’t going to sob for anyone, if she could help it.
    (She sure as hell hoped that she could help it.)
    She had decided that she would ask for a female counselor. Rudra Popova had told her to do that if she felt uncomfortable with Whatsisname Llewynn (“call me Evando,” which she absolutely refused to do).
    She didn’t want to be here. How come no one could figure that out? Her dad said it might be good for her, but she should trust her instincts. And then in the next breath, he said that she needed some kind of help, a kind he clearly couldn’t give, and she should give this place a try.
    Rudra said that maybe what Talia needed was a Comforter. But Talia remembered that doughy nondescript stupid Comforter lady on Callisto who never listened to her, and who wanted to envelope her in hugs all the time, which, Talia later learned was all about the stupid Comforter because the stupid Comforter had some kind of nano-enhancer that made her absorb emotions or something stupid like that.
    And if Talia used the word stupid one more time, even though she wasn’t saying it out loud, someone would probably call her on it.
    Then she shook her head. Too late. She was already calling herself on it.
    Critical, critical, critical. She rubbed her eyes again. She was being too critical. She couldn’t stop thinking about what a screw-up she was. If only she hadn’t started the fight with Kaleb. If only she had kept quiet about the Chinar twins.
    If only she hadn’t told anyone about how mean Kaleb could be, he wouldn’t have been in that room with that Peyti lawyer—that Peyti clone lawyer—and Kaleb, at least would have been okay.
    The school would have been okay, and she could be there this afternoon.
    She’d hated it there in some ways—Dad said it wasn’t challenging enough for her, but it was the best they could do—but she liked it, too. She actually felt like she belonged.
    She had felt like she belonged.
    Or at least, belonged more than she had belonged anywhere else since her mom died.
    Damn tear. Another one was creeping down her cheek. She wiped it, felt the chapped skin.
    This had to stop at some point. A human being (a clone , for godssake) didn’t have that many tears. She’d have to run out at some point, right?
    The door to the waiting room opened, and Whatsisname Llewynn (“call me Evando”) was standing there, looking down at her. She popped to her feet so that she was as tall as he was and could look him in the eyes. They had a bit of reflection, and she wondered if he had enhancements so that he seemed more empathetic than he really was.
    “Miss Flint,” he said.
    “Flint-Shindo,” she corrected. If he couldn’t even get her name right, then how could he understand what was going on with her?
    “I thought we’d finish our entry interview,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I want to make certain we pair you with the right team.”
    She glared at him. She could walk right now. The security team that Rudra had sent with her was just outside the building, probably bored and pacing, and they could all get coffee or something before going back up and explaining why Talia left.
    And that would be hard enough,