Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #29 – Orbital Tango

A long breath, oxygen filling her nostrils. She bent forward, while water leaked out of her skin pores, flowing down her forehead, flowing on her bark-covered nose ridge. She bent her legs, tested their eagerness to keep moving forward. Her aching fibers made her reconsider. She groaned. Only seven laps, for a total of fourteen, maybe fifteen kilometers. Still, she was leaking too much water. If she kept on, her allotted reserves wouldn’t last one week. She sighed, shook her head. A tuft of white hair fell in front of her right eye. She immediately brought her hand to her face to free her vision, to wipe her sweat. But it was useless. Because she didn’t have any hands, in the first place. Just an automatic reflex, one that didn’t take into account her current state. So, the sweat kept flowing, getting down to her lips. Her tongue licked it, absorbed back some of the water. It was always like that. Trying to do something familiar, only for her stumps to remind her that, no, she wasn’t allowed to. The phantom feelings, though, were still all too real.

“Eleven minutes and – huh – nineteen seconds. Your slowest lap, today.”

She turned around, towards that obnoxious voice, coming from a slit on her left side. A metallic door, heavily sealed, a massive number three marked on it with block letters in a very plain script. Agave let out a low growl, before reaching for this slit, looking inside it. Meeting that one, big red eye, staring back at her from a cot shorter than its owner – a massive guy with gray skin and a metal face that was laying shirtless on it, wearing just the orange pants of his prisoner uniform, flaunting his abs with absolutely no shame. Agave squinted her eyes, took a good look at him.

“Can you, like, shut up? You’re not my personal trainer.”

The man shrugged. The room he was cramped into was way too small for him and contained nothing but a chemical toilet, a chair, a cot, bottled water, pen and paper. Despite that, he seemed pretty relaxed, at ease even.

“I’m bored. Timing your jogging efforts is at least funny. I mean, not that I can do much more, right? You guys didn’t even give me a PV receiver or a comnet terminal.”

“Maybe because you are a convict?”

“Well, I’ve never asked to be arrested, officer.”

“Oh, sure.”

Agave considered skewering those abs of his with her neck roots. After all, her tendrils were thin enough to slither through the opening and dish out some punishment. Maybe, suck some of that bloke’s abundant water out of his pecs too. She groaned, turned around, averted her gaze. Looking at that massive meatloaf for too long made her want to drive her roots deep inside him and suck him dry, in a way a human would feel while sitting in front of a juicy cowburger (at least, according to the PV shows she watched). The fact that said meatloaf was often caught wearing just his pants (sometimes, not even those) made her question why she even picked up that routine. Ten laps, three times per day, for the past two days. All for the sake of strengthening her legs, of clearing her mind, of keeping her dark thoughts away. All for the sake of not being discarded and repurposed as firewood. She gazed absent-mindedly out of the massive windows, opening on the opposite side of the containment rooms. At least, the panorama was breathtaking.

The first five times.

Now, the sight of the azure seas of Lagash, of its continents dotting the infinite blue, was just routine. She had never thought she’d watch her planet from space, and yet that was what happened. Whether that was a consolation prize for the loss of her arms or additional punishment, it was hard to gauge.

“Your best lap was ten minutes and nine seconds. Pretty impressive.”

That unwanted remark of the giant made her wish there were a way to completely insulate the cells from the outside world, but – alas – that was not the case. One more issue to add to the unending list of design mistakes that led to the creation of Atropos. One that should have been dealt with, before hosting the first prisoners in the history of that orbital junkyard. Well, at least the rotating ring habitat had the correct gravitational acceleration, so she didn’t have to struggle more than usual to keep her muscle mass and fiber density. That was at least something.

The guy kept talking, getting his voice heard again from the slit.

“What if we make a bet? If you run under ten minutes in the next, let’s say, three laps, I’ll let you suck as much of my water as you want. If you don’t, you smuggle me a can of lymph. I’m starving for some lymph, even plant piss is fine, even synth, even your lymph! Deal? Tell me it’s a deal, pretty please!”

“Oh, shut up.”

She sprinted forward, left him behind. It was stupid for her to always end her lap in front of door number three, to stop there to catch a break. She could have just changed her routine, used another marker. For example, door number six. The convict occupying that cell was way more manageable. She was weird, much like meatloaf there, but at least didn’t spend half her time in her underwear. True, Agave could have changed her habits, instead of complaining about that car-sized bimbo. Yet, she didn’t want to. It was a matter of principle: she was on that derelict excuse of a space station on duty. He was there to pay for his crimes. He needed to learn to respect her, full stop. That was how things were supposed to go, in a fair universe.

“Hey, Gavvy! Gavvy!”

Door number six.

Agave slowed down her pace, turned towards the door. Of course, of course she would be stopped there too. She could have ignored that other annoying voice, but whatever. The deed was done. She gazed through the slit, at the absent eyes of a red-haired girl in a bright orange prisoner uniform, a girl that she fought not even three days before, one that was indirectly responsible for the loss of her arms. Agave rolled her eyes, answered in a rather straightforward tone.

“What’s the matter?”

“…how’s Laccy doing?”

Agave bit her lip, looked around to see if any other rhizome was watching her. Her voice turned into a hush, seeping through the small opening.

“She’s recovering. She’s fully rehydrated and stopped leaking lymph. Prim is helping her photosynthesize in the greenhouse, now. Her limbs are still weak, though.”

But, hey, at least she still has limbs, she thought. That white-haired birch had it easier than her. If only Captain Commander Lily had been more thorough with her beatdown, maybe Agave wouldn’t have been the only heavily handicapped occupant of that space-sized donut-shaped failure. The red-headed girl cracked something akin to a smile. Agave squinted her eyes, startled. It was truly unsettling how that human’s mood turned up and down, much like a rollercoaster. During her first night on the space station, the red-head couldn’t have spent more than an hour not crying. Then, just one day ago, she was bawling her eyes out all the time, doing that for five hours straight. Only to fall into withdrawal and being force-fed some of the lymph that was drained from the unregistered rhizome (the one she called ‘Laccy’). That, somehow calmed her. Come a more quiet night (only three hours of so of tears) and she looked a little more stable, though her eyes were still swollen. A wild ride of a mood, with few stable points. At least, she wasn’t drying herself out anymore. Maybe, she had run out of water too, which might have partly explained that. The red-head’s smile turned into a graver expression, as her head slowly twisted in the direction from which Agave’s voice came from.

“Can I… talk with her? Even… even just for a minute?”

“Absolutely not.”

“…got it.”

A meek response, one that didn’t suit the boisterous criminal known as Kryzalid. And, yet, one that fit the frail girl once known as Mimi. Agave couldn’t piece those two depictions of the same person together. It was like trying to solve a puzzle whose holes had the wrong shape.

“…I’m sorry for your arms.”

Like that. A comment like that was so out of place for someone that made human heads explode in front of her and Oleander on a whim. But, after seeing how those same humans tried to hurt Oleander and her right after their bout, she could at least sympathize with that odd specimen sitting quietly in her room. Making human heads explode felt, indeed, the right thing to do. And that was why Agave somehow liked that prisoner: even if she would have never ever admitted it, their views aligned quite a lot. So, she didn’t take offense at that useless admission of guilt. After all, the real culprit was the woman stashed behind door ten. The one whose existence Agave had refused to acknowledge even just once, since the moment she started running around the ring. Granted, she was under direct orders not to engage with the convicts… but one day is a tremendous amount of time, if you can’t do anything except sit down and watch the only PV channel that was available on Atropos – one that didn’t even broadcast the latest episode of Zaiken. So, jogging it was, with a side dish of talking with the prisoners. They were annoying, true, but not as annoying as Felce and Primula. After two hours of crossfire between conspiracy theories and one-sided dialogues with a bunny plushie, she wanted to either prune them or end herself. In comparison to dealing with her companions, chatting with those lowlives was at least more entertaining. Not to mention how staring at the big meatloaf significantly boosted her lymph production, especially when he wore only his white boxers – and even more when he did five series of pushups while not wearing them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t explain why she stared at him for all that time without making her presence known and why her body reacted like that. This was a cause of massive annoyance for her: how such a meatloaf – an obnoxious, simple-minded piece of work with absolutely no cultural background – could exert such an influence on her metabolism, was something outside of her comprehension. She shook her legs a little to keep them warm while standing close to door six. Her sneakers felt good to run with, a very solid choice. Oleander’s suggestion, very spot on. That jogging fit, though, didn’t really fit her style. A simple white tank top with a cute drawing of a cat and black shorts. Again, Oleander’s suggestion. Not so spot on, though, but she had to make do. After all, she didn’t have any civilian clothing in her wardrobe, until a couple days before. All she needed, she usually borrowed from Oleander – which wasn’t possible, now that she was assigned to a place so far away from New Babylon. She decided not to think too much about it, sprinted forward instead. Muscles over brain. A way to keep her mind from churning too much, forcing it to focus on her breathing routine instead. In hindsight, Agave found it amusing how fast she had adjusted to her new way of being. It took less than an afternoon to come to terms with the loss of her limbs and her natural weapons, those beautiful wrist blades that made building robot model kits so hard, to the point she had to actively use her tendrils and roots instead. Her fingers, though, were the biggest casualty. Without them, doing half the stuff she used to became immensely more complex, be it getting herself dressed, packing her stuff in a suitcase or releasing her excess lymph. An annoyance, but one that could be dealt with, given enough time.

The prison block disappeared behind the curvature of the ring, as she jogged forward in her round trip. The doors to the crew habitat opened on her left. A figure in full tactical gear was leaning there, unarmed, with his helmet off. Sneezing the heck out of his nose, consuming paper tissues at an amazing speed. Agave slowed down yet again, started hopping in place to keep her legs warm, started talking without even greeting him first.

“Spreading germs in a closed environment like this is unsavory and potentially dangerous for your coworkers. You should go to medbay and ask the personnel there for support. If you are polite enough, maybe they can cure your illness. Or euthanize you gently. The latter option would be much more appreciated, so, please, do consider it.”

“Jeez, good morning to you too, Agave.”

The man sneezed again, coughed on his hand, wiped his mouth, his nostrils. Only to sneeze one more time. He stared at her, at that armless figure that couldn’t stand still, kicking up and down at regular intervals. Seeing her so active right after having been mutilated felt uncanny. Stuff like that reminded Mal that rhizomes weren’t – in fact – human beings, but only a reasonable approximation of them. Even the more easygoing ones, like Felce, had weird personality traits and twisted morals that made them feel like alien beings to him. Agave, though, was on a whole other level. As socially awkward as Prim, as misanthropic as Felce, as direct as the iron bitch. A lethal cocktail that was prancing in front of him wrapped in training clothes, while still staring at him as if he was nothing more than junk food. And unleashing her piercing tongue with every word.

“There’s no good in this morning, Malstrom. I’ve run significantly slower than yesterday, despite having become accustomed to the habitat, which is frustrating. Furthermore, I’ve not been allowed to contact Oleander for the past fifty-six hours and I couldn’t find any way to watch the new episode of Zaiken. This is less than optimal…”

She groaned, kept stepping in place.

“…but I appreciate the concern. There was at least one thing fine, this morning. My Zaiken K-999 model kit was greenlit for unpacking by Station Commander Geiger, thanks to the absence of metal parts and glue. Estimated build time: three hours and two minutes, stickers included. I’ll get to it after my daily photosynthesis.”

Mal squinted his eyes, still trying to keep his sneezing at bay.

“Zaiken? As in… the robot?”

He sneezed again anwyay, cursing against his body. Maybe, he was becoming allergic to rhizomes. Maybe, having three of them always around for the past two days hadn’t been the best for his health. Especially because at least one was pollinating like hell, despite her branches being cut. Agave nodded, answered immediately.

“Correct. Zaiken K-999 is its black form with one single blue central eye, manta ray wings and dual plasma blades, shown for the first time in season three, episode seven against the Velisian ultimate weapon T-68 Agares. It was replaced by Zaiken Infinite at the beginning of season four due to poor fan reception, making it the shortest running version of Zaiken, as screen time goes. That model kit is a limited edition with extra stickers and two additional sets of weapons, together with a prop arm of Agares and a small diorama base, to reenact the end of their fight.”

Mal felt like having stepped on a landmine, by simply asking for clarifications. Of course. Of course Agave, like all other rhizomes, had an unhealthy obsession for something. And her something was… well, he didn’t understand a single thing about what she rambled about, except that, somehow, it involved a buildable toy robot from a somewhat famous PV animated series. He groaned meagerly, faking enthusiasm, while the plant girl talked and talked, in an unstoppable machine gun of words.

“K-999 was the only version of Zaiken I was still missing to complete my collection, at least until Maizan releases the G24 series next year. I wanted to buy this model with my next allowance, but Oleander – what was that word? Ah, yes – gifted it to me first.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She… gifted it to you? The deputy iron bi… I mean, that Oleander?!”

Agave nodded, started hopping on one foot, switching leg every few repetitions.

“She did. I don’t understand this ‘gift’ routine, really, but she told me that it’s something you do for people you care about. She ordered one of the Epsilons to buy it at the FourteenPlusFourteen close to the precinct, so that she could give it to me two mornings ago, while helping me pack my stuff for the trip to Atropos. I’m relieved Station Commander Geiger allowed me to keep it.”

Mal decided not to ask her how she was going to build a model kit without hands. That sounded a little indelicate. Yet, he could already feel Prim’s angry question on why Agave was allowed to bring something with that many moving parts on a space station while her bags of chips had to remain on Lagash. The migraine would have split his head in two, if that damn cough didn’t get him sooner. He pushed a new paper tissue on his nostrils, fought against yet another fit of cough. That was deeply annoying. Concerning even. He had never been allergic to anything, not even to dust, but, since the moment he stepped outside of the RSV and entered Atropos, his lungs had decided to kick him in the butt, going full sore throat and cough. Maybe, it was just a difference in air composition, in oxygen levels. After all, the atmosphere of that space prison wasn’t one hundred percent the same as on Lagash. A movement in the corner of his eye took him out of his trance. Agave had started hopping in place faster, without moving away, staring at him with her ice-blue eyes, even colder than those Prim sported. It looked like she was waiting for something, something that Mal couldn’t really guess.

“Why are you… you know, still here? Weren’t you – huh – jogging?”

“Your cough has worsened. If you die now, I want to see it. I’ve never watched a human die of common cold. It must be amusing. Not as much as watching a head pop. But still amusing.”

“What the fu… Lagash almighty, go away before I punch you, Agave!”

“Fine. But don’t die till my next lap, okay? I truly want to see you wither in real time. Like Agares.”

That said, she dashed forward without further ado. Her lap was far from over. She had a routine to finish and a model kit to build, all while waiting for the Turn of the Millennium later that night. She wasn’t really excited about it (if anything, the fact that they canceled the planned episode of Zaikan to broadcast that event on every PV channel made her extremely annoyed), but that would have been, at least, a way to see Lily and Oleander again – albeit briefly. She pranced around the corridor, without a care in the world.

Only thinking about how peculiar it was for a human to sneeze out rhizome lymph from his nostrils. His death would have surely be entertaining and she couldn’t allow herself to miss it.