Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #31 – The Greatest Show

“No, no! That PV troupe cannot stay there, it will ruin the group shot!”

Muriel van Perens gritted her teeth, waved her hand left and right, sending people in all directions. Eighteen hours to the Turn. An immensely vast amount of time, but a speck of dust compared to what she still needed to fix. The cameras. The lights. The security service. Squadrons and squadrons of Peacekeepers from all of New Netherlands were already stationed on the outside rings, almost up to the Barricade. Inside, the local New Babylon troops were spreading around the main deck of Lagash, looking for their assigned stations. All under the vigilant gaze of Captain Commander Lily, keeping the situation under control like an iron general. Minister Van Perens wasn’t happy to leave the critical role of protecting the leaders of the world in the hands of a non-human, but, after said non-human single-handedly ended the Kryzalid crisis, she had no reason to deny her that honor. That rhizome was precise, deadly, detail-oriented. And hated Zonta as much reasonably possible, if not more. That made her the perfect candidate, if there were ever doubts. At the right moment, Captain Commander Lily would have shared the stage with her and Prime Minister Herz, during the passionate speech that he was still rehearsing and having his ghost writer retouch with embarrassing frequency. She felt sympathy for him. Vijlkram Herz wasn’t known for his brilliant oratory: he was a man of action, one that won the elections promising more military efforts on the Jindao salient to free Komezia from the dictatorial influence of the Eastcol. The additional footnote that Komezia was also the territory with the biggest lithium deposits in all of Lagash, though, was usually glossed over. Those details weren’t going to win him an election. Still, for the one and only Turn of the Millennium, the last vault of Lagash, he wanted to be dashing. Minister Van Perens noticed how he went for a blue suit with white shirt, much like the fit worn by President Anthony Yarramundi in his recorded speeches, those that played at every Turn of the Century.

Yarramundi was an interesting figure, overall. There was nothing about him in the archives of Lagash, except the videos that played when a vault was first opened, explaining its content to the assembled crowd, while he was standing in an impeccable, clean office, with a large planisphere of Earth pinned behind him. The eighth video, though, had some interesting discrepancies. Yarramundi looked tired, older even. The map had something weird too, with a huge portion of it crossed in red, around its northern section, right above a peninsula that looked like a boot. The red cross was accompanied by smaller crosses, all spread around it, without any explanations. The ninth video continued that trend. Yarramundi looked even more tired, and the crosses multiplied, almost fully encompassing the central third of the map. What that meant, nobody could say. The President himself didn’t talk about it, but historians suggested that the crossed out areas had been lost to a mysterious force – maybe the same that caused Earth to send the seedships in the first place. Vijlkram Herz, though, seemed to be confident about his choice of clothing, looking like like a younger version of Anthony Yarramundi. Maybe, to reap some of his fame for himself. The Turn of the Millennium was a one of a kind event, one that wouldn’t happen anymore in the history of mankind. So, he had to make use of it to boost his popularity in the wake of the next elections. Having to share the spotlight with all other world leaders, including his nemesis Grigorji Shao of the Eastern Coalition, meant that he had to one-up them to come up on top.

“No, remove that panel! We can’t cover the machinery, otherwise it will look bad for us! Lagash must be dashing! And clean that blot there! Who spilled their coffee on the floor, Lagash take you?!”

Muriel van Perens breathed. Breathed. That was not the task one would expect the Minister of Technology to deal with, but everything had to be perfect. Delegating could bring her only so much. So, despite her position, she decided to be there, on the main stage, driving her worker ants like slaves. First, because that would have made her a central figure in the PR documentary about the preparations for the turn. Second, because she didn’t want to trust anyone else for that task.

She looked around again. Aside from that coffee stain and despite being more than one thousand years old, the flight deck of Lagash was in pristine condition. It was the magic of its nanoactuators, a technology that nobody had managed to reproduce effectively yet. Most people in the know bet that it was indeed the last secret of Lagash, the one hidden behind the tenth vault. If that were the case, their society would have leapt forward in time by centuries thanks to the ability to build and deploy those machines. Of course, everyone on Lagash had the right to access the technology of the vaults, much to Herz’s chagrin. It was how theIr society worked, after all. Lagash was a property of all mankind, so its content couldn’t be seized by New Netherlands alone – even if their nation was the closest to the massive ship – lest the rest of the world allied against it and turned it into a charred wasteland of burning ashes.

Muriel van Perens glanced at the deck, at its shining white surfaces. It was full of instruments and displays that didn’t work anymore. Every attempt at starting them up ended in failure. It was like Lagash gimped itself after landing to avoid being misused, which didn’t sound too far-fetched. The vaults themselves looked like immense portals, seven meters tall, all with a hand-shaped handle in front of them. All closed. That was something that surprised their ancestors: a vault remained open only for three Earth days – seventy-two hours – after which it closed automatically, never to open again. Now, a big countdown was towering over the tenth vault. Eighteen hours, ticking down second by second.

“Minister Van Perens? I have brought the security plans, as you requested.”

She turned around, recognizing the voice of Captain Commander Lily. Muriel van Perens had to look up to meet her gaze, due to how much taller the rhizome was compared to her. Her white rose was even brighter and healthier than usual, as was her smirk.

“Deputy Captain Commander Oleander will lead the rear guard and the VTOLs. She will be stationed close to the Barricade with her troops. The special forces of the Peacekeeper Corps will assist me and fifty rhizomes from all around New Netherlands close to the stage. I need a signature to deploy the rhizomes units from Deerhag and Valorbonne, though, as I don’t have official control on them.”

“That should be a task for Defense Minister Polyman.”

“Your signature will suffice, since rhizomes are under the authority of the Ministry of Technology too.”

“Fine, hand me that pen.”

She signed the document without even reading it, gave it back to Lily. Glancing at the writing, she only managed to see something like ‘ten Spear, ten Whip, ten Mantis, ten Shield, ten Sword’. These were all the types of rhizomes that were going to be deployed, apparently. Maybe they were too many, but it was better to be cautious. It was a question of national security, after all. As much as that Kryzalid crisis, one that was solved in a rather peculiar way. Minister Van Perens browsed her folder, extracted a folded sheet of paper.

“I’ve heard that Kryzalid and her accomplices were sent to Atropos two days ago with the last rocket and that Prime Minister Herz approved the resolution. Why didn’t you kill her on the spot?”

“With due respect, Minister, it would have been a waste.”

“A waste?”

“Prime Minister Herz wanted to make an example out of her. If I killed her in Aralu, her death would have been overshadowed by the Turn. So, we decided that stashing her on Atropos till the end of the celebrations was a more suitable tactic.”

“Please, explain.”

“The plan is to publicly execute her and her accomplices one week after the Turn, for maximum media resonance. Prime Minister Herz needs a boost for the upcoming parliamentary elections and believes that holding a public celebration for the punishment of a convicted terrorist would work rather well.”

Minister Van Perens fell into an uncomfortable silence. There was some truth in all of that. Turning Kryzalid’s arrest into a show would have definitely helped Herz’s chances to be reelected, especially if the content of the vault wasn’t as good as predicyed by the analysts. His position in the polls was shaky, after a major military blunder within the Pangean Union – one that almost caused the biggest diplomatic incident in the modern history of Lagash. She nodded, slowly considering whether there were a way to make that plan even more bulletproof. If Herz was confirmed for a second mandate, chances were that she would too, effectively making that a win-win situation. Not finding any flaws on the spot, she simply waved her hand at Lily.

“Good call. Then, the question is closed. I hope Station Commander Geiger is happy with having guests, for once.”

“Even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, because he has no right to.”

A sound of irregular steps drew their attention. Someone was coming closer, with a shambling broken rhythm.

“Oh look! Look if it isn’t my favorite steppy steppy dommy mommy and my less than favorite pen-pusher! What an unbelievably odd combination!”

That voice.

Those bushy sideburns.

Those specs.

Muriel van Perens regretted not having a gun with her. Captain Commander Lily regretted not being allowed to kill him. Yet, in front of them, stood the unmistakable figure of Graham Zonta.

“So many rhizomes! Never seen so many in one place! Oh my, this is heaven! I feel it hard in my pants! Say, Minister van Perens, why don’t we have them act in the nude and perform a dance stint too, as an appetizer for our guests? Like, a whole troop of naked rhizomes? Wouldn’t it be a bijoux? With their tendrils, the vines that show their inhumanity. That would scare our political neighbors more than the usual suits of armor, n’est-ce pas?”

Commander Lily resisted the urge to kick him in the nuts, because A) she was in front of her direct superior and B) he would have probably enjoyed that. That excuse of a man had an own twenty minutes spot during the celebrations, one where he was supposed to hold a speech about the future of human-like creatures and synthetic hybrids. He even went as far as asking to be allowed to wear his custom suit for the occasion. Said suit was filled to the brim with erotic pin ups of animated characters – not unlike his custom hazmat gear – thus his proposal was canned before he could complain, forcing him to default to an anonymous black tuxedo. His speech was also being written by a ghostwriter, so that he couldn’t mess it up even if he wanted. Zonta had to sign six forms in which he assured he’d read the prepared speech verbatim, instead of going on a tangent and improvise like he usually did – with hefty fines and prison time, if he didn’t abide by the agreement. If he were given free rein, he would have surely caused a diplomatic incident within the first forty seconds of his show. Yes, Zonta would have certainly started commenting on the appearance of those foreign politicians with… a very colorful choice of words (like when he defined Grigorji Shao as ‘that fat Eastcol bastard that eats shit with wooden sticks’ in a previous public speech). That was something to be avoided at all costs, if they wanted New Netherlands to have any future at all and not become a nuclear wasteland due to retaliation strikes. Muriel van Perens quenched her first instinct, let herself breathe two, three times, before answering to the man.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Zonta. We aren’t filming a variety show.”

“Well, but we could. We have so many PV troupes, I say let’s use them! It’s a promo for the Corps, right? Come to us, we have dancing plant chicks!”

Van Perens grimaced, couldn’t control an expression of disgust emerging on her face.

“You’re a sicko.”

He joined his fingers in front of his nose, raised his elbows like wings.

“No, I’m a chad. One that doesn’t like compromising his vision. But okay, have at you, minister. I’ll be a plain, boring egghead for you, so that you won’t look bad in front of that stinky foreign scum. I get it, it’s always like this, when politics enters the fray. Wolves disguising as sheep to fuck the shepherd.”

“It’s to ‘eat’ the shepherd.”

“Well, not if the shepherd is hot and she’s into it. Being railed by a fit, muscular wolf man is the hidden desire of many a young lady… or even older ladies. Right, Minister Van Perens?”

Zonta didn’t wait for an answer, he simply waved his hand and turned away.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a speech to memorize and a lot of caffeine to gulp down. Getting ready for the twenty-seventh hour opening is frustrating. I wonder why Lagash couldn’t, you know, choose another time.”

“That’s due to how our days and Earth days are desynced, Zonta. You, of all people, should know it.”

“Well, I see. Bad timing, huh? For all their might, wisdom and impeccable sense of fashion, our forefathers weren’t really almighty – otherwise, they would have included a process to splice catgirls inside the first vault. But that’s the last of my ramblings, today. See you later, Minister. I promise I’ll behave… mostly.”

Lily watched his almost anorexic figure leaving the flight deck, without losing sight of him even for a second, then she directed her attention to the vault instead. A colossal, solid door, with a digital timer ticking down every second. The vault could only be opened when the timer reached zero, and only for the following ninety minutes, also shown by a timer ticking down. What happened if nobody opened the vault in time was not clear. There weren’t any witness reports, any documents detailing the functioning of Lagash at large. Only scattered notes, diaries of the crew members left around the ship’s living quarters, heavily redacted or even censored. Every reference to Earth had been excised, crossed out, burned down. Why, their historians couldn’t tell. Yet, the sight of that immense starship, encased in the ground close to New Babylon, the first city, was awe-inspiring. A massive structure, at least one kilometer long with a radius of at least three hundred meters. Its body was completely black and yet dotted with lights. Inspections on the deck showed that, for its initial run, it had a sizable human crew, maybe fifty to one hundred people, which seemingly never set foot on Lagash. Most of the volume of the ship was believed to be occupied by the engines, engines whose functioning principle was also still a mystery. Unfortunately, every attempt at digging into it was met with resistance. Lagash would simply put a door in the way, a door that couldn’t be opened manually and nobody – nobody – wanted to see what happened if said door was forcefully unhinged. At least, not after the incident that killed six hundred people during an attempted break-in, Sol centuries before. That incident was widely documented and put a gravestone on the independent exploration of the seedship, to the point that it made her rise to the status of a religious symbol – for better or worse.

Lily’s fingers caressed the black metal, finding it surprisingly warm. Lagash had watched mankind evolve on the planet called in her honor for the past one thousand Sol years. Her children were now ready to take the last step.

“What the heck is this?”

“My apologies, I…”

Two voices captured her attention. A special forces member. A rhizome of the Spear class. She looked almost exactly like Primula, except with a slightly different haircut and a visible scar on her right cheek. The Peacekeeper waved their rifle in front of her, before hitting her forehead with its butt.

“I ordered you to bring the ceremonial weapons, the ones in the red locker! This is my standard issue rifle! We can’t parade with it! Say, are you color blind or what?”

“That… that was a mistake, sorry. There were two red lockers and I went for…”

“That’s all BS. Go back and bring my weapon here, now!”

“U… understood, sir.”

The Peacekeeper shook their head, watched the rhizome walk away in shame.

“Useless pieces of firewood. Only good to be sold on the BM.”

Only for them to meet Captain Commander Lily’s gaze.

“What’s the problem, Corporal?”

Her eye scanned their black visor, pierced it, its redness astounding. The Peacekeeper gulped, stepped back, forcing themselves to look up, to meet the gaze of the Captain Commander head on. They stuttered, groaned, clicked their tongue.

“N… nothing, absolutely nothing. That airhead of our unit’s rhizome messed up. I was just…”

“Never call one of us ‘useless piece of firewood’ ever again, Corporal, or the person whose organs are sold on the BM will be you. Am I understood?”

“S… sir, yes sir! I will…”

“Don’t disappoint me. You’re going to be on the main stage with me and I need you alive till then, at least. So, don’t give me a reason to terminate you before, alright?”

She turned around, leaving them in a deathly, flabbergasted silence. What was that? Lagash’s children were now ready to take the last step?

Were they, really?

She pondered on the answer, while leaving the corporal behind. And that answer was the key to everything, for her.