Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #32 – Biohazard Paso Doble

In his long career in the Peacekeeping Corps, Vettor Geiger never had the displeasure of meeting a rhizome, let alone two. Now, all of a sudden, he found himself having to share his space station with no less than four of them, including one with evident physical disabilities. That wasn’t a problem per se – he wanted to believe he had dealt with worse, on the field – but it was indeed outside of his comfort zone. Geiger was quickly approaching his sixties, sported a massive yet well-groomed gray beard and equally well-groomed short hair of the same (lack of) color. His eyes were unremarkably brown, with a scar running down from his left eyebrow to his cheek. A gift from his time in Komezia, where his unit royally screwed up a mission that was virtually unscrewuppable. That, coincidentally, led to his ‘promotion’ as Station Commander of Atropos, where he had been stationed for well over ten years by now. Promotion as a punishment, of course, with the promise of a path to reinstatement if he ‘behaved well’. Turns out that it’s hard to produce results, when you are handed no cards. So, his permanence on that orbital piece of over-engineered crap had become, effectively, akin to a life sentence. Still, he enjoyed moderate authority on the rare guests his fief received, which made him feel somehow okay about that arrangement. Last on Lagash, first in space, on a fast track to retirement. He thought that had to be it, a quiet end-of-career parking place, without bumps along the road. At least, until none other than Prime Minister Herz called him to confirm the shipment of four prisoners, plus three rhizomes and a human Peacekeeper. Herz didn’t even ask the opinion of the station commander – it was more like a courtesy, to let him know he would soon enjoy more company, whether he wanted it or not.

Only, he wasn’t expecting rhizomes to be that weird. Refitting the greenhouse for them was already a done thing by year nine hundred ninety-seven, after plans of deploying them in space too forced the government to upgrade the aging space station. For nothing, since, of course, plans were scrapped and rewritten, making the new greenhouse a massive waste of money, resources and water. But, now that he finally had a chance to meet these massively hyped up plant ladies, he could not help but feel like he was watching an alien species, one that was almost human but not completely.

Which was how he felt even now, watching the specimen who identified as ‘Primula’, standing in front of him in her standard issue Corps armored suit, waiting for him to gulp down the last drop of his coffee. After advancing a request that sounded outrageous, if not downright stupid. He put down his mug, crossed his fingers under his chin, stared intently at the blue-eyed plant.

“Just to be sure, Commander Primula… you’re asking me to – uh – let a mass murdering criminal out of her cell, give her back – uh – her weapon of mass destruction, only because your – and I quote – ‘emotional support human’ is on death’s door and she would be the only one able to prevent him from – uh – blooming like a flower?”

Primula nodded, replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That’s correct, Station Commander Geiger. I appreciate your precise summary of the situation.”

To which Geiger responded by slapping his hand on his forehead, cursing under his breath.

“Lagash take me.”

That was the sorry state of the Peacekeeping Corps. Things were already going downhill in his time among their ranks, but this? If all members of the new generation were like this plant in front of him, it was only a matter of time till those Eastcol rabid dogs took control of New Netherlands. He took a long breath, before facing again that plant that mocked so well a human shape. If he were younger, he would have definitely had the hots for her… until he saw her neck roots, her spine tendrils and the bark plastered all over her body. Out of curiosity, he had peeked at her while she was photosynthesizing in the greenhouse. And curiosity killed the proverbial cat, making him almost vomit on the spot. That thing was only pretending to be human, and did a poor job at it. Which also explained the glaring flaws in her logic.

“I can’t allow it.”

“But why?”

“Because there’s no way in Lagash I’ll let a criminal, an armed criminal who killed no less than ninety people, roam free on my space station. The moment she gets that violin, we’re all dead, you know this, right?”

“Not all of us. Her weapon can barely affect rhizomes and is easily countered by a simple shift of our cellular structure.”

“Good for you, but I’m no rhizome. And so ain’t the techies and rest of the people on board. We… humans can’t vary our – uh – cellular structure at will. You know this, right?”

Primula fell into an uncomfortable silence, lowered her gaze.

“Understood. That is indeed a concern. But if we don’t act, the Peacekeeper known as Frijderik den Malstrom will bloom in one day at most.”

“That’s what she says.”

“Mal is sneezing rhizome lymph.”

Geiger squinted his eyes, rested his cheek on the back of his hand.

“Lymph?”

“Akin to plant blood. The fluid that flows inside my cardiovascular system.”

“Cardiovaltou-…?”

He snapped his fingers, as if that description awakened some repressed memories.

“Oh, wait. Yeah. Plant piss. The one punks drink to get high, right?”

“Partially correct. Plant piss is waste lymph mixed with rhizome urine and…”

“Okay, okay. Just… get to the point. So, this… whatshisname, Malstrom fellow… he’s a junkie, right?”

“No. Not at all. That’s why I’m concerned.”

“Huh.”

Geiger stared at her, deep in thought. Nothing in that story seemed to match his experience. But, again, he didn’t have any experience with rhizomes, except through the brochure that he was sent once by the PECORE team in a previous shipment (weirdly enough, with the word ‘feet’ underlined a couple times too). He had some certainties, though. One: humans didn’t produce rhizome lymph. Two: humans that weren’t piss junkies were also not sneezing it. Three: if Malstrom was a junkie, he would have already suffered from withdrawal, since no cans of plant piss was found in his personal belongings. There was a small chance, though, that the situation was simpler.

“…did he suck your lymph or that of any other plants, since the moment he put his foot on Atropos?”

“Negative. You can review the camera tapes to ascertain that.”

“I’m not sitting through more than eighty hours of feeds, thanks. Let’s say you are correct. Let’s say he is vomiting this ‘lymph’… is his condition infective? Like, can it spread to other people?”

“…we don’t know.”

“Okay. Then, is it something… you plants caused?”

Primula held her breath. Their pollen. Maybe… just maybe…? That thought scared her to no end. If Mal died because of her pollen… that meant… that meant that she couldn’t create any connections with any humans anymore. The weight of that possibility broke her mind, made her gasp audibly. No, it couldn’t be. Everything but that. Everything but that…

“…we don’t know.”

That was, of course, possible. Logic, even. But she didn’t want to believe it. If that were true, it would have made her life among humans impossible. So, it had to be wrong. It had to be off the list. For her sake. Her sanity.

“Huh.”

Geiger nodded, tapped a panel on his desk, called a holographic display with projected keyboard. He didn’t have enough elements for a binding decision. That said, that plant’s words were enough to slam that Malstrom into the quarantine bay immediately, get his body ejections analyzed yesterday and, maybe, subject him to a full body scan.

“So, if his body is producing lymph… how is this even happening? What is doing it?”

“A microscopic parasite plant residing in his nasal cavity, almost invisible to general purpose scanners. Or… so Kryzalid claims.”

“Well, only one way to find out.”

Geiger typed something on the keyboard, pushed a big button on the display.

“Medbay here.”

The reply came almost immediately, crystal clear, through the speakers mounted inside the office. Less than three seconds to answer his call. Geiger couldn’t contain a grin. Efficient. Fast. If only all of his soldiers had been like that, back when he was a Peacekeeper.

“Geiger. We have a suspect emergency, level red two. Pause whatever you are doing and prepare the quarantine procedure, full hazmat gear on. Commander…”

He turned towards the rhizome, tapped his finger on the desk and couple times.

“What’s your name again?”

“Primula.”

“Commander Primula of the rhizome unit will bring the subject to the lab, since she claims she’s immune to his condition. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, yes. Procedure red two will be started in sixty seconds.”

“Good. Geiger out.”

The display disappeared. Geiger crossed his hands again, looked deep into Primula’s eyes.

“The fellas there are all top notch. I’m sure they’ll be able to fix your – uh – emotional support human.”

“What if they can’t?”

“Nah, that ain’t it. They’ve seen everything, the most disgusting parasites known to man. If they can’t do that, your friend is already as good as dead. So, we will just euthanize him, seal him inside a black bag and throw him into space, as the procedure says.”

Primula clenched her fist. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“Sir.”

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“If your medics can’t heal Mal…”

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“…I want you to give Kryzalid… no, Mimi, a chance…”

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“…otherwise, I’ll take her out of her cell myself.”

Geiger stood silent, watched that fine hand of hers trembling. So, even plants could experience emotions. That left him surprised. Emotions were nothing but a malus, on the battlefield. The difference between surviving to see another day or not. His absolute coldness was what made him survive all his fellows, during the Komezia debacle. That’s why he was still alive. Cold. Calculating. He disobeyed a direct order to get to safety, just in time for the bomb to miss him, just in time to see his squadron turning into dead meat. Yet, that plant, that war machine disguised as a human, could – somehow – have feelings. Pretty uncomfortable, all things considered.

“I’ll think about it. Now, you can…”

“No! I want your word! Your binding, written word as Station Commander Vettor Geiger, head of Atropos on behalf of the New Netherlands Space Force!”

Her voice thundered in the small office, her mouth contracted in a grimace of anger.

Geiger stood up.

His one meter ninety seven size towering over the smaller plant.

His fist clenched too.

His eyes almost burning.

Meeting a stare as powerful as his.

A clash that lasted for uncountable seconds, in an infinite, minuscule time.

Then, Geiger sat down, without breaking eye contact even for an instant.

“You’ve got balls of steel, lass. And I thought you were just a human-sized plant doll. Alright, alright. Let’s say I agree with you. That would be a very illegal procedure, you know? Giving that prisoner her weapon back, letting her roam free inside my base… a lot of crap that will be recorded by cameras and sent back to Lagash. Which puts me in a very dangerous position. So, I need… a safety net.”

“Which kind of safety net?”

“We send your pal to the quarantine bay and let my personnel deal with it. If, and only if, they say that this guy can’t be saved with a standard procedure or they can’t find anything wrong with him despite his symptoms, we’ll let that… criminal handle it. At five conditions, of course. One: she will have to put her life on the line, alone. Two: if she can’t deal with him in the span of one hour, we eject both of them into space. Three: even if she manages to save him thanks to her… hocus-pocus, we’ll jail her again as soon as she’s finished. Four: I don’t want to know anything about it. Officially, I’ve never approved this farce. You’ll be responsible for everything that happens and I will write on my official report that I was forced to cooperate, on pain of death. And, five?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll be stripped of your rank and jailed for insubordination, no matter what, after this ends. You’ll be treated as nothing more than a common prisoner, much like that other one-eyed plant. Limited personal belongings. One hour of sunlight per day. I’ll make sure you avoid capital punishment, though, granting all the mitigating factors in my power.”

Primula stared at him, her teeth clattered. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“Do we have a deal, Commander Primula?”

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

“Can I keep Riri with me?”

Geiger raised an eyebrow.

“…Riri?”

“My… emotional support bunny plushie. Frijderik den Malstrom gave it to me as a gift. If… if I can keep it with me, even when jailed, I’ll be fine. E… everything will be fine. Even if… even if Mal dies. Even if… everything else fails.”

Geiger didn’t know how to react to that statement. That plea felt so out of place that he almost bit his tongue while listening to it. He tapped his fingers on his desk, trying to mask his mild annoyance.

“A plushie.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

His fingers danced on the plastic surface one more time.

“I guess it’s fine, as long as it doesn’t contain any electronic components.”

“Then, Station Commander Vettor Geiger…”

She proffered her hand, left it hanging in front of his face.

“…we have a deal.”

**

“I said it’s nothing! You’re not my mom, Pr… achoo!”

Mal sneezed once again, his face mask barely containing the green fluid pouring out of his nose. He grumbled, wiped his face with a tissue, before covering his mouth again.

“It’s just a seasonal cold, come on!”

“You’re sneezing lymph.”

“Nah, that’s just normal phle… phlegm… achoo!”

He sneezed again, for the second time in a few seconds. That wasn’t the image he wanted to give to Prim. A Peacekeeper had to be strong, reliable. Not a wimp that couldn’t even keep his cold at bay. Yet, Prim didn’t seem to care. She simply dragged him through the corridors, without giving him a moment to rest.

“Where are you taking me?! I’m fine, I told you!”

“That’s what it’s trying to make you believe. Hormones are such a wonderful tool to convince humans that they are in control when they aren’t. Have you ever heard of toxoplasmosis?”

“I… what even is that?”

“You get a parasite inside you that alters your behavior, so that you get eaten and spread it further. Rabbits are subject to it too.”

Mal rubbed his belly nervously. A parasite, now. Sure, what next? He rolled his eyes, before sneezing once again, coughing for a good measure too. Prim had watched one too many wildlife documentaries, that much was a given. Or, maybe, she was still angry because of her bags of chips. Or, simply, it was yet another one of her weird fixations. He would have liked to stop her, to get free of her grip. Unfortunately for him, Prim was both physically stronger and, technically, his direct superior in that orbital graveyard of a failed space station. So, willing or not, he had very few avenues to complain. They passed in front of a row of white doors, one with a huge green cross painted on it. No, painted wasn’t cutting it: the decoration was actually part of the door, metal with a different finish. She stood in front of the gate, stared firmly at it, then pushed the button on its right, the only one blinking. A buzzing noise filled the ring, hurting Mal’s ears for its unpleasantness. Prim, however, wasn’t fazed at all. She simply stood there, in front of a small grid, waiting for a voice to come out.

“Yes?”

“Commander Primula. I’ve brought the red two patient.”

Mal’s mouth almost fell agape. Red two. That code was the equivalent of ‘severe biohazard with risk of crew contamination’. He shook his head, tried to pull back. Then, he sneezed again. And again. That damn phlegm. It was all its fault. Another sneeze. Stupid cold. Just a stupid cold. Definitely not a red two level illness. Red two meant that they could dispose of him with prejudice, if his condition resulted too hard to treat.

“One moment, please.”

As the unknown voice emerged again from the grid, Mal desperately tried to loosen Prim’s grip, to forcefully open her hand. But it was all vain. He pulled down his mask, shouted at her.

“Prim, stop! Now! Alright, it was funny at first, but the joke’s over, ‘kay? Please, stop. I know you have trouble with understanding humor and you tried to surprise me, but this is too much, okay? I’m…”

“You’re going to stay silent and still until I say you can talk, conscript Peacekeeper Frijderik den Malstrom.”

Mal froze. The coldness in her voice tone. The impersonality of her words. That wasn’t Prim. That wasn’t his Prim. He couldn’t understand. His brain was not processing his surroundings correctly. There had to be a catch, but where? Were there hidden cameras? He sneezed, once again. But, this time, his mask was down. And he saw the droplets on the floor. Green droplets. That was phlegm. That had to be phlegm. No way it was plant lymph. He wasn’t a rhizome. He was human. He was one hundred percent…

The doors opened in front of them. Four people in full hazmat suits emerged from the room, staring at him from behind their visors. Mal jolted, jerked, tried to run.

“What? Prim, help me! There’s… there’s nothing wrong with me! I’m healthy! It’s just a cold! It’s just…”

“Follow us, please.”

“No, no, no…”

He felt Prim’s grip on his wrist, pulled out, put all of his energy in that effort. But she was stronger. More resolute. An unmovable monolith. The more Mal pulled, the more she resisted. And the hazmats got closer. Closer. Closer Then, he saw them, the syringes. Pushed into his neck. A sudden spike of pain. His vision blurring out. His captors turning into nondescript blobs. His muscles dulling. His whole body slumping down, not answering his call. He fell on the floor, back first, his eyes slowly closing.

But Prim.

Was still keeping his hand tight?

And

looked

sad

?

He finally closed his eyes, yielding to the sedatives.

Secretly hoping he’d wake up again, at some point.

Possibly alive.