Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #47 – Lost Echo

Robin gasped for air, her head emerged from the vat, the liquid still surrounding her body. She was floating. Floating in a pool of water. Watching the ceiling, seeing pictures moving on top of it. Memories. Not hers. Yet, hers. Moments of other lives, lives that might have been like hers, lives broken, shattered by the Turn of the Millennium. Yet, in the coldness of that vat, with her skin soaked in water, she felt at ease. Floating. Sinking. Floating. Sinking again. Her arms, her legs spread. Only she and the transparent fluid surrounding her body, cooling down her brain, her connections. It took some convincing to have Station Commander Geiger let her use the experimental vat in the science lab as an impromptu bathtub. If his version was to be believed, close to the official reopening of the space station there were many emergency meetings to justify its existence – especially after the orbital prison idea was all but killed by the explosion of a docking RSV. So, the engineers retrofitted some of the existing rooms into a ‘space lab’ of sort, with a plethora of small experiments and weird tools spread across one tenth of the orbital ring. Among that cruft, lay a two meters times two meters times one meter ceramic vat with small side windows, opened on the top and constantly filled with cold water, even if not to the brim. The resident scientists used it to test the reaction of fish in space and to develop some weird algae for a few years, after Atropos was reopened for business. Even though the experiments didn’t bear fruit, the vat was still there, still filled with clean, filtered water and kept on standby as an extra supply tank, might the need arise. Nothing was wasted on the station, everything served a purpose. Without experiments running, that vat in the lab was mostly a glorified empty aquarium waiting for some other uses that never came. Till Robin asked Geiger if there was a place she could immerse herself in. Geiger had been reluctant at first, finding the idea slightly outlandish. A bath in space was nothing but luxury. Everyone used cleaning gel instead. Drinks were limited or already dissolved in the on-board rations. Nevertheless, Atropos had tanks for a total capacity of around six thousand liters of water at any given time, with extremely efficient recovery and recycling systems that reprocessed wastes. The space station was not self-sufficient and still needed deliveries of gas tanks for the converters from time to time, but for a longer while the situation was not going to be bleak. And, in the direst scenario, they could have still used the water from the vat, thanks to all the filters that were in place. So, Geiger, a pragmatical man, one that still wasn’t sure whether to believe Robin’s version of the facts or not, found himself in front of a choice. A) allow the strange self-proclaimed elf to take a dip into the vat to ‘proceed with the melding’, potentially finding useful information that could save what was left of his home country or B) deny that permission and seal her into her cell until death arrived for all of them in the shape of an interplanetary ballistic missile. Option A) didn’t have that many drawbacks so, in the spirit of trying whatever was possible, he decided to grant her permission to use that facility as long as she wanted to. That let Robin sink. Float. Sink again. Memories from lives she didn’t live danced inside her brain, through the peaceful sensory deprivation she was basking into. It all happened after the first gem she assimilated. Remora’s brain melded with hers, started to overrun her own individuality, pouring an endless stream of information inside her neural connections. Two brains in one, in a process that almost killed her. The water, the vat she was immersed into, allowed her to keep a tighter control on the process, keeping her body, her brain from overheating. So, she floated. Sank. Floated again. Her skin was covered in glowing lines, connections running all over her body. Records. Records that could be read with tools no longer available. Her whole existence laid bare for everyone to watch, from her head to the tip of her toes. Still, there was a lot to go through. Five gems. Five lives that were fighting for a spot inside her. Five different recounts of that day inside the seedship. She hoped that all five converged on one, simple fact – one that Remora’s memory already unlocked in her consciousness.

The fact that none of the elves opened the vault.

So, why?

If that was true, why did the vault unleash the nanos anyway? Did Remora… cut the part where that happened, in a form of self-censorship, to protect her race from persecution?

She tried to access Remora’s memories once again, to play back the video her sister watched on the flight deck of Lagash. She felt her temperature rising, as if her whole body was on the point of burning. Just like before. Just like when she connected the gem for the first time. A fever, a debilitating fever, a fire burning her from inside out, forcing her to disconnect, forcing her to retrace her steps. In her room, she found herself sweating, completely drenched, as her body temperature rose wildly, like a processor overclocking and burning energy at an alarming rate, turning everything into waste heat. That made her almost give up on her task. Almost. Until she remembered how it was done in her days. Two elves. Immersed in water. Connected together to share memories, mingle their vision in one, joint version of the ‘truth’. The water as a medium to quench the heat, to deprive their senses, so that the resulting ‘truth’ was as objective, as coherent as possible. Now, she was doing the same, just with a crystal – a crystal whose owner had been dead for a millennium. Her eyes glanced at the clock embedded on the wall. Fourth hour in the night. The Turn of the Millennium had happened just five hours sooner. Maybe, there was still something left of New Babylon. Maybe, everything else was gone already.

Remora’s memories trickled back into her brain, as Robin tried to steer the stream of consciousness in the right direction. Pictures of that day came back to her, merged with her reminiscence. So many humans, of all colors, shapes, sizes, waiting before the vault. Some elves too, mostly standing aside, keeping their eyes trained on the event, memorizing every single instant of it for posterity. Still, there was a cut. Remora’s memories were damaged. Most of the events from half the celebration to the deranged ending of Anthony Yarramundi’s demented speech were missing. Humanity will live forever. That line was clear. But what happened before wasn’t. Self-censorship was nothing new for elves: there were many such cuts in Remora’s crystal, in large part redacting her most intimate moments. Sometimes, though, she still forgot to disable the recording, causing Robin to relive particularly… ‘spicy’ events in her sister’s life, as if she were there, as if she were her. Robin felt her temperature rising again, her cheeks reddening. She didn’t have any right to peep at those moments, yet she was forced to by the nature of their connections. Remora would never have wanted her siblings to know that she was very happy to be railed by burly humanoid robots and fantasized about it pretty often. Or maybe yes. Maybe she thought that, as weird as it sounded, it was something that defined her too, something she didn’t want to be lost after her death. Elves had the final say on what they wanted to record in their crystals. They weren’t mindless cameras. They had agency. Still, some of the cuts were not intentional edits – sequences could end up redacted due to shock or emotional distress. Some could be recovered by delving a little deeper, by strengthening the connection with the crystal. And Remora… Remora wasn’t the type to make out with a security robot during a public event. Robin was pretty sure she spotted at least one such drones in the ceremonial room, even reliving the excitement Remora felt when spotting his silhouette among the crowd, but her sister wouldn’t have done that right there, right then. Robin closed her eyes, held her breath, sank again into the water, let the connection resume. The small crystal, the one she was now keeping as a necklace, was glowing orange, becoming warmer and warmer by the second. The information lines on Robin’s skin flared up, a web of circuits embracing her whole body, storing centuries of data and experiences. The face of Anthony Yarramundi emerged from the blurred section of that mind, his deranged, hopeless last call.

Superimposed with a face staring at her, right above the water. And a hand grabbing her wrist, diving into the vat. Robin gasped, jolted, emerged with a splash, flailed her arms, her legs, spat in the tub, breathed, breathed.

“Who’s… who’s there?”

“Must be nice skinny dipping on this piece of orbital junk. Lagash take me, what did you promise to that old geezer? I’d love to have a bath too, that cleaning gel is hella uncomfy.”

Those scathing words. That aggressive tone. Robin pulled her hair away from her eyes, glanced at the abrasive newcomer. Red braids. Blue, lightless eyes. A shite-eating grin.

Not her, come on…

She groaned, let herself sink again, leaving only her mouth peeking out of the surface.

“I’m in the middle of something important. Don’t bother me.”

Kryzalid sat on the edge of the vat, crossed her arms. Cables were still hanging out of her neck, remnants of her intimate connection with the computer she was given access to. Not even ten minutes before, she was still seeing through the eyes of Zonta’s cameras. Now, she was blind again, following colorless patches inside the colorless entrails of a sleeping space station.

“As much as I’d love to punch your pretty face, I need your help, Rob.”

“And I need to be left alone.”

“No can do.”

“How did you even find me?”

“Turns out our friendly grizzled old commander ain’t taking the nap he nagged us to take and is instead listening to planetary news on loop. I just asked him after – you know – not finding you in your cell… and he sent me here. Nice place, by the way. Cozier than I expected.”

Robin gritted her teeth, closed her eyes. Keeping the connection with the crystal on standby was annoying, but she couldn’t focus on it with such a walking distraction pestering her. Kryzalid’s fingers dipped in the water, played with it, till her hand, her cuff was completely soaked. Before Robin could protest, she started to speak, without searching for eye contact.

“I’ve never learned how to swim. Mom and dad died before they could teach me and aunt Caro… well, she didn’t know how to swim either. I’m scared of huge bodies of water. I… don’t want to sink like an anchor. I was… so done, when I had to go through one month of training in the navy. Never felt like kissing the ground more.”

Kryzalid’s movement spawned several concentric waves, a concerto of crests and troughs, vanishing quickly, barely reflecting at the tub’s edge. Robin stared at them for a couple seconds, before turning her gaze to that blind woman lost in contemplation. It was then that something triggered in her brain. Aunt Caro. The same Caro that made her reconsider taking her own life. The same Caro that restored her dwindling faith in her own actions. That Caro. Was now dead. Because of her. Because she didn’t shoot that rhizome, when she had the chance. So, Kryzalid, the tough, sarcastic, annoying Kryzalid was still mourning, in her way. Carola Frankberg was their connection. A connection Robin had severed, because of the incomplete information she acted on. She delicately wrapped Remora’s crystal among her fingers, closed it in her hand. Maybe, just maybe, dedicating two minutes of her time to the niece of such an amazing person might have helped quench her guilt. She heaved a sigh, grabbed Kryzalid’s wrist, causing her to turn, to approximately meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry for Caro. I know that… saying this to you is like trying to reanimate a corpse, but I… cherished her too. I didn’t want her gone. I know… I know that it’s my fault. Completely. I don’t have any excuses. So, please… if I can help you, I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll…?”

“…what do you need me for?”

Kryzalid’s expression turned into a tired smile.

“You’re right. Your apologies… they make me angry. I’d like to punch you till dawn, smash your face until my knuckles bleed. I’d love to clench my hands around your neck and grab it tight, smother you till you draw your last breath. But that… that can wait. Even if I… can’t forgive you, I need your help – and I need it now. It’s about the nanos. I might have a lead, but I… I need to be sure of it, I need evidence. You’re the only one who can give me that, since you’ve seen them with your eyes, during the previous Turn.”

“…so, you believe me?!”

Kryzalid shrugged, closed her captive hand around Robin’s, returning the favor.

“You’re strange. Thinking you’re one of those legendary one-thousand-year-old-disgustingly-young chicks feels weird, but – hey – at least you look of age, unlike them loli vampires. That gun you had there, though, is what gave me something to think of: it’s completely overpowered for its size. I’ve never ever seen one of that type, even in the Corps. Like, either you’re a super secret agent with super secret weapons or you truly come from a past cycle where tech took a different turn somewhere in the middle. In both cases, you’d know more than me about the bloody Turn of the Millennium… and that’s why I need you.”

Robin glanced again at her cables, the cables coming out of Kryzalid’s neck. How much of a human being was left, inside that tangle of fake nerves and neural implants? She let go of her wrist, caressed the dangling connectors instead. Standard issue, much like those of the crystal. Second-vault-tech, maybe – same kind as hers? She shrugged, let herself sink a little more, still leaving her eyes and mouth outside of the cold water.

“What’s your hunch?”

“Did you elves also record sounds outside of the hearable range?”

Robin frowned, trying to recollect her specifications, the myriad of sensors that made up her being.

“Theoretically yes. We still can’t hear them, but, for the sake of offering a complete record, we are equipped with infrasound and ultrasound sensors.”

Kryzalid’s face warmed up, a little bit of color flushed through her pale skin.

“Alright, how can I… see your memories of that day?”

“What standard do your neural implants follow?”

“Huh, I guess second vault specs? Auntie dearest said something like this. Sorta universal plugin.”

Robin turned around in the vat, exposed the back of her neck. Of course, Kryzalid couldn’t see it, but could still touch it.

“Check if they are similar to mine. You should be able to tell by the notches.”

“Wait, you have them too?!”

“All elves had. Second-vault-tech standard. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

Kryzalid’s fingers danced on Robin’s neck, gently tapped her connectors. Her fingertips relayed the roughness, the shape of the external ring to her brain, allowing her to build a mind map, to compare them with those she was familiar with. Same shape. Same general structure. But what about the data transfer protocol? Jacking into Robin might have been a very traumatic experience, akin to taking heavy drugs, if the data protocols didn’t match and all she got was a jumbled mess of corrupted packets. She retracted her fingers, bit her lips. Only for Robin to talk again.

“I can broadcast the data as a simul audio/video combination, skipping the sensory part. The memories of another elf can be accessed in full only through a specific interface, but we can export them as a simple, universal format for humans and computers. First-vault-standard.”

Kryzalid nodded, rubbed her chin. Her implants should have been able to work with that. First-vault-standard audio/video encoding was incredibly old and obsolete, but still accepted since it was the main archival format in public libraries and knowledge repositories. For once, she blessed how siloed their technological advancement was, following the same steps, just at a different pace.

“Alright, so, what’s the plan?”

Robin’s fingers wrapped around the small crystal, the one she kept close to her chest.

“I wasn’t inside the seedship, when the vault opened, but this gem belonged to an elf deployed on the flight deck. I’ll connect to it to extract and repair her memories, and you’ll connect to me to receive a live feed of that event. This process will make my temperature increase and my body will radiate vast amounts of heat, so I won’t be leaving the vat. Don’t freak out, it’s not real fever. It’s just the standard process.”

Kryzalid let her fingers dip into the water again. Then, she slowly started unfastening her orange jacket, zipping it down, revealing the black sports bra she kept underneath. Robin squinted her eyes, rolled them, as her uninvited guest kept stripping, methodically getting rid of each and every one of her items of clothing, till all she wore was her skin.

“What are you doing now?”

“…joining you in the vat.”

“What.”

“…these ain’t low quality, heavily compressed data from car sensors. We’re talking about large amounts of high resolution, high frequency audio/video frames! That’s gonna overheat my implants too, a lot. And it hurts when it happens, you know? I used to cool them with a fan or an ice pack, when testing this with Dobrio, but cold water should do the trick.”

Robin felt her cheek reddening at the sight of Kryzalid’s body, tried to avert her gaze from it. The vat was indeed large enough for both, but that meant having to keep a modicum of physical contact – something she wanted to avoid at all costs, knowing her. So, almost without thinking, she spat out a sarcastic remark, one that felt completely gratuitous, unfiltered.

“Is this an excuse to add another notch to your belt, after two plants? Or are you so starved for body warmth that anything goes?”

“…as if I’d ever fuck the gal who got my aunt killed.”

Robin felt a chill down her spine, gasped. That last sentence. Those last words. Were a blade of ice, striking her back between her shoulders, pronounced with such a repressed hate she felt like she could puke. Then, she felt a hand reaching from her neck, foreign plugs penetrating the protective membrane of her sockets.

Then, the splash.

The second body falling into the vat.

And the data stream resumed.

From Remora to Robin.

From Robin to Kryzalid.

As their mind became one.

And both drifted.

Back to that day again.