Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #48 – Stigma Dreamscape

A conduit. A transfer. A connection.

Robin was all of them and none at the same time. As Remora mingled with her. As Kryzalid received her filtered memories, in an endless stream of images and words, at the speed they happened at, almost exactly one thousand years before.

Kryzalid felt like sinking. Floating. Sinking again. In the cold water surrounding her. In Robin’s mind. In that carousel of pictures, lives she hadn’t lived, lives that opened up to her as a movie stream, hijacking her failing eyes, turning her retinas into displays. She was there, watching, seeing through the eyes of another being, one that was neither Robin nor Mimi. It felt alienating. Her sense of touch. Her smell. Her taste. They were all perceiving the cold water, the chlorine dissolved into it, Robin’s warmth, the soft touch of her skin, of her hair. But her eyes, her ears, were somewhere else, surrounded by people, in a room filled to the brim. Bright. Monumental. The gates to the nine vaults that had already been opened, now sealed again. The gate to the tenth was still closed, but the time was approaching. The seconds ticking down, all right in front of her eyes. Suddenly, a quake. Another. The image vanished, turned back, rewound, pushed forward.

Kryzalid sank. Floated. Sank again.

Those were Remora’s damaged memories.

The memories Robin was fixing in real time.

Becoming the conduit. The connection. The transfer.

The crowd assembled, again. Cheering, pumping their fists. Different outfits, so different from those the current humanity donned, but the same spread of races, skin colors, hairstyles. It was as if everything remained the same, and yet was different to the core. Kryzalid couldn’t help but gasp, letting out the air chambered in her lungs, almost swallowing water in the process. The vat was small, her body and Robin’s were almost pressed together, touching at every single small movement, yet her mind felt like drifting away in an endless corridor, an endless hallway that extended along the whole universe, without a beginning, without an end. The vastness of an eternity she failed to grasp. Her eyes burned. Her forehead burned. The fever. The implants. Her brain was overheating. But it didn’t feel unpleasant. It didn’t feel damning. Just the natural consequence of their brains exchanging information through an old interface. All of her senses were dulled, replaced by the data roaming through the wires. She was still immersed in that vat, but, at the same time, she was there, on that flight deck, surrounded by hundreds of other people. Her temperature increased again. The eyes of Remora framed a huge silhouette in the distance, one that commanded her whole attention. Its head was an artificial construct with three symmetric eyes in a triangle. Metal plates covered all of its body, interspersed with leather tendons and structures that connected it all. Robin held her breath in, as Remora’s feelings overwhelmed her, as her reactions became part of her, as if she was there, as if she watched the same artificial creature, driven by the same sparks of curiosity, of arousal. A jolt blitzed through her body, as the thoughts, the mental pictures that haunted Remora’s mind went through hers as well, pictures that caused Robin to, involuntarily, squeeze Kryzalid’s body in her arms, bask in her warmth, her forehead touching that of the blind girl. Only to be pushed away, pushed back with violence. Before the picture changed, before Remora’s attention was stolen by the huge timer, finally clocking down to zero. Another cut, the frames dancing around Kryzalid’s vision, stabilizing slowly, one instant at a time, thanks to Robin’s intervention, to her constant mending and melding of the damaged sections.

Everyone cheered, as a human woman dressed in a long, red toga slowly walked towards the opening switch. One elf was standing close to her, following his master in her steps, right as her hand closed in on the device. The stream paused. The playback remained still on that last picture. Remora was far enough from the vault gate, but close enough that she could make out some details. Whose hand was on the panel, though, was hard to judge. The elf or his master? Robin indulged on that frame a little longer, before resuming the playback. Her forehead went warmer, her data lines glowing like neon lights, all over her skin.

Kryzalid focused her second sight on the huge display above the vault gate. The one where Anthony Yarramundi was going to speak from. In that moment, she activated a function in her neural implants, shifting the audio band down, to make ultrasound hearable and hearable frequencies inaudible. She knew what to look for, she knew what the sound had to be like. Now, she lay in wait. And, as soon as she shifted, the face of the last president occupied the whole display. His mouth flapped, but no voice came out of it. It was like watching a silent movie, but without subtitles or captions. Still, she kept her mind awake, focused on Remora’s remembrance. The image jittered, shook. Another interruption, another frame to mend. Robin seeped through the cracks of her sister’s memories, reconnected the interrupted pipelines of data, rebuilding the stream, rebroadcasting it to Kryzalid. Her datalines burned, shone brighter, became even more sensitive to touch. Every time Kryzalid’s body moved in the vat, every time her skin rubbed against them, Robin felt a jolt running through her whole body, forcing her to struggle to keep her focus on unscrambling the tangle of memories bursting out of Remora’s crystal. Yarramundi spoke. And spoke. And spoke. Remora’s gaze shifted away from the bearded man, moved to that massive robot again. The mechanical creature seemed to notice it, finally, to notice her attention. It waved its massive hand at her, blinking his left eye in and out of existence – almost like a wink. Remora’s storm of cravings streamed through Robin, taking a hold on her again, making her try to hug Kryzalid one more time, fighting against the pulsating, everchanging needs of her body. Only to be pushed away, without a second of respite. Remora’s feelings were overwhelming, at the limit of what Robin was able to parse without going insane. That was why the ceremony was cut. That was what Remora wanted to hide. Yet, now, it was exposed for all to see.

Kryzalid hoped that the elf’s infatuation with that pile of gears ended there, that the owner of those ancient memories went back to watching the display, gazing at the delirious message of Anthony Yarramundi. It was almost time. Almost time for the vault to open, to unleash its deadly cargo of life-ending nanos. The water around her body was warming up, while still keeping her temperature under control, cooling down her implants. The touch of Robin’s hands felt unpleasant, as if that single point of contact severed her own peaceful coexistence with the world. A blue world, one where everything was muffled, where her sense of smell, of touch, of taste were dulled, disconnected from the rest of her body. That dreamlike state made her one with the universe, in a symbiotic trance that let her consciousness spread beyond the boundaries of the vat, beyond the science lab, beyond the walls of Atropos, beyond space, beyond Lagash, beyond their moon, beyond their star, beyond all of the stars. The whole cosmos was part of her. She was part of the whole cosmos. In that instant, in that state between dream and reality, in that sleeping harmony between her soul and flesh, Anthony Yarramundi spread his arms, his face turned into a grotesque mockery of a human being. His lips spelled it, the sentence that announced the apocalypse.

She didn’t need to hear it.

She knew it.

By heart.

Yet, the sequence rolled back, rewound.

Back to the beginning of the video. Back before the gentle robot waved its hand at Remora. Then, forward again. The lips of Yarramundi talking in slow motion. Still, no sound reached Kryzalid’s ears. Her senses were waiting for that signal, the one only she could hear. And, when the robot waved its hand at Remora, Robin touched her again. This time, Kryzalid let her hug settle, let their skins become one, as their temperature rose, as her implants started to overheat once more. The water, the cold water that wrapped them in its soft embrace, was warming up too. And Robin glowed. Glowed like a thousand neon lights, ten thousand candles, with her brightness going up, then down, then up again, like the crests and troughs of dancing waves. Even Kryzalid’s blind eyes couldn’t miss it. Even through her sensory trance, those lights enveloped her, ensnared her attention.

Yet, Yarramundi spoke. Slowly, one word at a time, the interval dilated to infinity, its speed divided by two over and over, till it took an eternity to open and close his lips. Then, suddenly, it started moving again, as if nothing ever happened, and he spread his arms once more. The memories broke down, static, snow. Back, rewound. Forward. Back. Arms spread. Calm face. Delirious mockery. Arms at rest. Humanity. Tranquil. Will live. Somber. Forever. Static. Static. Static. Over and over and over and over.

Kryzalid sank. Floated. Sank again. Lost herself in that loop, surrounded by warmth. Warmth everywhere. Caressing her hands, her belly, her forehead, her hair. She sank. Floated. Sank. Floated. Floated. Sank. Sank. Sank. Floated.

Yarramundi opened his arms again. And the video went forward. Overcame the moment. Overcame that block. Robin cracked the code, let the video, the sequence continue.

The vault opens.

The display switches off.

And the woman, the woman in a red toga.

Her elf.

They both start being eaten by the nanos.

Kryzalid focused. All of her mind, all her energies, all her resources focused in that moment.

And, finally

she heard it.

Very faint.

But was there.

Slowly.

Ramping up.

Slowly.

As more nanos emerged.

Slowly.

A whisper in the dark.

As more people were consumed.

As panic erupted.

Growing.

Slowly.

Remora started to move.

Slowly. Too slowly.

The sound was growing.

Slowly.

The robot.

Moved fast.

Grabbed Remora.

Dashed out.

Fast.

And the cacophony.

Grew.

Louder.

As Remora gazed at her savior

At those three lights arranged in a triangle

Robin’s senses merged with hers.

Panic.

Fear.

Terror.

Even if the robot, that gentle giant

Was bringing her to safety

Remora had realized

That there was no such thing as

Safety.

All of them

Were

Walking corpses

Before Lagash

Before the swarm.

And the sound

Grew louder

To the point of hurting

Kryzalid’s ears.

Louder from behind Remora

Inexistent in front of her.

Louder.

The gentle robot’s expressionless gaze.

Remora’s hands around his metal head.

Their foreheads touching.

Static.

Fast forward.

No sounds.

No voices.

Just them.

The robot.

Remora.

Hugging.

Kissing.

Sharing their warmth.

Laying together.

How much later?

How many hours?

How many days?

How many months?

Static.

Static

Sta

Tic

Kryzalid felt her lips wet.

Not of water.

Robin.

Robin was kissing her.

Like Remora kissed the robot.

Because Robin was Remora.

And she was the robot.

In that twisted version of reality

That was playing in Robin’s head.

One push

Back.

One push

Away.

Kryzalid grabbed her connectors, her own neck implants. Disengaged the immersion. Disengaged the sharing. Unplugged it.

Suddenly, she was back.

In the real world.

In that vat.

Lost in Robin’s embrace.

Sinking in warm water.

Feverish.

Her body temperature higher than it ever was.

Sinking. Floating. Sinking.

Yet, now, seeing it.

The ‘truth’.

She gasped for air, emerged from the shallow waters, spat, cleared her throat, coughed. Coughed. Coughed. On her side, Robin emerged too. Her eyes wide open. Her data bands still glowing, now slowly fading. She coughed too, closed her arms around Kryzalid’s neck, trying to float, to avoid sinking one more time.

Kryzalid breathed, inhaled, exhaled. Her forehead was warm. Every fiber of her being felt like ravaged by fever. She was crying. She was almost crying. Robin too, her gem pulsating, her pupils trembling.

Breathe. Breathe. Cough. Breathe.

Their heartbeat slowed down.

Their bodies cooled.

In the warm water.

Together.

Kryzalid coughed one more time, wiped her lips, turned towards Robin, towards the place she was supposed to be.

“I… I got it! The frequency! That sound! It’s their call! It’s their signature!”

She hugged Robin back, this time not pushing her away.

“It’s real! Rob, it’s real! Now I’m sure of it! We can do something! We can truly do something!”

Yet, Robin didn’t reply.

She was still breathing.

Slowly.

In Kryzalid’s arms.

Slowly.

Breathing.

“…Rob?”

“…it’s not fair. That’s not fair.”

“Rob, what is it? What happened?”

“Yarramundi… his speech…”

She leaned on Kryzalid, let her head rest on her shoulders.

“…it wasn’t about another species… opening the vault.”

“What?”

“During the last Turn…”

Robin gritted her teeth, her fingers sank into Kryzalid’s skin, causing her to gasp.

“…he unleashed the nanos… for another reason.”

Her eyes burned. Her voice rumbled.

“There were multiple failing conditions. And we triggered two different ones.”

Anger seeped through her voice, flowed through her lips.

“Tell me, Chris… what were the chances? What were the chances that both of our civilizations failed so badly?”

Kryzalid patted her hair, trying to calm her down, trying to let her unwind. The video of Yarramundi, the one she didn’t listen to, the one she skipped while focusing her attention on the ultrasound frequencies. That was the reason for the playbacks. Robin wanted to listen to it, to every second of it. Wanted to follow it. Wanted to memorize it. And, now, she was boiling. Her blood was boiling. Kryzalid caressed her still wet back, pulled her close.

“W… what was the reason he gave…?”

Robin smirked, wore a fake smile, as her eyes lost her light.

“…that we relied too much on the vaults and opened all of them, instead of developing our own tech.”

“…and?”

“That’s it, there’s no and.”

“But that…”

“It doesn’t make sense, right?”

Kryzalid shook her head. That was getting too complicated for her. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t find a solution. She just went from being in communion with the whole universe to scrambling to find the missing piece of the puzzle. Robin squeezed her more, all of her muscles still contracted, causing Kryzalid’s body to jolt once again. Robin’s voice turned into a whisper, a whisper right into her ear.

“Chris… this catastrophe…”

A pause. A pause to collect her thoughts.

Before dropping her daunting conclusion.

“…was inevitable by design.”