Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #54 – Sky Whale Fortress

The first thought that hit Dobrio’s mind, after landing in Saborai and having to wait for more than half an hour to get rid of his two-sizes-too-small spacesuit, was how much he missed sunlight. Although it didn’t really make a difference for his artificial eye, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his skin was something he couldn’t get enough of. The second thought that hit him was that the rhizome with the branch stumps on the sides of her head had to be of his same opinion, seen how she immediately stripped naked to catch every single photon, with a rare eagerness he had seldom seen. It probably had to do with her skin complexion, a color so unusual for rhizomes that it had to be suntan. Which meant that being stuck on that place of orbital metal threw a spanner in her works, since it was almost impossible to sunbathe up there – and sunbeds were definitely not among the amenities the station was known for. The third thought that struck his mind was asking himself how his gray skin would look, if tanned. He didn’t ever try to get a tan, not after selling his head and having his melanin replaced with whatever synth crap made his complexion the color it was. The fourth was that the dark skinned rhizome was getting too close and touchy-feely with him.

“Come on, meatloaf! The Pangeans ain’t here yet, why don’t you get some color on your ashtray skin?”

In that instant, Dobrio considered humoring her and pull his pants down, if anything because saying ‘no’ to a fix of lymph wasn’t his style – especially if said lymph was of a variety he never tasted before. Still, there was a time for everything and that wasn’t the time to get up and personal with a plant gal, no matter how confident and eager she looked. And, no bull, she looked good. Both she and that other armless rhizome that drank him with her eyes looked good. During the celebrations for saving the Grove (a stupid name for a compound, but whatever), those two gals spent a lot of efforts tickling and caressing his abs and pecs with their tendrils whenever they found an opening. They were both seeing him as nothing but a walking meal, a sack of water and nutrients. That made Dobrio giggle. He saw them as nothing but walking reservoirs of lymph, so it was even. An exchange like that might have actually been in their chords too. Something for something, the usual way. A treesome (or threezome, which in his mind sounded equally fun) felt more like an arrangement for Mimi than for him, though. One thing was having canned lymph to shove down his pipes. One thing was to have to work to extract it. And ‘work’ wasn’t a word he fancied that much, especially when it involved ‘effort’. As the dark-skinned rhizome got even closer – to the point of pushing her upper body against his chest, rubbing herself on his massive frame, Dobrio rolled his eye. He pushed her out with a twist of his arms, put some distance between himself and her. That wasn’t even funny, that was plain and simple breach of his personal space. He patted Felce’s hair, his big fingers closed around her head, caressing her black mane right between her branch stumps.

“You know that we’re in the open and that everyone’s watching us, yes?”

Felce licked her lips, wore her most mischievous smile.

“And how is that a problem?”

Dobrio turned around while still keeping his hand in place, stared back at Mimi, snapped his fingers.

“Hey, Chris, I owe you a hundred eas! I lost the bet.”

Mimi grinned, let out an amused chuckle.

“Which one? Don’t we have, I dunno, half a dozen open?”

“I found a gal hornier than you in the wild.”

Hearing those words, Felce blinked twice in a rapid succession, before turning back on her steps, putting even more distance between the massive man and her. She grumbled something under her breath, under Agave’s killer gaze, one that could have murdered her on the spot. Dobrio couldn’t help but grin, even if he didn’t have a mouth for that. His grin was just a state of mind, one that made him reasonably giggly at that weird scene – a silent contest between two rhizomes to get to drink his water, as if were a prize for winning a competition. Still, it was the whole troupe gathered there that felt out of place, not just those two thirsty plants. Aside from the naked, sunbathing, disinhibited rhizome, he was surrounded by 1. an armless rhizome donning Peacekeeper gear that was directly competing with her for his water 2. a third rhizome wearing a sleeveless bunny hoodie on top of Peacekeeper cargo pants and lower-body armor, squeezing a rabbit-shaped plushie in her arms 3. a human Peacekeeper in full tactical gear standing close to said bunny-obsessed plant gal, trying his best not to ogle the sunbathing rhizome 4. a one-eyed plant gal wearing an orange prisoner suit, high platform shoes and a necklace full of feathers, kneeling in front of a birdcage 5. a red-haired blind volcano in the same orange suit, just going around barefoot and grinning for the whole time and, finally, 6. someone that really fit the apocalyptic vibes of these days, donning a long red robe flowing over an overcomplicated mess of belts and body armor, made even more conspicuous by that gas mask of hers. And, yes, of course there were also the two pilots of the shuttle, jokingly pointing their fingers at him and Felce, plus two other Peacekeepers he had shortly seen around on the station, but never interacted with. All of them stood under the sun of the afternoon, in a sandy area with dry bushes close to a long, poorly maintained strip of black asphalt, with a complement of luggage and suitcases. The RSV that brought them down to solid ground was parked close by, the engines and heat shield still blazing hot despite the half an hour or so that had already passed. Some of the tiles that composed the insulation layer were charred and needed to be replaced, before the spaceship could get back into orbit. With no spares at hand and no way to access the spaceport’s workshop, the ‘reusable’ part of ‘reusable space vector’ had to be temporarily cut from its name, making it more like an SV. So, overall, there were twelve people from all walks of life, standing in front of a one-use space shuttle in the afternoon heat of a spaceport forgotten by man, with no personnel whatsoever and nobody guarding it at all. If that wasn’t enough to paint a bizarre picture, the two hummingbirds in Lacrima’s birdcage had woken up, chirping and buzzing around happily, basking in the sunlight. The sound of their wings made Dobrio think they had to be mini helicopters in disguise. Such a weird noise, for something so small. Still, Lacrima was all giddy while squatting in front of that cage, following the movements of the minuscule birds and never getting her eye off them.

“In natural light, their colors are even prettier! The patterns on Caro’s wings are so vivid! And look! Look at Vettor! He isn’t scared anymore, but he’s still a little confused! Awww, you can do it, little V! Were you born in space? In a capsule, maybe? Don’t worry, don’t worry! Everything’s gonna be fine!”

Vettor. Caro. Dobrio didn’t know how to take that. Lacrima, their house plant, named the two birds Caro and Vettor. The first two people in my life that gifted something to me – her words. That wasn’t necessarily correct, but he was relieved that she avoided calling the female hummingbird Mimi. If she went for it, it would have been pretty embarrassing for all parties involved. So, Vettor and Caro it was. When Lacrima triumphantly announced the names she settled for, he expected Mimi to break down at the mention of her dead aunt. Instead, she looked somehow grateful, contrary to all of his expectations. That made Dobrio feel better about the whole ordeal. Mimi had come a long way from the moment she found her stashed and unconscious in a body bag. It wasn’t even remotely the same person, from a certain point of view. Her dull, empty, unfocused eyes now had a shine in them, a spark, as if she finally found her bearing, a reason to push forward. And now, that determinate young woman was standing right in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. Dobrio felt her hand on his abs, slapping them gently as she did so many times before. An innocent good luck ritual, one of the many weird inside jokes they came up with after being flatmates and partners-in-crime for so long. Dobrio would have smiled too, if he could have. But, as things stood, Mimi had to smile for both of them.

“Have you seen my robe anywhere? I found my violin, but not my costume. The labels ain’t blind-friendly and I don’t know where to search…”

“If they didn’t throw it away already, you mean?”

“Throw my Kryzalid costume away?! Heck no! Why?!”

“Because there wasn’t much of it left, remember? Lily ripped it good in Aralu – that birch was hellbent in ‘unpacking’ you and was… well, very successful.”

Another slap on his abs, with an ever wider grin.

“Nothing you can’t fix with your magic sewing skills, amirite?”

“This will cost you two full cans of Laccy’s lymph.”

“Two cans?!”

“Huh-uh.”

“What does Laccy even have to do with it?!”

“You can’t expect me to extract lymph from her after that whole pity-party about how jealous our house plant is and how stupid you were to fuck another plant. So, congrats, you got the monopoly on her lymph release process and you gained a cute plant girlfriend!”

“…okay, fair, fair. But two cans?! Like, are you for real?”

“Yes. And no plant piss. You know I hate plant piss.”

“Oh, come on!”

Dobrio shrugged, used her head as a resting spot for his elbow, glanced at his finely cut nails, moving his other hand up and down in front of his eye.

“Well, you’re always free to sew a new costume for yourself.”

“I’m blind!”

“Not my problem.”

Mimi kicked his shin, only for her foot to recoil, her big toe to bend a little too much. She chuckled, patted Dobrio’s back.

“Okay, fine, fine. Laccy’s a bit dry now, her body’s still recovering from the iron bitch’s treatment. I’ll get your lymph as soon as she gets better and… she feels like it. Not gonna act if she’s not in the mood.”

Dobrio snapped his fingers, let his elbow rest on Mimi’s head a little longer.

“Good! I’ll deal with your cape then. Sew a new one from scratch, if needed.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

Mimi and Dobrio’s hands met, hooking each other’s pinky, with Dobrio altering his trajectory slightly to catch Mimi’s imprecise swing.

That’s when something clouded their vision. A shadow. Large. Looming over them. Obscuring the Sun. Slowly covering each and everyone of the twelve people standing in that abandoned spaceport. Dwarfing the (R)SV, the tarmac, the buildings around it, covering space itself with its imposing stillness. Silence. Awe. Fingers raised up. Dobrio turned around, looked at the sky.

His gaze was filled by countless plates of shining blue and white metal. Several sets of turbines and wings coasted a large shape, large enough to make him feel like an ant in front of an intercontinental rocket. He whistled in admiration, as more and more smaller shapes followed the main one, coming from behind the mountains, previously hidden by the sunlight itself. Dobrio waved his arm at the newcomers, pulled Mimi’s arm up to do the same thing.

In that precise moment, he remembered that New Netherlands wasn’t the only nation that wasted unbelievable amounts of money to build useless megastructures that were akin to giant PR vanity stunts. Atropos was considered a continental failure – the second biggest engineering blunder of the century. The first, the absolute winner of that competition, was flying in front of him, firing several reactors to just keep afloat in all its pompous presence.

Kaitos.

That large airship was none other than Kaitos.

The biggest and most expensive flying carrier ever created by man.

With no active deployments on record after the end of the test phase, fifty years earlier.

Never having flown outside of the Pangean borders even once.

Until that day, at least.

**

Lenarea Mariakidis didn’t know what to expect from the ragtag bunch of misfits that she was ordered to welcome. Yet, whatever she expected was far and far away from the reality she had to face. First off, the big guy. Robot face. One eye. Taller than her. Massive muscles. A standard New Netherlands prisoner outfit, but worn with a completely open jacket, flaunting abs and pecs of a gray color that felt absolutely unnatural. Then, the two women he was close to, both wearing the same style of prisoner uniform. One of them, the one wearing no shoes, was clearly blind, her eyes fixated on anything except what lay in front of her. The other was wearing a makeshift eyepatch, platform shoes and white feathers, while also carrying a cage with two birds. Then, of course, the Peacekeeper corps, including some of their trademark plant gals – one of which had been forcefully dressed before being carried to the living quarters of Kaitos. Lenarea felt grossed out by rhizomes. Those roots around their necks, the inhuman twitching of their vegetal matter. It was disgusting, horrifying. Still, she had ample time to prepare for it. What was weirder, was the man (woman?) standing in the center of the formation, looking more like a wasteland reject than a prisoner or a soldier. Nevertheless, orders were orders, so she was escorting that weird ensemble through the corridors of the carrier, trying her best to hide her disgust.

“We’ll need to verify your IDs, dudes. Don’t mess it up.”

Her mastery of the language of exchange was lacking, but she felt the need to try. After all, those failures behind her knew stuff about the nanos, stuff that could have avoided another base fifteen debacle. Stuff she desperately wanted to know.

“Wait! Is your name, by chance, Lenarea Mariakidis… as in, the deputy captain of the Niteowls unit?”

Lenarea slowed down in her steps, turned around slightly to locate the owner of that voice. One of the rhizomes, the silver-haired one that had no arms. Still, her eyes were shining, not unlike those of a kid before their nameday present. Lenarea frowned. Maybe, they fought as enemies on the field. Maybe, her arms were a casualty of a skirmish with her battalion. Or, maybe, it was a simple question of bitterness against an enemy elite squadron, one that snatched the country that plant called ‘home’. Nevertheless, she never once for a second considered not answering. The information these societal rejects had at their disposal could save thousands of human lives. A hasty reply it was, then.

“Yes, I am.”

The reaction of the rhizome was not among those she expected to witness. The armless young woman started hopping around like an excited bunny, almost emitting audible squees, under the confused gazes of literally everyone else – her companions included.

“Really? Really?! The elite pilot who flew through the Narid barricade and single-handedly destroyed fifteen Seraph Mk. III from Eastcol forces during the skirmish of Zarma?! You’re that Mariakidis?!”

Lenarea blinked slowly. Twice.

“…yes…?”

The rhizome kept talking in a shower of words, one that almost overloaded her sense of hearing.

“The Seraph Mk. II is, by all accounts, an inferior machine with limited maneuverability, but you make it move like a sky ballerina! And destroying fifteen Mk. III in one single battle with just the loss of the left arm is just amazing! Almost like Zaiken! Almost like that episode of Zaiken where he has to fight five empowered versions of itself, but stands up on top because of Raiho’s piloting skills! The man inside the machine! I had a model kit of the Seraph Mk. II smuggled through the Eastcol border and I painted like the Niteowl units! Aaaaah, to think I could meet you in the flesh!”

Suddenly, the rhizome’s eyes went dark, as she stopped hopping in place.

“Well… unfortunately my model kits are all gone – eaten by the nanos while I was in space. The only one I have left is Zaiken K-999. But… but if the world doesn’t end, I want to restart my collection and buy another Seraph Mk. II! If… if I manage to get one, would you… would you sign it for me, please?”

Lenarea stared at Agave as if she were in the presence of an alien or of a weirdly single-minded kid, gave herself some time to analyze the plant girl in detail. Aside from the bark covering her nose ridge and the tendrils coiled around her neck, she looked fairly similar to a human being, even too similar. That bout of excitement before was not something she was expecting from creatures made for war. In that moment, she almost felt like rhizomes had genuine feelings – far from the cold killing machines that Eastcol propaganda painted them as. Lenarea found herself in an impasse, not knowing how to reply to that starry-eyed green-blooded mockery of a human being. Fortunately for her, a silhouette at the end of the corridor attracted her attention, with a hand waving wildly.

“Captain Mariakidis, are the rhizomes already here? I have just finished setting up the mini-greenhouse, but you could have given me more…”

“Assistant.”

Her voice thundered among the metal walls, running over the man in a white uniform sullied by dirt in no time. The man gulped, put his hand down.

“Y… yes?”

“Good job.”

The man she called Assistant wiped his forehead, stared at the ceiling, almost feeling like deflating and falling to the ground in a pool of sweat. Still, something activated his danger receptors. The weird sensation of being watched. By three pairs of eyes, no less. He glanced at the group of people walking behind Captain Mariakidis.

And recoiled as soon as he realized whom these eyes belonged to.

“…Oi, Prim, ain’t that…”

“…Father’s lackey?”

“Oh, yeah, he totally is!”

Three rhizomes were intently staring at him. One was carrying a bunny plushie in her arms and leaning on a dark-skinned Peacekeeper. The second had branch stumps at the side of her head and flaunted an almost perfect tan. The last had bark around her nose and no arms.

Commander Primula.

Commander Felce.

Spec Ops Agent Agave.

He had met all of them.

Operated on at least two.

Was kicked in the ass by one.

The assistant gulped down his saliva, while the three plant women squinted their eyes at him, all at the same time, with their perfectly cute faces, their perfectly chiseled bodies, their perfectly defined proportions. And, all at the same time, he could feel all of his blood running down from his brain, causing him to recoil in discomfort.

Dr. Zonta would have been surely be proud of him.

And that made him shiver to no end.