Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #55 – A Light in the Storm

Digital noise, slowly fading. A dark picture. Shapes. Lights, maybe. White spots puncturing the darkness, in what was once a well lit corridor. Now, unrecognizable. Different. Hostile to human presence. A flashlight shines, stops on a sign, a billboard of sorts. ‘Flight Deck’ is written on it. An arrow pointing left. Suddenly, another path, one unmarked. The camera floats for a while, before turning towards the unknown direction. Slowly. Slowly. Rows of machines, of pipes. Steam, even. Reflections on what should be the floor. Puddles of water, maybe. The drone proceeds in the uncharted area, the flashlight cutting through the shadows, moving from a blank display to the next.

Till the red spots.

Red spots that tower over the camera.

As a body stands up, tall, imposing.

The drone scrambles back, a data transfer progress shown on screen.

Then, what looks like a scorpion tail.

And the video feed stops.

“This is all the footage we retrieved from one of the lost drones from Operation Dead Recon. It managed to transmit it back to the joint network before being forcefully deactivated by… that unknown contraption, whatever it happened to be.”

A man in a celeste uniform, probably in his forties. A stick in his palm, a white glove covering his fingers. On the other side, a ceramic hand. Thumb, index, middle, ring, little. All of his fingers had been replaced with prosthetics, much like his right eye. His jet black slick hair complemented his olive complexion, only slightly darker than that of Captain Mariakidis. While he sounded fluent in the language of exchange, his accent was thick and made some words come out chewed, almost spat over. Nevertheless, each and everyone of his motions exuded a sort of elegance that didn’t belong to the military. General Kamilou Papanastasis, Deputy Chief of the Pangean Air Force, was, like many of his peers used to joke about, a man of older times that suddenly woke up in a society that moved faster than he could run. So fast he couldn’t catch up, leaving him stuck in a century long forgotten.

Robin wasn’t interested in that man, though. Robin was interested in the video. She had eaten every frame with her eyes. Every single frame of that footage already memorized in her solid state brain. Open corridors. New sections that were once sealed. The interior of Lagash as she never saw it before, not with her own eyes. But with the eyes of someone else? That wasn’t news. One of the elf that gave his life for her to escape had been there, as a part of a failed reclamation expedition. Even that elf saw the ship opening up, giving access to more of her innards. Yet, having an independent confirmation, one millennium later, was extremely valuable. The chances that the previous opening was a glitch became suddenly smaller. Instead, there was a concrete possibility that, between cycles, all the ‘prohibited sectors’ of the seedship opened up. The reason, though, was not all that clear. Even in her shared memory archives there was nothing that explained why that happened. The root cause could take a backseat in their specific circumstances, though: it was superfluous and not that important. What was important was that she could verify that the internal structure of the ship had not changed. Lagash wasn’t able or willing to scramble and reorganize her interior. That meant that the information stored in the gems was still current – position of the weapon control systems included.

“Maybe that thing… it was a sort of… antibody? Like, Lagash’s own immune system?”

Robin turned around to face the man who voiced that concern. It was the so-called Assistant, a peculiar fellow who decided to go by that name and that had apparently been snatched by Pangean troops as soon as he tried to cross the border. According to the tidbits of information Robin managed to collect from sparse dialogues and unsaid words, his motorbike was stashed with memory drives containing tons of redacted documents from the laboratory of Graham Zonta. Whatever his past was, that observation made sort of sense… provided that the seedship could be considered a living organism. All in all, it was a rather interesting hypothesis, one that never crossed her mind. Maybe, Lagash was really sentient. A giant creature in the shape of a starship, with an outer metal shell and a biological core. A space whale that ushered fertilized eggs in her belly, eggs that hatched into human beings. The vaults might have as well been part of an internal control process, one that steered humans to take care of the seedship and feed her. Then, once the last vault was opened, back to square one, in an endless loop that revolved around her, Lagash, the only unmoved mover of an eternal cycle. Robin’s hands closed around her gas mask, now leaning on the table after she was asked not to wear it. Showing her face to those ‘humans’ always made her nervous. They were so similar to her ‘humans’, but they weren’t the same. The gestures, the language, the appearance. Everything was almost correct, almost, except for small minutiae that made them fell into her uncanny valley. The same, almost the same, but not quite. She rubbed the emerald encased in her forehead, an emerald that was boiling with activity, recalling and reorganizing the memories of five other elves, melding them into a compressed unitary story, one that could fit her psyche without overriding it. Even if that process was working flawlessly, she had to quench her curiosity more often than not. The story of Remora and the robot kept living in a corner of her brain, knocking on the doors of her mind at irregular intervals. That story had no real ending: she never found out what was the ultimate fate of that iron giant, just that Remora and ‘he’ managed to spend some quality time together, before she died. Somewhere in Remora’s memory lay a remembrance of ‘his’ last moments. Yet, peeping into her sister’s records made her feel dirty, so dirty that she tried her best to focus on that meeting instead. The footage. Right, the footage. And General Papanastasis (was that even a name?). Yes. That was the focus.

“We do not have any concrete evidence of what ilk that troublesome contraption belongs to, Mr. Assistant, but perhaps we shall find more clues in a forensic examination of the videoclip in question. Nature of that unusual figure aside, I surmise there shall be no further questions?”

A hand rose up, accompanied by a thunderous voice.

“One, General.”

Lenarea Mariakidis pulled down her arm, crossed Papanastasis’s stare. Before aiming her finger at Robin, Mimi, Dobrio, one by one in a circular motions.

“Why are these foreigners here, listening to all of this? And why the plants too?”

“Because, Captain Mariakidis, we have ascertained that their information was worth the price paid.”

He tapped his finger on the table, the display behind him showed a new picture. An aerial capture of an ashen field, seen from above. And, in the middle of it, a compound surrounded by trees. Intact. Still standing. The last remnant of what once occupied that barren area. Papanastasis’s stick touched the curved surface of the screen, tapping on the small building.

“This facility, to which Station Commander Geiger sent the same information we’ve received, has survived direct contact with the swarm. Four hours after this picture was taken by our drones, a fleet of around twenty Eastcol VTOLs landed close to the building and extracted several individuals, devices and small pods. Our leading hypothesis is that the occupants of that compound have traded their knowledge for asylum and refugee status. Currently, the Eastern Coalition may have access to a degraded version of the intel we so gently received from our good friend on Atropos.”

General Papanastasis tapped his finger on the desk again. The picture changed, showing a bunker on top of a mountain, with a tortuous road leading to its only visible entrance. Around it, wreckage of several airplanes, some Seraphs too.

“Eastcol troops have also tried to seize the Panopticon Control Center by force one more time, not long after retrieving the intel about the ultrasound shield. Their first two attempts have ended poorly, but they are organizing a third expedition for tomorrow in the morning, according to our spies. They’ll deploy a squadron of seven Seraph Mk. III, as a last resort before bombing. Which is convenient for us, because it’s not that much of a hassle to deal with with the proper means.”

Mal snickered, rolled his eyes.

“Hear hear. No trust among allies, huh?”

Papanastasis simply shrugged.

“They spy on us. We spy on them. Nothing new. My good old acquaintance Vettor Geiger placed an informant among my men, before being sent to Atropos – and I placed an informant among his. It’s how international relationships go, Mr. Frijderik den Malstrom, simple as that. But, see, if the Eastern Coalition gets the upper hand, they will also be more forceful in the negotiations for the subdivision of New Netherlands – which is why we need to prevent them from taking over Panopticon.”

Mal gritted his teeth, slammed his fist on the table.

“Oh, yeah, so now we get to decide which side to bend to? How convenient! Do you, I dunno, offer better lubricant? ‘Cause, wow, that’s some big perks you’re giving us to spread our asses for you.”

Papanastasis looked at Mal, stared at him for a couple of seconds without saying anything. Before shaking his head, grumbling something under his breath. He tapped the desk again, caressed the stick among his fingers.

“I happen to be Crevenian like your Station Commander Vettor Geiger, even though generations of Pangean blood run through my veins. I have experienced on my skin what it means to be born under foreign occupation… and I’m not, in fact, advocating for you to experience that too. But this is a detail I shall go through later. What is of utmost importance is that Panopticon cannot be allowed to fall in Eastcol hands.”

Lenarea stood up, interrupted him.

“We can send them bastards back to Qianxhe in no time! Why aren’t the Owls flying already, General?”

“Because we’d cause an international incident, if we attacked our ‘prized ally’, Captain…”

Papanastasis snapped his mechanical fingers, stared at the crowd sitting in front of him.

“…but if, say, the attack were performed by a maverick group of surviving New Netherlands Peacekeepers coming in to help their comrades… who would ever blame Pangea for it?”

Prim nodded, squeezed Riri in her arms more, feeling the caress of its soft synthetic fur on her arms. All those words were very confusing. Too many complex concepts. Too many subterfuges. Yet, one thing was clear in her mind. They were going to be deployed. Together. To save Panopticon. Not as Pangean refugees, but as New Netherlands soldiers. It made some shreds of sense. At least, her new spear was almost ready, honed in the streams of lymph generated through her stay on Atropos, accelerated by the intimate contact with Mimi. It wasn’t enough yet, but it was a start. Three Peacekeepers, three rhizomes. A very small army, but one that might have been enough to deal with a Seraph squadron. Except one of the rhizomes lost both of her arms. And the other two didn’t have experience against flying targets. Still, there was a chance. That was all she needed to know. A chance to show she wasn’t just a useless excuse of a plant. A chance to show she didn’t deserve to be sprayed with herbicide. So, Prim stood up, keeping her plushie close to her chest.

“We’ll do it. You have my word as Commander of the Peacekeeping Corps of New Netherlands!”

“Prim?”

Mal’s voice broke down, his mouth gasping for air.

“Prim, what in the everlasting hell…”

“We aren’t useless! We need to show that we aren’t useless, Mal! Otherwise… otherwise…”

“Otherwise what? Who cares about Panopticon!”

“They care! And Commander Rysas cares!”

Prim turned around, glanced at the Pangean general.

“You’re going to give them asylum and refugee status too, right? To all of the Panopticon soldiers, correct?”

Papanastasis stared at her for a second, before nodding solemnly.

“That is indeed a chance.”

“No, not a chance. It must be certain or we aren’t doing it.”

Prim slammed her hand on the table, the plastic shook violently for the hit.

“I want your word in writing, General Kamilou Papanastasis of the Pangean Air Force! Your word that they will be free and won’t be arrested or persecuted!”

The general blinked, his artificial eye fixated on the fiery expression of the rhizome standing in front of him, a rhizome that didn’t think it twice before challenging him. A smile found its way through his face, a smile that warmed his heart, if a little.

“I have a better agreement in motion, one that – I am confident – shall be of your liking. But, for the sake of this argument, yes. You shall have my written word.”

Lenarea whistled, found herself captured by the fire, the energy that plant woman exuded. The Assistant couldn’t help but mutter something, while his mouth gaped in awe. Witnessing that show of determination, of unexpected strength made Mimi feel incredibly warm for a short moment, causing her to nervously fidget with her hair not to fidget with her lower body instead, keeping her hands occupied as much as she could. All while Lacrima wrapped her vines around her, pulling her closer and causing her sudden warmth to shift significance in the blink of an eye.

“One second.”

In the midst of that silent choir of approval, Robin stood up too with her arms crossed, wearing a serious expression.

“Why waste time on Panopticon? With New Babylon gone, it doesn’t even have any tactical value, right? Isn’t that useless? We should focus on the seedship instead!”

Papanastasis nodded, returned her gaze.

“Indeed. But, see, Panopticon is a key pawn to that end.”

Another click on the map, another change of location.

An aerial view of the seedship. Of the ashen fields. Dotted by countless points. Spires, seen from above. Dozens of them.

“Your ultrasound shield exclusively functions if the spires do not retransmit the signals from Lagash. At the present moment, their numbers are impressively large and their replication rate too. With our dwindling forces, we cannot destroy them faster than they are constructed. So, before we can talk about boarding the ship, we need to force her to focus her resources on a different objective, a decoy if you want… such as defending the antennas from a massive coordinated assault.”

“…and how, if even your bombers aren’t enough for it?”

“Oi, Greeny-greens, it’s clear as day.”

Felce wore her best grin, rested her elbow on the table, drawing circles on the plastic with her finger.

“One word: Nemo.”

Silence fell again in the small room. A silence broken only by Mal slapping his forehead hard with his hand. Of course. Of course that delusional conspiracy-obsessed idiot would get there. Nemo. Nemo, of all things. Only someone like Felce could have really believed those rumors. And, of course, Felce was gloating like the moron she was about her absolute crackpot take, under the perplexed gaze of both General Papanastasis and Captain Mariakidis. Not content with that, she kept talking, much to Mal’s chagrin.

“A secret array of satellites built with non-vault tech, effectively disconnected from the rest of the comnet and transmitting only on a secret encrypted channel! It was part of the Panopticon project from the veeery beginning – the ‘mauve files’ leaked thirteen years ago don’t lie! And the reason is… that the Nemo satellites are orbital railguns for precision space-to-ground strikes! It’s how Gariam van Groken and his bodyguards were killed! Their plane was struck down by a huge white bolt from the sky! It was no lightning, it was a shot from the Nemo system!”

She pointed her finger at the general, put her foot on the desk.

“Ha! HA! Now I get it! You wanna unleash Nemo on the ashen field, in a rain of cosmic fire! That’s it, right? That’s your ultimate goal! And…”

Suddenly, she felt a force pulling her back. More than one force. Mal was grabbing her left arm. Agave’s tendrils were pulling her right arm. Prim was dragging her down by her belly. The latter’s voice roared inside the room, overshadowed Felce’s groans.

“E… excuse her, General! She’s too impressionable! She didn’t mean to lack respect! She’s just…”

“…she’s correct.”

Once again, silence fell like a heavy curtain on the room, for a completely different reason. All eyes were focused on the general, who was clearing his throat, looking at the people standing in front of him.

“That’s exactly what we want to do, right to the point. A rain of cosmic fire on the ancillary growths.”

Mal’s mouth fell down open.

“…wait, so… huh, Nemo exists?”

“Indeed.”

“…and… and it’s still operational.”

“Very much so.”

“Huh.”

“We got all the relevant information right after former Prime Minister ad interim Max van Barens signed the unconditional surrender. Very nifty toy. I wish we knew about it sooner.”

Felce blinked, her expression between dumbfounded and triumphant.

“…wait, so… Nemo… huh, Nemo really exists? I… that was…”

She pumped her fists to the sky, fell on her knees on the ground, laughing mad.

“That theory was right?! HAAAAA! Suck it! Suck it all, losers! Look who knew it! Look! The Nemo! The Nemo system is reaaaaaaal! HA HA HA! HA HA! HA HA HA!”

Prim, Mal, even Agave turned around, staring at the floor, even more confused than before. None of them felt like looking towards Felce. None of them felt like being grazed by her ‘I said it’ gaze. Still, they had to stare up as soon as General Papanastasis began to talk.

“It’s the main reason why we can’t allow it to fall into Eastcol hands. That would be… too dangerous for us. For Pangea.”

He tapped the desk one more time, showing the entrance gate to the seedship, now broken and shattered.

“But, if we play our cards well, we will be able to send a small strike force through the main gate, while Lagash is too busy dealing with the cover fire from Nemo.”

His eyes stopped on Robin, on Mimi, on Lacrima behind her.

“And that’s where you lot come into play.”