Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #70 – Confluence

The lights flickered. The displays exploded in a shower of plastic sawdust, as the Eastcol armored troops opened fire on the crew members of Lagash, in a coordinated concerto of continuous gunfire. The black bodies riddled with holes more and more, red fluid spraying out of them. Yet, not enough. They were still moving. They were still attacking, swinging their tails and their spider legs, watching the soldiers through their iridescent blood eyes. All to protect their leader – that massive, imposing figure standing at the center of the control room, coiled in her wires, in the tangle of tubes surrounding her body. Her. Xaviella Rubico. The one and only Captain of the seedship. Of course the Eastcol soldiers didn’t know it. They didn’t know who she was. Just that she had to be the leader of the pack of monsters attacking them. So, they focused fire on her, shredding her outside shell, all while dodging enemy attacks, falling back behind their shields, rescuing the fallen Pangean personnel.

A crew member broke formation, leapt on the soldiers, spreading his spider legs all around like the beams of an umbrella, ready to pierce all of his targets at once.

Half of them broke in one instant, cut on the left side. The other half broke a second later, cut on the right side. The now legless figure slammed on the floor, bounced on it, scraping its surface with its claws, raising its gaze to understand what hit him, from where, when. And seeing two women looking down on him. A taller one, a shorter one. Both with white hair. Both with flowers replacing their right eye. Both staring down at him. One wielding a massive black sword, one that shone in the faint light of the displays. The other brandishing an incandescent plasma knife. He started remodeling his body, sprouting new legs out of the stumps, all while flailing his tail at the two. Only for both of them to jump over it, leap into the air. And sink their blade into his external shell, triggering all of his pain receptors. The crew member writhed, shrieked, twisted around, shaking them off. And another tail swung at them, another biomechanical creature covering for the first, helping it against the two rhizomes.

Lacrima landed back on the floor, balancing herself on her platform shoes. Lily touched the ground close to her, absorbing the impact with her vines. They stared at each other for a long second, their red irises meeting and exchanging grudges like bolts of lightning. Lily smirked, while casually swinging her massive blade down.

“You should have stayed on Atropos, half-pint.”

Lacrima gritted her teeth, crunched her fist around the hilt of the plasma blade.

“And we should have let you die by the swarm.”

“I can’t hear you from up here.”

Before Lacrima could retort, Lily sprinted forward again, ready to slash through the crew members once more. Lacrima didn’t wait a second longer and dashed forward too, raising the output of the plasma blade to the maximum. One rhizome on the left, the other on the right. Slashing through metal and wires, through flesh and pipes, in an uncoordinated, synced dance. A scorpion tail swung towards Lily, from her blind side, almost catching her off guard. Almost. Because Lacrima’s blade cut through it, burned through the skeleton, severed it completely. Lily leapt in the air, extended her vines, wrapped the body of a crew member, used it as the fulcrum of her aerial twist. The momentum shifted, turned around. The moment Lily landed, the crew member was dragged by her net, thrown away like a rag doll. The massive body slammed on the ground, hitting others of its kind, forcing them to fall back. Lily smirked again at Lacrima.

“I see you got a new rose. Is it made out of plastic? Nice replica, by the way – for a moment I thought it was real.”

This time, it was Lacrima’s time to smirk in response.

“It is real! My Mimi watered me till it bloomed again! She did it all! Night! Long!”

To which Lily fell into an uncomfortable silence, before brandishing her blade one more time, cutting off the legs of another crew mate. Mimi and Lacrima. Lacrima and Mimi. Why. Why did that human’s involvement with her sister made her so irrationally, unreasonably angry? The idea of Mimi and Lacrima exchanging fluids left a sour taste in her mouth, a bad taste she tossed away by driving her blade into the body of another crew member. Only to be hit in the belly by its tail, being flung back on the floor. Till Lacrima came down with her plasma knife, forcing the creature to step back. Lacrima breathed. Inhaled. Exhaled. They were going at it for minutes now, but those biomechanical monsters that called themselves ‘the crew of Lagash’ had not sustained any significant losses. Every severed limb was regenerated. Every time their tail was cut, a new one grew. The only difference was the red fluid pouring out on their frames more and more, staining their blackness with blood-like traces. No progress. No real progress. No decisive strike. The crew members were also quite slow, sloppy even. As if they were playing. As if they were simply trying to preserve energy, knowing they were going to win the long game. Lacrima gauged her lymph reserves. She was still topped up, almost to the point of triggering phytomorphosis. So, she diverted the flux to her left ‘arm’, reinforcing it, making her vines thicker, more robust. A careful contrast of checks and balances – the only way to play the lymph game. She glanced at Lily, tried to ascertain her situation. Even if her sister were boasting an impressive resistance, there was a chance she wasn’t as good as balancing her lymph levels. Contrary to her expectations, though, Lily seemed still at the top of her game, not even breaking a sweat. It was as if she had reached a control of her body that was on par with Lacrma’s, something she didn’t know it was possible. Lily noticed her prying gaze, a gaze begging for answers. And the answer came, with an even more boastful tone.

“You aren’t the only one who’s been watered regularly, you know?”

After which, she dashed forward once again, swinging her blade in a wide horizontal slash, keeping the biomachines at bay. Lacrima growled, jumped up, using Lily’s shoulders as a launchpad. Leaping in the air, she spread her vines, grabbing one of the crew members by the neck, carving its shell with her plasma blade. The construct slapped her away with its tail, repelling her assault, forcing her to back down. That’s when she noticed a group of three of them, gazing at her, at Lily, turning up on their back legs, baring their chests. Opening up.

That sound.

The sound of Robin’s gun.

Three times over.

In that moment, Lacrima’s instinct took a hold of her, like an automatic reflex. She triangulated her position, the direction of the three barrels, calculated a way out, all in a fraction of a second. With one long step, she dashed out of their trajectories, letting her body take the lead, guide her reactions.

Just as the white beams burst out, blinding everyone in the room with their shine, burning through the air at impossible speeds. Two Eastcol soldiers were melted on the spot by the convergence, another saw her arm burning and disappearing in a cloud of ash. Before being blasted off by the shockwave, a shockwave that crushed her organs with the pressure of a falling truck. Lily didn’t realize it. Didn’t see it coming. Not fast enough. The noise triggered some memories, memories of a similar weapon, caused her to react – even if too late. She dashed out of the line of fire, avoided two of the three beams. But the third met its target. And cut through her vines, charring them, ripping them away from her shoulder, cracking her armor, breaking pieces of it, burning the fabric, stripping her belt, her shoulder pad. The shockwave sent her flying, with more and more of her armor breaking down, losing shards out of her pectoral and leg protections, with her pants and shirt covered in gashes and holes. Lily bounced on the floor one, two times, before finally managing to halt her own momentum. She punched the tiles, gritted her teeth, cursed. Her shoulder twitched, turned, writhed. New vines sprouted from it, coated in green slime, slime that was dripping all over the place. She breathed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Her lymph flowed through the damaged arm, repaired more and more of the vegetal matter, created new appendages to mingle with the rest of her grove. She stood up, using her sword as a crutch, threw away her back armor, let her spine tendrils rip through her clothes, to wrap her like the legs of a titanic spider. If that was the game they wanted to play, she would have had no qualms in paying them with the same currency.

A metallic sound behind her, almost imperceptible. Almost. Not enough. Lily turned around, swung her blade in a wide arc, slashing her attacker in its frame, gashing it open. The crew member landed close to her, their red eyes burning like blazes, the wires and tubes starting to close the wound.

But Lily’s roots were faster.

They pierced through the open frame, bit the flesh, delved into it. And started sucking. The crew member pulled back, flailed their head, wailed, tried to accelerate their frame repairs. Yet, Lily’s tendrils were already in, taking out water, nutrients, transferring them to their new owner. Two other crew members leapt from the ceiling, swinging their tails at Lily in a joint effort to free their comrade.

A sharp, blazing trail stopped them before they could land, cut away their legs in one fell swoop.

Lacrima.

Lacrima was standing there, between them and Lily, brandishing her plasma knife, a plasma knife that was slowly fizzling out, showing cracks. All while her sister was killing that creature that once was human, gorging on his body fluids, relishing in that inebriating feeling.

The two wounded crew members stepped back, took some distance from the two rhizomes, bared their cannons. When the noise reached Lily’s ears, her tendrils retreated, left their meal in the middle, made her move to the side of the room. Lacrima went in the other direction, without even thinking. And the beams shone once again, thrashing more and more displays, cutting the ceiling, burning through machinery. All to help one of them survive. All to let one of them be rescued.

Rescued from a monster.

A creature that had nothing of human, except for her appearance.

An apex predator with a white flower sprouting from her eye socket.

An apex predator that was standing in front of them.

Licking her lips at the prospect of draining them all dry.

**

Robin stopped to catch her breath, as she stepped into the room at the end of the corridor. That was it, that was their goal – the seedship’s weapon control center. Myriads of screens and keyboards, hundreds of buttons and connectors, dozens of warning signs plastered around the walls. Humming noises and beeps, a constant, chaotic background. There were countless terminals on the left side of the room, some switched on, some blinking in an unsynchronized choir of lights. Something else was blinking, though. The gem encased in Robin’s forehead was pulsating, once, twice per second. Brighter, then dimmer, then brighter, all while sweat dotted her skin, all while her breath became more and more ragged. She closed her eyes, massaged her temples. Of all the times it could happen. Of all the times. She knew it was inevitable. She knew that it was the only possible conclusion. Still, she hoped that weren’t the case. While knowing exactly what caused it.

She shook her head, pulled out her gun, glanced at the energy levels. One shot left before reloading. Reloading on Lagash was not an option, so that really meant ‘just one’. She holstered her weapon back, tried to focus, to distract her mind from the headaches, from the pain that was assaulting all of her senses. Even the air seemed colder, with patches of her skin experiencing heightened responses to outside stimuli. She touched her cheek, as an automatic reflex to that strange oversensitivity. Her data lines. Her data lines were glowing too, warming up, cooling down in tune with the pulses. She gritted her teeth, somehow relieved that Chris was almost blind and couldn’t see her in that state. The only saving grace of dealing with someone with faulty eyes – being able to hide information that could have compromised their mission. So, she endured the shivers, the migraine, reached for what looked like a main terminal. That ‘human’ from before was clearly protecting it from intruders. If more of them were there, they would have stormed the corridor as soon as they noticed ‘him’ not coming back. ‘Human’. Robin didn’t share that detail with the Pangean, with Chris. Telling them that the massive biomechanical monster they faced was, in truth, governed by a millennia old human brain would have caused too many complications. So, she did what she had been always good at – bending the truth.

She turned towards the people that followed her, stared at them for a long second, nodded weakly.

“A… alright, we’ve done it. This is the weapon control center.”

She stumbled, almost lost her balance, recovered it before falling. Her heart pounded faster and faster, as vertigo struck her. She bent forward, her hands pressed on her knees, her breathing ragged. The gem on her forehead blinked furiously, without a pause. Still, she stood up again, trying to keep her body under control, at least for a couple minutes longer. A terminal opened in front of her eyes, one with several familiar plugs – second vault tech. Robin reached for one of them, her fingers danced on the board, trying to find a common interface.

An image flashed in her mind.

The memories of McAllison, watching the same controls. The memory of his implants connecting with the correct plug. Memories that were now part of her. Like those of Ray. Or Remora. Of all the owners of the crystals she interfaced with. A copy of their experiences had been uploaded into her core. She was still Robin, but they were now with her, wherever she was, whatever she watched.

McAllison’s manipulators moved around the controls too, pushing buttons, starting data transfers, managing the ship’s defense systems, steering the cannons. All of that in an instant, running through Robin’s brain like a fast-forwarded movie – a sequence of pictures without beginning or end, looping around an action. She retched, covered her mouth, almost puked. Vertigo. Vertigo again. She coughed, breathed, coughed again. Her knees trembled, almost causing her to fall. Till she felt something else. Something warm, on her chest. Chris’s arms. Holding her tight. Her forehead pressed on her nape. Her voice weirdly low, quiet.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice it, Robbie?”

Robin didn’t let that question sway her. She kept focusing on the keyboard, on looking for the correct plug, browsing through McAllison’s memories. Still, Chris didn’t let her go.

“…what’s happening to your body?”

She finally found the right plug, reached for her neck, pulled out a cable.

“Robbie?”

Robin connected it to the main board, pushing it in until the housing locked it steadily.

“…Robbie…?”

“Shut up!”

Robin shoved her away, gritted her teeth, turned towards the keyboard. Of all the moments, now. Of all the moments she could have worried for her, now. That didn’t make things easier. Scraps of Remora’s existence, of her time together with her loved robot, hijacked her brain once again. Robin shook her head, recalled McAllison’s experiences, played them instead. His neural matrix. That was the credential. She had to replicate it, send it through the connector, make the system believe she were McAllison. That was her only chance to take ownership of it and steer it. She coughed. Blood poured down her lips, dripped on the control panel. Her eyes were wet. Her forehead completely covered in sweat. That was the most delicate part. She couldn’t think about anything else. She couldn’t allow Chris’s warmth, her sudden concern, to distract her. Even if she wasted her last chance to feel what Remora felt. Even if she had no way to live her own story.

A terminal connection opened in front of her eyes, exchanging data with her brain. Lagash’s main control system. Still protected by layers of biometrics, of extra security. Layers she had to strip one by one, using the content of McAllison’s mind. Because he knew how to do it. Every crew member of Lagash had to know how to do it. Their rule. A rule she was exploiting to the best of her abilities.

That’s when the noise struck.

Another door to the room.

Opening.

The hissing sound of the compressed air locks.

Red lights flashing from behind them.

Bodies with too many legs, too many arms.

Black metallic frames.

White expressionless faces.

The Pangean soldiers recoiled. Kryzalid went for her violin, almost immediately, as soon as she noticed the first odd vibrations. Robin shouted at them, cried from the bottom of her lungs.

“Ensign! Quick, take this!”

She browsed her pocket, took the memory crystal of McAllison out of it, threw it to the soldier. The ensign grabbed it in his hands, stared at it for an instant, then back at Robin.

“Go back to Kaitos! Tell your bosses that everything is there – the key to everything! Second-vault standard! They have to find a way to read it! Now, go! Run!”

“But…”

“Run!”

As nightmarish spiders stormed the room, crawling on the walls, leaping down from them, the surviving Pangean soldiers ran back to the corridor, shooting at the creatures, trying to slow down the advance of the biomechanical monsters. Bullet holes riddled the frames of the ones in front of the pack. Red fluid poured out of their frames, their momentum unaffected.

Then, the music started.

And the first arm exploded in a cloud of sawdust.

Then, another arm.

Then, a leg.

The creatures stopped, turned their focus away from the soldiers. Something wasn’t right. Something was amiss. That violinist. That violinist with opaque eyes, dancing around the room in her tattered cape.

Was the cause of it.

As the attention of the pack turned to Kryzalid, Robin took out her gun, aimed at the ceiling. Her hand was shaking, her whole arm was shaking. Shivers running through her body, her muscles barely following her orders. She gasped, her forehead was burning, her gem blinking even faster now. One shot. One last shot. That was all she needed. She pulled the trigger, kept the finger down. The noise, that familiar noise, grew louder, echoed on the walls, bellowing like a wild beast. Before the white light exploded, flashing in the dark, piercing the ceiling. Causing tiles, debris to break down and yield to the will of gravity. Causing pipes to rupture, wires to break. Causing heavy machinery to lose its anchor. Causing all of that to fall in front of the corridor.

Sealing the way out.

Putting the soldiers out of harm’s way.

Trapping Kryzalid and her in a room swarming with crew members.