Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #8 – Logic Assembly

“…and back. Aaand forward. Aaaand back again.”

It was dark in the lab (of course, it was), the only light coming from a set of displays, hanging on top of each other in a neatly ordered array. On one of them, the footage of the previous day, the warehouse raid that resulted in the loss of twenty Peacekeepers. Bad quality, low-resolution digital cameras. Yet, enough for the man sitting in front of the keyboard to enjoy himself, apparently.

“Aaand forward. Stop.”

The lab assistant shook his head, trying his best to ignore the annoying voice of his boss, someone that was better left to his own devices. Frankly, he didn’t even know why they had assigned him to work with such a – let’s call it – eccentric personality. Only that said personality, a skeletal figure with comically large sideburns who responded to the name of Dr. Graham Zonta, had explicitly asked for one extra person for a night shift – that night shift. If anything, it had been hard to understand why. In the past few hours, all he did was going back and forth through the tapes, watching them several times in a row – both those of the raid and of the renegade rhizome that caused a ruckus at Bargain Barricade. In that moment, the circular glasses of that tall weirdo of a scientist were reflecting the image on the central monitor, that of a blue suit to the point of turning into scraps of fabric. The instant just before it did, that is. Zonta turned a handle, one frame before, when the suit was still intact, then played it forward again. Intact. Ripped. Gone. He moved back and forth between the three states. First, the body of the rhizome was covered completely by it. Then, in less than one second, all what was left was her skin. Back again. Now to the suit of armor. Solid, unscathed. Then, cracked, then gone. The whole sequence played back from the beginning.

“Aaaaand stop.”

The frame fixated on the moment when the rhizome, now naked, covered herself with her hands in embarrassment.

“Save this frame and print it for me. A0, full color, highest quality settings, please.”

The assistant gave him a side eye.

“You… want me to print a low-resolution pixelated picture of a naked rhizome on a poster of that size?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because it turns me on.”

The assistant blinked. Twice. That man couldn’t be real. There was no way someone like him was the head scientist of the Peacekeeping Corps. It felt like talking with an alien of sorts, an alien with twisted morals and weird kinks. Said alien was smiling, his hands joined in front of his nose, his grin ecstatic. His fingers rummaged through the dashboard, pushing buttons and turning knobs.

“Back. And forward. And back.”

He tapped his index on the dashboard, massaged his chin with his other hand.

“Well, would you look at it. That lady’s a one trick pony. Though, a one-hell-of-a-one-trick pony, I must admit. Bravo. Truly impressive.”

His grin became, if possible, even wider, as his screen got filled with pages and pages of mathematical formulas, white letters on a peculiar desktop background – an animated picture with two pink-haired cartoon catgirls making love with each other. The lab assistant turned his eyes off that picture, a deep feeling of unease spreading through his mind. That wasn’t what he expected, when he applied for that vacancy in the science team, even though the red flags were all there from the beginning. Graham Zonta – the self-proclaimed chad geneticist, a man who showed up for a major prize wearing slippers and a not-safe-for-work t-shirt. In a way, it felt like meeting his professor of applied physics again. That was another guy in his fifties who filled his office to the brim with porn calendars, to the point that visiting him after the lectures was extremely unsettling – especially for his female students. Still, while he couldn’t choose his professor he could choose his workplace. And his choice had been wrong, from so many points of view. Now, he had to brace himself and ride the lightning. He gazed back at Zonta, at the continuous motion of his anorexic fingers, turning knobs left and right, rewinding, fast-forwarding, rewinding back. Till he stopped the video again, on the frame where the plasma knife started to crack.

“Look here, assistant.”

“I have a name.”

“Well, sucks to be you. I ain’t gonna remember it. Now, look here, assistant.”

Zonta pushed his index finger against the display, on the picture of the shattering knife.

“The cracks. They aren’t random at all. The follow certain fault lines. See?”

Forward. Back. Forward. Back. The cracks appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Drawing specific patterns, at least for the first few seconds. Before all order goes to hell and the blade breaks down into shards.

Fast forward.

The body armor now. The cracks. Back. Forward. Back. Disappear. Appear. Disappear. A pattern on them, for the first few seconds too.

Fast forward.

The suit. The blue fabric. Back. Forward. Back. The first rips follow regular lines, before tearing apart.

Back. Forward. Back.

A clothed rhizome. A naked rhizome. In the span of few seconds. In a process that looked more controlled destruction than anything else.

The assistant blinked at the screen, without really understanding. Zonta had a point. That wasn’t a pattern he would have expected from a sonic weapon. If anything, it should have vibrated violently before exploding due to resonance, but that…

“Assistant, you’ve watched that video of the lizard hit by a sonic cannon, yes? They show it to all biology undergrads, right?”

The assistant shivered. Seeing a lizard inflating and popping like a gruesome balloon after being traversed by pressure waves wasn’t something he could forget that easily, despite many years having passed. He nodded, trying not to linger too long on that mental picture. Zonta took notice of that silent reply, went on.

“Well, this ain’t it. I believe I understand it better, now. Maybe, that violin is no weapon of mass destruction. We were, as a matter of fact, bamboozled.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Of course you don’t. But it’s fine, I have enough acumen – and rizz – for both of us.”

A button pressed on the keyboard, a new window popping up. Schematic of weapons, of armor pieces, of tactical suits. Zonta recalled the data sheets, tables invading the screen, covering the love-making catgirls completely. His raspy voice continued his monologue, his finger touched the display over and over while new numbers appeared out of nowhere.

“Rhizomes are dangerous. They are above peak human. Regenerate fast. Hit hard. In a mano a mano with a human, the rhizome wins, steps on the human and smashes them under her perfectly crafted foot. So, you see, an armed and armored rhizome would be even more dangerous. That’s why we put a failsafe in all of their standard equipment. The plasma blade, the armor, the suit, even their frickin’ underwear – provided they wear it. If they don’t, it’s even hotter, but whatever.”

He zoomed on one table, tapped on red button. A new row appeared, with a series of numbers, all followed by two letters – Hz. The assistant squinted his eyes. Frequencies. They were all frequencies. All in the ultrasound range, all different, spanning a massive range. Zonta joined his fingers in front of his nose, as the figures mirrored on his glasses.

“The failsafe is, well, pretty dumb but it does the job: Every piece of equipment assigned to a rhizome can be remotely destroyed by sending a sound wave on a very specific frequency, in a very narrow band, for approximately five seconds. The frequencies we chose are not found in nature and, if they are, not at the intensity needed to trigger the breakage. My guess is that that violin is a cover up for a simple amplifier that produces exactly those frequencies, adding unrelated music on top of it as a nice way of masking it.”

Zonta grinned, brushed his sideburns.

“She almost had us. Emphasis on almost. Well played, Mimi. Well played.”

The assistant looked at the tables, glanced back at Zonta, then back at the tables. Before finally getting brave enough to ask the question that was lingering in his mind.

“But… why make even their suit and underwear break down like that?”

‘Because it turns me on’ was the answer he expected. After all, that was Graham Zonta, the man with a hard-on for plant woman feet. So, he didn’t even know why he asked that question in the first place. It felt like wasted time. Yet, something didn’t add up. Nobody would have shelled so many eas on making remotely-destructible underwear if there weren’t any deeper reason.

Or, at least, he hoped so.

Zonta didn’t even look at him, though. He kept observing the data, then back to the video. Forward. Back. Forward. Till finally starting to talk again.

“I’d love to say that we developed that only to satisfy my masculine urges, but there’s indeed a practical reason why. See, in all their might, rhizomes have a weakness. A crippling weakness.”

He snapped his fingers, pushed a button, calling up a new video. Better quality, a date from three years ago appearing on the display. The picture showed a blond rhizome, a rhizome that looked surprisingly like the one in the other video. Tendrils were wrapped around her neck and spine, around her chest and legs. She was curling in the corner of a room. Shivering. A soldier standing close, his rifle trained on her. Then, the shot. No bullet, though. A splash of something resembling water. Colorless. Liquid. The rhizome started crying, as her skin turned black everywhere the fluid made contact, as her bark, her tendrils burned, as her tears flowed down her cheeks. Zonta’s voice overshadowed the pain, the despair emanated from that video, a video the assistant couldn’t take his eyes off.

“We call it herbicide. It’s the only thing that make them wither and stops their regeneration. Spray them with herbicide and they’re done for. After their skin is burned with it, it’s dead. It can’t photosynthesize, it can’t absorb nutrients. Having forty percent of her body soaked in herbicide is a death sentence for a rhizome. I take it you understand now, correct?”

Zonta stopped the video, made it disappear from the display.

“Removing all of their protections and spray them with herbicide is the contingency plan. Every Peacekeeper has herbicide in their rifle. But it’s useless, if the rhizome’s skin isn’t exposed. So, we need a way to expose it quickly and thoroughly. Q.E.D.”

His finger raced back to the first video, to the breakage of Primula’s armored pads.

“That’s exactly how it would look like, if we pressed that switch. So, that blindfolded cow is just doing that, sending the right signal.”

Fast forward, the full destruction sequence played in slowdown again.

“…aaaand this rhizome isn’t wearing panties. That’s hot, you know. Can you play it again, from the start? For science, of course.”

“So that’s how we’re wasting the science team budget, Zonta?”

A powerful voice, coming from the door to the lab. The assistant jolted. In that sleepless night, there should have been nobody else on shift. And yet, there it was – a dark silhouette, slowly coming in through the shadows. The silhouette of a woman. Slim, at least one meter ninety tall, wearing a standard issue uniform. Pale complexion, long silver hair, one red iris. A white rose where her left eye should have been. And vines in place of her left arm. Zonta turned around on his rolling chair, clapped his hands.

“Lily, my dear! Ain’t it late for a morning flower like you? You should be resting in your pot, at this time of the night!”

A crashing sound. A boot slammed on the control panel, mere millimeters from Zonta’s hand. The scientist smirked, smiled at the woman that almost axe-kicked him without warning. A chuckle escaped his lips, words of jubilation too.

“Oh, Lagash, yes.”

The rhizome called Lily squinted her eye, retracted her leg, stared at him

“You creep me out, Zonta. But, unfortunately, I need you.”

“Zonta here, Zonta there… Can’t you call me daddy? I mean, am I not your dad, Lily?”

Lily turned around, noticed the assistant, his mouth agape, his eyes transfixed on her massive figure.

“Please, don’t take him as an example. He’s scum. If he didn’t have sponsors in high places, he would already have been found dead in an alley four times.”

“Five times. No, wait, six. That attempted murder with cyanide masked as bluepills was schnasty. It almost ruined my night. Almost.”

“Shame. Next time, I’ll be more thorough.”

Zonta smiled at that remark, joined his hands in front of his nose.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t you a feisty one, Commander? What did I do to deserve being given the cold shoulder by my most successful daughter?”

“You breathe. It’s something we can fix, of course – just not now.”

Her gaze turned to the displays, to the video of Prim’s equipment getting destroyed. Her pupil shifted up and down, moving around all the available screens, catching wind of the details.

“Any progress on that violinist?”

“In fact, yes. She’s a fraud. That rumored weapon of mass destruction? Just a remote control that triggered a failsafe in your little sister’s armor. A failsafe of the booooom type.”

Lily squinted her eye, glanced back at the main display.

“That can’t be all. Unless you’re telling me that our Peacekeepers have a… ‘failsafe of the booooom type’ in their bodies too.”

Zonta and the assistant looked at her, looked at each other, looked at her again. Then, Zonta shrugged.

“Well, huh, we’re still working on that part. But, hey – we made progress, right?”

“Enough that I’ll let you live, this time.”

Lily sighed, her eye fixated on Zonta.

“I was heading to my room, just thought about checking in because I saw the lights on. Good night, Zonta. Don’t make your grunt quit.”

“Nah, this pal is already buddy-buddy with me. He’s a chad in the making.”

Lily didn’t answer. She turned around, getting ready to leave the room. Till something attracted her attention. One of the displays. Free of windows. Just showing Zonta’s questionable animated desktop background. Her eye wandered on the picture, following the curves, the tails of the characters drawn in the act. She blinked once, twice, before finally addressing Zonta.

“I didn’t know you were into lesbian catgirl porn, of all things.”

To which Zonta snapped his fingers, pointing his indexes at her.

“I found this pic on your tablet during the last inspection, my dear. Classy, if I may. Or are you going to be a coward and deny it in front of your papa?”

“…”

If a stare could kill, Zonta would have dropped dead on the spot, turned into a gruesome paste of entrails, bones and nondescript biological matter. Instead, after piercing him with her gaze for what felt like a full minute, Lily simply walked away without saying a word, her steps echoing in the room, till they slowly died down in the corridor. Silence fell in the lab, only the humming of the machines, the sound of the computers. Till a voice broke it. The voice of the assistant.

“W… wasn’t that… huh, Captain Commander Lily of the rhizome unit?”

“In abs, booty and boots, yes. One meter ninety three of pure plant-based bonanza. My most resounding success.”

“Oh, Lagash, yes.”

The assistant inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. That mysterious figure made a number on him, awakened things he didn’t know could be awakened. For an instant, he felt like he understood Zonta, on an intrinsic level. Zonta, on his side, seemed to catch on that. A wide smile opened on his face, as he proffered his hand to the assistant.

“Congrats, fam. You’re chadder than I thought. You deserve some recognition.”

The assistant carefully weighed that statement, before accepting the handshake, reciprocating it as well as he could. The anorexic fingers of Zonta, his dried skin, were very unpleasant to the touch, to the point of almost making him regret that. Yet, now that the bridge was established, he could ask the follow-up question, the one nested in his soul the moment the rhizome entered the room.

“Why… does she have only one eye… and one arm?”

Zonta crossed his fingers under his eyes, his elbows spread like wings.

“There’s some old stories about a one-armed, one-eyed sword master lass from the old days. And, as a chad, I wanted to create something similar. Commander Lily’s design is based on that legend, yes? She got the sass too, which, oh Lagash, is perfect, right? I mean, I couldn’t waste my first rhizome design on a dud. She had to look cool. And she does look cool.”

He rolled on his chair, his attention returned to the monitors.

“But now, back to our thankless job. Lily’s right, human brains don’t have explosive failsafe systems – not that I know, at least. So, huh, that violin is still in need of further inspection. Well, whatever. I’ll let you review the gory parts. You know, the ones where the heads start to pop. That doesn’t turn me on at all, yes? And that’s why you’re gonna do it, assistant. Show me you’re a true chad. I’ll deal with the other matters at hand, instead.”

Zonta’s fingers moved on the knobs, on the buttons again. On his displays, a new video covered the animated background. A video from that afternoon. Portraying the renegade rhizome, the one that got away after slicing Felce like sushi. The assistant got a good glance at the screen, at the pale girl in goth black standing there, blade in hand. One eye. One arm. A connection started to form in his brain. A weird connection. Yet, the pictures were of too low of a quality to draw conclusions. So, he got back to his own display, to the gruesome human explosions he had to deal with. He paused the video before the first head popped open. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. A head. A cracked helmet. An explosion of brain matter. A cracked helmet. A head again.

Back. Forward. Back.

The assistant let out a heavy sigh.

If he survived that night, he would consider asking to be reassigned to another department. Weaponry. Tactics. Special operations. Heck, even being Captain Commander’s Lily’s doormat. A shiver travelled down his spine, arctic coldness freezing him, like a lake trapped by everlasting ice. That last thought made him feel something he didn’t want to feel. In his heart, that could mean only a thing – that Zonta and he were not that different.

And that thought made him wish to have never been born.