Chapter Text
Nýr heimur. (A new world.)
A part of Elma’s heart dies when she discovers the heart of the Lifehold Core, flooded and destroyed beyond repair. By all accounts, all humans inhabiting mimeosomes should be dead. Their minds, incapable of functioning. Their memories, their personalities, their everything - buried beneath the Miran seas, a sunken fossil. And she, lone creature of space, the only one left to sing their song of life. She’s already had to bear the weight of her own kind’s extinction. She’s not ready to confront the possibility of a second one.
But humanity still stands, amidst the flooded wreckage. No one shows any signs of deterioration or disconnect. Elma speaks her theory for all to hear, but does she really believe it herself? Is she grasping for an explanation that doesn’t exist? For the time being, she focuses on conducting her report, relaying her information to BLADE HQ. They’ll want her theories, surely, but now’s not the time to speculate. She needs to collect data. Approach this as she always has: with intellect. With a calmness befitting her status.
She only allows herself to dig deeper after the mission concludes, after she’s checked in with Secretary Nagi and Commander Vandham. She walks into the barracks, praying that they’re empty, that she’ll be able to process everything alone. Some god must’ve taken pity, because Elma approaches the island counter and finds a lovingly written holonote:
Had a surprise engine module test, took the potato with me. Pon’s still on cleanup. Dinner’s in the fridge!
~ Lin
Elma smiles, leaves the holonote on the counter. Sure enough, there’s beef stew in the fridge. She heats it up, takes some tentative bites at the counter. A little heavy on the kyatara onions, but she doesn’t mind the extra sweetness. She’s never been a picky eater when it comes to human food, or even when it comes to food made from Miran ingredients.
She doesn’t go past those first few bites, however, too distracted to finish her meal. Elma takes out her comm device and starts digging into the mission files, data logs anything she can get her hands on relating to Mira’s possible involvement. It’s just a hunch, of course, but she wants to believe she’s got a strong intuition. Even if that intuition hurts. Even if it means she’s pointing the gun at Lao, traitor to his kind. Even if Lin’s standing in her way, begging her not to shoot.
Even if Pongo stands by Lin’s side.
Pongo.
Elma’s rookie, Interceptor. Registered as a Bastian Warrior, equipped most commonly with dual guns and a photon saber loadout. Elma had found him in a lifepod previously recovered in Starfall Basin. He’d stumbled, mirrored her movements, thrown an assault rifle at a blatta. He didn’t speak a single word until he was prompted to join BLADE, pick a division. He was timid, back then. An empty shell.
But he’s grown in leaps and bounds since that day. He’s outgoing, empathetic, wise beyond his years. Elma considers herself lucky to have him on her team. He’s a shoulder to lean on, a shield to duck behind when the going gets tough. He’s done so much to support them in such a short time.
Yet Elma knows nothing about him. Nothing about where he’s from, who he used to be. The MMC diagnosed him with severe mimeosomic stasis amnesia - untreatable by their hands - which leaves more questions than answers. Pongo doesn’t remember his life on Earth. Doesn’t remember if there’s a life on Earth to remember. There are clues, but no certainties, and having no concrete evidence unsettles Elma. She needs answers. She breathes resolution.
Elma grinds her teeth, lowering her comm device. She needs to focus. Humanity needs her, above all else, and she’s determined to figure out how everyone’s still alive. Whether it’s the planet, diligent coding, some other unseen cosmic force - she needs to know.
The barracks door slides open with a hiss, announcing a newcomer. Elma looks up, expecting to see Lin and Tatsu, or perhaps Pongo, home from his cleanup mission. The Interceptors have all been hard at work dismantling the remaining Ganglion bases; the five continents house so many splintered factions that tracking them all down has proven a considerable challenge. He hasn’t gotten much time to himself recently, yet he connects with Elma as much as he’s able. Last she heard, he was stationed in Oblivia, just outside Jair Fortress. Maybe he’s back early, or maybe he’s been reassigned and needs to stock up on supplies.
“Well, if it isn’t Elma! Just the lucky horse we were hoping to ensnare!”
L steps around the corner, eyes bright and smile warm. Elma grins halfway; she hadn’t expected L to drop by. He’s been busy, too, with his shop in Armory Alley. “L,” she says, “what a pleasant surprise. Is there something you need?”
“Indeed, we need!” L circles the couch, making himself comfortable. Elma joins him on the adjacent couch, giving them both space to breathe. “We wish to converse about a matter of utmost importance. We’ve heard quite the displeasurable rumor about your precious Lifehold Core. Is it true that it’s drowned?”
Elma hesitates. It’s dangerous, divulging this kind of information. But it’s already made its way into a rumor, and L’s a trusted companion. And I can pick his brain about the potential causes, she thinks, especially if the Lifehold Core’s limbo has something to do with the planet’s composition.
“It’s true,” Elma explains. “The Reclaimer team I was assigned to found the data center completely flooded. Those databanks housed all of humanity’s codings. Since it was destroyed, no one inhabiting a mimeosome should be alive right now.”
“Yet the city remains populated,” L says, “and no humans have fallen flat!”
“It’s troubling, that’s for certain. We’re trying not to incite panic, so I trust you’ll keep this information private. As of right now, BLADE HQ has no definitive answers on how this is possible. However, that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to formulate my own theories.”
“How so, if we may be so boldened to ask?”
“I have a suspicion that the planet itself is involved. There’s so much we don’t know about Mira and its properties, and even though we’ve invested so much research into understanding its ecosystems and resources, there’s been gaps in our perception. The miranium research committee, for one - the committee hasn’t made a significant breakthrough since Jericho’s team discovered the altered states of matter. We’ve been sending BLADEs to every continent, mining it for our technological divisions, but beyond that, there’s no data I can directly reference to confirm -”
She cuts herself off. L raises an eyebrow, curious but silent. Elma recollects herself as a memory comes to pass. Violent screaming, starlight bleeding from his eyes and mouth. Miranium digging into his open wound, stitching his new arm together from the cracked Oblivian ground.
Elma steels herself before she verbalizes her conclusion. “Well, there is something else I could reference. Something that hasn’t been logged in any official reports. I have questions that you might be able to answer in relation to this, but you have to promise that this conversation won’t leave this room.”
“We swear with solemn fingers,” L marks his heart with crossed fingers.
“This happened months ago, on the mission where we discovered the Ma-non,” she explains. “We rescued a group of Ma-non from the Ganglion, but one fired a shot at Tatsu. Pongo ran to him and took the blow, but it severed his left arm. Lin went to disrupt his nervous system and reduce his pain, but before she could…”
She takes a deep breath, trying to hide how the air shakes on her exhale. “I’d never seen anything like it before. It was like the earth rose to meet him. Miranium entered his wound and regrew his arm, and afterwards, he collapsed. He didn’t remember any of what happened when he woke in the MMC, but he noted that functionality in his left arm was impacted. It was as if his body had partially rejected the miranium arm, somehow.”
Elma cuts herself off; she’s never been one to ramble. More than that, however, she finds herself analyzing L’s reaction. His blue skin has lightened a considerable shade, his eyes wide. His fear radiates off of him in unnatural plumes, so different from his usual bravado.
But it’s not the first time she’s seen him scared.
There was their initial venture into Noctilum after receiving reports of possible White Whale debris. They’d met up with Lao, had him tag along after completing his duties with his team. Sunlight streamed through effervescent flora, humidity clinging to their armor and sweat dripping down their faces. The grass beneath their feet swayed with every step, and the rocky walls heightened around them as they traversed a narrow path.
Along that path, they met L for the first time. Pongo had darted in front of Lin, despite her protests. Elma hadn’t drawn her weapons yet, but was cautious, observant. Tatsu was the first to speak to him, and L offered his apologies for spooking them. He reassured them he wasn’t with the Ganglion - he was a Miran native, on a fantastic expedition to collect the wealth of human knowledge that had fallen from the skies. He was L’cirufe. He gave no reason to be fearful, no reason to turn tail and run the other way.
But L had been scared too, that day. Elma remembers the flash of panic in his eyes, how his fingers curled and flexed at his sides. All because…
“L,” Elma says carefully, “is Pongo connected to Mira, somehow?”
L freezes. The same panic overwrites his features, though he tries to mask it behind his trademark smile. She doesn’t need verbal confirmation, witnessing his reaction. One question answered, yet the floodgates have been thrown open. She isn’t scared of drowning, but she will admit to being intimidated. She allows the silence between them to build, for L to form a response, because she doesn’t know the words to absolve his anxieties.
“Not as he once was,” L finally mumbles.
“How so?” Elma pries.
L uncrosses his fingers, puts his hand to his chin in thought. “Well, where to begin…the compound you speak of - miranium - is a direct creation of the planet itself, able to warp between different states of matter as you’ve described. However, it can only do so under the planet’s guidance utilizing a specific etheric connection.”
“The planet’s guidance,” Elma repeats. “You mean to imply that Mira is sentient?”
“Of course!” L replies, taken aback. “For a planet to possess the ability to create and sustain life, it must possess a mind with which to create and sustain life.”
“Does that mean all of Mira’s life is composed of miranium?” She asks.
“Indeed it is!” He clarifies, clapping his hands together. “We believe the wise Bozé once spoke of a human concept: namarupa. Are you familiar with such a phrase?”
“I admit I’m unfamiliar, though it sounds Buddhist in name. Makes sense, given Bozé’s faith.”
“This word was used to describe the connection of mind and body,” L explains, “mentality and physicality. Miranium, to us, is the physicality of being.”
“And the mental?”
“We refer to this as aidoneum. This, too, is nurtured and gifted by the planet, and is what determines life and soul in each individual creature.”
“So all Miran entities are comprised of miranium and aidoneum, and as such, they’re codependent on each other. For Mira to create life, one cannot exist without the other.”
“Quite! My, Elma, you’re certainly a hare in a race against tortoises!” L smiles, pleased with Elma’s understanding. But he deflates, readjusting his posture. “But we must square around to your initial inquiry. We are of the belief that Pongo was once composed of both miranium and aidoneum, as a creation of the planet. But when we rested our wearied eyes upon him in Noctilum, we were able to recognize that his soul had lost the aidoneum connection. It once thrived within him, as it does in all life on Mira, but…but it was severed. Hardly a trace or tell remained.”
Elma scowls, catching on. “But that would mean Pongo shouldn’t exist. For him to be Mira’s creation, but the aidoneum severed…you’re saying he shouldn’t be alive.”
L’s eyes glaze over, and Elma recognizes that she’s lost this thread. That he won’t be able to answer her, because he doesn’t know. She sighs, diving beneath a separate set of waves.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to approach such a drastic tangent. Back to my original concerns: I drew a conclusion about the Lifehold Core and how everyone’s still alive. If I’m correct, and the planet is responsible, then are we being influenced by miranium or aidoneum?”
L shakes his head, knocked out of his stupor. “We have observed all of NLA’s inhabitants and have found that none are possessed by either thread. But we have only observed the bodies, not the Lifehold Core. We would need to be believers and see with our own eyes what the state of the Core is to confirm it. If the theory troubles you so, perhaps we can take a vacancy together?”
“Vacation, not vacancy. I would have to authorize clearance for you,” Elma ponders. “It should be easy, since you’re closely associated with my team. That being said, I still want you to swear to secrecy. I will not be giving HQ the complete details until we have concrete answers to report.”
“Our seals are tightly lipped!” L promises.
She barely suppresses an eye roll as she pulls her comm device out of her pocket. There’s an unread message alert; it must’ve come in while she was speaking with L. It’s from Pongo, sent to the Team Elma group chat:
Mission complete! I should be home tomorrow night. I was thinking about taking you both out to dinner when I return, if you want? Frye told me they have a new burger at Repenta….
Lin reacts to the message with a flurry of enthusiastic acceptance and excited emojis. Elma doesn’t type out an answer herself, but her chest flutters at the promise of a night together. It’s been less than a year since they’ve formed their mismatched trio, but Elma wouldn’t change a thing about them. Pongo and Lin are her family. She’ll do anything for them.
“We should be returning to our shop,” L stands, dusting off his knees. “Do keep us informed about the status of our honeyed moons!”
“This is not a honeymoon,” Elma corrects him sternly, “just a mission. Still, thank you for stopping by, L. You’ve been incredibly helpful already.”
“But of course! Call upon us if need be!”
L accepts his cue, leaving the barracks with a way-too-wide wave goodbye. After the door slides shut behind him, Elma approaches the command table, compiling all of the available data on Mira and the Lifehold Core. Jericho’s team have detailed notes about miranium’s composition, the Outfitters have several reports on the utility of miranium in their construction, but there is nothing about the aidoneum L mentioned. There’s research on ether, certainly - it’s a prime component of several weapons lines distributed in Armory Alley - but the definition doesn’t line up with L’s. They must be two separate energies, Elma concludes, sliding the ether reports to the side.
The night crawls onward with no end in sight. Elma restrains her yawns, too focused on the task at hand. There are answers in these reports. There has to be. Only when the barracks door slides open again, only when Lin calls to her and hands her the rest of the beef stew she’d abandoned earlier, only when she takes a few more bites and realizes Lin’s been speaking to her for a while now and she didn’t hear the words - only then does Elma realize she’s gone far enough for tonight.
Elma takes herself to bed before Lin can voice her concerns. She sleeps, and she dreams of Earth. She wonders if Earth was alive in the same way Mira is. It is, she says to the stars. It is alive, because humanity still stands. Because every human on Mira breathes its memories.
And I will do everything in my power to ensure it stays that way.