NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire

by Jason Crutchfield

  Ihlia's methodical footsteps carried her back to the lobby of the Nanite Research Dome's common quarters. With the late night, or early morning depending on one's perspective, hours quieting the festivities to a murmur, the Bald Eagles had migrated from the innocent tang of party punch to the harder sludge-based beverages powerful enough to overcome Panacea and inebriate them.

  Downy and Welsch slept soundly on nearby cots; Gunther and Loxley sat at a table with their downturned faces smashed against its wooden surface. Their hands loosely dangled next to the chairs in which they slumped with improper posture, and bottles of rancid liquor remained clutched in either of their unconscious grips. Ihlia shook her head; she correctly guessed that the two passed out during a drinking contest.

  Bit sat calmly on a less-than-comfortable stool with one of his trademark cigars smoldering between his lips; he fixed his unwavering gaze on the flickering television screen hanging from a nearby wall. Jace, Flint, and Steele lay in a strewn heap across the floor; Jace snored soundly, and the twins murmured incoherently about explosions and blast radiuses in their sleep. I smiled along with my former self as we reminisced on the various misadventures experienced with our unsightly crew of cutthroats. But while the young Ihlia's thoughts widened the grin on her face with their conclusion, that same conclusion erased my smile and left only the bitter taste of hatred and anger on my scowling lips.

  The largest cluster of still-conscious bodies circled a table sitting near the common quarter's exit. Bradich and Donovan sat in chairs on opposing sides of the table, and a second scientist stood directly behind the object of the young Ihlia's affections. I recognized him as a ten-years-younger version of Oswald, but to my young self he was nothing more than a snide doctor.

  Consistent with my own version of Oswald, his younger self possessed a shiny bald head. His wiry brown sideburns descended the length of his cheeks and wrapped around his chin in a bristly beard. His facade harbored a stoicism devoid of any joy one might take in life as though someone had robbed all emotion straight off his face. A pair of thin, pretentious glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. And as we did with Downy, the young Ihlia and I questioned the need for vision assistance from external sources. While one might have argued that, with only three safe nanite slots, other implants took precedence over a sensory implant to correct eyesight, what attribute trumped the importance of correcting faulty sensory organs?

  Oswald stood in an immaculate posture with his hands shoved in his khaki pants pockets. The bend of his elbow forced the tails of his white laboratory coat to pool loosely at the backs of his thighs, and with a black tie neatly tied around his neck and a pair of shiny black shoes encasing his feet, Oswald looked more professional than most of the scientists running around the sweltering facility. After a few weeks of the scorching midday temperatures, most of the researchers adopted a less strict code of attire with the exception, of course, of their laboratory coats. No researcher ever went without it. It was as though the white flowing garb represented everything it meant to be a scientist in the field.

  While Oswald's clean-cut uniform represented a look of professionalism, the young Ihlia immediately attributed it to some baseless, imaginary rookie quality Oswald must have possessed. She figured that within a week's time, the uppity scientist would look more disheveled. Unfortunately, that theory would never be put to the test.

  “This again, brother? I already told you, I have no intention of subscribing to your methods. Nanite technology is what got us into this mess in the first place. Sure, it started benign, but now nanites are the leading cause of the development of advanced weapons. Weapons that kill people. Your research will lead to nothing different.” Bradich furrowed his brows and defiantly crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chosen chair.

  “I'm not asking you to endorse my research this time. I just need you to uphold your contract. This is Doctor Oswald; he flew in from the states a week ago to assist me with my research. We're at the cliff's edge on a major breakthrough, but I require some test samples from a nearby laboratory. The only catch is they're too busy to accommodate a privateer, so we have to go pick them up ourselves,” Donovan defensively explained.

  “It's only about thirty miles to the labs just beyond Giza where the samples are located. I just need an escort. Anti-nanite local terrorists, Union forces, and the French have many forward recon units and bases of operations hidden along the ruins that used to be this fair city.” Donovan's hands, folded atop one another with his elbows standing erect on the tabletop, obscured the lower extremities of his face as he calmly explained the situation. The wisps of smoke that drifted over the top of his hand suggested a cigarette hung between his lips.

  I remembered the thoughts and emotions that overtook me back then. Like a stroke of fate, an opportunity presented itself for the young Ihlia to take her place at Donovan's side as a supporter of his work and beliefs. As Bradich tiredly rubbed the annoyed creases in his face, my younger version stepped forward to join the conversation.

  “I'll go,” she stated matter-of-factly. The heads of the three men twisted toward Ihlia when her gait brought her to rest at the table's side between the brothers. With her face alight, Ihlia crossed her arms beneath her breasts and exuded confidence.

  “Ihlia?” Donovan's eyes twinkled for a moment. Neither my younger version nor my adult version fully understood the faint gleam emanating from his deep brown eyes. Behind him, Doctor Oswald regarded the young Ihlia with passing scrutiny but remained silent. Donovan's gaze slowly veered back to his brother's; the object of Ihlia's affection seemed to hide a smile of victory as he stared at Bradich from across the table.

  “I was just telling Bradich here that you'd help me if I asked. With your vision nanites and expertise in marksmanship, I'd feel safest with you in the jeep to pick off any assailants before they ever endanger the doctor and me,” Donovan nodded like a researcher whose hypothesis passed experimentation with expected results.

  “You sure, Ihlia? The trip will be dangerous,” Bradich scratched his chin and offered my younger version a concerned glance.

  “I'm sure, sir. And with all due respect, and perhaps it's not my place, but you should support your brother's research a little more. He's trying to change the world just like you are. I think you two stand a lot to gain by working together; your solutions don't have to be mutually exclusive. Whatever those are, exactly…” Ihlia trailed off as she realized that in her attempts to impress Donovan, she spoke on a topic with which she was not entirely familiar.

  “You're right, Ihlia. That's not your place,” Bradich narrowed his eyes into a cautionary glare that indicated almost certain punishment had my former version pressed the issue.

  “Hold on now, as your employer I'd like to hear this,” Donovan lifted a hand to silence Bradich.

  The commander intensified his glare and snapped it to his brother. After a brief moment of silence, Bradich's voice escaped him as a guttural growl might leave the maw of a territorial predator, “Sorry, boss. Your contract clearly states I am in charge of my soldiers. You have enlisted our assistance, but you may not deal with any of the mercenaries save me. If you attempt to circumvent my authority over the Eagles again, your contract will be null and void.”

  Bradich was serious. In all my years as an Eagle, Bradich nullified a contract exactly one time. An ally of the United States hired our group to assist them in an assault on a Union base. Our job was to create a diversion to ease the Free Alliance's attack. To do this, the contractor ordered Bradich to disguise our group as raiders and lay waste to a village of civilians. The idea was to have the Union soldiers respond and for the Free Alliance to ambush them when they arrived. Needless to say, Bradich kindly instructed our employer to “fuck off.”

  “My apologies, Bradich,” Donovan recognized the serious tone with which his brother spoke, as well, and backed off the issue.

 
“You're dismissed, Ihlia. Report to the garage at 0600,” Bradich nodded my younger version off to bed.

  Back in the special quarters provided to her given her female gender, Ihlia began removing articles of clothing. As she slid the dark gray pants from her hips and sat atop her cot, my younger self thought at length on her situation. She had succeeded in showing Donovan support for his research, and in time she intended to show him her support for his goal in its broader sense.

  Ihlia failed to understand Bradich's objections to the concept of using nanite research to propel the world into a new age of prosperity hopefully devoid of war and conflict. As she wondered, she lifted the tight tank top that simultaneously served as a sports bra to support her growing breasts. The black material obscured her vision, and she felt the warm night air kiss her bare flesh. Suddenly, the sound of a brief knock on her door stopped her motion completely.

  “Ihlia, are you awake?” The sound of Donovan's voice on the other side of the door might have sent the young girl's heart into an excited pitter-patter. Instead, no sooner than the two swift knocks and brief question escaped the doctor on the other side of the door, he depressed the button and the door hissed ajar.

  Ihlia's eyes, covered by the half-lifted shirt concealing her face like a curtain, widened to the size of electrocapacitor plates in the darkness. A shrill cry escaped her, and Ihlia shoved the tank top back down across her breasts and fervently yanked the cot's blanket across the simple black bikini-cut underwear contoured to her budding young hips.

  The scarlet fire that raced across her cheeks represented both irritation and embarrassment. With a startled and angry face, she shot her gaze to the offending doctor who stood rigid in the open doorway to her quarters. His bottom jaw dropped, and the cigarette that hung loosely from his bottom lip dropped to the floor like a burning tear drop. The doctor coughed and turned his back after a moment of surprised silence.

  “Ah, ahem. Yes, well, forgive me. I keep forgetting that uh… there are more than just men here. I mean, not that you remind me of a man. In fact, I don't know quite what I mean, there are plenty of female scientists here too. I would never just walk in on them, so I don't know what… Hm, ahem, well, I apologize. H-how are you tonight, Ihlia?” Donovan stammered. As he stood with his back to my younger self, he laced either of his hands together behind his back and began rocking nervously from his heels to his toes.

  “I hope you'll knock first from now on. You scared the living hell out of me!” Ihlia exclaimed, “I'm okay, Doctor. What can I do for you, tonight?” Though the young Ihlia managed to feign maturity and calmness with her voice, her chest pounded as though war drums had replaced her heartbeat's subtle thud.

  “I just wanted to say thank you. I didn't realize that you understood or grasped what was really going on. You're so young, I mean. I feel like I patronized you earlier when I gave you that uninformative explanation about the argument Bradich and I got into,” Donovan scratched the back of his head.

  “See, we both think this world needs to change. There are not enough resources or humans to sustain this kind of global murder; that might have worked three hundred years ago, but it just can't go on like this much longer. We've both felt this way since we were kids. As we grew up, our opinions on how to go about it changed. Bradich feels he needs to become the villain. To fight it with his hands until the war is over and the innocent aren't suffering. A direct approach,” Donovan explained.

  “And you believe in the passive approach?” Ihlia inquired.

  “Not passive, exactly, but rather we need to make humanity more intelligent. If we capitalize on the wonderful discovery and implementation of nanites, the problems will work themselves out once people understand that the violence solves nothing. We may have solved petty issues like global starvation and the energy crisis, and our information and lab technology have taken leaps and bounds, but all that serves nothing if we use that information and those advancements to bring harm to others.” A hint of despair saturated Donovan's voice. Ihlia sensed that though the doctor believed in his ideas, he recognized that the chance of their execution, at least as perfectly as he envisioned, would be far easier said than done.

  “So, Bradich fires guns and you research nanites, both trying to save the world,” Ihlia mused.

  “Precisely. Is that strange or wrong?” Donovan tilted his head to one side and turned around to face the younger version of myself. The young Ihlia and I laughed at the same time.

  “It's not that. I just figured you two were these highly sophisticated older men with deep complicated reasons for everything you did. I felt like I was years from even scratching the surface. But now…” Ihlia stood and allowed the blanket to slip from her hips like the curtain of her embarrassment. She stood close to the doctor with a new sense of understanding; for the first time since she knew Donovan, she felt she could face him as an equal: as a woman.

  “Now I see you two are just a couple of kids that never let go of your dreams. I can just see both of you with superhero capes. Super Brain and Machinegun Man off to save the day,” Ihlia giggled.

  Donovan chuckled beneath his breath and tipped his head down toward my former self. As the two locked eyes, the mist of pretenses and restraint seemed to clear away like a dispersing morning fog. Ihlia slowly raised onto her tip-toes toward the doctor.

  But just when her racing heartbeat threatened to leap from the confines of her chest and their lips drew close, Donovan placed his hand on her shoulder. His breath escaped him in ragged puffs, and wanton fantasies gleamed in his eyes. But the hand he placed on her shoulder was not inviting; it stopped her motion. Ihlia forced a smile and placed her hand atop his own.

  “Um, yes, quite. I also wanted you to know not to be so hard on my brother. You see, despite his attitude, Bradich is quite supportive of my research. He disagrees with my approach, but he is earnest to see if I can prove him wrong. I daresay he wants me to. He does not like to kill, and while he's willing to paint himself the villain in history if it means making the world a better place, it is certainly not his ideal ending,” Donovan took a step back.

  Ihlia tipped her head down. The dark shadow of her bangs concealed the glistening sadness that threatened to tear up her emerald eyes. I remembered that sadness as I watched her, though it felt disconnected and far from me like a piece of a memory.

  It was the sadness of realization; at that moment, Ihlia realized that quelling her desire for girlish recognition and some love-story relationship would take time and an overwhelming amount of willpower. It was not Donovan or Bradich who she was years from understanding; it was her own heart. Unfortunately, as the living testament to her story's harrowing conclusion, I knew such an understanding would never come.

  After a few seconds of reflection, Ihlia turned her sad smile toward Donovan after ensuring her eyes would not betray her true feelings. “How can you be so sure, Doctor? He may just be doing this for the money or something.”

  “Hm, well actually, he's not getting any. The contract entails no monetary transaction between Bradich and me. I simply don't have the funds as a privateer to hire a mercenary group as renowned as the Bald Eagles. Bradich's doing this for free.” Donovan shoved his hands in his pockets. In the dim light cast by the hallways, Ihlia noted a blush streaked across his face. At the very least, my younger version took solace in the fact that she aroused the good doctor. However, after hearing that Bradich would receive no pay for the excursion, her bittersweet expression transformed to one of shock.

  “No money? But he promised the men good pay for this! It's not like him to lie and stiff them out of good money! They'll string him up alive if they find out!” My former self cupped a hand over her mouth at the thought of her allies and their shattered trust in the commander. In particular, Jace would string Bradich up alive if he flew all the way out to Egypt only to return to America empty handed.

  “Ah, y
es, I believe he's paying you all out of his own pocket. He pretends I'm paying a large sum, then divides that sum amongst himself and the men. The amount he promised to divide among you all, he intends to simply pay out of his private stash. Not only is he not getting paid, he's actually giving money to ensure my research. I cannot, will not, let that generosity and belief in me go to waste,” Donovan's resolve grew; it was as though the doctor understood Bradich's sacrifice all the more after verbalizing it.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Ihlia quirked a brow at the man she loved.

  “I'm not sure exactly,” Donovan scratched the back of his head as he searched for a way to express his thoughts and feelings.

  “I think, perhaps, I trust you. Maybe it's the way you look at me or the aura you exude when we're together, but I feel soothed by your presence. When I said that just seeing your beautiful face takes the stress off my constant work, I was not deceiving you,” Donovan's blush returned in force.

  Ihlia smiled a large, genuine smile and lunged at the doctor with wild abandon. She threw her arms around his waist, and as she sank into his body and pressed her tank top clad breasts against his upper abdomen, she buried her face into his chest just beneath his chin.

  “I-Ihlia!” Donovan exclaimed, surprised. However, as the warm feeling of the scantily clad Ihlia sank against him, Donovan's left arm encircled her slender shoulders and his right hand moved to brush through her hair and massage her scalp. His fingers found the curved scar at the bulb on the back of her head and he paused, “Ah, how is your latest nanite treating you? It's been almost a year since I gave you night vision, as per your request.”

  “So far so good. Both the nanites you've given me have helped me save my comrades countless times. I can't thank you enough, and I won't let anyone else inside me,” Ihlia retorted with a gentle sigh.

  The doctor coughed and his hand ceased its motions. When Ihlia realized how her words escaped her, she buried her face in the doctor's chest even harder. “T-that's not how I meant! I mean in my head; no one else can perform nanite surgery on me but you. That's all.”