NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire

by Jason Crutchfield

  Its red cybernetic eye gleamed in the darkness like a crimson slit, though it merely looked like a brightly shining green through the filter of my night vision. The teddy's mix of cuddly and scary concluded with a pair of metal arms and fluffy legs; surprisingly, the arms accurately resembled those typically associated with a toy bear. I half expected to see giant gnarled claws protruding from the metal limbs, but instead, they ended in smooth rounded bumps typical of a teddy.

  “Elsa, we should find our way back to the surface. Do you know how long I was out?” I assayed our surroundings. The distinct acidic compounds that saturated most bodies of water sent an overpowering sulfuric smell to assault my nostrils. To our left, a stagnant underground lake encompassed the majority of the space offered by the cavern floor. That explained the smell.

  The cavern in which we temporarily resided expanded like an enormous dome hollowed from the heart of one of the mountains. Stalagmites erupted from the ground like an array of spikes whittled down over the years by the water droplets falling from the stalactites haphazardly jutting from the ceiling. In fact, the small clearing of relatively smooth stone on which Elsa and I fell was the only patch of ground not covered with hazardous stone teeth or a lake in which we would have likely drowned. As I assessed the area for a feasible escape, Elsa interrupted my thoughts.

  “Hours? I think. I'm not very good at tracking time. It was a little while, though.” Elsa offered me a soft apologetic smile from her position on the cold ground.

  “Hours, huh? You must be tired. We should probably get you to a safe place so you can sleep. Well, let's go, little one.” I nodded my head in the direction of a path on the far end of the cavernous maw. The rocky ascension, while jagged and steep, seemed like the only logical path to take given our circumstances. When several seconds passed and Elsa remained seated, I crossed my arms and stared at her expectantly.

  “Um, Ms. Ihlia?” She began fiddling with the single fuzzy ear of her teddy bear.

  “You can just call me Ihlia, little one. What's wrong?” I retorted and took a step in her direction.

  “I can't feel my legs very well. Your head was heavy.” She lifted Magnolia to cover her face, but not before a crimson hue of embarrassment splashed across her cheeks. Though with the filter on my vision, they just looked a touch darker than the rest of her pretty pale skin. I laughed under my breath before extending my hand to the small child. When she finally shifted her bear aside enough to gaze up at me with one of her large, captivating eyes, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the sight of my offered hand.

  She placed her delicate palm atop mine, and I encircled my fingers around her dainty appendage. The realization of the true extent of her frailty struck me in that moment, and I furrowed my brows as I tugged the small girl to her feet. It took a few moments for her to steady her wobbly legs, but soon our footsteps carried us toward the winding path carved into the depths of the mountain. Hopefully, the dark tunnel would lead us to an exit.

  “You mentioned a man named Richter made the bear for you; is that your father?” I asked as we weaved and bobbed between the razor teeth protruding from the cavern floor.

  “No, but he takes care of me when he's not being a mean jerk. Is being frail a bad thing, Ihlia?” Elsa clutched the draping trench coat I laid over her shoulders tighter around her slender frame. The question she tacked on to the end of her explanation jarred me from my train of thought. Growing accustomed to her ability to perceive my thoughts as clearly as I perceived her words would be difficult. I tapped the bottom of my chin as we reached the base of the sharp incline of our ascension, the point at which I knew our difficulties would begin.

  “I'm sorry, I don't do it on purpose,” She whispered in response to my thoughts and coiled deeper into my black coat for warmth. I shook my head.

  “It's not your problem, little one, it's mine. You have no reason to apologize. Also, you shouldn't confuse frailty with weakness. Your body is frail because it is young, but look at you. With bare feet you walk along jagged rocks, and for hours you sat attentively with my heavy head in your lap while I slept. You are quite strong and sturdy in your own ways, Elsa. I'm just not used to your telepathy, or with people asking so many questions,” I replied.

  When the last words escaped my lips, I planted a foot against the steep hill that served as our route through the mountain interior. I used a free hand to grip one of the many stalagmites rising from the ground and utilized it as a brace. Though unnecessary, it allowed an easier time working up the incline.

  “So, do people stop asking questions when they grow up?” Elsa followed at my heel along the sharply rising trail. While she failed to remain completely erect as we scaled the slope, simply dropping forward onto one of her hands and using it for balance proved sufficient. She likely may have expedited the process had she abandoned Magnolia or planted it on the grimy rocks in order to use her right hand in addition to her left, but like a mother protecting its young, Elsa kept her teddy bear tucked safely beneath her right arm.

  “I suppose they do, to an extent. Eventually you gain enough knowledge that questioning every small thing becomes unnecessary,” I replied.

  “How much knowledge is enough?” Elsa grunted in between labored motions that carried her along the pattern left in the wake of my stride.

  “I suppose it varies from person to person,” I casually tossed her an answer as I neared the top of the dark slope. When the ground leveled and allowed for an easier trek, I turned to face the small child who busily clambered up the slick damp rocks with her hand and feet. I extended my hand in her direction when she neared the apex of the slope.

  “Well, then I guess I'll ask questions forever!” She exclaimed as she took hold of my hand with her nimble fingers. “Because I want to know everything!” She giggled as I tugged her up the remainder of the stone hill; as her petite figure stood in front of mine, a faint twitch widened my eyes if only by a small margin.

  Once in a while, an adult receives a lesson from the innocent truths of a child. Such was the case, as I quickly concluded that apathy, pride, and stubbornness, rather than knowledge and experience, were the culprits responsible for shutting the mouths of people as they grew older. When an issue presented itself to which I lacked knowledge, I either drew an assumption from a related topic that closely matched the issue or decided the information simply was not worth possessing.

  After all, I subconsciously derived, I had survived to said point without that information, what usefulness might it have offered that it did not before? Thus, rather than part my lips and pose a question, I remained silent and went about my life. I offered Elsa a pleased smile. As she read my thoughts and reciprocated my grin, I bent down and spoke softly, “That's a very good trait to have. Don't forget those words, because once you think you know everything, that's all you're ever going to know.”

  “Yes, ma'am!” Elsa exclaimed.

  The trail continued winding and twisting through the darkness. The ceiling dropped significantly at the peak of the incline, so much so that if I stood atop my toes and reached with all my might, my fingertips would have scraped along the cavern's gritty roof. The deeper into the tunnel the trail went, the more cluttered and threatening the jagged spikes from the ceiling, floor, and even the walls became. Elsa clutched the back of my charcoal tank-top; I realized that my night vision did little to assist her own eyesight. While the extensive hours in the darkness likely tailored her natural sight to make out basic shapes and details at short distances, Elsa was essentially blind. I chuckled.

  “Don't worry, I can see perfectly,” I assured her.

  “'Kay.” She nodded and pressed closer to me.

  As various spikes became more numerous during our journey through the cave's tight confines, it eventually became necessary to duck and weave through the protrusions that obstructed our path. After almost an hour, the narrow passage
constantly pressed our bodies against some form of sharp object. We slowly inched forward, and the growing sound of crinkling cloth tickled my ears. When I glanced back, the end of my trench coat which Elsa donned as her own lay frayed as it slid across the ground's rocky protuberances.

  I curled the corner of my lips into a smile, and Elsa paused in her struggles to wedge her tiny body between the stalagmites and offered me a beaming smile. I reached forward to place my hand atop her head, but as my fingers brushed the tips of her hair, the image of the girl from Loftsborough flashed in my mind. Her sniffling face and streaming tears had embodied her fear at the thought of my scary hands patting her head; the memory sufficiently convinced me to snatch my hand back, though I did offer Elsa a reassuring grin.

  “Why was she crying? Was she hurt?” Elsa asked as we resumed our painstaking squeeze through the tiny slits the cave's teeth afforded us.

  “No, just afraid of me,” I responded plainly.

  “Why?” Elsa tipped her head to one side in a display of confused curiosity. The action knocked the side of her forehead against one of the bulky sides of a stalagmite. The young girl inwardly hissed and rubbed at the small red mark that formed.

  “I'm not sure. My friend Crelyos says it's because I only think about murder and vengeance; apparently, kids can feel that,” I grunted as the space between rock formations and jagged points thinned to almost impassable widths. Finally, through a small horizontal space dividing a row of stalagmites and stalactites jutting from the cavern like the teeth lining the jaws of a monster, I noticed a cavernous opening.

  I bent my body and arched my back to maneuver through the minuscule opening. The action accidentally drew my hand sharply across one of the rock tips; I hissed in pain as the tooth tore a gash through my palm. By the time I glanced down at the open wound, Panacea's busy kneading had already finished sealing the tissue. It meant Panacea, and likely my other implants, fully returned to operational status; Oswald's horrible experimental serum must have finally worn off.

  Once on the other side of the imposing shards of stone, I extended my hand for Elsa's sake. The small girl stared at the scrape across my hand as it finished healing. She seemed hesitant, though I knew not if her hesitation stemmed from touching the area with a former wound or the fear of acquiring one of her own if she misstepped while crossing through the frightful stone jaws. I offered her a reassuring nod, and after a moment of glancing between my hand and my face, she curled her tiny fingers into mine and began the arduous process of shifting between whatever spaces the horizontal slit allowed. With my assistance, her endeavor concluded more favorably than mine; Elsa emerged unharmed on the cavernous side of the constricting tunnel.

  “Maybe a little… but it's not scary,” Elsa mused as she stepped across a small puddle of shimmering water and into the new cavern's expanse. When I turned to follow, a blinding glare of burning white light seared my eyes and forced me to draw my hand in front of my face to ease the sudden agony. Instinctively, I deactivated the implant responsible for the green and white filter. When the pain subsided and my eyes fluttered open, I stared into a scene one might swear leapt from the very canvas of a beautiful painting.

  The cavernous dome in which we stood possessed a body of water similar to the one before it, though far smaller and tucked away in a single corner. The stalagmites and stalactites lined the outskirts of the opening in an array that barely seemed natural, and the majority of the protrusions, from the teeth lining the walls to those scattered across the floor, glistened and shimmered from the source of my eyes' previous pain: a stream of dim gray light pouring in from a hole in the ceiling.

  The closest thing to daylight for the world left in the wake of the Titan Crisis, the gray that streamed through the perpetually rumbling fallout clouds struck the surface of the water and bounced off it onto the nearby rock formations. The quartz-like composition of the stones accentuated the sparse light and splashed the refracted patterns in a dazzling hodgepodge across the dark cave. With the soft blue glow sparkling from the still water as the final touch, the display was the most intense source of natural colors and gorgeous scenery I had seen since the world's end.

  “It's just really sad,” Elsa finished her previous thought, “are you sure they aren't crying because they're sad for you?” The small girl maintained her conversation with me, but her eyes lit up like Loftsborough's sun at the sight of nature's artistry painted before her. I heard the wonder in her voice and instantly knew it to be attributed to the cavern.

  “I'm not sure which would be worse, now that you put it that way,” I laughed and stepped in front of her. The soft drips of moisture cascading down the various jutting rocks to the ground in tiny puddles added a pleasant ambiant sound to the cavern's visual beauty. As I approached the body of water tucked away on one side of the cavern, I dropped down and scooped up some of the cold liquid in my palm. The plain taste of the water belied its irradiated nature, but thankfully, Panacea allowed for the harmless digestion of virtually any substance.

  Radioactive food and water posed little threat, and even bacteria infested consumables rarely possessed the sheer strength required to overcome the virtual cure-all nanite. While disease and sickness in the wastelands of the world's end were not completely unheard of, the instances that emerged fell into the classification of superstitious rarity, and since Panacea's invention, the death toll for pathogenic infection dropped to virtually zero.

  From my squatted position, I surveyed the area for an exit. Given the hole in the cavern roof, I assumed my choice to take the steep, winding path through the heart of the mountain was, in fact, correct. Though many smaller pathways led from the cavern's interior, only three sloped upward toward the surface at first glance. The sound of a small voice grunting drew me from my thoughts; when I glanced over, Elsa sat on her knees next to me and busily scooped water into her mouth with her free hand. When she finished and released a refreshed “ahh,” I stood and walked toward the first of the three potential paths to the surface. With my left hand, I placed my finger within the confines of my ear as tightly as I was able, and with my right I cupped my uncovered ear and activated my auditory enhancement.

  Like thundering footsteps, I clearly perceived the distant sound of water droplets echoing through the tunnel deep in the cave. I kept my hands in their position and moved to the next vertical incline; a similar result reached my sensitive hearing. When I finally reached the third pathway that spiraled up through the mountain, I heard it. Though faint in the distance, the sound of whistling wind flowed down the tunnel and tickled the innermost parts of my ear; I found our ticket out of the mountain's belly.

  “You found a way out! Yay!” Elsa tossed Magnolia into the air a couple of times while she climbed to her feet. The small child with pretty blonde hair and beautiful sea-green eyes danced around me in her tattered white gown like a mischievous, giggling sprite. I grinned when she clutched my right hand in her grasp and rigorously tugged us toward the path.

  “Come on, come on!” She shouted. Most people probably found the innocent emotions that emanated from her like an aura to be fervently contagious. Even I, with my limited ability to comprehend the depth of any emotion save my rancor for Bradich, felt the smallest twinkle of excitement as I watched her dance about in the dazzling cavern.

  “All right, all right, little one.” I shook my head as we started down the path toward the hopeful exit of the dark mountains. Before we escaped the dim light of the cavernous dome, I glanced back once more at the stream of daylight that filtered through the opening in the cave ceiling. If the illuminated gray was any indicator of the time, it was well into the morning. Considering our misadventure culminated with our perilous fall through the darkness in the middle of the previous night, I marveled at the fortitude of the small child.

  “A few hours indeed,” I thought to myself, “you took care of me the whole night. Just how tough are you, lit
tle one?” For once, Elsa remained silent despite the overbearing volume with which I projected my thoughts. I stepped forward in front of her and closed my hand around hers; as the darkness of the tunnel enveloped our sight, I reactivated my night vision augment.

  The path spiraled up in a general forward direction. Though keeping a bearing on the cardinal directions proved a difficult task, the direction of the dim gray color streaming through the previous cavern's ceiling suggested we traveled south. The trek to avoid protruding rock formations and jagged surfaces seemed far easier than through the previous tunnel. And after a solid half hour of monotonous hiking, a vibrant white glare similar to the one in the second cavern seared my sensitive night vision and forced me to put it to sleep.

  The hole containing the whistling winds and draft of cold air, albeit warmer than the stale air of the cave, loomed overhead at the far end of the tunnel. With the various large rocks and assortment of rubble, the climb to the opening appeared relatively easy, but the steep rise necessitated a climb nonetheless. I glanced down toward Elsa and pressed a finger to my lips before whispering, “I'll go first. You wait here until I make sure it's safe, okay?” Elsa nodded and wrapped both her small arms around her cybernetic bear.

  I slowly slid my remaining dagger free of its sheath and crept quietly toward the rock face. With my extensive training as an infiltrator and sniper, the grime beneath my feet issued absolutely no sound during my cautious steps. I clamped my teeth around the hilt of my dagger when I reached the wall and carefully positioned my hands atop the sturdiest stones. Like a panther, I stalked vertically toward the opening. No pebbles shifted, no gravel crunched, and no rocks or stones clanked together. I was a wraith in the darkness.

  I neared our target exit and paused to activate my auditory and olfactory enhancements. The smell of sulfur, rust, and blood that saturated the entire world rushed to assail my nose. The stale odor of stone and decay that the howling winds carried reminded me that the world had long since died, and all the elements of such a world sought nothing more than the death of those things which desperately clung to the mockery of life that remained.