NANO
Archive 01: The City of Fire
Written by Jason Lee Crutchfield
Covert Art Designed by Matthew Burton
www.mattburton.deviantart.com
Copyedited by Randi L. Gingerich
[email protected]
Formatted by Jonathan Pace
[email protected]
Copyrighted© 2012
Jason Lee Crutchfield
All Rights Reserved
Dedicated to
Glenda Faye Crutchfield
and Anthea Amos
The two most influential women in my entire life.
An Era of Dusks and Dawns - NANO
Table of Contents
Title Text
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Archive 01: The City of Fire Prologue
File 01: Illia
File 02: Grave Misfortune
File 03: A Dark and Stormy Night
File 04: Junction City
File 05: The Old Codger
File 06: The Terror of the Hyped
File 07: First Departure
File 08: Entering Raze Haven
File 09: Analytical Fighter
File 10: Joachim Izrahi
File 11: Leaving Loftsborough
File 12: Crelyos's Past
File 13: Raze's Fortress
File 14: The Duke of Flame
File 15: Ballroom Blitz
File 16: Harmonic Resonance
File 17: Stripping Humanity
File 18: Dousing the Duke of Flame
File 19: After the Smolder
File 20: The Next Breadcrumb
File 21: Oswald's Checkup
File 22: The Lonely Little Girl
File 23: The Bald Eagles
File 24: Cairo
File 25: Want or Love?
File 26: The Giza Expedition
File 27: Happy Birthday, Ihlia
File 28: Elsa Friis
File 29: Richter Sarkany
File 30: Loftsborough's Hero
File 31: Out of the Frying Pan…
File 32: …and into the Fire.
File 33: A Hopeless Battle
File 34: A Changed Man
File 35: A Cursed Destiny
Prologue
A pitter-patter of rain fell in sheets against the landscape. The dark clouds rolling overhead rumbled like a growling beast toying with an unwary prey. Each droplet of acidic water splashing against the ground enhanced the pungent odor of soil and rusty metal. Skeletons of society lingered in the form of dilapidated houses and businesses; once thriving with life, these shells of culture sat as testimonies to the great human condition. Standing within the dark confines of one such rundown institution, I let my eyes wander over the destitute horizon of the fallen earth.
I was named Ihlia. It was not my true name, of course; the use of one's true name in the age of neurotech was tantamount to asking for a bullet in the forehead while one slept. Taking comfort in my episodes of respite, I preferred they remained devoid of unpleasant endings… or unendings as was the concern.
With every surviving human being hooked to a series of virtual intelligences and hardware, the brain was more easily hacked than a holocom, not that I ever took advantage of such handy and potentially profitable information. As I surveyed the decrepit world beneath me, I marveled at the pinnacle to which our race aspired and found genuine amusement in the fact that we fell flat on our faces at the finish line.
The history of civilization predating nanite technology involved countless wars and needless bloodshed. From the third world war to the Lunar Conflict of 2106, humanity drenched each chapter of its existence in blood. It never stopped, not even after the world ended in 2402. That was almost ten years ago.
With all the violence and destruction we mastered, humans of the past might have expected the humans of the future to usher in more inventive ways to destroy one another. Innovative developments such as the geo-guided centralized black hole fission warhead and the handheld particle disintegration cannon should have outmoded conventional firearms ejecting spiraling lead projections from the muzzle of gas-powered rifles.
I say “should have” because such technological advancements never occurred. No, for all their hype and glamour, we people of the future still felt the best way to solve a problem was to put a bullet in it, guide a missile to it, or nuke it.
Finally, on the first day of the first month marking the twenty-third century, the first nanite the size of a microchip was forged in a lab located in the heart of Tokyo, Japan. This particular machine, code named Panacea, represented the height of humanity's medical and biological achievement. A cure to virtually all ailment and injury, Panacea was surgically implanted in the brain and consisted of two parts.
The nano, or hub, acted as a rechargeable power supply and micro computer utilizing the brain's bio-electricity to maintain and regulate the functions of the second part: the nanites. The nanites were tiny detachable components programmed by the nano hub's virtual intelligence to perform certain tasks. The number of nanites capable of docking at a single nano numbered between hundreds of thousands to millions depending on the make, model, and advancement of the implant. For Panacea, that number settled at an average two hundred fifty thousand. The unit as a whole was referred to as a nanite, implant, or augment.
Once implanted, Panacea became a symbiotic parasite feeding off the bio-electricity of its host for sustenance while providing the body with its nanites for rapid cell regeneration, correction of mutating or decaying cells, and elimination of harmful foreign substances in the body.
Many debates regarding the possible sentience and the question of whether or not the nanites were alive slowed the progress and introduction of nanites into mainstream medical markets, but the prospect of curing AIDS, cancer, and birth defects eventually overpowered such ethical jargon. Even after mainstream introduction, several conservative groups regarded the possibility of machine rebellion as grounds to forego the procedures. Once attached to the brain, however, the implant became as much a part of the host as a limb or organ.
The location of the implant on the surface of the brain was dictated primarily by its function and desired activation. Autonomous nanites were implanted in the medulla oblongata, while nanites requiring conscious activation were implanted in the frontal lobe of the cerebral cortex.
As an autonomous nanite, Panacea boasted programming capable of identifying all known illnesses, cancers, and harmful foreign objects. Updating that database involved a simple cerebral injection of a single nanite containing the data of new known threats. Once synchronized with the nano hub, the nanite uploaded the viral, mutagenic, or cancerous information to the nano for distribution to the other nanites for future use. In addition to infectious foreign objects, Panacea assisted in the rapid repair of injuries. Wounds that normally took weeks to heal could be fully closed and disinfected in moments.
While Panacea functioned as a self-activated implant, neurotech advancements eventually introduced many nanites that needed conscious activation. Such nanites required humans to educate themselves on how to utilize them as one would learn how to coordinate a new limb grafted to the body. The phrase “image training” would later be coined to describe that education.
The invention of the nanite ushered in a golden age of prosperity. Following Panacea, the question of whether humans utilized the full potential of their brains or not took on an entirely new implication. Nanites to stimulat
e higher thinking and advanced consciousness were introduced, and with their increased cognitive capabilities, people developed new breakthroughs in energy efficiency, waste disposal, population control, and food management.
We finally achieved the ability to live harmoniously with our planet, and for the first time since the dawn of man, we put our weapons down and enjoyed an age of true peace. People had all but evolved, moving to a state of existence globally recognized as “transcendent.” Unfortunately, that peace ended not even a century later when we decided that the most transcendent way to solve a problem was to put a bullet in it, guide a missile to it, or nuke it.
Human ambition transcends all transcendence. If we learned anything from our brief respite it was this undeniable fact. Scientists developed the first nanite with combat capabilities within a century of Panacea; the world governments oversaw the development of these “secret trump cards” classified them to maintain appearances. Nanites which granted superhuman vision, speed, power, and even nanites purporting personality modification became ghost stories countries used to scare one another into pliability.
Eventually, tensions broke, and the last Global Conflict officially began in 2391. When war finally reared its ugly head, those ghost stories became a stark and horrifying reality. Nanite-enhanced super soldiers and advanced weaponry made massacre an art form. With population explosions under control during more peaceful days, the mass killing of the denizens of earth became an ironic and, in my personal opinion, hysterical problem for the enlightened human race. The advanced humanity found itself in more danger of extinction than the ignorant, barbaric version of its former self could ever boast.
The greatest punch line to the harrowing comedy of humanity, however, came as the dust settled and the wise race of man realized the folly of its self-mutilation. Several weapons of catastrophic destruction using advanced nanite technology were hidden in the repertoires of the major world powers of the time. Basically overly-powerful nuclear missiles, these weapons punched craters in the earth several miles deep and hundreds of miles in diameter utilizing nothing more than surface detonations.
Never intending to use such monstrosities even in times of war, the world leaders kept these judges of human existence called Titan Warheads slumbering peacefully in secure, highly classified bunkers never to be known by the public. Until Bradich Lesfort came along.
Under the handle Harbinger, Bradich used advanced nanite technology to simultaneously access every classified computer system in the world. He did not simply access the systems of a country or the western hemisphere; he hacked the entire world. Those Titans locked away in the high-security bunkers never to see the light of day? He not only woke them but fired them without a second's hesitation. At the time, the leaders of all the world's nations convened in a single location to end the Global Conflict that threatened to purge humanity from the planet. The titans judged that location first. After that, Harbinger obliterated every major city and several mid-populace cities without rhyme or reason.
No one ever figured out Bradich's motive for obliterating the majority of the world. As quickly as he appeared and wove Armageddon, he vanished. The fallout, several times the intensity of any conventional nuclear winter, spread across the globe within a day. It curtained the sky in an enormous cloud and completely blotted out the sun. Those not incinerated in the initial explosions faced radiation poisoning and a slow, painful end. A clear culling of humanity's remnants occurred. Those with Panacea lived; those without it died horrible deaths.
Several years later, thanks to medical and technological advancements in addition to the developments of synthetic food and commodities, what remained of earth's meager population survived in the wastelands, albeit with great difficulty. Societies sprang from the refuse of the planet and recognizable city-like developments began popping up across the globe, each with an architectural style unique to the person or people constructing it. The rare professionals trained to perform nanite surgery became a resource more precious than food and water.
Those who lost faith in humanity refused to rejoin its pathetic attempt to reestablish civilization. Instead, they succumbed to their primal desires and traveled about in gangs and packs constantly raiding the newly formed cities for supplies when the wastes failed to provide their needs or desires. Several nanite surgeons fell into this category, and after a short time bandits and thugs began sporting superhuman capabilities. In retaliation to the growing bandit threat, nanite surgeons clinging to societal standards recruited mercenaries and guns-for-hire; in exchange for their promises to protect the cities' best interests, they were promised wealth and combat augments of their own.
The cities and the wastes were quickly tagged with pet names. Representing the rise of a new age of struggling humanity, any area containing a somewhat functional society was Dawn Territory. Representing the perishing age of unreasonable ambitions and wrought with a take-all attitude, the bandit-controlled wastes were Dusk Territory. As one of the mercenaries mentioned, I pursued and protected the interests of one such town in Dawn Territory; I served as the top mercenary to Junction City, my new home following the world's destruction.
Truth be told, that mattered little to me. The work provided me contacts and leads to track down Bradich and the authority to extract that information from said contacts. That was my real goal, my only driving force since the end of the world. I wanted to find and kill that bastard with my own hands. I suppose I should have mentioned: right before donning the handle Harbinger and ending the world, Bradich betrayed and killed the only person I ever loved.
File 01: Ihlia
My chest swelled and deflated in slow rhythmic pulses as I sank one knee onto the frigid floor in front of a half-shattered window within an abandoned stone building. The darkness saturating the third level of the four-story structure strangled me in an unsettling icy grip leaving me almost blind to my immediate surroundings.
Of course, that which I desired to see was not inside the ruinous building but outside in what remained of our allegedly precious world. In fact, the longer I hid within the eerie darkness staring out into the run-down suburbs of a small, desolate town, the more I realized the strangling pressure felt more like a comforting embrace. I turned my jade eyes to the streets outside the window, and as I focused my senses, the nanite hub lodged within the temporal lobe of my brain buzzed to life, enhancing my sight by several times that of a normal human.
Each individual droplet of rain crystallized in sheets outside the window. A slow breath escaping my lips transformed into a cold mist before dissipating into the room's darkness. Long strands of my obsidian hair fanned in the crisp wind whistling in through the broken window. The breeze carried with it the decaying stench of a rotting world saturated with rust, mold, and blood. Out in the Dusk Territories, special care for aesthetic and olfactory senses simply did not rank among top priorities, and it was painfully obvious.
The scuffed black leather trench coat adorning my slender shoulders groaned quietly as I stretched trained muscles into the position necessary to steady the bolt-action rifle from which I was never separated. My left hand steadied the length of the rifle where the bi-pod would normally be attached. Careful not to poke its muzzle out the shattered window, I situated the killing utensil's stock against my right shoulder and placed my fingers against the trigger guard. With one of my nanites granting me superhuman vision, a scope was unnecessary.
Quickly factoring in the environmental conditions, I determined my effective range was roughly one mile. One mile to incapacitate the target I calculated would be traveling down the road within a few moments. I garnered my information from a reliable source, but if that old codger was mistaken…
“I'll just turn my rifle on him, instead,” I inwardly mused.
As I pondered various ways to torture my old friend if his information proved useless, three distant silhouettes appeared through the curtains of acid rain that descended on the decrepit rubble of the former city. He was ea
rly. That still warranted punishment to my source, but a condescending slap to the back of the head would suffice. The target, Al Narljecht, was a twitchy, small-time gang leader for a bandit den centered in a place once referred to as Northwest Florida, a small territory set on the fringes of the world's once great nation, America.
Throughout history, America remained one of the most powerful and hated military and political forces on the planet. However, whatever reason the country suffered global scorn mattered little when it became ground zero for the global holocaust Bradich initiated. Another reason to eliminate that man's putrid existence: it was a good Samaritan act, kind of like taking out the trash. And Al Narljecht would be the perfect stepping stone on my journey.
Al's physique mocked the standard for even surviving in Dusk Territory, let alone becoming a crime lord. Those incapable of benching five times their body weight in pilfered loot and unwilling damsels usually died pretty quickly. What made Al survive, and in fact thrive in Dusk Territory to the point of assuming leadership of an entire gang, was his vast information network. Al knew many contacts both in Dawn and Dusk territories, and through those contacts he could easily exploit a city's defensive weaknesses and overstocked supplies.
In essence, Al knew where to hit, when to hit, and how to hit for the best risk to reward ratio; this knowledge attracted flocks of people to his feet willing to carry out his bidding for easy food, water, and entertainment. I was attracted more to the prospect of gathering vital information and stopping his vitals.
Given his meek build, Al never traveled alone. He hunched at an unimpressive five feet four inches, gaining an additional illusory six inches from the towering neon green mohawk that frilled the center of an otherwise bald head. His creamy complexion and sunken eyes bordered in bright red “war paint,” previously called make-up, vividly distinguished him from the dismal blandness of the surrounding buildings which were half or fully toppled and dark with aged rot. Walking on either side of the gangly crime lord, a pair of thugs with muscles bulging from a combination of rigorous exercise and strength implants splashed through puddles of sulfuric precipitation.
NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire Page 1
