“Indeed,” Donovan laughed, “perhaps before the mission's conclusion you would like for me to perform a quick checkup? Make sure everything is operating properly?” Donovan's eyes flickered to the wall in the back of my former version's room where a digital holoclock displayed the time as two in the morning.
His demeanor changed to one a touch more frantic, and he hastily turned to exit Ihlia's quarters, “Ah! But you must sleep, and I must make a few calls before the operation tomorrow. I shall see you in four hours, then, my dear?” Donovan chuckled and offered Ihlia a wave with the back of his hand.
“A checkup would be great. And Donovan?” As Donovan escaped into the light-flooded corridor outside Ihlia's room, he turned his head back with a casual “Hm?” Ihlia once more clung to him, though this time from behind his back. She looped her arms around to the front of his stomach and pressed her entire body against his backside. Ihlia gently laid her cheek against the area between his shoulder blades. “I believe in you, too. If there's anything I can do to help. Anything…” Ihlia cooed softly.
“I understand,” Donovan replied with a gentle whisper. As my younger version relinquished him, he disappeared down the hall, but his head periodically swiveled to behold Ihlia's half-dressed figure standing in front of the doorway. Once the object of her affection vanished, Ihlia fell atop her cot and slept the next four hours away more soundly than she ever had in her entire life.
File 26: The Giza Expedition
As the dream-state shifted, and darkness again encroached on my senses, I seriously wondered if the dream, in fact, was my horrifying afterlife. The idea that I experienced a dream so vivid struck me as surreal. Whatever forces dictated my subconscious state afforded me little time to contemplate it, however, before a new scene rippled into view.
My former self nervously fidgeted in front of an elevator designed to descend into the lower garage level of the complex. A dreadful sensation overwhelmed me. Every scene, every passing moment, led closer and closer to the horrifying end that set everything into motion. And I knew it was coming. Ihlia criss-crossed her arms over her chest as she awaited the two scientists she would be escorting to the nearby Giza facility. To her surprise, the only two figures that approached belonged to Donovan and Bradich.
“Sir? What brings you here this morning? And where is that Doctor Oswald?” The young Ihlia inquired with a standard salute to her commander. Bradich rubbed his temples and nodded in response to Ihlia's salute.
“I'm going with you. I simply can't let my company sniper go alone; you might not come back to me,” Bradich droned. He briskly walked passed my younger self to the elevator's panel. As he pressed a few of the buttons necessary to start the machine, Donovan elbowed him and laughed before turning toward the young Ihlia.
“Good morning, young lady. Despite his tone, my brother is actually quite worried about you. There've been reports of heavy activity near Giza as of late. Oh, and don't worry about Oswald. I'd wager he's already in the garage making adjustments to the jeep. That's just how he is, always has his mind in the clouds and his nose buried in anything scientific or mechanical,” Donovan laughed.
The descent in the high tech elevator full of flashing lights and quiet hisses passed with refreshing banter. Ihlia smiled between the two men who towered at least a head above her. The idle chat and occasional joke passing between the brothers calmed her nerves, but as the elevator neared the end of its journey, the clean shiny metal interior briefly transformed into the decrepit elevator in Loftsborough. Though only for an instant, I saw the sparks and frayed wires hanging loosely from the rusty cage that screeched in protest with every inch it moved.
I remembered riding the elevator down to meet Oswald in Loftsborough and seeing the image of Egypt's pristine elevator and the enjoyable times shared with the two brothers. Now that I found myself imprisoned in my past, the post-apocalyptic world decided to interject images like a jealous lover. I shook my head; as neither the young Ihlia nor the Lesforts reacted to the brief scenery change, I chalked it up to irony.
“Hey Oswald! If you don't hurry up, my contract is going to end before you even get that thing cranked!” Donovan shouted toward the jeep when the doors of the elevator parted. A thin metal arm extending from the vehicle's frame propped open its hood, and hovering over the various mechanical parts, Oswald tinkered with the vehicle's innards as surely as Donovan predicted. When we approached, Donovan's colleague popped his head from the side of the machine and nodded in our direction.
“Tosh,” he dismissively waved his hand in response to Donovan's accusation. No sooner did we reach the vehicle, than Oswald slammed the hood shut with a reverberating thunk and glanced at his watch. “By Jove, exactly as I hypothesized with a margin of error of only ten seconds. You arrived almost exactly when I predicted. Were you just ten seconds longer, I'd have started this confounded, stone-age contraption too. Now enough complaining; we have sand to put behind us.”
Though it was the first time I ever heard him speak, he directed his words toward Donovan. The doctor was the only person to whom Oswald offered any regard. The four of us took our places in the sludge-powered jeep, and Oswald pressed a few buttons before flipping the ignition switch. The engine roared to life, and Ihlia retrieved the rifle strapped to her back.
My younger version closed her eyes and concentrated, and the subtle click of the nanites in her brain brought her telescopic vision nanite to life. The thick metallic door in front of us hissed; the electromagnetic system kicked into high gear to pull apart the barrier. As the slit in the middle of the garage door widened, the red lights and ascending concrete led the way to the surface upon which Cairo's ruins stood in the midst of an oasis.
Oswald floored it. The jeep's powerful engine revved with an escalating hum and propelled us up the tunnel in the research dome's basement. The steep slope leading to the surface ended in a second enormous metal portal similar to the first. The circular lock in the door's center clanked open as the electric pulses went to work. The burning rays of the desert sun that filtered through the expanding slit cast a beacon of light on the road that measured the width of the door as we raced along the corridor.
“Brother, is he planning on slowing down at all? I mean, the door is still opening. If we hit it at these speeds…” Bradich expressed mild concern. When he glanced over to his brother, Donovan, the doctor clamped his eyes shut. Bradich's jaw dropped.
“No, brother, he's not planning to slow down at all. And just for the record, Oswald, I really hate you,” Donovan laced his response with a sense of accustomed dread.
“I am aware,” Oswald responded.
The jeep's velocity reached its maximum and shot through the door like a ballistic missile. As the wheels lost their connection to the ground and the jeep sailed through the air, the young Ihlia yelped with excitement and released a torrent of laughter. The vehicle slammed into the ground, and the jeep bounced a few times before the tires gripped the sandy dunes and it sped off into the desert. As Ihlia's laughter died into soft giggles, Oswald grinned and clicked his tongue.
“Well, how disappointing,” he stated in earnest.
“Disappointing? What are you talking about, were you trying to kill us?” Donovan cried out from the passenger seat next to the doctor. In the rear seat next to mine, directly behind Oswald, Bradich sat shaking his head.
“Of course not, Donovan, but there were at least six inches of space on either side of the vehicle when we launched through the opening. That means I waited too long to reach maximum velocity,” Oswald chortled beneath his breath.
When Ihlia finally ceased her amused giggling, she stood and leaned back against the bar that formed the safety frame at the top of the jeep. Her enhanced vision adjusted like the buzzing extension and retraction of a camera lens with a zoom feature, and she swept the area for threats. The roaring breeze that combed sand through her hair forced the
lot of them to shout when speaking, and Ihlia did not intend to remain silent.
“So, Donovan said your name is Doctor Oswald, but is that your first name or your last name?” Ihlia called out across the space that separated them.
Several seconds of silence passed; Donovan sighed and leaned back to stare up at the younger version of myself. “Don't mind him, Ihlia. He's a sour puss that just hates anyone who uses a gun, especially soldiers and mercenaries,” Donovan asserted.
“That simply isn't true, Donovan. I also hate children, irrational thinking, and, quite recently, deserts. It just so happens your friends tend to fall into one… or more… of those categories,” Oswald cut a glance to the young Ihlia.
Roughly twenty minutes passed without incident in the back of the jeep. After discovering Oswald's innate disdain for mercenaries and an assortment of other characteristics, the young Ihlia abandoned her attempts to strike conversation with the bald old codger. Bradich and my younger version exchanged glances when the group tore passed the decrepit pyramids and obliterated sphinx. As the jeep kicked a stream of glistening sand behind the tires, Ihlia pondered the quiet solitude of the expansive desert.
Something felt wrong; in Ihlia's experience, when something seemed too good to be true, that was likely the case. Nothing existed between the Nanite Research Dome and the laboratories supposedly housing Donovan's data samples. No allied militia scouts, no enemy recon units, no wandering nomads, nothing obstructed the path to the doctors' destination. Indeed, the young sniper felt very wrong, and she perceived that her commander noticed it as well.
“The laboratory… why is it such a hazy memory?” I asked myself as the jeep came to a halt in front of the only pristine structure in a twenty mile radius. I watched the young Ihlia and her commander vault over the jeep doors while Donovan and Oswald hastily, but normally, exited the vehicle. The two mercenaries rushed to the laboratory's entrance and knelt down.
In front of the enormous electronic doors, four of the Egyptian militia, likely stationed as the laboratory's guards, lay dead. Ihlia and Bradich swiftly readied their weapons and crouched in preparation for tactical maneuvering. They stalked the immediate area for threats, and the two scientists checked the fallen soldiers for vitals. When Ihlia and Bradich returned to the laboratory entrance, the scientists shook their heads. Bradich glanced at the corpses.
“Gunshots. Two to the chest, one to the medulla oblongata; these were professionals. It has to be either Union or the French. We should leave. Those corpses are still fairly fresh, and if the lab's been compromised, we'll have to report it and get the Free Alliance to send an operation unit to reclaim it. We can't go in there like this; it's too dangerous,” Bradich stated and immediately began the trek to the parked jeep.
“We can't go back now, brother! If the lab's been compromised there may still be important research data and samples inside! If we go back now, the enemy will take them, and all the work we've done up until now will be lost!” Donovan exclaimed as he marched after his retreating brother. Oswald shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the display while I awaited Bradich's official order.
“Donovan, I'm not endangering our lives for samples and research data. There will be other opportunities. Ihlia, let's go, we're moving out,” Bradich twirled his hands in the air, a motion he used to communicate “let's wrap it up, boys.”
The young Ihlia loved Donovan, but she considered Bradich's orders absolute. She took that oath as one of his mercenaries. On his command, she trotted across the sand toward the vehicle with her rifle at the ready.
“What about our contract?!” Donovan shouted.
“Contract, brother? Are you talking about the contract that we have?” Bradich turned, lurched forward into his brother's face, and glared him down with scornful eyes. As their gazes exchanged emotions their words never could, Donovan finally released an exasperated sigh and adjusted his coat with a snap of his wrists.
“Very well, brother. I'll go alone. Take Oswald and Ihlia back, and await my return at the research dome.” Without allowing an interjection, Donovan turned and dashed into the laboratory. Oswald shook his head silently and turned on his heel.
“Actually, mercenaries, I'm going as well. Perhaps, to you, violence and killing are more important than the research that might usher in a peaceful solution. But to dense thinkers like us, it's more precious than life itself. We'll be fine, you two run along home now.” Oswald vanished into the darkness after his colleague.
“Sir…” Ihlia's crooning drone as she directed her attention to Bradich insinuated a deep rooted longing to follow them. “… this is your chance to show your brother you really do support what he's doing.”
Only the fury in Bradich's frustrated pacing topped the brooding anger in his silence; he marched back and forth across the desert sands contemplating his next action. “Son of a bitch. Alright then, Ihlia. We go in, we keep it tight. Get the data, get the hell out. Keep the VIPs safe and don't get killed, is that understood?”
“Sir!” My former self snapped up a salute.
The young Ihlia and her commander entered the facility with their weapons pressed tightly to their shoulders and their chosen nanites buzzing with activity, but they stopped when they witnessed Donovan and Oswald checking the vitals of another pair of militia guards. Just as those outside in the desert sun, the bodies had been shot thrice. The two shots in the chest rendered the targets immobile, and as they struggled to stand while Panacea worked on their wounds, a final shot through the medulla oblongata terminated their lives. As Bradich previously stated, the killers were professionals.
“Brother, stop messing around. If we're going to do this, we go in, get whatever's still here, avoid the enemy if we can, and get out. Assume all casualties are fatalities, understand?” Bradich's words turned the two scientists from their endeavor.
“See? I believe I'll collect on that bet when we return, old friend,” Oswald grinned at Donovan.
“You mean ‘if’ we return, Oswald,” Donovan's tone reflected his concern.
I remembered Oswald informing me later, during one of the many ten years we traveled together following the Cairo incident, that the two bet on whether or not we would actually leave them. Apparently, Oswald was the victor, but Donovan never paid him the money. He never got the chance.
As the group progressed swiftly and silently through the facility, they stepped over many similar bodies with a cause of death identical to their comrades'. Bradich and Ihlia moved with purposeful steps with their hips set tactically low and their conditioned legs keeping them in perpetual motion. The two scientists jogged down the metal corridors as quietly as possible just to keep up with the two mercenaries. The metallic smell of blood mingled with the scent of steel, disinfectant, and wiring. Though the commander and my former self experienced the scent and remained unaffected by its repugnant odor, the two doctors held their sleeves tight against their nostrils to filter the smell. It offered them little relief.
“There! That's the laboratory with the specimens I need!” Donovan hissed as we approached a large, electronically sealed metal door. Bradich and Ihlia turned to cover the rear, and Donovan set to work punching in numbers and providing his retina for a swift scan. When the door slid open and the group shuffled through into the laboratory, the young sniper beheld a single eye gawking up at her from the ground. Unfortunately, it possessed no socket.
“I think someone beat us here,” Ihlia mentioned as the door clicked shut behind them.
Donovan and Oswald immediately set themselves into motion. Their fingers flew across various data pads and holocom keyboards with inhuman speed and precision. Bradich and Ihlia, after ensuring the room held no surprises in wait to ambush the group, shouldered their weapons. Ihlia's gaze roamed around with passive interest; she was intent on learning as much about Donovan's line of work as possible that she might support his resear
ch better. Her curiosity led her to a humming cylinder tucked away in the corner of the room. As her hand extended toward it, a voice arose from one of the holocom terminals.
“I wouldn't if I were you, Ihlia,” Oswald calmly stated. His voice carried subtle concern, but despite his uncanny knowledge that Ihlia attempted to toy with a dangerous object, the doctor never even looked away from his work.
“Even back then, huh? How does he always do that. And why… does this seem so familiar, but not… it is my dream sequence, I should understand what's going on, but I feel this has been…” I spoke aloud in the quivering ghost-voice that fate ordained for me.
“That's an electrocapacitor plate. If you touch it and it's been damaged in anyway and any of the components are exposed, not even Panacea will save you from the electric shock your body will take,” Oswald continued.
“I thought you didn't like us mercenaries, Doc? Wouldn't you have rather seen me fried to a crisp?” Ihlia retorted.
“Hmph. The two of you came back for us despite there being no logical reason to do so. I hate that kind irrational thought more than anything. But I think if you had abandoned us, I would have hated you a lot more. In short, maybe you two aren't so bad. But don't let it go to your head. I still have yet to definitively conclude that hypothesis,” Oswald peeked over his shoulder and offered the young Ihlia a grin.
“Oswald, no time. Download the program. I've got everything I need from my end,” Donovan turned and began removing hardware components from the holocom station at which he worked.
“Yes, I've almost finished, calm down,” Oswald nonchalantly responded. “You're always such a worrisome fellow. It's not like the place is about to explode.”
NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire Page 32
