NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire

by Jason Crutchfield

  The sharp, shrill sound of the wind suggested my altitude increased since my reckless dash through the ribcage valley, but the sound that alarmed me most drifted down from outside the exit. At its peak performance in a quiet room, the auditory enhancing nanite Oswald implanted in me detected sounds as faint as breathing without care taken to conceal them, and in extremely favorable circumstances, even the sound of a human heartbeat fell within the range of the implant's detection.

  The noise that found its way through the whispering winds and howling sky sounded like a wire or string creaking as someone strained to draw it taut. The soft crunch of an unknown hard substance followed it, but after a few seconds, the noise ceased and utter silence enveloped the wastelands. If an intelligent being lay in wait at the source of the audible disturbance, they were good. Really good. The lack of breathing sounds, the quietness that kept their heartbeat from detection, and the overall lack of movement served to conceal them well. If not for my auditory enhancement, my chances of detecting them would have been nonexistent. I slowly poked my head from the crevice to locate the source of the noise.

  The cool wind tore through my hair, whipping it back like a dark, billowing curtain. As my eyes cleared the rim of the opening, I quickly scanned the area in the general direction of the noise but discovered only the extensive rocky surface of the mountainside coated in rocky debris. The only glaring object seemingly out of place, an enormous boulder, jutted from the side of the mountain roughly twenty feet from my location. I glared at it intently and gingerly placed my fingertips into the shifting gravel that covered the broad incline of the mountain.

  I glanced down at the loose stones and noted the precarious danger of maneuvering across the ground. If a hyped or bandit lay in wait behind the boulder, the slightest shift or sound in the stone would prove fatal to me. It also meant that the slightest movement from behind their giant barricade would prove fatal to them. “Great,” I thought to myself, “a game of chicken.”

  File 29: Richter Sarkany

  The seconds passed like decades, and the howling wind provided the only backdrop music for the stubborn confrontation with my unknown assailant. I coiled my legs against the stone in preparation for my moment. A shift in wind direction signaled the end of our stalemate as it blew a few loose stones down the side of the mountain. The first tap of their smooth surfaces against their fellow stones propelled me to action.

  I launched myself from the hole like a pouncing predator and sped toward the boulder; at the same time, I reclaimed my dagger from between my clenched teeth. The moment my feet collided with the ground, a humanoid figure spun from the cover of the enormous rock. I quickly hummed my Cognitive Accelerator to life; a sense of relief washed over me when the augment operated properly and caused me no pain or discomfort from Oswald's atrocious serum.

  The figure before me was more than merely humanoid, it was a human male. At a height of roughly five feet and ten inches, the man stood with good posture and a stoic expression. His brown hair clung to his scalp in braided cornrows, but their long ends spiraled down the back of his neck in stylish tendrils; they extended just beyond the toned curve of his trapezius muscles. His eyes glistened a pale blue color reminded me of mist wafting from the top of dry ice.

  A dirty, greasy white sleeveless shirt tightly hugged his middle; the tight fabric displayed his sleek but toned muscles even through the synthetic material. A large pair of tool belts hung loosely at his waist; the black material criss-crossed directly at his front and, I assumed, once more at his rear. It offered the illusion of a giant “x” draped around his hips. A pair of tight, dark green trousers tucked into a pair of lightweight black boots, but the most shocking features of his ensemble rested on his arms and back.

  A large quiver made of some leathery material extended from his back between his shoulders; within its confines several thick black stakes protruded like arrows, though they lacked fletching and were unlike any arrow I had ever seen. Upon his right hip, a smaller quiver slanted forward and attached to the flashy “x” tool belt clad to his waist; it housed more of those metallic stakes. The outside of his right calf possessed the smallest and last of the quivers, and within that vertical container, slightly smaller black rods fanned out more evenly than the clutter of stakes in the other two quivers.

  The most startling piece of his gear, however, formed a thick shell that ran down the length of his arms. Starting at either of his shoulders, a pair of metal contraptions added a significant bulk to his appearance. The apparatuses looked like extended gauntlets from a full suit of armor. They lent him a far more imposing stature than he otherwise would have possessed, but I surmised with a quick assessment that those gauntlets offered him more than aesthetic intimidation.

  The material resembled an extremely dense alloy; in fact, at a glance it seemed close in appearance to one of my osmiridium bullets. Though osmium and iridium had become far more abundant on the planet since my time with the Eagles, I doubted he comprised the mechanical gauntlets entirely of such a substance. If so, however, the resourcefulness of the stranger bordered a level equivalent to military organizations at the height of civilization.

  The gauntlets hissed slowly, in my mind's perception, as gears and various moving parts lined the joints and the areas covering the stranger's muscles. The machines ended in glove-like extensions that coated the man's fingers with rough, blocky metal digits. The right metal appendage clenched a stake between the pointer and middle finger and drew its indented surface taut against a bowstring that the stranger clenched in his augmented grip.

  The wire creaked and groaned as the power behind the metal gauntlets bent the sleek bow back into a strained arch. The metallic left limb held the bow steady despite the unfathomable strain placed upon it. The base of the bow looked like a strange carbon based material resembling a cross between the malleability of soft wood and the absolute hardness of osmiridium. Its ornate design suggested great detail had been placed in its creation, and the deep shimmering black color provided a nice finishing touch to its threatening appearance.

  The man's eyes never blinked nor altered their glare in my direction, and as his armored fingers released the wire holding back his black stake, I slid to my knees and arched my back to allow the projectile ample clearance to pass over my body. The thunderous sound of the wire snapping into place as it launched the stake forward struck me first. The powerful wind that passed over my torso as the metallic arrow cut through the air above my body like a ballistic missile struck me second, but my eyes did not widen until the stake slammed into the earth just shy of the cavern entrance.

  The powerful impact launched several stones and a cloud of dirt into the air like a bomb explosion. Though the monstrous collision seemed like an explosion, a quick glance revealed the small hole where the stake drove through solid rock and the crater that formed around it. The arrow simply hit with enough force to shake the very ground it struck. I decided that one of those high velocity projectiles striking any part of my body simply seemed inconducive with my desire to live.

  The stranger lifted his arm to tug another bolt free of its quiver, and in that moment I deactivated my Cognitive Accelerator and launched myself forward. With a swift twist, I drew back my leg and drove it against the center of the stranger's chest; the force catapulted his body down the glacis; when he struck the ground, rocks rattled and clanked down the gentle slope like a miniature avalanche.

  The man proved surprisingly agile; he utilized the momentum my kick provided to roll backward and plant his feet into the shifting rubble, effectively surfing down the avalanche itself. Despite his continued slide, the stranger drew one of the smaller bolts from the quiver on his calf and nocked it. The powerful hiss of his machine arms indicated the raw power needed to draw the bow; I hypothesized normal human muscle could not have accomplished the feat.

  The bow's groaning black body bent on its ends to accommodate the dr
awn wire as the mechanical power of the stranger's other arm held it in place. The beautiful design allowed a unique bow, virtually incapable of being fired by human hands, to work in tandem with technological advancements. It created a weapon just as deadly as conventional firearms but with far more versatility. I decided to admire his handiwork later, even if that meant admiring it while staring down at his corpse.

  I lunged down the slope and flipped my remaining long dagger into a reverse grip. As my feet struggled to keep balance while I pursued the assailant down the mountain, his bolt struck the ground in front of me. When the thin stake impacted the ground a few feet away, it exploded bits of dirt and rubble into the air as before. I furrowed my brows, confused; I assumed the man possessed remarkable marksmanship to choose a weapon as specialized as the bow and arrow. His harmless, ineffective shot, however, left me startlingly disappointed at his terrible aim. Then the dust settled.

  I stared at the stake's point of impact as I sped toward it. A faint red light flashed where the man's shot had embedded his stake. As I neared the area in question, a soft interval of electronic beeps sent red flags waving like wildfires in my head.

  “Are you serious?” I exclaimed as I drove my legs into the ground and activated my Supersoldier nanite; taking a page from Al, I utilized it to stimulate the muscle fibers in my legs and increased the speed of my sprint. Though my raw speed certainly paled in comparison to the late crime lord's, it successfully whipped me through the air fast enough to put the blinking stake behind my agile frame. “Who the hell uses bombs in arr—” The cacophonous kaboom cut my words short.

  My body sailed through the air with explosive pressure at my back, but the stranger must have failed to calculate the sharp increase in my speed when he fired his special stake. His eyes widened when I rocketed into him with flames licking at my backside. No doubt he expected the explosion to blow me into tiny pieces and scatter me to the wind. I did not even attempt to lessen the impact of our bodies; I slammed into him with a headlong tackle. As we tumbled and slid down the glacis, the rocks around us which may have been stagnant for decades shifted loose. The dirt and stone ebbed and flowed like a raging gray sea.

  Finally, we rammed with a deafening thud into one of the many boulders protruding from the mountain's face. The cloud of dust that burst up in all directions briefly concealed us, but it did nothing to stifle a shrill voice's scream, a scream which the wind carried down to us from the boulder several feet up the hill. It was the original boulder which the stranger hid behind to ambush Elsa and I. The voice belonged to Elsa and immediately drew my, and surprisingly the stranger's, attention.

  “Richter, Ihlia, stop it!” Elsa screamed as she clutched Magnolia in her right arm at the top of the enormous rock.

  “You know her?” The stranger asked bluntly.

  “You know him?” I asked bluntly and synchronously with the stranger.

  When the dust settled, we stood pressed against the flat surface of the boulder into which we tumbled. My left shoulder faithfully supported my weight as it rested against the rocky surface; I faced the man Elsa referred to as Richter, forcefully shoving the bladed edge of my long dagger uncomfortably against the side of his neck. When I applied enough pressure to make my “point,” I felt an equal application of pressure against the base of my skull. Richter held his black bow's body in his left hand as before, but the wire no longer faced the stranger ready for him to nock an arrow.

  Instead, Richter pulled the wire taut against the back of my neck with fatal implications. If he used the strength in his right mechanical gauntlet to push my body backward, the pressure assured that the wire would pass through my neck like a knife through butter. The idea of my head rolling down the hill without my body seemed unappealing to me, so I drew my knife away from Richter's throat at Elsa's behest. The stranger followed suit, and the two of us stepped back to assess one another.

  “Name's Ihlia, Ihlia Lorando,” I said as I sheathed my long dagger.

  “Richter, Richter Sarkany,” he responded plainly. After staring at me for a few seconds, he tugged a cigarette from behind his ear and placed the filter between his lips. A steel lighter provided fire, and within a few seconds puffs of gray smoke wafted from his lips as he took gratuitous drags from the formerly fatal narcotic. Without another word, Richter marched up the slope toward Elsa and her cyborg teddy.

  “How many times have I told you that you can't just shoot people whenever you want! This is why I run away! You don't listen!” Elsa clambered down from the boulder and began fervently wagging her finger at the significantly taller male. Richter simply drew a few more shots of nicotine from his burning cigarette and stared at her.

  “How did you find me anyway?” Elsa stammered, seemingly embarrassed.

  Richter placed a finger against the metal plate that served as the right side of Magnolia's face. When he finished exhaling his rings of smoke into the air, he responded in a matter-of-fact manner, “Tracking device.”

  Elsa gasped and clutched Magnolia tight to her chest; her words escaped her between half-hearted whimpers as she stroked the cyborg bear's head, “Oh Magnolia, what has he done to you?”

  “A tracking device and an archaic weapon with more stopping power than most advanced weaponry even after the advent of neurotech. I'd wager that even if a human being naturally possessed the physical prowess to draw that bow, the tensile strength of the wire would slice clean through their fingers before the composite body actually bent,” I relaxed and caught my breath.

  “So you have those' things on your arms. They give you both the power and hardness you need, but their mechanical design looks unfathomably complicated. Just who the hell are you, anyway?” I analyzed the man called Richter from head to toe. From all accounts, I perceived him as a normal human with a smoking habit. Something in those foggy blue eyes, however, assured me that something very special lay beneath his surface. After a few moments of silence and three puffs of his cigarette, Richter finally dignified my question with a response; he shrugged.

  “Even with a tracking device, we've only been out here about a day. Are you going to tell me you flew across the desert in some advanced airship, too?” I jested.

  “Hm? Actually a town is close by! Lofts something. Richter and I have been camping near there for almost a week now. It should still be close by, anyway, we didn't go that far'” Elsa interjected and swiveled her head to and fro seeking some manner of bearing with which she could direct our attention to Loftsborough. My ears perked and I offered her a hopeful glance.

  “Do you know what direction it's in?” I asked; the idea of the old codger and the drunken former soldier worrying for my safety stirred a warm yet sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach. Returning to the city to nonchalantly explain away my brief absence ranked among my immediate priorities.

  “Um'” Elsa trailed off, but the uncertain twists of her body and hesitant twirls of her head answered my question long before her words.

  With wisps of smoke blowing into the dim gray afternoon from the tip of his cigarette, Richter thumbed in the direction of the glacis' peak. I offered him a silent nod, and we started up the hill. The heavy crunch of our boots sinking into the loose stones on the mountainside were joined by the sudden, less imposing, pitter patter of Elsa's bare feet as she rushed after us.

  “Wait for me!” She cried out in her desperate struggle to ascend the pebble strewn incline. For the short duration of the hike, Elsa recounted the events of our fateful adventure with passionate abandon. I grinned at her enthusiasm.

  “So if you two are in such close proximity to Loftsborough, why not take up temporary residence there? Even if you only plan to stay for a few nights, it is bound to be more hospitable than the wastes,” I turned my gaze to Richter. My question silenced the excited little girl long enough for Richter to answer. As in most cases, that proved to be a surprisingly long wait; Richt
er took a few final drags from his cigarette and lackadaisically tipped his head in my direction.

  “People and I don't usually get along well,” He stated as he removed the smoldering filter from between his lips.

  “Really? You're a bit quiet, but I actually find it endearing. I certainly don't see why anyone would dislike you.” I pondered the idea of Richter roaming silently through the crowds in Loftsborough's markets. Aside from the occasional accidental nudge from a passerby, the only person I saw truly drawing attention to him was Elsa with her jovial spirit and kind-hearted disposition.

  “Don't know if they do or not, but'” Richter drew the last bit of consumable tobacco from the end of the smoking stick and tossed its remains on the ground in front of him. His boot fell harshly atop the burning ember to snuff the dying flame completely out of existence. In perfect synchronization with his rough stomp, Richter continued, “I definitely dislike most of them.”

  His words served to exhale the last of the smoke from his lungs into the crisp, cool wind. The action in its entirety sent my brow arching skyward. The act of snuffing out a cigarette usually pertained to the idea of preventing an out of control fire, but what, I wondered to myself, threatened to burn in the rocky wasteland? I laughed under my breath and surmised the action stemmed from habit rather than reason. Elsa detected my thoughts and giggled, too.

  We rounded the top of the hill that jutted from the side of the mountain like a cancerous growth. The rotund peak offered an extensive view of the surrounding area, and I marveled at the distance Elsa and I traveled within the network of caves inside the mountain itself. As I peered to my right between jagged rocky peaks, I noticed the smaller zit of a hill I targeted in my original plan to gain a vantage point; I also noticed the valley of rib shaped rocks and cliffside caves that extended beyond it.