Aftermath: 4 - Until Our City Be Afire (2017)

Where is Newton when you need him?

Chapter warnings: Realistic depictions of neurological, physical, and bureaucratic trauma. War. Grief. Death. Mental illness. Regular illness.

Text iteration: Witching hour.

Additional notes: None.

2017 (Four – Until Our City Be Afire)

It’s extremely unusual for Ms. Mori to appear in his doorway. In fact, Hermann is certain it’s never happened before. The Shatterdome is quiet. Lightcap is still recovering, and able-bodied PPDC personnel have been deployed to extract Crimson Typhoon from beneath the toxic remains of Reckoner. Perhaps the near emptiness of the Shatterdome is what draws Ms. Mori to his door.

He cannot picture her seeking him out but for limited options.

The girl bows and says, “I am sorry to disturb you, Dr. Gottlieb. May I have a moment of your time?” She is not so polite with Newton, but Hermann finds himself charmed by the courtesy she shows him. 

Some days, she seems to be the only one in the Shatterdome inclined to offer him any respect at all. He makes an effort to return the favor. 

He waves her forward and indicates the chair before his desk. She looks ridiculous sitting there. Her feet barely touch the floor. 

“What can I do for you, Ms. Mori?”

She hesitates, fidgeting, like the child she is. He endeavors not to look impatient.

“What happens if you breathe the air outside?” she asks. 

Hermann studies her, eyebrows raised, unsure whether she means air generally, the contaminated miasma that surrounds a decaying kaiju corpse, or the turbid air in the city right now. He’s also not certain whether she’s speaking about him in particular versus asking a general question.

He splits multiple differences. 

“The air in the immediate area is uncontaminated,” is the answer that he settles on. “However, it’s best to stay indoors until the cleanup effort is done; it’s difficult to predict when and how the winds will shift.”

Ms. Mori nods, impatient. He’s telling her nothing she doesn’t already know. That’s hardly his fault; she needs to learn to specify.

“But the people doing the cleanup,” she hesitates. “They will be fine?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “They wear respirators with a small filter size, this prevents them from breathing the toxins in the air.”

The child does not look satisfied. “The air is cleaned by the respirators?”

“The air passes through one filter,” Hermann positions his fingers in a grid, “which removes large particles. Then it passes through a mixture of chemicals that neutralize most of the poisons. Then it passes through a filter with extremely tiny holes, before it gets to the lungs.” He mimics each stage with his hands.

She contemplates this, sitting very still, fixing him with a dubious look. “The air is not one hundred percent clean? Not like new?”

“No, Hermann says. “It’s not like new, but it’s safe to breathe.”

“For everyone always?” 

Hermann sighs. “Well, Ms. Mori, you will find there are usually exceptions to rules.”

“I have found that already,” she informs him.

“That’s because you’re obviously precocious. In any case, you’re correct. The air wouldn’t be safe for everyone. It would be dangerous for people with underlying lung diseases.”

“Underlying?”

“Lung diseases that don’t cause symptoms all the time. Like asthma or emphysema. It wouldn’t be safe for people who have an allergy to a component of the contamination that isn’t removed by the filter. No one knows for certain if it would be safe for children or the elderly. Those people are advised not to go outside when the air quality is poor.”

Again, Ms. Mori fidgets, her expression concerned. Hermann feels a spike of sympathy. Dr. Lightcap suffered a horrible injury less than two weeks ago—this cannot help but remind the girl of all her past trauma. He clears his throat. “Marshal Pentecost will be fine,” he says gently. “He has undertaken many similar missions in the past. He has never suffered any ill effects.”

“I know,” Ms. Mori says.

Hermann represses a sigh. He’s terrible with children; where is Newton when you need him?

The stray thought stops him cold.

Yes. Where is Newton?

Why has this child come to him?

Lightcap is here in the Shatterdome, certainly. Newton should be here. Ms. Mori sees the change in his face, and, as if she can interpret it, her expression transforms from cautious hope to overt anxiety. 

Somehow, she knows about Manila. She knows. How she knows, Hermann can’t say, but the man must have told her, must have let it slip at some point. 

“You’re asking about Dr. Geiszler, aren’t you?” The words are sharp. He’s already rising from his desk. Of course Lightcap would send him out, of course she would—she’d want to be there, feel the horrible need to be there, but in the absence of that she’d send the person she trusted most to do her job in her stead, to be her eyes, her ears, her hands, her mind—

Mako nods, relief, concern, and hope mixing on her face. “Dr. Lightcap sent him to help with Crimson Typhoon.”

“Stay here,” Hermann snaps, holding up a finger. He picks up his cane and heads for the door.