01: The Pledge

My name is Noal Silver, and I am a historian of sorts, though most would call me an archivist, because of where I come from. The Codex is my home, also called the great library, and not without reason. You see, the people of the Codex have long been devoted to collecting, archiving and studying the surviving knowledge of the old world, the one that existed before the Shift plunged all of humanity into the massive frozen hell we all call 'Home'.

Contained within the Codex are treasures beyond measure: art, literature, history, music, culture, newcasts, journals, films, comic books, novels, sculptures, paintings, records, and so much more. We have it all here – at least as much as we’ve been able to salvage. The reclamation is never done, though. My particular specialty is in the study of ciphers – codes, patterns, hidden messages, and the like, contained in, well, just about any medium you can think of. From the way the culture of the second world war impacted the art of detective comics to the way the price of rice in third century China affected the design of their weapons of war, there’s a pattern to it that can be deciphered if you know where and how to look.

By studying all of the data and knowledge that we have accumulated since the Codex first began, we know that Earth was not always as cold as it is today; people used to be able to stay outside in little more than their underwear and not freeze to death in a couple of minutes, or at all, in some places. The planet used to be largely green, and the oceans blue, instead of white and icy – we’ve got the photos, taken from outer space, to prove that. But one-hundred and fifty years ago, something happened that changed all of that: a worldwide, cataclysmic climate shift. Or, as everyone calls it nowadays, just ‘The Shift’. As near as we can figure, the official date of the Shift was July 22, 2049 A.D. What little we know about that day makes a sad tale.

We have news broadcasts from many important places that show us a hint of what our ancestors went through to get us where we are today. Reports from what used to be New York city, when the ocean swallowed it up. People screaming, drowning. And on the other side of the continent, Los Angeles, a great city of music and films, destroyed by wind and hail. In the north, a city called Victoria – a garden city before the ocean swallowed it up. Particularly moving, in my mind, is a story about a small town, not far from Victoria, who bravely soldiered on, hiding from the freeze in a church, though not much like the churches I’ve been to. It was from that little town that some of our most famous pioneers emerged, surviving not by skill, but by sheer force of will, or as they claimed, prayer. I don’t know how they really got through it, though, but I do know that it is because of people like these that a place like the Codex exists, and for that they have my gratitude.

One thing we don’t know is what caused the Shift – why did it happen, and what could we have done to prevent it? It has been a source of endless debate for the past one-hundred and fifty years, and the fact that I may have discovered the answer is rather, well, I guess it’s a little bit frightening, to be honest. But no less frightening than the answer itself. I guess if I’m going to explain all of that, though, I’d better start from the beginning.

Today’s date is July 22, 150 A.S. (After Shift). A big day, wouldn’t you agree? The hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the Shift. But my story begins on a different day, six years ago, or thereabouts. It is a day I’ll never forget; but then, I’m sure one rarely forgets the day they found a nemesis, and a purpose.

* * *

November 3, 144 AS

The sound of whirring stud-tires echoed through a serene winter landscape as the hulking steel shape of a toyocar sped over the icy ground-shell, its dual-hydrocell engines roaring like thunder in the otherwise silent surroundings. Sitting atop the growling motors, in the toyo's cramped cockpit, Noal Silver fingered the throttle forward anxiously. Too many aberrant attacks had been reported in this sector to do anything less; some aberrants could run as fast as the vehicle's plodding-along cruise speed, with strength enough to do significant damage.

The last time he had encountered an aberrant, a severely pissed off, mutantly-huge dog-monster with an aptitude for pulling the steel armour plating off of Tran's village watch-wall, five constables, armed with semi-auto pistols had gone down before Noal had managed to dispatch the slavering beast with a decisive zweihander stab to the brain-pan. As useful as a gun could be, they were far too costly for the average joe to afford, and Noal much preferred the feel of his trusty zweihander swinging in his hands, with its four feet of aberrant-slicing steel. Admittedly, the sword was not much to look at, crafted from a piece of an old-world airplane propeller, with haphazard angles of metal for a hilt. At least it didn't jam up in the cold the way a gun did.

“So what is this place we're trying to get to, anyway?” asked Roddy Harlin, a computer technician whose main duty was keeping the Codex's antediluvian database library in working condition, from the back seat. There weren't many technicians around with Roddy's credentials, but then again, there weren't many operating computers around anymore, either. And of those that did exist, none of them had anything on the Codex database. A good technician was hard to find, as they took on apprentices rarely, and most had few compunctions against killing to keep their secrets secret. Roddy was one of the best, and probably had a lot of blood on his hands to show for it.

“It's called Core,” Noal replied, increasing the throttle a little bit more, “At least so say the rumours of its existence.”

“You dragged the four of us all the way up here to the badlands to follow a freaking rumour?” said the back seat's other occupant, the Codex's assistant-chief librarian, a red-headed and fiery woman, well known for a healthy lust for 'good' men, second only to her lust for good books.

“Correction, Marila: Ten and Ophi sent the four of us all the way into the badlands to follow a ‘freaking rumour’, because they thought it was important,” Noal quipped, “Important enough to give us the toyo, I might add. I’m just the one driving us there.”

“Fair enough, Silver,” Roddy responded, “but my question is why? Why send us all the way up here into bloody abby territory to find some secret metro that doesn’t wanna be found?”

“Because of what they do there,” said Noal, “Cyber-tech like you wouldn’t believe, and that’s not all there is to Core, from what I’ve been hearing.”

“I thought Intel Metro did Cybes,” Marila commented.

“Not like Core, they don’t,” said a silky female voice across from the driver’s pit. “Intel’s never been any good at artificial intelligence models, and it’s been wreaking havoc with our database imagers. Seems our dear curators heard a rumour about some new imaging technology developed in Core, and they want a piece of it. Haven’t you been keeping up with current events, Mar?” The sandy-haired speaker in the front passenger seat flashed Noal an impish smile; she enjoyed this banter far too much and, Noal suspected, encouraged it in subtle ways, when she thought she could get away with it.

There wasn’t much, besides book-burning or some other form of history debasement that he wouldn’t let Lara get away with, though. He chalked it up to being one of the fringe benefits of holy matrimony.

Noal thought back to their wedding day with an internal grin at the mental images that came to mind: the two of them, dressed to the nines in survival suits under borrowed pre-Shift formal-wear – badly preserved, at that – along with Roddy and Marila, their best man and maid of honour, and a half-crazed Franciscan-style monk with about one-third of a Bible, all crammed into the dingy, makeshift chapel of some backwater mining satellite of metro Alcan. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could afford, and then some, and it had made her happy. He wasn’t sure how ‘holy’ the matrimonial oaths from that monk had been, but at least they were married. Their one night spent together in that mining colony hadn’t been much of a honeymoon, but they had both been eager to get back to their work in the Codex.

Much as it often chafed his style, Noal was hard up to think of anyone better suited to be his personal foil. Whenever his imagination prompted him into some kind of potentially dangerous (and probably embarrassing) situation, Lara was there to bring him back down the ground. Without her around, he was sure he would have been long since dead, or left to rot in some tech-union prison for being too outspoken about his opinions on their leaders, policies, ethics, and pretty well everything else about them. His mouth had often gotten him into trouble before she had come along.

And she shared his love for codes, which was hardly the kind of thing most women went for. If there was anyone on the planet who could give him a run for his money with a cipher, it was Lara. He really couldn’t live without her; why would he want to? He only wished she hadn’t been so insistent on coming to the badlands with him; the place was dangerous, and Roddy wasn’t kidding about it being abby territory. If anything were to happen to her—

A boulder-sized white shape slammed against the passenger side of the cockpit, rocking the toyocar on its axles with a dull thud. Suddenly it was all Noal could do to keep control, as the first hit was followed by several more, each one swinging the toyo in a different direction. Noal punched the throttle to its maximum, pulling away from the attackers.

“What the hell was that?” shouted Noal, steering and throttling furiously.

“Five abbies, still following,” said Lara, looking out through the rear windshield, “look like they were spawned from bears or something. They’re big, very mean, and whatever they are, or were, they’re gaining on us!”

“I can’t get this damn thing going any faster!” Noal exclaimed, punching the steering wheel, “I think that first hit damaged one of the wheels. There’s something dragging somewhere in the drive-train that shouldn’t be.”

Marila did a quick visual inspection of the damage. “Wow! Nigel and Ophelia are gonna be pissed when they see this mess!”

“Forget about Nigel and Ophelia, it’s old wrench-head that I’m worried about!” added Roddy, leaning out the window with his long, steel “thumpin’” stick, levering it like a crowbar against something caught in the wheel-well. Something came loose with a sickening sucking and crunching sound and suddenly the toyo was accelerating at a much more comfortable pace. “Are there still five of those things behind us?”

“Yep, they’re all still after us!”

“Well one’s down a bloody leg! Colour me impressed!” Roddy laughed. It seemed like he never took anything seriously.

Noal, meanwhile, had managed to pull the toyo away from the following abbies, though in doing so he had inadvertently steered them into an ice-field that he had meant to go around, before events had forced him to take a more direct course. The ice-field was a treacherous collection of hidden snow drifts, jutting ice-shafts and sudden drop-offs that made for a death-grip-on-any-handle-you-can-find terrifying ride, full of sudden turns, dangerous skids and a lot of bumping up and down.

Noal was as focused on the ‘road’ ahead as he could ever remember being, pulling out driving skills he never knew he had, just to avoid driving the four of them into certain death. It wasn’t easy to pull off, and the abbies had far from given up the chase. Something flicked at the corner of his eye, something that shouldn’t have been there. He could only catch fleeting glances as he tried to navigate around potential hazards.

A fleeting glance revealed what was clearly a humanoid figure, standing very still. The ground dropped out from underneath the toyo with a bone-jarring impact, before it recovered. A second, closer glance, had the figure dressed all in white, like a survival suit of some kind, face masked. Aside from the shape there was no hint of anything human about it. Who in their right mind wore white outside of a colony, anyway? Most people wore dark colours to be more visible against the ice. Camouflage was no good again abbies, anyway, as they could smell human from a mile away. One tire hit large rock, sending the car skidding to one side as it soldiered on. Another glance, and the figure was raising something onto its shoulder – a weapon? The bear-aberrants were starting to gain on them; more speed was needed. Noal gunned it, focusing even more so on the path before him, and then he caught his last glance. There was a flash, and a long stream of smoke issuing from the back of a projectile shot from the strange figure's tube-like weapon. In the split-second before the impact, Noal knew exactly what was about to happen, and he could do nothing to stop it. So he prayed.

An explosion erupted in the front of the toyocar, flipping it end over end like so much scrap metal and issuing a brilliant yellow flash and a fireball that overtook all within the cockpit. At some point during the blast, the lights went out on Noal. His eyes fluttered open an indeterminate amount of time later, and he found himself hanging upside down from his driver's harness in the smashed and burning toyo cockpit. He felt like he'd been thrown around inside a big metal tin can, which was pretty close to what had, in fact, just happened to him.

But, there was no time to think, he had to get out of there and make sure everyone was alright. He didn't even know where anyone was, at the moment. Hitting the harness release, he fell into the ceiling of the toyo and quickly scrambled around to assess the situation. He stopped short, a scream dying in his throat; there, still in her harness, was Marila. From what he could see, she looked to have been crushed by the ceiling when the toyocar flipped over and landed on its roof. At least she probably hadn't suffered.

Roddy was stuck halfway out of the other rear window, shivering violently, whether from his injuries or the cold Noal did not know. He thought he could hear the muffled sound of swear words coming from that direction, though. The muffled epithets stopped suddenly and Noal thought he heard Roddy try to shout “Who in the hell are you? You killed my wife, you son of a b—aggh!” A punctuated gargle was the last thing Noal ever heard Roddy say.

Through his own open window, Noal heard footsteps on the ice-shell ground, and a pair of white combat boots stepped into his line of sight; the boots belonging to the bastard who had killed his two best friends and – suddenly the thought hit him: where was Lara? A woman's cry from somewhere outside answered his question. The boots turned to walk in her direction.

Shimmying into the back, Noal reached behind Marila's head into the toyo's storage locker to retrieve the zweihander; if the killer thought he was going to just going to get away with this, he was in for a surprise. As silently as possible, he wriggled his way back into the front and crawled out the window to stop the white-suited murderer once and for all.

He – Noal had decided that it must be a man – was standing over her, his booted foot against her chest, pushing her back against the ground. “Where is it?” he was demanding. The voice was human, presumably, and sounded artificial, as if it were being broadcast throught an intercom. He had a slight accent as well, of indeterminate origin.

“Where's what?” Lara stammered. She was shivering already; Noal didn't have a lot of time.

“The people who hired me to hunt you down were quite adamant that you would have what I seek. Give it to me!” The voice was angry now and the figure raised a gun to her head.

“Get away from her!” Noal yelled as he ran toward them, swinging the zweihander into position. The white figure reacted with cat-like reflexes, spinning on Noal as he produced another weapon which he pointed at the archivist's feet. A red bolt of light struck the ground and Noal sank thigh deep into the instantly melted section of the ice-shell, screaming as the intense cold burned through the legs of his cold-suit, sending ripples of pain through his body. Before he could pull himself out of the melt-hole, the ice had already re-frozen, leaving him to flail madly as his stuck legs began to go numb.

“No one raises a weapon against me! This is on your hands, swordsman!” The hunter cupped Lara's head in his hands, touching her face in a mockery of a loving caress, then twisted her neck with a snapping sound and dropped her lifeless body to the ground. “Consider that your punishment for being a fool.”

The hunter walked over to Noal, who was still struggling with the solid ice trapping his legs, aiming a long-barreled rifle at his head, then hesitated suddenly. “Wait a minute – that uniform; you're not the tech-union drone I was expecting. You're from the Codex, and not the one I'm after. Nonetheless, you've annoyed me sufficiently that I'll ignore that fact, this time.” The white-gloved finger touched the trigger, then stopped, as the hunter's head cocked back, listening.

“Must be your lucky day, swordsman, my real prey just arrived, and no price on your head.” With surreal grace, the hunter holstered his weapon and ran over to a two-wheeled cycle, taking off into the ice-field. Five aberrant bears converged from somewhere unseen and loped after him.

“Lara...” whispered Noal, as he collapsed onto the ice, sure of his own impending end. “I'm sorry... oh god, I'm so sorry.”

The deadly cold froze Noal's tears to his face, as he waited for the sweet embrace of death.