02: Icebreaker

I don’t think I realized it at the time, but a lot of things went through my head as I lay there, frozen up to my thighs in ice so cold it had formed a permanent shell around the whole of the planet. Mostly they were thoughts of hatred and spite, but I also had questions that needed answering.

Who was the hunter, and how had he known where we would be? For that matter, what was he? If he was an aberrant, why did he bother to speak to me, and why did he spare my life? Aberrants were all muscle and teeth and claws and killing, even the ones who were human once; they certainly didn’t speak to you before they ate the eyeballs out of your head. And if he was human, how did he react so quickly and move so effortlessly? And how did he control his aberrant pets without being savaged and infected with Aberrant-Strain himself?

None of what had happened made any sense to me. And the equipment he had used -- that weapon that had melted the ice-shell – I’d never even heard of such things before. So many questions that needed answering, and so many crimes that needed punishing.

My friends were dead, my wife was dead, and yet I was alive, at least for a little while longer. I swore to myself, in that moment, that if I ever got out of that ice I would devote my life to hunting him down and removing his stain from the planet, so that no one else would ever have to die at his hands. But inside I knew that none of that was ever going to happen; I was going to die there, in that ice, as surely as if the god-damned hunter had pulled the trigger himself. So I lay myself down and closed my eyes to the world, willing myself to give up, to let go.

As it turned out, fate wasn’t quite finished with me yet…

* * *

Noal’s eyes fluttered open the sound of footsteps. Flashes of waking inside the toyocar, and the hunter’s white boots filled his head for a split-second before his vision cleared. And there they were, swarming him with reassurances that everything would alright, they would save him. Just relax, they told him, you’re going to be fine.

Everything would not be alright. Mere feet from him, Lara lay dead on the ice, face adopting the same look of terror she’d had before he killed her. Her eyes were still open. Oh god… I’m so sorry. He would never be fine again, not even after he watched that bastard’s blood drain out between his fingers. He would be avenged, but never alright.

A flurry of faces whirled around him with an urgent busyness as they clawed and hammered at the ice, trying to break him free. Not like it mattered, anyway; his legs had been frozen solid for a good ten minutes in the ice-shell, so cold it could kill in seconds. Even if they got him out, he had no idea what shape he would be in, or if he would ever be good for anything again. Even still, he would kill the son-of-a-bitch who had done this, and he would piss on the bastard’s grave. He didn’t know how he would pull it off – net yet – but he would find a way.

The frantic digging and hammering of his rescuers didn’t seem to be making much progress; they had barely made a dent in the ice. Not that Noal could blame them; the ice-shell was harder and tougher than a solid steel plate. He had already started to shiver, knowing it was only due to the partial protection of his cold-suit that he had made it this long, but that protection was by no means infinite. It seemed he was going to freeze to death out there after all.

Then a woman pushed through the throng; she was a small woman, almost waif-like, with strikingly beautiful olive features highlighted by royal blue eyes and raven black hair. She smiled at him – a look of sympathy and understanding – and pushed her way to the forefront. “Let me try,” she said. The men moved aside to let her through and Noal watched in disbelief as she removed her cold-suit gloves and rolled up her sleeves, pulling back a fist as if she meant to crack open the ice with her bare hands.

CRACK! Her fist came down like a jack-hammer, making a deep rent in the ice. CRACK! CRACK! SMASH! She punched it again and again, using both hands down. Noal could feel the impacts in his spine and found himself stricken dumb with amazement. The ice was beginning to split apart from this tiny girl’s tiny fists. Suddenly he felt the results of his exposure to the cold, suddenly keen, and his vision began to waver in and out. The last thing he saw before the light went out, yet again, was his own body being dragged from what should have been his icy grave.

When next he opened his eyes he was in the back of a toyo – larger than the one he had come in, with room for six people along with his prone form. Through the window he could see a second toyo following along with the one he was in, but that was about all he was able to see. His head began to swim, the images around him blurred and distorted, and he suddenly could no longer hold his head up.

A wild-eyed, older-looking man with a shock of white hair looked down on him, a concerned look on his face. “Are you awake, son? What is your name? You're from the Codex, yes?” The words were fuzzy and indistinct. Noal muttered something that he hoped was an answer before the world faded out once more.

He woke again, to the sound of the toyocar's wheels on a steel grated ramp. They were on a downward slope, traveling into a tunnel of some sort. Unless that was his head producing tunnel vision; everything was jumbled and unclear.

“...going to make it?”

“I don't know, Sal..”

“...have to see what the doc says...”

Lights out.

Now he was on a gurney, being wheeled down a long hallway with blinking lights overhead. An olive-skinned man with long, curly hair in a pony-tail and a pointed goatee, in a grey smock, was walking next to him, looking down with an appraising expression. “He was exposed for how long?” said the man, with a thick Arabian accent.

“We don't know, but we were with him for at least ten minutes,” said the voice of the wild-eyed man, from somewhere beside him.

“Hmmm. By all rights, this man should be dead already. I can't promise anything, but I am optimistic he will pull through. His legs though, that is another story; I'm going to have to—“

“Wait, I think he's awake.”

The Arabian man look into Noal's eyes, “Mister Silver, can you hear me? Noal Silver?” Noal nodded his head weakly, unable to muster the strength to speak. “My name is Kasim. I am a doctor, and I am going to do everything I can for you. Do you understand?” Noal tried to answer affirmatively, but his strength left him, along with this consciousness.

When he woke again, he was feeling better, groggy, but better. He was in a low lit room, lying on a raised bed piled with thermal blankets, though he felt less warm that he should have. Clearly he was not yet completely recovered from the effects of his ordeal, and his legs felt somehow strange, in a way that he could not identify. The room was lined with plate-steel walls and whoever operated in there was immaculately clean about his work.

“How are you feeling, Mister Silver?” said a familiar voice, the wild-eyed old man that Noal vaguely remembered from out in the ice-field. “You look much better now, but you're lucky to be alive, you know.”

“Yes, thank you,” Noal replied, “and please thank the doctor. Kasim, is it? I owe him... I owe all of you a great debt for saving my life. And evidently he does good work.”

“That he does, that he does,” said wild-eyes, “and he worked longer than I've ever seen him go in a stretch on you, my boy. He sends his regards, by the way.”

Noal looked around the room, suddenly remembering that he had no idea where he had been taken or whose people had saved him. “Where am I?” he asked.

“You don't know? You're in Core, Mister Silver.” Wild-eyes grinned at Noal's surprised expression.

“I found it? I actually found Core?”

“If we're being technical, we found you. But yes, in essence, your mission was a success, though the price was high, I realize,” replied the white-haired man. “I am Tye – Tye Rundell. I am the administrator here. You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to; consider Core your home away from home.” The administrator reach a hand out to Noal, who shook it with as much strength as he could muster.

“That is... very kind, Mister Rundell. I can't tell you how much it means to me.” He took another look around the medical room, an impressed expression on his face. “I had no idea there was a doctor in Core; I thought you mostly worked with Cyber-tech.”

“I think you'll find Noal, if I may call you Noal, that we are much more than that. Much more,” said Tye, as Dr. Kasim walked into the room looking rested. “But you'll have plenty of time to see what we do around here – for now your only concern is your recovery. Everything else can wait.”

“I am afraid administrator Rundell is correct in this,” said the doctor, “you're out of the woods, true, but still a long way from the full recovery I am expecting you to make.”

Noal nodded. “I understand, but I am better, right?”

“We'll see,” said Kasim, taking Noal's pulse, blood pressure and temperature, then placing Noal's on his wrist. “Try to push up against me. Good, now press down. Aha! Now to the left, and now to the right. Now take a deep breath for me. Yes, alright.” He took out a slim pen-light and shined it into each of Noal's eyes, in turn. “Good pupil response...” he muttered. “Here, do you feel this?” asked the doctor, poking his patient with a small pin.

Noal grabbed his hand away, sucking on the pin-pricked finger. “Ow! Yes I blood feel that! Geez, Kasim, you're not like any of the other doctors I've met from Wyethfizer Metro. They just gave me pills to take.”

Kasim snorted contemptuously, “Wyethfizer Metro – bah! Those glorified chemists wouldn't know real medicine if it rode down from the sky on a sunbeam and burned a hole in their self-important heads! Pills and injections is all they know how to do; that's not medicine as far as I am concerned!” He stopped, seeming satisfied with the results of his exam, and smiled. “But to answer your question: you are still very weak, but yes, you are much better than when I first saw you. You will need to take it easy for a week or two, but as I said, I predict a full recovery.”

“Wow, that's great to hear; I really thought I was going to die out there. But, uh” he hesitated, “my legs – I know they were in that ice for a long time, and they feel kind of... funny.”

Kasim looked over at Tye with a guarded expression, then back at Noal, a dour look on his face. “Right, your legs. They were damaged by the ice. Badly damaged, I am afraid. Regretfully, I was not able to save them.”

“Oh...damnit. “The realization of what the doctor had just told him exploded in his mind as images of what life would be like as a cripple. None of it was very encouraging. “I'm sure you, uh, did the best you could, Kasim. Thank you for trying.” He felt about ready to give up on life.s

“I did, however, manage to accomplish the next best thing,” said the doctor. Noal's skeptical look said that 'next best' really did mean anything when it came to keeping or losing his legs. “I couldn't save the legs you had, so I gave you new ones. Better ones.” He smiled, openly now.

“New ones? I don't underst--”

“Try to kick your foot up from underneath the blanket.” Noal did that and a foot-shaped object kicked up from underneath the blanket.

“What...?”

“He's ready to see them, Kasim,” Tye said, with no doubts. “take the blanket off of him.”

Kasim reached for the thermal blankets; Noal wasn't sure he wanted to see what was underneath. The blankets came off, and Noal looked down in disbelief at what he was seeing. Half-way down his thighs, the skin and flesh was gone, replaced by cold steel. The prosthetic legs were nothing short of miraculous, a beautiful functional collection of rods, levers, and hydraulics that would flex when he flexed and move when he moved.

Noal could barely force a single word out of his mouth, “How?”

The administrator patted him on the shoulder, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Like I said, there is much more to Core than cyber-tech. You'll see.”

“For now, let's just concentrate on getting you accustomed to your new legs, shall we?” suggested the doctor. “Here, try to get off the bed.”

Noal slid himself off of the bed, and hopped off, onto the floor, landing on his rear end with a crash. “They'll take some getting used to,” Kasim replied. Noal grabbed ahold of the bed's frame to stead himself, then slowly willed his new legs to stand shakily to their feet. It was similar to controlling his old legs, but subtly different.

Once he had successfully managed to stand on his own two feet, he attempted to walk across the room, with near disastrous results, finding this time that he was too shaky to get back up by himself. He sighed with contempt for his perceived weakness. “So what do I do now?” he asked, dejectedly.

“Get back up and try again,” said Tye, kindly, yet firmly, helping Noal back up to his feetI. It's going to take some time before you can use those legs as naturally as you'd use the ones God gave you. And it will take a lot of determination on your part, but also the ability to rest when you need to.” The administrator helped Noal back to the bed. “You have to give it time, Noal. Any good historian knows that Rome wasn't built in a day – nor was the Codex, for that matter. You still have much strength to recover, and you look like you could use some more sleep, now.”

The exhausted patient was asleep again in no time, dreaming of deadly hunters, dressed in white, steel legs, and a raven-haired girl breaking ice with her bare knuckles.

The next day, Noal was able to get out of bed and walk around the room several times, while only falling over twice. He was definitely improving, and he felt stronger as well. He even managed to walk over to a mirror on the opposite side of the room and took a look at his reflection. Brown hair, cheek length, hung over pale green eyes and a tight, pale face beset with at least a week’s worth of stubble. He pretty much looked like crap, and felt marginally worse.

Over the following days he got to know Tye and Kasim very well indeed, giving them the nicknames 'Chuckles' and 'Mr. Kill Joy' respectively. He didn't know how two such opposite personalities could work so well together, but somehow they managed, with Tye issuing forth a steady stream of corny puns and off-colour jokes, while Kasim's only reaction was a stoic raising of the eyebrow and a muttered 'I certainly do not see how that is helpful to this situation,” or something similarly-themed. It was always clear, though, despite their differing manners, that they were about as close as any two people could be; they had been through a lot together, over the years.

They were quickly becoming special to Noal as well, who began to wonder how he could have survived those first, difficult days without Kasim's quiet encouragements to go further, and Tye's quick wit and indefatigable optimism to take his mind off of all the pain of recovery, and the frustration of learning to walk all over again. Never once had they spoken of any debts, though he was sure that his treatment must have cost Core a small fortune. And though the pain of losing his wife, and also his closest friends, weighed heavily upon him, no one tried to belittle that pain, but merely supported him with a shoulder to cry on when he needed it, or a friendly ear to listen to his angry rantings.

Through it all, however, there was one person who Noal could not get out of his mind; the raven-haired girl who had broken the ice with her fists. Unless, of course, he had imagined that. In retrospect it certainly seemed an unlikely memory, and yet it never faded with time. He just wished he knew what her name was.

As it happened, he would find out sooner than he expected.

He had been there for a week, steadily learning the basic workings of his prosthetics, though it was not coming along as quickly as he could have hoped. He had mastered walking a circuit around the med-room and then into the back storage areas and operating theatre, when he decided that it was time to take a look around the place. After everyone had gone to their beds, he slipped quietly out of his own and headed out the door toward the more populous parts of the colony. He had managed to make it down the hall and into a round, open mezzanine area, empty at that odd hour in which he had chosen to make his sojourn, before he collapsed onto one of the bare, metal benches sitting around the room's tall stone centre-structure.

Amidst a string of epithets that would have made a mining-colony prostitute blush, a gentle hand brushed his shoulder, accompanied by a soft voice that snuck its way into his ears. “Are you okay?”

Noal turned around in surprise, “Yes I’m—“ it was her, the raven-haired girl with the olive skin. Her eyes were very blue tonight. “It’s you! I mean, uh, yes! I’m… fine. I’m just having some trouble with these… legs.” He pointed toward the prosthetics embarrassedly.

“I know; I’ve been watching,” she replied demurely.

“Oh! I didn’t realize,” Noal blushed and held out his hand to shake. “Um, I’m Noal Silver. From The Codex.”

She shook the out-stretched hand with a grin. “Hello Noal Silver, I’m Naomy Rundell. Very please to make your acquaintance.”

“Rundell? As in…”

“Tye is my father,” she confirmed.

Noal nodded, “Huh. With your complexion I would have pegged you for Kasim’s kin.”

Naomy nodded, an amused look on her face. “He is my uncle.”

“It all comes together,” Noal chuckled, “So Chuckles marries Mr. Killjoy’s sister, and has you. I’d bet you have a truly fascinating personality.”

Naomy giggled at that. “You tell me, Mister Silver.”

“Definitely yes,” he laughed, then became suddenly serious. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you, yet.”

“For what?”

“Saving my life,” said Noal, “I know it was you that got me out of the shell. I’d be dead if not for you.”

Naomy smiled and looked at her feet, “It was nothing, really, and anyway, I’m very glad I was able to; we wouldn’t be here talking otherwise!”

Noal nodded in agreement, but looked puzzled. “How did you get me out of there? I mean, I saw Tye and a bunch of others with hammers and picks, barely scratching the ice, then you came along and just… punched it?”

Naomy looked serious now, and seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I don’t show this to many people. It invites an odd combination of fear, pity and revolt in most. But I guess you’d understand better than they would.” Without another word, she spun and punched the stone centre-structure with a deep thud. When she moved her hand, Noal could see a deep and cracked crater in the stone, made by her tiny fist. He hadn’t noticed up until then, but the centre-structure was covered in similar, fist-shaped craters.

He looked at Naomy questioningly, and she held up her fist for him to see. Skin hung off in ragged patches where the stone had scraped it away, and underneath, instead of flesh, blood and bone, was the metallic grey of cold steel. She flexed her fingers purposefully, wincing with pain, and looked into Noal’s eyes. “You see now, my arms are like your legs,” she held her injured hand out to him. “My uncle has a machine that grows skin over top, complete with pain sensors, and other things. It looks real, looks human, but it’s not.”

Noal took her battered hand in his, covering the wounds with his fingers. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And if it wasn’t for this, I’d be dead right now.”

Naomy pulled away gently, looking first at her hand, then at Noal. “I am sorry about your friends, and your wife. I wish I could have saved them, too. I’d better go get this hand fixed.” She smiled at Noal as she turned to walk the opposite direction from his room.

“Until we meet again,” Noal whispered.