Twisted metal and shredded fiber glass surrounded the boy’s mutilated body. Broken glass dug into his side, causing waves of pain to fight against the numbness that was spreading up his spine. Pieces of ice, and what used to be a car, pinned him in place. Every breath struggled against something heavy pressing into his side. He tried to look down, to see what it was, but couldn’t. Nothing wanted to move right. His vision wavered, blurred by the pain and the bright emergency lights drawing nearer. He continued to fight to turn his head, desperate to see the front seat where his parents had been. His panicked mind tried to focus. They were okay. They had to be okay. But the last thing he saw was a wall of ice.

 

Descending Cold, that's what they call it, a poetic little name for something that can cause so much pain. It used to be a more common problem back in the early days of Deep Aquilon. Chunks of ice would break from the ceiling and fall to the city floor below. The occurrence has dwindled since the diamond ice initiative. Now it's rare. People are surprised when they remember the danger above them, but it’s too late.

 

AIT's Applied Science Convention, a yearly event where AIT and it's partners showcase their work to colleagues, prospective employees and students. Alto went every year. It was kind of hard not too when his parents were commonly among the speakers. His father, Dr. David Merrimac was a prominent surgeon and cybernetic technician. His Mother, Dr. Emily Merrimac, was a geneticist who trained at the Hershey University before moving to Aquilon.

 

This year the Merrimacs were giving a joint speech on their latest project for AIT. Most of their research was still classified, but the presentation on blurring the line between synthetic and organic was still intriguing enough as a showcase. At least it was the first time Alto heard it. That was the disadvantage of being his parent's sounding board. He had been forced to sit through the whole presentation at least a half dozen times by now. He was pretty sure he could recite the presentation himself.

 

His parent’s work was groundbreaking, but he was more interested in checking out the runner exhibit. It was usually a small exhibit run by a couple of the younger researchers, as more of a hobby than anything official. He always liked to check out the latest rides. He had been fantasizing about testing out the latest products from GlacialCycle when the accident happened.

 

Everything happened so fast that it didn't even have time to register in his mind until he was stuck and bleeding, most of his body crushed beneath pieces of ice and car. Someone at the hospital explained it later. He had been so dazed that he couldn’t remember exactly who he was talking to. Apparently a piece of new construction came loose, pulling away from the anchoring points in the glacier above. The ice that broke free fell ten stories before landing on his family’s car. His parents were in the front seat. They were killed instantly. He woke up two days later in the hospital.

 

He dreamed the entire time, or at least he thought he had. He couldn’t remember anything but a complete blur. It was like he could almost reach the memories, but every time he nearly grasped them they become as insubstantial as a shadow and faded back from the light. He remembered pain, loss and a sense of disembodiment, but couldn’t pin anything down exactly.

 

He awoke unable to speak, unable to breathe. Or at least he was afraid he couldn't until he noticed that there was an oxygen line hooked to the tube running down his throat. Memories of the accident began to float back. He remembered the pain, remembered the wall of Ice. He tried to sit up and ask for his parents. That's when he noticed the bandages. Where his left leg should have been was a bandaged stump ending mid thigh. His right leg was wrapped all the way down, as were both his arms. He fought against panic that threatened to drown him, and then became acutely aware of the fact he couldn't feel his toes or fingers. His breathing became harder, fighting against the tube in his throat. His vision started to speckle. Little black dots swam around the room playing to the beeping of a heart monitor that was going off like crazy. He was on the verge of passing out again when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

 

“Calm down son, it's going to be okay. Just take deep breaths and try to relax.”

 

Alto hadn't even seen the man enter the room, but he recognized him once his vision cleared. Dr. Alex Winters, his father's old intern. They didn't know each other well, but he had seen Dr. Winters around enough to know the doctor was a good person and close friends with his dad. Alto blinked away the last fleeting dots in his vision and caught the man’s eyes as he tried to speak. Nothing came out, but Alex nodded in understanding. He seemed to know what the boy was trying to say.

 

“What happened?” His voice was kind as he explained the wreck. Alto had vague flashes of hearing the story while they had worked on him earlier. Alex’s voice held genuine sadness when he got to the part about Alto’s parents. Then he started in on the boy’s injuries. About half his ribs were broken. His right lung had been punctured by a piece of Ice, but luckily it was only minor. His left leg had been almost completely severed during the accident and there was no chance of saving it. His right leg wasn't much better, and he would likely lose it just below the knee. Both of his arms had been shattered and suffered nerve damage. They were going to attempt repairs, but Dr. Winters didn't sugar coat it when he said how well that was likely to work.

 

“You're gonna be taken care of. We had you taken to the employee wing of the AIT hospital for treatment. We'll figure out what to do. The company is getting all of your parent's affairs in order. You'll be fine when you get out of here.”

 

Part of him understood what was going on, understood the lengths people were going to for him. That didn’t stop the pain in his chest, pain separate from his injuries. He would rather have his parents than their money.

 

Alto spent the next week in bed just trying to get his strength back. There were endless streams of nurses, physicians and specialists running about checking on every inch of his body. Every little piece was hooked up to a monitor. There were too many people for him to register them all during the times when he was barely awake. During that time, the doctors had managed to repair most of the minor injuries, as well as his punctured lung. His ribs were pieced back together with calcium composite screws, but his more extensive injuries needed time to be assessed.

 

When the doctor's decided he had enough of his strength back, they began the difficult process of salvaging what they could from his damaged limbs. He was tired by the time surgery prep was over. He spent the next seven hours laying on a table as doctors and nurses began cutting away pieces of damaged tissue. The anesthesia knocked him out, but it didn’t stop him from dreaming.

 

The dream started out how most do, in the middle. He was walking to someplace he didn't know or understand. The landscape was barren, rocks and snow interspersed in odd patches. Something was ahead, something he had to reach. As he walked, the air became colder, patches of scoured rock eventually gave way until all he could see was white. The chill seeped in. His body was getting colder, as if ice water in his veins was pooling in his hands and feet. There was nowhere to go back, so he pressed on.

 

He stumbled often, as his limbs started to fail. Legs numb from the cold refused to take steps, and his hands could barely rub his arms to keep them warm. Over and over he fell as he tried to move forward. Each tumble brought new scrapes and cuts on his hands and knees. They barely had time to bleed before the blood froze over. Still, something was ahead, and he needed to get there.

 

Cold air burned his lungs, scraping his throat raw. Each breath cracked. His feet stopped moving, sending his body tumbling forward once again into the snow. His arms were so heavy and numb that he couldn't put them up in time to cushion the fall. His vision blurred as his face hit and little motes of light went racing wherever his eyes looked. He tried to move his legs, but they refused to respond. He tried to wiggle his toes and felt nothing but cold. Ever so slowly, he managed to slide his arms out ahead. With one last push, he heaved himself forward, and felt his head land on something soft. Despite his efforts, his head refused to turn to what it was he had found. The edges of his vision were already going black.

 

Bright light shocked Alto out of his sleep, causing him to cling to the fleeting reality of his dream just long enough to hear a voice that sounded like his mother. “You are the best of us. Survive.” Before he could decide if he had really heard her voice, the memory was fading like most dreams do. Nothing but a vague warmth was left behind.

 

That warmth, and the muddle that the anesthesia left his mind in, was the only thing that carried him those first few hours after the surgery. Things hadn’t gone well. His right leg ended just beneath the knee. His right arm didn’t quite make it to the elbow, and his left arm was little more than a nub from his shoulder.

 

When a doctor he didn’t recognize asked him how he felt, Alto didn’t say anything. For the next two days, he didn’t speak. He lost himself in his memories. He spent time recalling every scar. There was the spot on his left shin. He was five. His father was heading up to the surface to collect samples for his work. He had begged his father to bring him along.

 

“Daddy. I wanna go to the surface.” To his young mind, the surface was a mysterious place with a great big open sky he had only heard about.

 

“This isn’t a vacation. I have some very important work to do.” His father couldn’t hide the smile even while trying to tell his son no. Curiosity ran in the family.

 

“Please? Please, please, please? I just want to see. I’ll be quiet and not cause any problems.” His father sighed. Knowing he had won the battle, Alto jumped up and ran to get his boots.

 

“By mom. I’m going to the surface!”

 

“Have fun, and listen to your father.” Emily knew the outcome to that argument before it had even started. Alto’s boots were by the front door where she had placed them several minutes earlier.

 

Alto did his best to contain his excitement, which ended up with him fidgeting the entire ride up. The trip ended just after they made it to Glacier Run. They hadn’t even left the area around the elevator platform before his over eagerness caused him to slip on some ice. The rocks left a large gash down his left shin, but the tears were from his shame at ruining the big day. His father never once scolded him as they took the elevator back down to Deep Aquilon. His shin required seven stitches. The scar was a permanent reminder of when his father had chosen him over work. At least it had been permanent.

 

Alto had plenty of scars. Most stemmed from his involvement with the runners. He discovered full running at the age of seven, and hadn’t stopped moving since. As far as Aquilon went, running was the extreme sport. Participants bought or constructed full body suits covered in skates, wheels, and anything else that moved. These runner suits turned the user’s entire body into a gliding surface. They often included additional propulsion to open up new avenues of motion. The name of the game was speed, in any way possible.

 

His parents weren’t exactly fans of his new hobby, but that didn’t prevent his mother from helping to design his runner suits. Of course that also meant she got to add safety measures to them. Aside from his studies, running took up most of his time. He never got into the sport enough to be a professional though. His parents attended every one of his amateur races, the legitimate ones at least. More than once the Rhine Watch had dropped him off at his house. He never caused enough problems to get in any real trouble though.

 

“You know your project isn’t ready. You can’t expect the board to approve this. It will kill him!” Yelling voices finally broke Alto out of his reminiscing, dropping him abruptly into the present once more. Judging by the tension in Dr. Winters’ arm, he was barely stopping himself from punching the vanir doctor that was in the room with him. Alto recognized the other man as another researcher at AIT, Dr. Devlin Natas. The man was another cybernetics researcher, like his father.

 

“You don’t get to make that say Alex. I think, once the board hears my proposal, they will. . .” Dr. Natas was the first to notice that Alto was no longer in the catatonic stupor that he had fallen into. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation outside.” Dr. Natas walked out the door, obviously expecting Dr. Winters to follow.

 

“What’s going on?” Alto’s voice drew Alex’s attention.

 

“Slight disagreement on how to proceed with your treatment. Dr. Natas wants you to be part of his project.” Alex’s face hardened. “They haven’t even had a successful test yet.” He sighed and turned toward the door. “I’m not going to let him push this through.”