Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  “4D?”

  “Yeah, I never watch it. Come, you have to see this.” He snatched her hand and pulled Ionia into the next room. At least it wasn’t his bedroom, thank all that was warm and holy, but another room of toys, a fridge, and a shelf of actual leather-bound paper books.

  She took a step toward them, fascinated, desperate to touch. He cleared his throat and inclined his head to the east wall of the room, which had been Withd with a giant telescope. Not the kind a kid would have. At least, not a normal kid. “It’s massive.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He grinned the grin only a teenage boy could pull off and not seem like a jerk.

  “You can see the planets so clearly here, lack of ozone and all. It’s fabulous.”

  She leaned in and closed one eye. Large, detailed, clear, like a laser pic, but better.

  “Geez, that’s Mars for real? You can see the damn craters. Not even CONUS has a view this good.”

  “Not that they share with the public anyway.” He made an adjustment, and a mountain range came into view. It looked a great deal like the one she’d just flew over with Cam.

  “It’s like Antarctica, cold, desolate, and covered in ice.”

  “That’s what the colonist say.” He smiled at her, and she melted inside as if she stood too close to a flame.

  “This is great. So how’s school been? I actually miss it if you can believe it.”

  The rest of the room held vid games and holoposters, a real burning candle, that gave off a sandalwood smell, probably to cover up the guy sweat. The vid games got very physical and painful if you weren’t a good player.

  “You? Never. How’s it going with the sex bot?”

  “I wish everyone would stop calling him that.” Heat flashed her face so hard and fast she felt little drops of perspiration dot her forehead. She didn’t want to discuss the droid. Sharing stuff about Den with Simon of all people. Not now.

  Simon raised both hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. Father knows you are here, right?” It was as if a flash storm cloud had crowded in and made his face look heavy and sad.

  “Yes, he greeted me. Then Randa wasn’t feeling well.”

  Simon gave a quick Den-like nod. He was used to his sister’s illness. And his father’s need to be omnipresent and in control.

  “I had some time and thought we could-” How to put this so it didn’t come off like she was some kind of brain deficient loser “-hang out?”

  Fantastic. That’s the heat. Use an out-of-date phrase. Idiot.

  He looked down and away, then tilted his head back to match hers. “I do have some homework that I’ve been dying to do, but I suppose I can postpone it.” He added a sarcastic whine to his voice.

  She hit him lightly in the chest.

  “Ever play Rouge Warrios of Mars?” His eyes took on a glow that meant trouble.

  “Naw, but I’m willing to learn.”

  His face split into that almost-too-wide smile. He motioned to a pile of armor that sat in a jumble in the corner.

  She slid on an arm plate, and Simon grabbed a pair of boots and wiggled them on. This was going to be transcendent.

  Ionia had a good, comfortable feeling bloom in her chest and spread out to her extremities like the world was made of hot apple pie. She got to be a kid and have a good time with the boy she kinda-sorta-really liked.

  She pulled on another gauntlet and lifted her sword. “En guard.”

  ###

  Den entered the garage with a password he’d DLed from the house’s private Cortex. He had waited until Ionia had gone, then connected to the main computer. He scanned the home as per protocol in a new location.

  Threats did not only come from individuals.

  His defense program instructed him to keep a vigilant guard on the perimeter. Even on his lowest safety setting, he did not approve of what he found. The abode held enough weapons to stop Ionia’s life signal a hundred times over, though these weapons were mostly unloaded and out of immediate reach.

  He found that his scanning capabilities could not show twenty-five percent of the first floor and none of the attached garage, which meant that the location had been shielded.

  Most humans owned and needed weapons in this area of the world, but not to the extent that Mr. Feinstein did, and not many had the tech to shield areas from his scans.

  He would engage in a recon mission.

  The illumination in the area was near zero, but he didn’t need it. His night vision made external lighting almost unnecessary. It seemed to be just what the name implied. He found a garage to keep vehicles and equipment away from the elements and locked for safety.

  Two large tank trucks and something he had not seen in reality, his DLed information told him that it was a blazer. They were smaller than the trucks, built for only one or two passengers, with much less protection from the elements, high polyglass shields and long blades that heated up so that they could not get frozen to the ice. They created a long trail of flames as they embarked.

  The scent of motor oil and paint filled his olfactory sensors. These machines were built for entertainment, day trips only, and didn’t offer the riders enough protection to go very far. His heat sensors told him that they were still warm as if they had been in recent use. He continued his search. The facility held tools for every type of repair and even paint to embellish the vehicles. But he could locate nothing that would require shielding. A blast of thirty-seven degrees Celsius airbrushed passed him. He detected a motion from the back of the building.

  His defense system increased to high. He swung around, but something else was faster.

  A large object impacted his forearm, and a charge of ionic power imbued his cyber nervous system.

  His vision chip dimmed, and his processor slowed. He could just make out an outline from his blitzing vision of a humanoid standing over him. He fought the darkness.

  Ionia needed him, but the sensation was more powerful than his programming. He sank into oblivion.

  ***

  Simon pinned Ionia down, his arm rested across her throat. If not for the armor and built-in shock absorbers it could have been a very scary or very sexy situation, but with the padding they were shielded from both danger…and romance.

  She wouldn’t mind a bit of rolling around with Simon without armor, but she would enjoy this small tease.

  The VR surrounded them with a smoking castle of red stone, and the smell of brimstone filled her nose and mouth. Simon pushed her back against the rock, immersed in his character.

  “Yield!” he screamed through his visor that was smeared with blood and sweat. It was virtual blood, but it was so dramatic that it queued all her primal fears. The sweat was probably real. They’d been at it for a couple of hours, and it was not a game for the passive or the weak.

  “Never!” She buckled up, rolled out from under him, and dropped into a crouch, scythe in hand.

  Simon snorted, then flashed a predator’s smile, enjoying the fact that the prey had a bit of fight. He would probably win, he’d played before, and played often.

  She hadn’t, but she wanted to make a good showing, and if she did beat him, all the better. She did a forward roll, an armor-boosted skill, and popped up behind Simon.

  He seemed startled that she was taking the offense, and hesitated.

  It was her opening. She held her scythe in a double-fisted grip and brought it down toward his head.

  Simon used his armor-enhanced skills to duck out of the way and twirled to meet her blow. She pressed against his weapon. He pushed back with a grunt and dug in with his feet. Their armor-powered strength matched. Nothing moved.

  Finally, he pulled back, and she followed.

  He circled to the left, and she mirrored his moves to the right. She searched for an opening to slam Simon. To win.

  The door slid open and harsh light flowed into the room. Gaunt, and appearing more ghost than person, Miranda wafted in the room. The light from the hall distorted the VR, so half the
room looked like a Martian castle being invaded by marauders and the other like a teen’s playroom.

  Simon flipped up his helmet face and turned to Miranda. “What ya doin’ coming in without knocking?”

  “I did knock, you just couldn’t hear me over your game.”

  “It’s not just a game, it’s VR, like--”

  Ionia launched at his midriff, and he went flying backward landing on the hard stone, a.k.a. the heavily padded floor, with a whoosh of air. She stood, picked up the scythe, and held it to his throat. “Yield.”

  His mouth tightened, forehead scrunched, full-on warlord persona. She probably should let him win, let him be Cro-Magnon man, but that wasn’t her style.

  She had to fight. Her grip tightened.

  Her reaction made him grin, and he relaxed, returning to calm, logical, peaceful Simon. He snorted. “You’re good. I yield.”

  She removed the scythe and offered him a hand up. “Thanks.”

  “Game’s over?” Miranda’s thin voice chimed hopefully from the cube chair in the corner.

  “Yep. Some of us can play.” He stuck his tongue out at his sister.

  “I would if you’d let me.” Miranda shot back.

  “Dad would kill me for letting you play.”

  Miranda shrugged, titled her chin up, and crossed her arms hard against her chest.

  Simon turned to Ionia. “It’s great having you here, IO. You spending the night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll see you later.” He lit to his back room, probably to find a shower.

  Miranda remained seated and looked up at Ionia with eyes the size of sand dollars. “I could play. It’s just a stupid game. Everyone can play a damn game.” The change in her voice, the longing, made Ionia sad for her.

  She joined Miranda on the couch and peeled off pieces of armor. “That’s ok. We can play cards, or something less physical.” Playing cards made her think of Den and their card game, and her face tingled with a rush of blood.

  “You still like Simon, don’t you?” Miranda spoke slowly and deliberately as if there was no denying the facts.

  “Wha-what?” Ionia stuttered. She couldn’t talk now, not with Simon in the other room.

  “I can tell by your face.”

  “He’s all right.” Ionia tried to keep her voice even and dismissive and low. Talking about him here was beyond stupid. And talking about Simon to his sister was like walking on an ice sheet during spring thaw. Ionia shrugged off the last of the armor and worked to defuse the situation. “Walk me back to my room?”

  Miranda nodded, her arms wrapped around her stomach. They exited Simon’s suite, and Miranda led her to the cavernous room that was meant for Ionia.

  They passed the spot where she had parted ways with Den. He wasn’t in the hall or waiting in the guest room. Had his overprotective mode kicked in again? Judging from the relative quiet, he was still patrolling. She’d have to go find him once she’d showered. A small tightness squeezed her stomach, then she remembered. Den’s high alert protection protocol had been adjusted, and he was virtually indestructible. She’d get cleaned up, then go look for him.

  Miranda flopped down on the couch. The rest of the room held a settee, a fiWith, a small desk, and a huge window that showed Mac Town in all its electric-thermal-powered glory.

  She walked into the attached bath. “What’s the time limit here?” she yelled out to Miranda.

  Back at the Pole, it was three to five minutes once a week. She had to soap up and be done before the hot water ran out. Even when she’d lived in Mac Town, the limit had been ten.

  “No limit. Take as long as you like.”

  She must have misheard Miranda. Hot water equaled liquid gold.

  “Seriously?”

  “No, seriously. We have power from the volcano now, limitless hot water. All the houses on our block have them. “

  Ionia stood stunned for a moment. All the other displays of wealth had been easy to assimilate over the years. The Feinstein’s were, after all, the first family of Mac Town, but this, this was decadent. It paid to have ritzy friends. She turned on the water, and it sprayed out in a high-pressure flood.

  Best. Shower. Ever. The water seemed to wash away years of grime. She pressed the wall dispenser that gave her hair and body soap that smelled of roses. Roses. The smell always made her heart ache. They had flown in roses for her dad’s funeral.

  Expensive, but he had loved roses. Grandmother Sonberg had been a fiend for plants in general, roses specifically, and had passed on her obsession to her son. Not so much to Ionia. Not now, at least. Now, they smelled of sadness.

  She ended the shower and stepped out. Warm air blasted her from all sides, and she shrieked, then realized it was just another kitchy feature of the fairy tale house. She wrapped herself in ultra-soft, pure white towels, and rolled her hair into a turban.

  Miranda lay sprawled on the couch, watching a program on the virtual core screen. With a click, it vanished. She leaped to her feet.

  “You sure seem to feel better.”

  Miranda looked better. She had color in her cheeks and a healthy sheen to her skin, and her eyes seemed to glitter in the light.

  A slow, awkward smile crossed Miranda’s face. “Yeah, takes a bit to kick in, but the treatments are fantastic. What did you bring to wear for the party?”

  “I have a couple of things.” Ionia examined the view outside the window. Nothing good enough. She had packed during all the drama of the station soap opera. She was surprised that she even remembered to pack underwear.

  Miranda tilted her head and narrowed her gaze, detecting the hesitation. “Want to come to my room and rummage in my closets? I have so many party dresses, and I never get to wear them. Maybe you will find something you like?”

  “Yeah, that’d be fantastic.” Her heart was a balloon bursting with happy. She hadn’t realized how much she missed human interaction, specifically Miranda interaction, until that moment.

  They left the room. Ionia glanced up and down the long hall. Den still wasn’t back. “Have you seen Den?”

  “Den?”

  “My android.”

  “No. Not since before my treatment.” Miranda shrugged as if the android was a missing sweater. “I’m sure he will turn up.”

  A small itch tickled the back of Ionia’s mind. Maybe she should go and search him out. But Miranda waved her toward her room, and the promise of a sanguine wardrobe, to which Ionia had full plundering rights, waited just down the hall. Den would be stellar. Fine without her. He had ninja skills and crap. He must be checking for danger or some such. He’d locate her, or she’d find him later, after her fashion safari.

  Chapter Seven

  Ionia stood in the center of the floor of Miranda’s room, twirling. The borrowed, red lamé dress flared around her calves like tiny flames and glimmered in the light as if the material had caught fire. She’d have to paint a picture later to savor the colors and the feeling. She extended her arms and let her head fall back. This party would be the absolute heat.

  The dress was perfect. Everything was perfect.

  Den appeared in the open doorway.

  “There you are!” She paused, adjusted her path, and crossed the floor, on her toes like a ballerina spinning over to where he stood.

  Den lunged forward. She couldn’t stop her motion and slammed against his chest. She stumbled. He snatched her from falling and held her upright while he sank to the floor to his knees.

  “Den?”

  His fingers ran along her skin gently and then fell still. His eyes closed, and his hands jerked sporadically. He sank back onto the floor and lay unmoving and lifeless.

  “What’s wrong? Den. Are you alright?”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t move. Like he was dead.

  Ionia knelt at Den’s side and ran a hand over him searching for an injury. His legs seemed undamaged, his torso, all fine. She smoothed her hand over his arms and found a black scorch on his lower fore
arm. The burn ran down into the jumpsuit and skin, into the wiring. Could one small burn cause him to completely shut down?

  He looked very human with his hair mussed. He shouldn’t be injured or unconscious. “What happened to him?” She clasped her hands together to keep her hands from shaking.

  She needed to find him a doctor. No. Pause. Review. He wasn’t human. A mechanic. Or maybe he did need a doctor because of his human parts. She didn’t know. A worry vice squeezed her chest, pressing her lungs and heart.

  “Is he broken?” Miranda leaned over Den and tilted her head, her long dark hair hanging like a curtain, casting a shadow over his still face.

  “I don’t know.” Ionia heard her voice take on the strangled tone it did when she didn’t want to cry.

  “Simon,” Miranda said. “We should call Simon. He’ll know what to do.”

  Ionia nodded and felt some of the pressure release. He was an expert at all things mechanical, and the biggest brain in Mac City’s enclass school.

  Miranda intercomed him.

  Simon arrived. His hair darkened to a deeper shade of black from the shower. He wore a jumper and ploymix black pants that may or may not have been backward.

  “Oh, this is the...bot. What’s wrong with it?”

  “You tell us.” Miranda swept her arms over Den and stepped back. He pushed his glasses up and stooped next to Ionia. He had a faux black leather case and pulled out a silver tool with sharp edges, like a dentist from a hundred and fifty years ago.

  Ionia cradled Den’s head into her lap. “What are you going to do with those?” She heard the hard edge in her voice and felt sorry. “I mean can you help him?”

  “He looks to have deactivated for self-repair. If they have internal glitches or incur serious external damage, they shut down to focus all resources on fixing the problem. Like when people sleep when they are very sick.” He glanced up at Miranda, and she gave him a tiny I-know-your-talking-about-me half-smile.

  “Let me see if I can boost his backups and increase the speed of repair.”

  Ionia gave a brisk nod and bit her lip. What if he couldn’t repair him? What if he was really gone? The vice in her chest squeezed tighter, making it hard to breathe.