Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  “There are two establishments. The closest is two blocks from here to the West, Partner.”

  “Have I told you I loved you lately?”

  “No.” His voice dropped adorable, honest and innocent.

  “Well, I do. Let’s go.” Not that she couldn’t have connected to the Cortex and found the place. Having him nearby centered her, assured her, gave her that extra bit of confidence she needed.

  They walked on the streets that were becoming more and more crowded. They passed the Mad Miner’s Saloon which hummed with music and the general buzz of conversation.

  Two constables, perhaps on their way for a drink, walked toward them. A lightning bolt of sensation shot through Ionia. She kept her pace steady, her eyes averted.

  If they already had noticed her, she was in a vat of hot, bubbly trouble. She held her breath as they brushed by.

  They didn’t glance at her or Den. She slowed more, straining to hear what they were saying. Was it about her? Did they already know?

  “Can’t believe SPS was hit.”

  That stopped her, locked her legs, and sent a shower of cold sprinkles down her spine. She was hearing things. No way they were talking about the South Pole Station.

  “After fifty years. Who wants it anyway?”

  The two entered the bar, and she couldn’t hear any more of their conversation. She couldn’t move. What were they talking about? A vidclip? She needed to find out more. “Den, can you hook into the news band of the Cortex?”

  “Always connected. No worries, mate.” He shook his head and pressed his lips together.

  “Is there news about the South Pole Station?”

  Of course, there wasn’t, but she had to be sure.

  “The sirens sounded due to an attack. Some unknown group of assailants. No further word.”

  “Well, are they sending help? What’s going on?” She turned to Den and clutched at his arms, digging into his coat with rigid fingers that she couldn’t relax.

  “No other reports available.”

  “Crap.” What about her mom and Rod? No. No. She could not care about this. She needed to escape. Her mom was fine. The station defenses were impenetrable. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get to the dealer.” She released Den and started walking again. Something was keeping the law’s attention, and that was good. Her mom and Rod could handle a random band of thugs.

  The light posts seemed to burn brighter, trying to expose her to the growing crowd. She caught snippets of station and probably NAR from passersby, but pushed forward, letting Den guide her. The growing winds nearly took her breath. Only the street-blasted, artificial heat kept the temp tolerable. A storm threatened, winding up to smack the town with an icy fist.

  They arrived at a medium-sized polyplastic, faux-brick building, not old, but nowhere near to the Feinstein level of upkeep. The door to the pawn shop loomed dark and inhospitable, but a holo frantically flashing a bright yellow: OPEN.

  She touched the door, almost pushed in, but a nagging, un-right feeling tugged at her, reaching in her guts with talons.

  She had to find out what was happening at SPS. It wouldn’t take long. Then back to the shop, and back to her righteous journey to freedom.

  “Can we get to Constable Headquarters from here without being detected? I need to find out something.”

  Den almost spoke, but instead gave a short nod, then inclined his head to the gap between two buildings. She followed.

  He knelt and motioned to his shoulders. “Alley-opp.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” Had some of his circuits fused during his injury? He was acting weird.

  “Up, up and away.” He grasped her arms, swung her to his back, and pulled her off her feet. He stood. “Hold on.”

  She squeaked and latched on.

  He gripped the wall and started climbing, using the notches between the realistic-looking plastic bricks as hand holds. He shimmied at least six meters in ten seconds with her in tow, as if she was made of feathers and fluff. He let her slide down to the horizontal roof.

  “Dude, that was the heat, but you have to warn me.”

  “Yes.” Den pointed to the other side of the building and placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her.

  The wind was worse up here, and there wasn’t a safety line, but she wasn’t a tad afraid. Den was better than any safety line.

  The Constable Station was only a few interconnected buildings down. The roofs had working warmers, so the path was clear. At last, they were perched across from the station, one of the largest buildings in Mac Town, ugly, colorless, scary. The front doors looked like teeth from this angle, but here she might pick up news.

  A group of officers loitered close under a lighted post, shuffling around aimlessly. Why wasn’t anyone going to check on SPS? Where was the flurry of blazers? “I wish I could hear what they are saying.”

  Den nodded, dropped his hand from her back, and smoothed his lips with his long, gloved fingers. The sound of multiple voices came from his mouth as if he were saying the words himself. Ionia jumped at the strange sound.

  “Frankenstein hasn’t scrambled us yet. I ain’t going into the wild without direct orders. Is there even anyone still at that station?”

  Another, deeper voice came out of Den’s mouth. “You best keep that smart lip quiet, Ezra. He has ears everywhere. I think there is still a small team there. They are in deep if the magistrate doesn’t want to get involved.”

  “Then why’d the alarm go off? I could be sleeping,” a small, thin voice said.

  Ionia guessed it was the shortest constable with no facial hair.

  “You weren’t sleeping. You’ve been drinking, and I swear I’ll report you if you get near a blazer. Dunno about the alarm. Maybe a leftover from the last time.”

  “You can stop,” Ionia said.

  Damn, damn, damn to the 100th exponent. Feinstein wasn’t responding to the distress call. Mom and Rod had enough firepower and blast doors and supplies to outlast any outside force. This was not her problem. Not anymore.

  But the tight, clamped feeling in her chest didn’t go away, no matter how she thought about it. Who would make sure the SPS was ok? Feinstein wanted everyone to think he was a generous, good-hearted guy, but she had a feeling that cold, hard, universal credits were the only things that inspired his loyalty. So either he was saving money by not sending his men, or there was some other financial gain.

  Maybe a face-to-face with the daughter of one of the people he was abandoning would shake him up, shame him into sending a team. Then she could leave with a clean conscience.

  “We need to go back to the Feinstein house as quickly as possible, and we don’t need stealth mode.”

  A deep furrow cut into the center of Den’s forehead, lips turned down at the side, eyebrows lowered. “Five by five.” He indicated for her to grab him around the back of the neck. She laid her body against his warm back, and putting her arms around him, gripped her own wrist and tensed. He climbed down the building in what felt like a second. On the ground, he swung her up into his arms and bolted up the street, back to her potential prison.

  ###

  The house was super bright. Like an operating room, everything was exposed and stark. This was bad. Never return to the scene of the crime. At least with her mom, she knew what to expect. Punishment. Punishment. Then a bit more punishment.

  Daddy Feinstein was an enigma, but she was a force to be reckoned with, at least with Den at her side. She’d find out what was going on and then leave. It might take a while, but she’d find a way.

  She rang the bell. A harried maid or nurse, Ionia couldn’t tell which, opened the door without speaking and left it ajar for Den and her to enter.

  All three Feinsteins stood before a full-on blazing fire. Their conversations stopped when she and Den entered.

  “Ms. Sonberg. Good of you to return. We were quite concerned.”

  She cut her eyes to Simon, who shook his head and looked away, then
to Miranda whose face was tight, but her eyes looked soft as if Ionia was a naughty, injured puppy.

  Mr. Feinstein tied his midnight-blue, silk robe. Although his clothes said he’d been to bed, his face and perfect hair told a different story. “I’m sorry. There has been an attack on the South Pole Station.” His eyes fixed on Ionia and seemed deeper and darker than before, almost black.

  “No one would attack SPS. We don’t have anything worth stealing.” She ran through all the reasons why it didn’t make any sense. SPS had found no unused oil or coal deposits. They were just on a travel route.

  Feinstein reached out and placed a heavy hand on Ionia’s shoulder. “The last message said the attackers were inside the station and opening the control room. We don’t know what happened after that. The signal cut out.”

  “But she is okay, right? Why haven’t you sent help? I didn’t see a blazer out there.” Ionia pulled her hood down and ran her fingers through her hair, heavy and tangled. The mass of it scattered her thoughts.

  “We are sending blazers out as soon as we can. The weather hasn’t subsided for hours.”

  He couldn’t send blazers yet. Perfectly logical reason, but it still sat like bad fish in her stomach.

  “Doctor Sonberg isn’t responding to our calls.”

  Ionia let the words fall on her until their weight stuttered her breathing, making the air harder and harder to process. Nothing could happen to her mother.

  Her mother was too mean, too ornery, too mom-like for anything to happen to her. NAR Special Forces could take lessons from her. She was hard, cold, sharp as a glacier. Ionia tried to breathe again. Her mother. Her indomitable, hard-as-stone mother.

  Miranda placed a thin arm around her shoulder. Ionia’s legs jellied. She placed a hand on the back of the couch. What if the report was true? What if something bad had happened to her mom? Her body gave way, like she’d been caught in an avalanche, her grip on the furniture tightened.

  “Your mom will be fine.” Miranda’s soft voice in her ear felt like a lie like a whispered fairy tale. In real life, things never ended fine.

  She focused on the rug at her feet. The awful, beautiful, simple design. If she didn’t look closely, she would have missed the flaws.

  The outside lines were perfect, dark geometric box against white, but the harder she examined it, the more artificial, rough, and worn it appeared. If she looked deeper, there were sprigs of artificial twine holding the flooring together, tentatively keeping the loosely joined threads from falling apart.

  “Hey, you okay?” That was Simon’s voice. He was still in the room. Nice. She was breaking down in public.

  This wasn’t like Dad. Her mom wasn’t lost in the wilds. She had weapons and hiding spaces and plenty of heat and food. She would be fine.

  Ionia forced her head up, forced air into her lungs, forced her knees back into locked position. There. Center. Gather.

  “Yes.”

  The alarm sounded again to shatter her newfound calm. “All available constables, to your posts for instructions.” The intercom blasted into every inch of Mac Town.

  Ionia felt the words bubble up and couldn’t stop them. “I’m going.” There was nothing else to do. She had to go.

  She scanned Mr. Feinstein’s face. Impassive.His eyes narrowed and blackened.

  “It’s not safe. You’ve been out and unsupervised long enough.” He shifted a scalding gaze to Simon then back at her. “Allow the constables to do their work.” Mr. Feinstein’s eyes shifted down and away. “Your mother will survive.” His voice was detached again. The sentiment laid there in the air. Just words.

  “As magistrate, I must attend to this crisis myself. Miranda, ensure our guest is comfortable until we hear more. Simon, you know what you need to do. It would be best for everyone if she stayed with us now.”

  He stalked out of the room without looking back, each step matched to her sharply beating heart. He didn’t understand. She held her upper arms, digging into the flesh like her grip alone would hold her to the ground. “I have to go.”

  Simon flanked her. “Calm down IO. You heard what he said.” Something about his face, his peaceful blue eyes, and his composure, lidded her panic.

  Den moved to face her. “Some like it hot. Dog day afternoon. Body heat. A warm night in Brooklyn.” Den spouted random movie titles and phrases.

  “How much trouble are you in?” She looked to Simon, a new weight hooked into her heart and pulled down.

  “Not too much. Let’s all go to my room. I have a backdoor hook into the constable’s channel. We can listen to their progress.”

  Something tangible to do, something to focus on besides the memory of her father’s dead frozen face.

  No. Stop. Don’t. Everything would be okay.

  Her mind needled her as they moved slowly to Simon’s room. Miranda stuck to Ionia’s side like a barnacle on a harbor ship. Den trailed behind.

  Ionia burrowed into Simon’s long, faux-leather couch. Miranda threw a thick, warming afghan over her and sat next to her. Den stood to the back of the couch. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a quick I’m-here-if-you-need-me squeeze.

  Ionia hugged her knees to her chest. The pressure helped seemed to help. They would know soon. She rocked back and forth.

  Simon busied himself next to his telescope.

  “Going to see the blazers leave?” Ionia perked up, and let the afghan slide down her shoulder.

  “No. Just rest. I’ll get the wave decoder set up in a minute.” He retracted the arm of the scope and unscrewed the bottom portion.

  Both Ionia and Miranda gasped.

  “He didn’t!” Miranda said, her hand cupped over her mouth.

  “No big deal. He would’ve taken it eventually anyway.”

  Simon’s telescope. He had lost his telescope for helping her. The thing he truly loved, and it was gone. The weight pulling on her heart doubled.

  “I’m sorry, Simon.”

  “No need IO. Really.” His voice was a calm ocean, steady, but who knew what lurked underneath. He had to be angry. He should be angry at her. But his movement was matter of fact, serene.

  She flopped back onto the couch and covered her head with the blanket. She was cursed and shared that curse with everyone she touched.

  Nothing good left to focus on, and no way to block all the grisly images of her mom. Blood. Blossoms of red bullet holes in her steel gray jumpsuit. Neck twisted at an inhuman angle.

  No. She couldn’t lose both parents. She wouldn’t.

  ###

  The first report came in three hours later. No vidclips. No bodies. The constables were on the way home, empty-handed.

  “I’m so sorry,” Miranda said.

  “You’re sorry?” Rage, like a white hot, ball of fire rushed up from her belly and splashed in her face, in her limbs, over her skin. This situation was ridiculous. Second hand reports didn’t suffice. They were not being thorough. They didn’t know where to look. She didn’t need sorry. She needed answers. “If she was dead, where was the body? She can’t be. I won’t--”

  Simon put a hand on her shoulder. Oh, hell no.

  No sympathy. No shoulders.

  This wasn’t like her dad. Not even close. She pulled away and rushed from Simon’s quarters down the hall toward Mr. Feinstein’s office. She stood in front of the door, waiting for the entry to respond. The door did not slide open automatically. Locked from the inside.

  She pounded on the wood with a closed fist. Pain slashed through her arm. She ignored it. She had to talk to him. Feinstein could do something. He had power.

  “Let me in. I need to...”

  The door slid open, and her fist kept moving toward Mr. Feinstein. He snatched her hand, engulfing hers like a frog consuming a bug, quickly and without warning. He stared down at her, dark eyes hollow and vacant.

  “Can I help you, Ms. Sonberg?”

  “We need to check again. My mom’s at the station. I know it. I’m sure. There are places to hide
that only she knows. Please have them check again.”

  His face remained as still as the mountain with all the twentieth-century presidents that rested in the heart of CONUS. “I do not know how you received this information. I assume my wayward son. But my men have checked and rechecked. We have the equipment to ensure we missed nothing. Commander Dictum affirmed she was caught in the crossfire. Your mother is missing and presumed dead. I am sorry.” His voice sharpened to bits of ice shards, cutting into her skin. Cutting into her brain. Cutting into her heart.

  Nothing, not his tone, not his look, not his stance, implied true emotion.

  The sound of feet running rushed behind her and she turned. Den in front, Simon and Miranda stood behind him, panting, eyes darting from Ionia to their dad and back to each other. Den’s complete focus was on Ionia and the fact that Feinstein still had her hand.

  “Let her go, or you’re in for a whole world of hurt.” Den drawled like an Old West gunslinger.

  “I thought he was a companion droid?” Feinstein dropped Ionia’s arm, his eyes widened, then seemed to catch fire.“Nonetheless, you can stay here until other arrangements can be made. Our home is your home. I have a lot of work to do. Simon, look after the girls. And Ms. Sonberg, I am, truly sorry.” This time his voice held a hint of sincerity.

  She swallowed her words of protest. He vanished, and the door slid shut. The slurp of the seal sounded like a tomb closing.

  A star explosion of emotion redoubled in Ionia’s chest, her hands quivered. “No. No. No. She’s alive. I know it.” All those things she’d said and did. Why hadn’t she been a better student, a better daughter, a better person? “If I’d been there none of this would have happened.”

  “You don’t know that.” Simon put a hand on his hip and gestured as if he were enclass, starting a debate. But this wasn’t a debate, this was a realization.

  “I would have noticed the alarm faster than drunken Rod. With my help, she could have gotten the defenses online sooner, and everyone would be safe.”

  Miranda squeezed her arm. “Stop.”

  “Not that I have warm snuggly feelings about her. She’s ornery, demanding, a tyrant. But when I got nupox–”