Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  The repetitive crunch, crunch, crunch of their feet lulled her into a weird calm. The static dim skyline gave her nothing but Den’s white-coated back to watch. The landscape never changed, as if they stood in the center of a circle that grew ever wider no matter how far they went.

  “Do you want to take a rest break? Break the bank, breakfast, break dance.” Den pressed his lips together and frowned.

  “Still putting the fun in malfunctioning, eh? But no, I’m fine.” She forced the instant smile from her face. Such a strange person…… humanoid…droid. The glitching was entertaining, but it must be gawd-awful for a droid. Did he even have feelings like frustration? Or real desire? “What about you? Do you want anything? You said you don’t need food and water, but do you want some?”

  “I want to get you to a stable location with shelter.”

  “What do you want for you? I mean, I would let you do whatever you wanted. Right now I need your help, but after?”

  His eyes narrowed and a tiny line formed between his eyes as if he was thinking hard. “I want to assist you. Be a companion. It is the reason I exist.”

  “But what if something happened to me? What would you want then?” She was trying to understand what made him go on. Made him so committed to serving. She rankled every time she felt she had to do something, especially for her mom. The very thought usually gave her hives.

  “I would grieve. Then if I were not reassigned, I would cease to operate.”

  “You’d die? That’s so wrong. It sounds like slavery or a very codependent relationship.”

  He got quiet for a long time, then finally said, “I desire to help you, be with you. It is akin to your word destiny. If I’m not fulfilling my destiny, then I would not be satisfied. Can’t get no satisfaction.”

  She snort-laughed. “That was only a small glitch. You must almost be repaired.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ll have to think about that destiny thing. I used to believe in destiny, but lately things...I don’t know… have gone so far off normal orbit. It just doesn’t have the heat, ya know?”

  He nodded as if he understood, but he probably didn’t. They walked on in silence.

  The terrain grew icy, and she focused on her steps. Her legs dragged, no matter how hard she pushed off. Her limbs grew heavier and heavier until her quads seized. She tried to force her legs forward without bending, but they were a tight knot of immovable muscle.

  She crumpled into a crunchy snow bank. Her entire body throbbed with her labored heartbeat. It was weird, she couldn’t seem to get enough air in her lungs.

  Den knelt beside her. “I am going to examine you for damage.”

  She smiled a grin that split her dry lips. “What’s the news, Doc?”

  “I am not a physician for humans, but I do have access to much of the same skills and information. I am going to scan you.”

  “Sounds kinky.” Ionia tried to sound lighthearted, but her tongue felt swollen, and her head hurt.

  “Not at this time. You are in need of repair.” His eyes had a light blue glow, and they roamed over her whole body. She could almost feel his perusal like a touch across her skin, a tingling, tiny electric thrill.

  “Dehydration. Exhaustion. Exposure. We can not continue this venture.”

  She propped up on her elbows, her legs stabbing her with silvery knives of pain. “I can go on. We need to keep going. Find some windbreak or shelter away from that crevice.”

  “That will not be soon enough to avoid damage to your body and perhaps your operating system. We must contact the authorities.”

  “No, wait.” If the damned blazer had worked, we’d be almost there. But he was right. She hated going back. Hated giving up. But trying to survive out here without any supplies would be five shades of crazy. “Fine.”

  A brief nod and his face did the scrunchy thing it did when he was not pleased. “The storm has returned and is interrupting transmissions.”

  Losing the blazer was crippling, but being out of communication was like a death sentence. But she wasn’t one to take a death sentence sitting down.

  She attempted to stand, but her legs locked again. This time Den scooped her up before she fell and held her to his warm chest. “Are you comfortable?”

  “You are going to carry me?”

  He pulled back his shoulders and his jaw set. “There are no other options. I must until I can acquire the proper assistance, or we are a safe distance from the instability.”

  This close she noticed that his skin was blotchy and had small patches of discoloration. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “My living parts are ill-adapted to these temperatures.”

  He walked with a quick and determined stride. She pulled up the hood on his coat and covered his skin with the built-in facemask. He flashed a semi-confused look at her and kept moving forward. His warmth against her helped to put up a temporary dam against all the twisting heap of stuff that wanted to disturb her peace.

  Her head got heavier and heavier with each perfectly measured step. It was like when she was little and her mother rocked her in the wooden rocking chair. There had been so many windows in their cabin in Venezuela, and the breeze would blow in a variety of sweet flower smells.

  The sound of Den’s internal workings whirred like a purring cat against her ear. She felt safe, warm, and comfy. Her eyes slid shut, and she let go. Den would get her to safety. He was like her own personal superhuman hero. Nothing would stop him.

  ###

  Den’s reserves dwindled. Each step pulled more on his already taxed batteries. It would have been enough if there was some form of illumination that he could draw from, but in the dark months of Antarctica, he was on his own.

  He would have been able to make the trip easily, but with carrying Ionia and internal repair, it was all he could do to stay upright and moving forward. He did the calculations again. He would run out of power in at least thirteen point five six seven hours, and that was only if they didn’t encounter the snow and wind he expected on the next furlong.

  He did not want to share this information with Ionia. Her own reserves were minuscule. Her heartbeat, respiration, and level of hydration had fluctuated in an unhealthy manner since their departure from SPS.

  She slept, recharging as humans do. A whir of positive ions flowed through him but quickly ceased. He must stop soon and use the salvaged materials from the blazer to erect a shelter, or her organic life would be extinguished.

  He tried the emergency signal, and for the 675th time, it rebounded. If he allowed, the negative ruminations would overtake him. Why wasn’t his signal getting through? He let his process review what Ionia had said about not believing in destiny.

  It must be so disorienting not to have a purpose or higher calling. What if he existed and didn’t have to care for Ionia? The possibilities sprawled before him like the digits of pi until he had to forcibly stop the options from flipping through his circuitry. He preferred knowing his place, knowing what was important, knowing he was fulfilling his function.

  But Ionia was making fulfilling that function difficult by just being Ionia.

  He had pre-DLed many different scenarios as to what the life of a companion had been over time and case studies. None had any items like he had experienced, except those prototypes used in battle, but he was far, far from their functionality.

  At least he had kept her from immediate harm. But he balked at using his odds calculator on the chances of continuing to keep her alive with his current resources.

  His sensors gauged they were far enough from the schism for safety. Although from his limited preloaded files, none of the occurrences fell within normal limitation. He should be able to get a message through, and the ice sheet, according to his reports, should be stable enough to withstand one faulty blazer. Not enough information to use logic to unravel the riddle of the events.

  The wind picked up, averaging 100 kilometers per hour, and his energy level dipped b
y .05 percent. He held Ionia with one arm, withdrew the self-heating blanket, and laid her down, wrapping it around her. The covering should keep her at a comfortable level while he erected the wind block. He dug into the ice-crusted snow, his humanistic flesh sending bites through his pain receptors.

  Another useless human feature programmed into his hard drive. He knew he was damaging his flesh. He didn’t need a jolt of feedback to realize what he was doing was destroying pieces of himself, but for Ionia, he would do anything.

  He placed gloves on his hands from the pockets of his stolen jacket. Even if his flesh was of no consequence, there was no use damaging his external façade. Ionia liked his appearance; therefore he desired to keep it intact.

  Another blast of wind pelted him. His energy meter slid. Another human emotion pushed to be acknowledged--worry. He ignored the sensation and worked faster.

  Chapter Nine

  Ionia heard crunching and opened her eyes a slit. A short distance away, a figure moved dark against the white backdrop of snow. She couldn’t tell who or what it was.

  But she felt comfortable. Cozy.

  How the hell was she cozy? She rose and found a warming blanket tucked around her like a cocoon. The dark figure came into focus a few meters away. Den dug into a drift, gouging out a deep indent.

  She pushed the wrapping back so she could see and a blast of ice infused air slapped a portion of her exposed face. She sucked in a halting breath.

  “Den!” she yelled over the clamor of the gusts.

  He straightened, came over to her, and leaned in to speak. “You can continue to rest.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am erecting a shelter. My power reserves are dwindling, and I didn’t want you to be exposed.”

  “You’re out of power?” She pulled the warming blanket up around her shoulders. “Why are you out of power? Can’t you auto recharge?”

  “The self-repair and walking drained me. If we had natural solar illumination, then I could recharge, but I can not in the twilight.”

  “Was I born under a bad star? Have I done something to piss off the gods?”

  “You are the sign Cancer, Sagittarius rising according to astrological charts.” He paused, it seemed for a dramatic effect and added, “The common interpretation of your star alignment says: Great lessons, learned from great loss.”

  A cool shiver danced over her skin, and it wasn’t from the wind. She shook it off, tilted her head and gave him a half-smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Swami.” She snorted. “They DLed astrology, but not survival skills.”

  “I have the basics.”

  “Have you tried to contact Mac Town again?”

  “I have continued attempting the communication. The electromagnetic activity is blocking my signal.”

  That was bad. Really, bad news. She didn’t know how to respond. Her head filled with fog instead of words, as if Den stood at the end of a long tunnel, his voice vague. She tried to swallow, but her throat had become a dusty road of moisture-free sand. “Have any water?” The world spun, and she dug her gloved hands into the iced snow to slow the rotation.

  Den handed her a bottle.

  “What’s this?” She eyed the bottle of clear jello-gunk.

  “It will help you rehydrate. Drink it.” His tone had the do-not-defy-me edge.

  Her lip curled, and she braced for ickiness. The thick goo coated her throat, her stomach, and spread through her limbs. Strange how something so simple could make such a difference.

  She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked. What was she going to do? She looked to the sky. The Aurora flickered like a dragon’s tongue above them in green and blue.

  “The Southern Lights are working overtime.” She pointed up and Den followed her finger.

  “The electromagnetic activity is striking against the atmosphere.”

  “It’s pretty. Come sit with me and watch it.”

  He glanced back at her, his eyebrows hovered in the up position, and his mouth opened slightly. “Time is important to this process.”

  “But what is time but a waste of energy unless you enjoy it? Only for a minute. If I die here, the last thing I want to be watching isn’t you putting up a shelter. Plus I am cold.” She tried to shove all her charm into her voice.

  She knew he was right to resist. That it wasn’t logical to stop, but there was a growing dread in her chest that spread deeper than the crevice they had just escaped. And there was no running from this feeling of doom and gloom. But maybe she could bury it a while longer with Den’s help.

  “Pleeeaaasseee?”

  “For a moment, your internal temperature is low.” His voice didn’t hint at frustration, but the way he plopped down showed his displeasure. Or maybe she was projecting her feelings on to him, like people with pets. But Den was so much more than an inanimate object or a small furry friend. His brain worked like hers, and he did have feelings.

  She patted the spot next to her, and he cuddled close. He wrapped and arm around her. “To keep you warm,” he said, his voice, low, soft, and affectionate. If it had been Simon, she would have considered it flirty.

  She turned to face him fully. All that was exposed was his eyes. She pulled down his face guard, grabbed the sides of his face, and pushed his head up. “Really, look at the lights. The way they touch and slide over each other like partner dancers doing ballet.” A dash of emerald, a flash of blue, purple made a mad sprint through the center, and pink flared around the edges.

  They watched the lights weave and ebb like a riptide over the dark sky. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “The way the human mind works fascinates me,” Den said. “You drew a connection from dancing to an astrological event. That is what I find beautiful.”

  Ionia still had her gloved hands on either side of his face as he tilted his chin down and fixed her with those too-perfect-to-be-real eyes. Her heart blew up like a balloon in her chest, a dam cutting off its flow of blood, making her light headed. “You say the strangest things.” She finally choked out.

  “I relay the truth. And the truth now is that my energy levels are low and the shelter must be completed.” She removed her hands, and he stood.

  “Den?”

  He looked down, his facial expression set on super-patient.

  “Are we going to survive?”

  He didn’t respond immediately. Probably estimating the exact percentages. “You will survive.” His voice was matter-of-fact, strong, comforting. He was learning the fine art of the white lie, or he was malfunctioning. ‘Cause according to her calculations, they were dead seal meat waiting for the seagulls to pick their bones.

  She pressed her hands against her forehead. How had she let this happen? She could blame Den or the blazer or the men who attacked the station, but in the end, she was the one who had raced off into the most dangerous landscape on Earth without preparations. She was reckless and foolish. Her mom was right about her. Maybe her mom was right about other things.

  Her stomach roiled, and her heart sank. What had she gotten them into?

  Minutes crept like hours, while she watched Den finish the wall and pitch the tent. Shuffling and jumping, she fought to keep her blood from turning to jelly. Finally, they both climbed inside and huddled together. The emergency kit that Den had brought along had a smokeless instalight tin, which would last up to five hours. The inside of the tent warmed enough to take off their outer coverings.

  “Hard to believe it’s frostbite cold outside.” She bunched up her coat to use as a backrest.

  A tiny lantern pin lit the inside of the space, and she finally saw Den’s face up close. His skin had patches of discoloration like flaky bruises on the area around his eyes. “Den, your face!”

  He rummaged through the pack, not raising his head. “No matter. Minor symptoms of frostbite. It can be repaired at a later date.”

  She put a bare palm to his damaged flesh. A hard knot tied up her throat. He had been flawless, now he wasn’
t. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t run off, you’d be half way back to CONUS and not stuck in the wilderness with your skin peeling off. And Mom wouldn’t be hurt or dead. I could have done something. I know I could.” The knot doubled in size. Her vocal cords engorged and wrapped around each other.

  He opened his arms and pulled her against his chest.

  She tensed, back and arms stiff, like she’d been coated in armor. She didn’t deserve comfort. His hands remained and stroked her back, a constant and gentle pressure. She allowed her body to melt. His arms encircled her, a protective barrier against the Wilds and worries. When her throat had shrunk back to normal size and her eyes had stopped prickling, he softened his hold.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked.

  “You mean the Feinstein house? I had to find my mom.”

  “Why? You were safe. You’re parental has had a very negative influence on your life.”

  “You are so odd. Are you really curious?” What could he possibly find interesting about her?

  “It doesn’t seem logical to leave the safety of your home and family unit in this hostile environment.”

  “You mean I’m crazy to run away when I live in Antarctica? Well, my mom. She...you know. She took my art and locked my room. I--” It was hard to say out loud. So much easier to disclose her secrets to her diary. But Den had asked, and she wanted to talk, to tell someone who could respond, who might care. “I felt like I was dying and she didn’t care. I needed freedom. I need my art. It’s who I am, part of my programming, to put in a way you can understand.”

  A quick nod and he gestured for her to continue.

  “My mom thinks people who don’t do practical things like fight or shoot or get a Ph.D. are useless. Maybe she’s right. But that’s not who I am.”

  He leaned back against the pile of outerwear pulling her with him, then drew up the warming blanket. “I enjoy who you are.”

  Ionia curled up and nuzzled into the crook of Den’s arm, her head on his shoulder, her face towards his. He could be a model for a Greek statue, from the sharp cheekbones to the full lips.