Were they working together? A creepy slug-like feeling slid into her stomach. It didn’t seem right. “I would have known.”
“He was having trouble with the cooling system. That’s why he was working on it here.”
Ionia searched her memory. Dad had been very weird. Weirder than normal at the end. Then to leave without telling anyone. The cardinal sin of the Church of Antarctica.
“How do you think I knew this even existed?”
That stopped Ionia. It was true. The only way he could have known.
“We were working together until he backed out.”
Things clicked together. “And those men who work for you. They weren’t from Mac Town. They had NAR bands, red on black, around their arms. You’re working for them.”
“You do have an eye for detail, but that comment is strongly worded. I brokered a deal with individuals.” Feinstein tilted his head and let his face slide into a shark’s grin. “But no matter. I have my product.”
“If this tech got into the wrong hands, it’d be devastating.” They could cut the power to anything from anywhere with the boost her dad’s machine would give. All the world’s armies, over eighty percent non-human mechanized militia would be at the mercy of the operator of this machine. Whoever had this power in large scale could determine the future.
“Why should that matter to us? Let them destroy themselves. No one will ever fight for the frozen South.”
“I can’t let you do that.” The words came from a place deep in her diaphragm, without any thought or consideration. What was she doing? Too many toxic fumes down in this abyss, making her loopy.
But something, some steel, some determination, some belief sat like hot coals in her stomach. She couldn’t let him do it.
Death would not be her father’s legacy.
She squeezed her hands to keep them from quivering.
Feinstein straightened from his stoop. His face dropped into what he probably believed was a pitying expression. “I tried. I really tried to shield you from this. You insisted. Broke every rule. I admire your persistence, but sadly it has led you here. To a dead end.”
He came at her, knife in hand. A full-grown man who wanted nothing more than to rip her to bits.
And if she was right, he'd done the same to her father and tried to do it to her mom. She hated fighting. There was almost always a way around physical altercations, just like her dad always said.
Almost always.
Then there was now.
Adrenaline slammed into the back of her head, shot down her arms, throbbed into her fingertips, and her heart jump-started. The first slash of the knife whizzed by her midriff inches away from her organs. Damn, the coat was wicked hard to move in. Ionia jumped back with her hands wide, preparing for the next attack. She backed away.
He swatted at her again and circled to the right, trying to get between her and the entrance. She back stepped again, scanning for anything that could help. A pile of guns lay scattered just outside the door of the chamber. If she could get to them, it would be some kind of defense, loaded or not. She leaped in the direction and tucked, rolled and rose to her knees sweeping up the automatic weapon. She checked the mag.
Empty.
Feinstein, even though he was still fairly young and quick, had not anticipated her move and spun on his heel.
“Someone once told me don't bring a knife to a gun fight.” She held it before her and fought the fear from her face. Maybe he’d back down and assume she had firepower.
“That would be true if the gun were loaded.” He smirked.
Shit. Crap. Damnation. She swatted at Feinstein with the gun, all her mom’s mandatory survival training a blur in her head.
He lunged. His strength and size toppled Ionia onto her back. Her brain pounded, and her ears filled with a tidal rush of blood.
The knife came down. She held him back with the gun across her. Her arms shook with the effort and fell toward her face, the blade directly above her eye.
Unless she did something and fast, she was going to die. Her limbs electrified. She put every ounce of power she had into holding him. He pushed down. She gave one giant thrust to remove him.
Her mouth dried. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think of anything but the knife edging closer. His eyes had the cold flatness of a bull seal right before he chewed a hunk out of his dinner. Her arms quivered. She couldn’t hold him. At least her mom, Simon, and Den had escaped. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried again to buck him off.
A blast from the entrance caused Feinstein to jerk. Ionia’s arms gave out. The knife came down, hit the bone of her eye socket, and skidded down her face to her ear. White-hot pain blazed through her and erased every thought. Agony. Her eye throbbed, and then numbed, as something hot and sticky oozed down the side of her face.
Feinstein’s weight disappeared. She rolled over and tried to open her good eye, but it fought to remain closed in sympathy for her injured eye.
Footsteps. Feinstein moved away.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Feinstein.” Cam’s voice? How had Cam gotten here? It didn’t matter. Cam was here. Everything would be okay now.
“Cameron, darling.”
Cam wouldn’t fall for his fancy, sweet talk. She had the firepower and know-how to take him out. The Calvary at last. Ionia felt suddenly safe, like being wrapped in a warming blanket and put to bed.
“Entered from the back passage I see,” Feinstein said. “Why are you here? Are you having a difficult time remembering our agreement?” Feinstein’s too smooth, overly cultured voice broke into Ionia’s conscience.
“Agreement?” Ionia let herself echo the word. Her heart nosedived and didn’t stop until it crashed into her stomach. So many things fell into place. How the soldiers had gotten into the station, how Cam had afforded the expensive convertaplane. “You did it.” She pushed up to her knees and pressed the heel of her hand against her wound, which finally allowed her good eye to open.
Cam and Miranda stood at the mouth of the ice cave, Cam holding a gun to Miranda’s head. Her friend appeared more fragile than ever, her eyes flicked between her father and Cam. Confused.
“I have nothing left. Lost my transport. My livelihood. Now I need more cash. A lot more. And you are going to give it to me.” Her voice shook, but her laser pistol was steady.
“I thought we were going to help Ionia?” Miranda said and pulled from Cam, leaning away. Her hood fell back to reveal her ashen face.
“We are, dear. If you daddy gives me what I want. You and your friend need not get hurt.”
“No one. No one. No. One. Threatens my family. You will not harm my daughter, you worthless piece of fugee scum.”
“Fugee scum was good enough to deal before. And we will deal again,” Cam said.
“No, we won’t. Let. Her. Go.” Feinstein lost his cool composure and rushed Cam, grappling for the gun. Cam released Miranda, who stumbled away.
“Run, Miranda. Run to your brother,” Feinstein said, his voice a harsh grunt.
Miranda looked overwhelmed, hands covering her mouth and lower face. She stumbled up the same path Ionia had taken into the cavern.
Cam was almost the same size as Feinstein, but he was stronger. He grabbed and bent her back, with the gun pressed between them.
Ionia felt locked to the spot. She had one hand on her injured eye, and her fingers grew slick and sticky with what must be blood. She had to ignore the panic and force her limbs to move. She needed to destroy that machine.
Feinstein’s attention was on Cam. This was her chance.
She crept across the floor on her knees toward the invention. Warmers, like she used to defrost the coms disc at the base, lay about a half a meter to her right. She crawled to the pile and palmed one.
Laser gunfire bamped. The struggle stopped, and Cam dropped to the ground.
Vidclips Ionia had seen always displayed people dying slowly, taking time to say long goodbyes, eyes flutter
ing to gentle sleep. The reality was different. Cam lay still, a surprised look in her wide fish-flat eyes, her mouth gaping.
“Cam.” Ionia could not process this. Good or bad. Friend or enemy. It didn’t matter. It was Cam. And she was gone.
Feinstein picked up the gun and pointed it at Ionia.
Panic sliced her heart and clawed up her throat.
“Let her go or I will shoot.” Den. His voice staticky, less human, more modulated, cold, but still Den. “If you kill her what motive do I have to let you live?”
“Good point.”
“Shoot him.” Ionia tried to scramble away, but Feinstein wrapped a hand around her neck.
She flexed her tendons to keep her windpipe from collapsing. He held her as if she were a rag doll he needed to toss away, attention focused on the machine in the room. She gasped and wheezed and beat with her fist against his arm, a band of iron, unyielding, tight, unforgiving.
“Back off. Leave. Or I will crush her windpipe.”
She kicked, but her panic energy was waning. Her limbs hung heavy, like she was deep underwater, fighting the pressure and weight of the ocean.
He dragged her, carrying her toward a secondary room. She dug in her heels and wiggled, throwing her elbows. Shots rang. The cave quivered and groaned. Her vision washed in a haze of red.
Feinstein cried, maintaining his hold and throwing her down.
She hit the ground inside the door. He hit the controls, and the door slid shut, shutting them off from main cavern.
Ionia’s eyesight swam. Her body rebelled: her strength disappeared, causing her head to hang as if a boulder was attached to her shoulders.
“He shot me. Not much of a protection droid if he didn’t put your safety first.” Feinstein looked down at his chest, a dark wet splotch spread across this jacket. He stumbled toward her father’s machine. “I will dispense with you, and the sale will be back on schedule.” He sputtered a cough, and a few drops of blood appeared on his lip.
Ionia pushed up, but her arm wobbled and collapsed beneath her. The sound of metal being pounded rung from the outside. Den battled the door, forcing a way through the steel- reinforced entry. “Foolish android will take the whole cave down, but I have an answer for that.”
Feinstein pulled a box out of his pocket and twisted a knob. His face lightened, almost smiling. “Just have to find the correct signal to override an independent motherboard, free will or no, and a boost to the power.”
An eerie hum like a swarm of angry hornets pierced the cavern. Her father’s machine shook and seemed to activate.
The pounding stopped. Feinstein pushed Ionia’s code into the side panel, and the door slid open. There was a mechanical whirl of joints and a halting step. Den stood framed by the doorway, a broken mannequin, part of his face scraped back, and one arm lay sparking at his side, still and lifeless.
“Kill Ionia Sonberg,” Feinstein said. “No shooting. This cave is weak enough.”
Den lurched toward Ionia, half face void of emotion, limping. A horror movie come to life, sent to rip out her lungs.
A hundred thousand knives shot through her heart, and she scrambled away on her free hand and knees.
He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill me. My Den is going to kill me.
A grip on her boot, her favorite bedazzled boot, and she slid across the floor. She lost the pressure on her wound and her face flared in pain that spiderwebbed around her head and face. The blood flooded down.
Den yanked her until she lay beneath him. He looked down at her with one flesh eye and one mechanical. His face held no emotion. Nothing human. Nothing left of her Den. Her throat closed. Her heart stammered.
The only thing left was the warmer in her hand. She clicked it on, turned it up full, and ground the button in until she heard the snap of the dial breaking.
That was it. No going back now. It would overload and explode. She skidded it across the ice floor toward the machine. Feinstein nursed his wound and messed with a coms panel. He didn’t notice the small object wedged beneath his doomsday machine.
Den’s mechanical eye followed the process. “Explosion? Why?” Most of the warmth and humanity was gone from his voice.
“I can’t let my dad’s work hurt people. He wouldn’t want that.”
The briefest of nods from the android, then he reached for her neck.
###
Den’s mind was gone. Ninety-eight percent-- gone. The EMP override enslaved his systems. He--his personality, his mind, the being he was--was locked inside of a shell that had no will of its own.
His every emotion circuit fought to take back control, to stop this most heinous of crimes. Injuring Ionia set his every logic and emotional circuit aflame. He watched his own hands reach for her lovely, soft neck.
There had to be a way to stop the signal. But he could think of only one way. If he could regain control of the speech box one last time. “Reboot. Me.” His hands squeezed slowly as they had been instructed.
“Won’t you die?” Ionia asked.
“Will. Anyway.” Most of his systems were broken or breaking. His hijacked hand increased the pressure.
Feinstein hailed his buyers on his comlink and ignored what was happening less than three meters away. By Den’s calculations, they had less than a minute left.
Ionia raised a hand and brushed it against the portion of his face that still had flesh. He fought his systems that wanted to crush her, but could only stall the process. Finally, her hand hovered under his left ear. “Goodbye, Den.”
“Live well, Ionia.”
She pressed the button. The last of his power shot through him rebooting, clearing out the hostile control like a wave of white. With his last bit of will he pulled his hands off of her throat and threw his body over hers to shield her. The world exploded. And Den dissolved.
Epilogue
The eye patch itched. She didn’t like it. How was she supposed to paint without depth perception? She let her frustration go with a small sigh.
Simon said that the new prosthetic eyes on the Continent were better than her normal eye, but she wasn’t ready to think about that yet.
It could have been worse. So much worse.
There was her Dad and Cam and Mr. Feinstein and Den. . . she didn’t want to dwell on it. She’d rolled the scene over in her head for the last six months. It was time to move on.
She wiped her brush. A tinkle at the door told her someone was coming. She never could get over all the luxuries of the Feinstein house.
“Come in.”
“Want some lunch?” Her mom popped her head round the corner.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You have to eat.” Mom’s old militant tone threatened to take over, but she paused and took a deep breath through her nose. “But let me know when you feel like it later. How’s it coming?”
Ionia’s shoulders tensed, then she forced them down. Her mom’s catering and kindness was still high on the weird meter. But a good kind of weird.
“Good.” She looked at the picture. The image of her dad in the Venezuelan jungle looking like he did in her favorite memories was a work in process.
Her mother met her eyes; there was pain, and joy, and maybe just a tiny ounce of pride. She patted Ionia’s shoulder, her mouth held down in a hard line. Not happy, but not sad either. “It is good. I’ll check on you later.”
“Bye, Mom.” Her mother exited.
She put the easel down into the warming tray her mom had gotten her. She’d have to pack it up soon. They were leaving by Christmas, visiting CONUS to find more exploration work and to visit her mom’s sister.
Another door tinkle. “IO.”
“Simon.” Her heart ached to hear him, to see him. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed, his hair an unruly mess. He had been so unaffected before. Now he was almost always quiet. Always in his room. Trying to take over his dad’s place and take care of Miranda. It was a lot to ask from an 18-year-old, but he was holding up.
> “I have a surprise for you. An early Christmas present.” Some of the old excitement crept into his expression.
“You didn’t have to. Letting me and my mom stay here-”
“It was the least we could do. Now come on.” He shot her the lets-get-into-trouble grin she couldn’t ignore and she nodded, laughing.
They made their way back to his rooms and passed a huge bearded man limping down the hall, patrolling. “Hey, Rod. Everything safe and sound?” Ionia said.
Rod stood at attention, his gun at the ready, “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and gave her a wink. He even seemed totally sober, so that was good. Miranda was keeping him in line. She was keeping everything in line.
Ionia glanced over the banister. And sure enough, Miranda was signing invoices and directing the house staff with confident ease. She and Simon made a good team. Her illness only slowed her down; it didn’t stop her.
“I’m going to miss you guys,” Ionia said.
“I’m going to miss you too. But there’s telecoms and you’ll be back. Come on! I can’t wait.” Simon’s face lit up, happy for the first time in months. She would humor him.
He grabbed her arm and hurried her into his rooms. She had no idea what he could possibly have--
In the center of the room stood Den.
Or a droid that looked like Den.
An ax split her heart and pulled back for another whack. Tears pushed and heat flashed up her cheeks. “This isn’t funny. He wasn’t Withable.” She squeezed her hands into tight balls, trying to hold in the wave of emotion.
“No, no!” He waved his hands in the air toward her. “It is Den. Not all the information came though intact, but I got Withment chassis and most of his memory was backed up to the Cortex. It’s like the black box on a craft. He should be almost the same.”
Her heart trilled in her chest like a meadowlark on the first day of spring. “Does he remember anything?” Does he remember me?
“I was waiting for you to find out how much. You do the honors. Remember he bonds to whoever activates him.”
Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One Page 26