Only once in her life had she wanted an attached weapon?
An image of Feinstein with his hands wrapped around her neck flashed like an overlay on reality. She could have used a knife or gun affixed to her hand then. Chills crept over her skin like a door had been opened at the SPS. Her heart stumbled and jerked in her chest. Her breathing tightened. The walls detached and pushed in, squeezing against her.
She was back in the cave, back in that moment.
No matter how hard she inhaled, she couldn’t get oxygen. Her throat closed. A sensation like a hundred thousand caterpillar legs scurried over her skin.
She wasn’t there. She was safe.
She wasn’t there. She was safe.
She was safe.
Den was close, and she was safe.
The darkness around her vision retreated, and she was back at the enforcement station. Another vidclip flashed more carnage, and her stomach wobbled.
She couldn’t stay here and watch anymore. Couldn’t let the memory pull her under. “I have to get some air,” she said.
Not looking at her mom, she ran out the automatic doors into the wall of heat, her breath coming in harsh pants. Why was this happening now? It had been months since the attack on SPS, since she’d saved her mom, since she’d almost lost Den. She automatically looked for him at her side.
When she got this weird, overwhelming chest crush, he always appeared.
But he couldn’t because she had let them take him.
Not having him at her side felt like a gap in her existence, like a limb had been removed. When he was nearby, everything would be okay. He made sure of it. But she had to wait until they did whatever weird shit they wanted to inflict on her. Guilt squished her like a giant hydraulic press.
But what the hell could she do about it? About anything. She felt so small. So powerless. She wanted to scream and trip passersby and punch something. She tried to shake off the tightness and find something to distract herself until Den was free.
The outside of the enforcement station was a mix of old and new. A few small statues of Hindu gods decorated the nearby building, faces with trunks and some blue guy with multiple arms, but most of the square that surrounded them was made of secular metal and soared high into the clouds. They didn’t have anything that tall in Mac Town, except the mountain ranges.
A sky ad flashed on, and she couldn’t help but watch, unlike her fellow pedestrians, who saw things like this five hundred times a day. For her, this was a novel experience.
The light and color bled in the sky like a mesmerizing storm. Then an announcer's voice began its carnival cries. “Come to the Festival. Cann Industries hosts the annual Festival. Color sprays! Music! Food! All fresh from the hydroponics labs.” Popping boncon displays boomed in the air creating shapes of flowers and dancers. Ionia lost track of what he was saying, but the images looked like something out of fantasy—blooms of reds, purples, yellows—vibrant and glowing. She definitely wanted to check it out.
Her heart downshifted into normal mode. She took an unpressured breath. She could do this. Just a small jostle off course. Den would be free, and she’d eventually forget those ice caves and what Feinstein had done to her. She tried to take another cleansing breath, but the air tasted like steam.
The heat pressed on her. She reached up to smooth her hair. A mass of frizz and tangles, even with every smoothing treatment, her air didn’t like the humidity, and it was making a very vocal protest. She must look like a clown act gone wrong. Sweat collected at the nape of her neck, ringed her armpits, and dripped down her torso. Mom or no mom, she wasn’t wearing an Antarctica-grade coat in the middle of a thirty-nine degree Celsius day. She peeled the thick material from her back. Not as bulky or heavy as some of her outdoor wear, it was super breathable and adaptive but still not location appropriate.
A few officers pushed past through the automatic double doors. The breeze from the cooled air was a relief on her freed skin. She had a white, cotton blouse and a sassy short skirt on, which wasn’t exactly like everyone else’s but close enough.
Alarms sounded, ripping into the air and shaking her. The observation camera swiveled and pointed in the direction of the station. A deep sick feeling returned.
A cluster of flying drones swooped down from the post affixed to the outside of the station.
The drones were oblong, silver, and fast. They reminded her of a swarm of hungry sharks, and they were all turning in midair and seemed fixed something.
They pointed in her general direction.
Her heart crawled up her throat. Then the swarm dove toward her. She used her forearms to wave them off, but they kept swooping down. She threw herself to the ground.
They must have jumped track or picked up some weird crime nearby. It didn’t matter. She wanted to stand up and run, to get back into the building, but she was tied to the spot as if she’d been demuscled, and all that remained was bones, brains, and terror. She couldn’t remember if the little bastards had weapons or not, but they looked deadly.
Her mouth dried. Phantom fingers crushed her throat. Just like before. Just like with Feinstein.
They may not need their weapons. Razor sharp skewers sliced into her heart, and her body shook.
Den. Only Den could save her. Where was Den?
***
The room’s lighting hovered at 400 lumens. Gray walls of composite stone surrounded them on either side. A chair with arm and leg straps sat in the center of the room with large hover displays playing on two sides. If he were human, the setting would be intimidating. The procedure only took a few moments, but he resented it. Resented being in shackles. Resented being detained even though he was free. But mostly he resented being separated from Ionia.
With all the dampeners his senses were dulled to a frustrating point, and Ionia wasn’t in a good state from his visual assessment. He needed to check on her.
“Take off your shirt.”
Den complied by unzipping the top of his jumpsuit and disconnecting the upper and lower half. The technician strapped him into the chair and calmly clicked into his arm channel and added a temporary projector attachment. An image of his schematics flashed as they hacked his system.
“Were you threatening humans?”
Had this questioner even read the report on the accident? “Two young—”
“Silence.” He held up a hand.
The images of his saving Ionia played in fast motion as the officer scribbled a report with a light pen directly into the permanent record.
The officer floated his hover chair to sit cloyingly close. Den’s sensors responded to his unpleasant odor, and he upped his polite protocol to keep from expressing a disgusted facial expression.
“Should we gather more intel?” His interrogator aimed his voice toward his hand.
Den’s tendons tightened slightly against the restraints. He hoped the officer did not venture farther back into his memory. Many of his previous actions could have been considered antisocial behavior. If he was considered a criminal here, they could imprison him. Send him to a work camp or worse.
“No,” the voice of the captain said over the comm. “Both Chirag and Hebbar’s wife are hot on this one. Cut it loose.”
The humanoids avoided making eye contact and did not speak to him but at him. “Return to your owner.”
“I have no owner.” He snatched his gray shirt and slid it back on.
The tech on his left’s eyebrows rose a quarter centimeter. He gave no other response, but he turned to his co-worker. “This day will not end.”
“I know,” his companion said as if Den were a piece of furniture in the room.
“Wanna stop by the Drunken Monkey after work?”
“Sure. Hurry up, Droid,” his interrogator said, finally noting he was still listening. Lighted arrows guided Den back to the lobby. He didn’t need them. A layout of the station was now in his memory.
He sensed Ionia’s maternal unit and her aunt on a bench close togethe
r, multiple officers nearby.
But no Ionia.
Den stretched out his sensors, but the reinforced wall limited his range. A deep unease dug into his processor like a tick burrowing into flesh, hungry for blood. He rushed through the double doors into the waiting room. The constables reached to stop him, but he didn’t slow.
He followed the alarms to their source. Once outside the station, his sensors quickened, and he located Ionia in a nanosecond, huddled on the ground with her arms shielding her head.
He placed a gentle hand on her back to help her rise. She remained huddled.
“Ionia, it’s me.”
Her shaking stopped, and without speaking, she leaped into his arms. A drone buzzed around emitting high-intensity sounds, then started speaking. “Please remain stationary. An officer will be with you shortly.”
Ionia’s family approached quickly as he shielded her his arms, her head on his chest.
The drones, which had been swarming Ionia, shifted trajectory as if their guidance had been disturbed.
One swooped low, out of control. He raised a hand to shield her and swatted it away. A blast of energy from one of the other drones slammed into him, and he could no longer move.
Just like the suppressor the Mac Town magistrate and the officers in the station had used. The signal was internal and irresistible. A hot flush of anger flowed from his emotional chip. He desired to dismantle this poor excuse for enforcement. He was merely trying to comfort his bonded companion and shield her from danger.
The officers from his original detention surrounded them.
“We have it tagged. I don’t know why the drones are responding like this.” The woman called Faheema said.
The crowd grew. Ionia’s family unit joined the clamor. His enhanced hearing picked up on parts of the conversation.
“She took off the jacket. Everyone will know.” Fear threaded Ionia’s mother’s voice.
“It will be fine, Ana. I’m taking care of it.” The maternal aunt reached in her woven bag, but Den could not determine what she was doing. The drone’s behavior worsened.
Den fought the suppressor and found that it was impenetrable. He burned through two motivating chips trying to loosen its hold, but whatever force they had employed deadened his every circuit.
Ionia gathered herself and stepped away from him. “Why do they keep doing this to you?”
Her mother joined her and wrapped a gentle hand around her shoulder. “He’ll be okay. We just need to finish our business at the station.” Her behavior was a stark change from their previous interactions.
Den’s approval level of the maternal unit increased.
The aunt sidled up to the constable who was examining the erratically flying drones. “Why are patrol drones targeting my niece?”
“I don’t know. Must be malfunctioning. I think they’re reading the droid again, but he’s marked, so they shouldn’t—maybe because he didn’t wait for processing.”
“You freed the droid, so you must have believed his story. My niece has done nothing. If you let us go now, we may not have to inform my husband.” The aunt’s voice grew a .8 decibel higher, which indicated intense stress. The officer sent a code to the drones, and they flew back to their perch atop a nearby observation post.
“Sorry for the inconvenience. We are required—”
“You are required to serve the public.” The woman’s face heated, and her hands rolled up into fists. “What is your name and badge ID?”
The constable’s blood pressure increased 25 percent above normal. His eyes darted around to Faheema, who shrugged and waved. He did not like the constables, nor his immobility, but the situation looked more positive than it had previously.
Ionia stood next to her mom, eyes fixed on the ground, oblivious to the women on either side. His system hitched--pushed him to go comfort her, protect her.
But he was locked in his body. Again. What good was free will if he could not use it? Anger pulsed in his wiring, blazing through his electronic synapses.
“You may leave.” The human constable finally pressed her fingers together, sending a signal to the Cortex to release Den’s systems. The feeling of been chained ceased, and he could move again.
Half of his processor wanted to exact revenge for the invasion of his chassis, for causing Ionia distress, for shocking him and taking away his power, for more reasons than he cared to enumerate at the moment. His emotional chip told him to use this excess energy to smite them, but he could list thirteen different ways in which he would incur punishment and also be separated from Ionia.
And that he would not endure again. He relaxed and refocused. Retaining his freedom was his paramount goal, and that began with maintaining his peaceful demeanor. He rerouted his negative feelings until the urge for revenge faded.
He flexed his body through his jumpsuit, which had grown quite uncomfortable in the seasonal heat of an area this close to the equator. His human skin perspired, and he had to redirect resources to cooling as he approached Ionia.
Her mother picked up her oversized trench coat and helped her put it back on. She tried to speak to her mother, but she just motioned for Ionia to be quiet.
She laced her arm in his, looked up at him, and gave him a small, closed mouth smile that drove away most of his negative emotional impulses.
They all moved as a group without speaking, and the aunt led them to a public transportation station about a half a block away.
From the snippets of conversations and strange events, the aunt and maternal unit had some secret that could affect Ionia. He looked down at her clutching his arm as if he were a life preserver. She needed his protection more than ever. Even if it was from her own family.
***
Ionia walked along with Den supporting her as her brain clicked back online. “Why is this jacket so freakin’ important? Is there something I should know?” It would be like her mother to hide something vital to their survival and expect Ionia to just go along without understanding. She still saw Ionia as a child who needed to be protected. Well, she wasn’t, and she didn’t.
“We will talk later, Ionia.” Her mom gave her the hooded eyes that said back off, or there will be consequences. Harsh, uncomfortable, restricting consequences. But this could not be brushed off, not after the drones and the episode at the airport.
“Seriously, did I commit a crime I don’t know about? Or is my missing eye against their weird rules, too? And what does the jacket have to do with anything?” A million and one questions and potential answers danced in her head. None of them positive.
“Listen. There are very stringent laws here about everything, but you have done nothing wrong.” She glanced at her sister with an almost angry look, but the emotion faded as quickly as it had appeared, and she continued. “That coat has a layer of defenses woven into the fabric. Bullet, fire, electronic, impact-shielding. Even if that transport had hit you, you would probably have been fine. In the end, I don’t trust this place, and neither should you.”
It sort of made sense, but something still felt wrong. “But what about the drones? They targeted me.” A thin slip of residual fear chilled her like a chunk of ice sliding down her spine.
“Those drones are either malfunctioning or connected you with your droid who left the station without proper processing. I swear Ionia. You need to keep it under closer control. If not for your uncle’s position, you may have lost it permanently.”
Den’s face remained emotionless, but Ionia squeezed his arm anyway to comfort him. Aunt Sera was tactfully ignoring the interchange and reading her palm display.
Silence descended between them, which triggered her aunt to intervene. “Half an hour wait for another taxi, but the mass transport spot is right over there. Follow me.” They settled on a retractable bench and waited.
After fifteen minutes, that felt like fifty million hours, a hover bus stopped in front of them and extended a staircase.
At last, they were on their way, but Io
nia still felt frozen, disconnected, uncomfortable.
Den ushered her forward, and they scurried up into the main compartment. While he secured their carry-ons, Ionia found a place to sit. Den and Ionia took one seat, and Sera and her mom settled on the one in front. Ionia drew some attention with her patch, so she sat in the window seat and slid down slightly to stay out of the passengers’ view.
She clenched and unclenched her fists. Why had she melted down like that when the drones had surrounded her? Hell, she’d had more bravery when a crazy man was gouging out her left eye. Something about this place, this feeling of being on display, of feeling vulnerable, triggered her weirdness. And why the hell had those patrol droids targeted her? She didn’t know if she bought her mom’s explanation, but her aunt seemed to be in agreement, which indicated her mom was probably being honest.
To feel safe here, she would have to keep Den right by her side and the jacket on. The longer he held her, the better she felt, like an overinflated balloon in her gut finally deflating.
Tomorrow after her operation, everything would be stellar again. The city would be her playground. They could cover Den’s mark with some concealer or a glove, and they could move without being noticed.
The Taj Mahal and the festivals and the vendors all waiting to be explored. Her excitement level rose, and the panicky feeling that had clutched at her heart ever since the airport began to dissolve.
The bus system must have all connected to either an underground magnet or some sort of electric grid in this area because no one sat in the driver’s position. They paused at another stop, waiting another five minutes while people filed off and on and found seats. It would’ve been better to wait for the taxi. This stop and go was torture. The recirculated air blew against Ionia’s face, lukewarm and stale. Her coat made the heat worse. She prayed the trip would be short.
Another swoosh of the doors and the bus crept forward. There wasn’t much she missed about Mac Town, but the lack of traffic now was very appealing. The bus picked up pace, but still, she could have jogged faster. Her knee jiggled, and she had to force herself not to sigh when the bus slowed again and finally stopped. “Come on,” Ionia said. “Why are we stopping again? The bus is full.”
Vagabond Souls: The Ionia Chronicles: Book 2 Page 5
