Vagabond Souls: The Ionia Chronicles: Book 2

by Pamela Stewart

  He looked confused. Which was good.

  At this point, he could go either way and if it wasn’t her way, she needed to be prepared. She scanned the floor for something to use as a weapon. Somehow, she knew her weird morphing ability was at its limit, like when her legs hurt two miles into a run, and she knew she’d have to stop soon. She was stretched thin. If he decided to side with his mom, she wouldn’t have the power to fight him off.

  “But she wouldn’t have hurt you.” He didn’t sound sure. It was a whisper to himself.

  “She had me strapped down and-” She lifted her arm and showed him the puncture holes in her sleeve. “See. I don’t think my freedom or comfort were even in the equation.”

  The look of confusion deepened, then seemed to harden, and his lips pressed tight as if he was biting them together from the inside. He avoided her gaze and looked down. “Go.”

  He laid his mom’s head gently on the floor, rose, and took two of the hydration bags from the counter. He handed them to her, staring at her hand. “It looks so normal now.”

  “Feels weird, but—I don’t know.”

  She tried to stand and wobbled back on her heels, falling hard on her rear end because her hands were still holding the hydration bags. Ravi leaned down, grabbed her elbow, and helped her to stand. He propped her against the wall and rushed over to the table on the far side of the room. The place with all the sedatives. A chill went through her, and she reached for one of the weird tools on the counter next to her.

  “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. You need more blood and hydration to take with you. Here. This is what my mom gives our transplant patients.” He turned and held out a syringe to her.

  She hesitated. What if he was trying to drug her like his mother?

  “Look. I want to help you. If I wanted to hurt you, it would be easy enough. Take it or don’t. I have to make sure my mom’s ok.” He set the needle down on the counter and knelt next to his mom.

  She thought back to all their fights and their time together since they were kids. He may be a jerk at times, but he was always honest and stood by what he believed in. He had been there for her when she needed to find Den, and he was an obvious supporter of droid rights and Zee. Not something his mom would approve of. He was more like Ionia than he would ever admit. But would he choose to help her over his own mother?

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” He didn’t look up from applying a compress to his mother’s head.

  “Why would you help me?”

  “I think people should be able to have any upgrades they want. I think her research and lab are a beacon of hope for people and droids alike. But I don’t agree with her methods. I won’t let her hurt you. But I’m not going to let her be hurt either.” Aunt Sera’s head twitched at a strange angle that made her look like an accident victim.

  Time was moving, and Sera would not be helpful, especially after being doped. Ionia grabbed the hypo and injected herself.

  The relief was instant. She closed her eyes. If the hydration bag was helpful, this was bliss.

  “You’ll be able to function. You will feel fine. But you won’t be fine. Don’t overdo it. Find your mom, and get out as fast as possible.”

  He was right. She felt completely normal again, except for her silver tinted hand and her eye, which had settled to function as normal but still felt almost electrified.

  “Thanks, Ravi. And for the record, I just gave her what she was trying to give me.”

  He nodded.

  Aunt Sera squirmed again, and Ionia took it as a sign to leave. She found her jacket in a pile by the exit. Her aunt had brought it with them from Chirag’s apartment. Ionia threw it on as she pulled herself up the rungs of the stairs and escaped through the kitchen.

  No mom and no other family were present, which made sense. Aunt Sera wouldn’t leave anything to chance when she was working. Part of her wanted to see her mom, talk to her, but she had no idea what would happen after that. And Den needed her. She had to find him to warn him. She sent a desperate wave, which bounced back immediately. How would she find him?

  She left the house and walked quickly up the street.

  The huge coat felt even bigger than usual, and she had to lift the edges so she wouldn’t trip on it, and this time she pulled up the hood. It was an effective shield against detection, but she could only see the ground and a few meters in front of her. With her face having the silver cast and bloody clothes, she didn’t have a choice.

  How was she going to find Den, and when she did find him, how was she going to get him out undetected? She wished she could wave her mom for help, but her mom’s priority would be hiding her and getting her help. Den would be an afterthought. A long dead afterthought.

  Creepy panic twisted her insides, which was bad. She didn’t have time to puke or sit down.

  Focus on one thing at a time, Ionia. Her dad’s voice in her head sent a shot of both pleasure and sadness into her heart. Always there when she needed him. Even when he wasn’t. She reached for her woven bracelet and realized it was gone. A touch of grief tugged at her, but she shrugged it off. In the end, he was always with her, even without the bracelet.

  First order of business, locate Den. And she had one idea of where to start.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Den scanned the neighborhood in shrinking concentric circles, moving inward toward Chirag’s apartment building. Chirag could be anywhere, so being systematic was a droid’s strength. If he didn’t find any clues, he would widen the search, then expand to other areas of the City and the underground complex. The hunt had taken hours, but logic dictated he stay the course.

  Two kilometers from the apartment building, he picked up the signal. It was a blip, lasting only an instant.

  Zee. Her signature was gone before he could do a complete trace. But it had been her, and she was being suppressed. The location was close. He wanted to use his preternatural speed or obtain some form of public transportation, but that would lead to the authorities being alerted. So, he maintained his even pace, scanning at intervals to locate any trace of Zee.

  His emotional circuit sent conflicting impulses. Both excitement and anger, with a small twinge of concern. To use terms from his DLed files, she was either a victim or a villain. Soon he would know.

  He expected to have to search in more depth, but the stands were the first, obvious clue that something major was happening. Mostly humans, some cyborgs, and a few droids, all buzzing in anticipation of what was to come. Another battle royale.

  In the center of the makeshift arena was Zee. The flesh part of her face battered almost beyond recognition. She stumbled, appearing to be drained of much of her energy. A blinking ring of metal clasped her ankle. An electric tether. She couldn’t leave the dome without being wiped. And she was severely outnumbered.

  Three automatons, wheeled and cyber-brainless, whirled around her, taking shots with electric whips. Laughs and whoops erupted from portions of the observers, but others turned their faces from the obvious mismatch.

  He quickened his pace as much as he dared and drew to within a half a kilometer of the dome, where he began to pick up audio.

  “How can you destroy me for their entertainment? How is that going to inspire our kind?” Zee shouted, not at her assailants, but at some other observer beyond the dome.

  He could not determine how long she’d been fighting. From her physical condition, he would estimate hours. She drew back for a blow against one of the machines. It weaved easily outside of her reach, and she fell to the polyplastic flooring.

  “I won’t let you destroy me.” Her voice was strong, but from his scan, he could tell she was at the end of her strength.

  He pushed to the fore of the crowd. The dome would keep non-mechs out for their safety, but he could gain access if he removed his protective coat.

  The construct of what the games meant returned to him. He would be allowed in because he was a droid willing to fight. He would be allowed acces
s to Zee. The force field allowed no way to communicate with her about his intention. Once he freed her from the tether, they could disable the force shield.

  He was not a military droid, but he could determine there was an infinite range of ways that his plan could go awry. Currently, this was the only plan he could calculate, and Zee’s future existence sat squarely in his android hands. If he did not intercede, she would surely cease to exist, and he had the power to help.

  He allowed the coat to slide down his shoulders, and he stepped through the barrier. No one noted his presence. Good. The advantage would be his.

  He stalked toward the three-wheeled droids that surrounded Zee. Den dealt a quick, side kick to the first attacker’s lower carriage. The machine spun out of control and slammed into its neighbor. Both were rendered useless.

  The third stopped circling Zee and turned to target him with a cat-o-nine tails whip. Den crouched in preparation, gauging the angle to use to escape and reach Zee unscathed.

  Zee pulled herself upright, and Den noted her look of surprise. She had been mimicking human expressions for so many decades that they were hardwired into her responses. He found her response humorous and almost laughed but was distracted by the laser lash of the tails coming down toward his head and shoulders.

  Whoever controlled the droid had slow response time, and Den took advantage. No more hiding his capacity now. He may just be a companion droid, but he had a hundred times the response time of most humans. He dodged the blow with a forward roll.

  Before the handler had time react, Den lifted the back of the machine and flipped it forward. He had just enough strength, using leverage and his lower body hydraulics to tilt it to the side. Zee stumbled up behind him, one of her arms malfunctioning and her legs partially crushed. But she assisted in flipping the machine on its side, rendering it useless.

  “Why are you here? Did Chirag capture you too?”

  “I came to locate you and assess what caused you to abandon Ionia.”

  Zee’s blood-smeared face adjusted from happiness to bleak pain.

  “Chirag jumped me and took her. I’m sorry, but we can still find—”

  “She’s dead.”

  Zee’s working hand flew to cover her mouth in horror. She mouthed the word, No and shook her head.

  She sent him a stream of condolences and apologies—which made his emotional center stir again, but he knew if he fell into the pain void or some blame loop in the middle of the arena, they would be lost.

  “I accept your condolences, but at this point, we must find a way to detach your tether and discover an escape route.

  The crowd, after giving uproarious applause for the deconstruction of the three, wheeled menaces, were growing restless. “Chirag or whoever was running the games today will send in the next wave of antagonists. Have you dealt with a shackle before?” Den asked.

  “No. They are usually in the ring willingly. Once, long ago, I broke a manacle such as this, but I’m not fully functioning.”

  Voices in the milling masses shouted, “Fight!”

  “Fight!” A voice blasted from the loud speakers. Familiar, human yet not, edged with fierceness, strained.

  Chirag.

  “No! We aren’t puppets for your will. We are free. We deserve to choose.” Zee voiced Den’s opinion well.

  “Fight for your freedom,” Chirag said aloud. A cheer rose from the makeshift seating, and Den felt a deep unease. Then a wave smashed into Den’s brain.

  Brother. You have returned to join our games.

  “You are no brother of mine,” Den answered aloud. He didn’t want a private conversation with Chirag. Anger swelled from his emotional chip in a crushing wave. “The vehicle you gave me exploded. And I believe you had something to do with Ionia Sonberg’s death.”

  Zee’s swollen face turned to him, confused. “He sent you a wave?”

  Den nodded.

  Destroy Zee for the crowd, and I will give you something you want.

  “What could you possibly have that I want?” Den asked aloud with assurance.

  Chirag had nothing. He was attempting to sabotage Den’s rescue attempt. That was all.

  Den bent to take a closer look at Zee’s shackle. If only he had brought a tool. He sought around the arena for any bits of metal that may be used as leverage. Zee stood in ready stance, prepared for the next onslaught.

  Chirag’s voice imposed itself in his processor again.

  Ionia is still alive.

  The words took .005 seconds to process, twice as long as normal. He pulled each one out and examined the meaning as a new crush of emotional input descended.

  False. Bad data. He had screened and scanned the blood and tissue himself. Her family had verified. Why would they have lied?

  He reviewed his captures from his interchanges with Dr. Sera Hebbar. She had often been dishonest and had not held Ionia’s personal safety as priority. The doctor had treated Ionia as she had treated Den, as a curiosity, an experiment, not as a true fully human family member.

  He could discern no grief when she had told her sister about Ionia, only some thread of guilt and something he had not analyzed at the time. Something akin to triumph, and she had wanted to clear the lab quickly. He had been so deep into protecting his processor from the emotional backlash, he had not examined all the data.

  He had not considered deceit because deceit was not in his basic nature. But it was in hers. And in the cyborg’s. So maybe, perhaps, it was in the range of possibility.

  “Where is she?” he asked, still only seventy-seven percent sure of his logical conclusion.

  Zee jumped when he spoke and wheeled on him. “Is it her?”

  “Her who?”

  She snorted and looked at the sky then back at him. “Ionia?”

  “Yes, he said Ionia is alive.”

  Destroy Zee, and I will take you to her. Chirag’s voice lowered to a deeper timbre, all the tightness gone. He had even regained some of his humor. He believed his victory was at hand.

  Den needed a nanosecond to consider and power through the facts.

  Fact. Ionia had had a seriously negative reaction to her aunt’s attempts at replacing her eye. Judging from the amount of blood he detected, which wasn’t synthetically duplicated, she was in dire need of assistance. Perhaps she was really dead. Perhaps not.

  Fact. Ionia’s aunt and Chirag had some sort of alliance.

  Fact. If he fought Zee, he would surely destroy her. And Zee was blameless.

  Additional facts bounced through his processor and tweaked his emotions.

  Dispatch Zee and save Ionia. Fight back. Escape. Do nothing and allow his own destruction. What only a few months ago would have been an easy thought pattern had thousands of ramifications. Now he liked dogs and elephants and had companions other than Ionia that he enjoyed. Even if Ionia were still alive, she had given him free will. And he was going to use it.

  At this moment, Chirag was the clear and present danger, and his friend Zee needed his assistance.

  “What are you going to do?” Zee’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and her shoulders hung forward. Her reactions were so human, he almost laughed again.

  Den didn’t address her but turned to where the strongest signal emanated from. From where Chirag must be sending his messages. A darkened box seat above the crowd.

  “You say we fight for freedom. That is a lie. Zee and I are only free if we can choose not to fight. We should not have to fight to gain respect. We think. We feel. That should be enough to be considered worthy.”

  Zee nodded and straightened as much as her injuries would allow.

  The audience muttered and stirred at his speech. Some booed, some clapped, and others nodded agreement. Overall, they quieted to hear the reaction.

  “Fight!” Chirag’s voice shook the stadium, this time in full audio, panicked and angry as the audience grew more restless.

  I will make you.

  Den straightened and pulled his shoulders back, st
ill supporting Zee, and faced the darkened VIP box. He said what he had only said a handful of times in his existence.

  “No.”

  A roar over the loudspeakers made the onlookers pause and swivel to look at the box.

  “Then you have chosen your path.”

  A white-blue bolt of energy flooded Den’s senses, sending torture up through is boots and into his processor. His body vibrated as a hundred thousand pins of fire lit up his wiring and circuitry. His joints locked, and his back stretched. He arched forward, trying to escape the horror of the debilitating pain.

  He could not think, move, run. His self-protective function slammed him into emergency shut down. He fell forward on his face. The polyplastic scraped against his skin. Without his support, Zee fell with him.

  He was stuck again inside his own body. His processor was slow, but his emotional chip was still strong.

  Even though he could not move, his visual sensor picked up an opening in the arena and a familiar pair of boots approaching.

  Chirag.

  Come to finish the destruction.

  Not this time. Den bypassed the burnt out autonomic relays. Thanks to Ionia’s gift of freedom, he was able to reboot his basic systems.

  “These people came for a show, and I’m going to give it to them. I’m going to rip you apart and enjoy doing it,” Chirag said and reached for Zee.

  No more abuse. No more entertaining the crowd. No more allowing this cyborg to hurt his friend.

  “Enough,” Den said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ionia’s loss of blood made her feel more exposed than she really was, cold and wobbly, too. Even with her jacket hiding her weird nanobots, she felt naked.

  Also, she was supposedly dead. She really didn’t want the authorities to know she was alive.

  She slapped on another bag of rehydration and it absorbed into her as she climbed down the last bit toward the complex.

  It looked war-torn.

  Much like the SPS had after Feinstein’s men had destroyed it. Droids lay ripped apart, arms and treads separated from torsos. The beautiful stonework had been desecrated and crumbled in large, careless piles across the floor. Nothing moved. The busyness and noise of the sanctuary settled into a cemetery silence.