“I do not understand your reference. Unless you wish to call this unit by that moniker.”
“What? What are you doing here?” A million questions jockeyed for position.
“Your mother instructed this unit to remain here. This unit could not interact with you, Mistress. Your vital signs were within normal range, and you were in a well-ventilated, protected area. This unit used basic protocol; no other program has yet been activated.” The last part sounded like the smart kid in enclass who wanted an extra assignment but had been denied.
The android took a step, and Ionia automatically took a step back. “Why hasn’t my mother boxed you?”
“Cost of return and possible future reassignments.” He stood in the center of the room in his gray jumpsuit, impervious to the cold, straight and tall, almost at attention. His hands hung casually at his side. “This unit can meet multiple specifications upon DL of new programming.” The way he emphasized the last word, he nearly sounded petulant or accusing. Most basic droids didn’t have emotions, but then again he wasn’t a typical droid. He was a companion, and he had more to offer.
Ionia’s mood lightened, as she looked at him. “I am your mistress. You must please me, right? Not my mom?”
“You are this unit’s primary companion. Unless ordered otherwise, this unit will follow your commands.”
Ionia tugged her face into a small smile as happiness poked up through the wall of darkness inside. “Do you know how to get to my room?”
“Yes, this unit knows where the mistress is kept.”
Kept. Funny way of turning the phrase, but accurate. “Hey, you can use a pronoun occasionally. Instead of saying this unit, say I.”
He nodded.
“Do you have access to the Cortex time?”
“I have an internal atomic timekeeper and can access the Cortex upon your command.”
“That’s the heat.” The excitement coiled inside of her. “Come to my room at 0300 hours and release the external lock.” This was an opportunity. He could bust her out if she stayed calm. Time to use her brain and not be too spontaneous. Three a.m. should be safe enough. Mom would be conked out, and Rod would be soused by that hour.
She examined him from top to bottom. The way his eyes followed her even as she sidestepped, trying to keep her toes from freezing. He was too real not to have a proper name.
“I’m going to call you Den. That will be your name.”
“Not, Sweet Mother of Odin?”
She smiled. It was like talking to a child. A child with NAR implanted ninja skills, a fully functioning humanoid body, and a heartbreakingly beautiful face that begged to be touched. “No. I think Den. Do you like it?”
The puzzled looked returned and, eyebrows knit, his hand moved to his chin. “I do not understand the question.”
“Like, as in, would another name be preferable--” She would’ve explained the concept of names further, but footsteps echoed down the hall. “Go! Go! Back to where you were standing. Come tonight.”
If she believed in magic, she would have thought the droid had disappeared into the ether, he moved with such speed. She plopped into the floor, affected a slump and wiped the grin from her face. She couldn’t let on she now had an out, or her scheme would be ruined.
She pinned her eyes on the floor. Her mother shadowed Ionia, her practical, ugly black books in view. She hardened her face like quick drying cement, expression stuffed into a scowl. It wasn’t hard. All she had to do was think about how her mom had swept her room clear of her beloved possessions, all the things that Ionia valued.
With a hand on each hip, she looked like a super villain and glared down at Ionia. “You need to get to your room and put on some proper clothing.” She grabbed Ionia’s thin shirt. “This! This is why I punish you. You never think before you act.” Her mother’s face was still serious, but her tone held some regret. Or at least that’s what Ionia wanted to hear.
Her mother clutched Ionia, hard and unyielding.
“Can’t let the prisoner escape,” Ionia whispered under her breath.
Her mother rushed her up the hall back to her cell, a.k.a her room. Ionia dragged her feet and set her face into a scowl.
“An hour of research time wasted.” Her warden’s ponytail flipped back and forth as she shook her head and pushed Ionia through the portal. “Finish your work. I will check for accuracy before dinner.”
The trash bin of her art sat outside the door in the hall, still within view. The entry slid closed. Pain ripped in Ionia’s torso like her heart had been sliced in two by the closing door.
The room echoed, hollow, cavernous, empty, like her chest. The cheery, sunshine yellow paint on the steel garters and the purple paisley patterns on walls seemed to mock her misery.
But the world wasn’t lost--not yet.
She still had her secret ally and hope. Her mother couldn’t take that away. She lay down on the bed, grabbed her smooshy pillow, and hugged the orange fluff to her gut. Everything would be fine. Totally fine. But her chest still ached, and her arms and legs lay heavy and weighted. Her nerves exposed and fragile.
Then she remembered. She reached between the mattress and the box spring. Her fingers groped until she found it--her diary. A small square paper book with a woven red cover. She opened the cover and one of her dad’s silver pens rolled out. She shut her eyes. The pen was a piece of him and that, above all else, soothed her heart.
###
Ionia rolled over on her sunshine yellow comforter, and triple clicked her fingernail. “Access Cortex.”
Access denied.
Crap, Evil Dictator had cut off her only outlet. She crumpled to the floor and folded her legs, and rested her chin in her good palm. How could she get around this obstacle?
Any adversity can be overcome with the focused use of the mind and some dumb luck, her dad had said. A spear of pain in her chestical region made her change her line of thinking, but the adage usually proved right. There was always a way out.
Time. The time sprawled before her like a dark tapestry of cloth, like the endless nighttime, like the bare-assed span of white outside, void of anything of interest. Without Cortex access, she couldn’t even properly check the time. It could be ten minutes or an hour, and what did she have to look forward to anyway? There had been no end set on this endless agony.
She pushed herself up into a back bend and let the blood rush to her brain, careful not to put too much weight on her injured hand, hoping the new influx might give her an idea. The room flipped upside-down. The industrial walls didn’t look any more interesting than right side up. Damn, she’d rather do enclass work than be bored. That was her answer.
The backbend ended in a heap on the floor. She righted herself and leaped into her desk chair. The ancient keyboard still used the old station’s local computer and sent a message to her mother. Time passed. A half an hour, a lifetime or maybe two lifetimes, before the click and the word approved flashed across the screen.
She nearly laughed. Her dad was right. With a little luck, most things were doable.
She tripled clicked her nail. “Access Cortex.”
Approved-limited local information and Mac Town Syllabus enclass text.
“Sure, sure.” Like that would happen. All she needed was access. Once she had that, her friends would do the rest. She rolled the seat back and forth across the room, waiting for the connection.
As good as communications were, black out times still plagued SPS. Satellite issues, sunspots, and weather all created problems, but then she saw a flicker and the screen scrambled and flashed.
Simon, with the glasses for his uncorrectable vision that made him extra unique, mature, and smart-looking, and that messy flop of black hair that only added to his sighable factor, appeared on the screen.
She hadn’t expected he’d answer so quickly, and she’d forgotten to turn the visual off.
Whoever the hell had invented instant two-way video, she would strangle, mangle and then stomp.
Her hair stuck out in some form of light blond bird’s nest, and her skin had not one, but two prominent blemishes she had not thought about hiding. She hoped the video was grainy, +maybe that would disguise her ugger face.
Simon’s image was smiling. The light reflected slightly off his glasses, but his warm, brown eyes glowed, and she died a little inside. So very hot, and now she had to say something clever. “’Lo-lo.” Realllll clever. She needed to work on her clever, but being with monosyllabic Rod and her get-to-the-point mom had made her a social flake.
“Lo-lo. IO.” He gave her his usual greeting. He loved rhyming her name, a poet at heart, only adding to his cool-guy mystique. She bit back a sigh and hoped he hadn’t caught it on the vid.
“What is happening down in Mac Town? How’s Miranda? I’m absolutely dying here.”
“Same. Enclass is enclass. Taking an accounting class this term.” His face screwed up like he’d tasted unsweetened lemonade. “Crunching numbers isn’t like mapping the Nebula, but Dad thinks it will be useful.” Simon’s dad served as town magistrate. In Mac Town, he was the biggest of the bigwigs, and he wanted Simon to be ready to help when he was old enough. Not that Simon had a choice in the matter.
Ionia twisted the multicolored braided bracelet on her bad hand. She understood having a parent that didn’t get you. And she remembered having one that did.
“Understood,” she said, plopped her elbow down and leaned onto her good palm. “I got a companion droid.” She had to mention the android. His arrival was the only thing of interest that had happened in six months.
“Really?” Simon’s back straightened, then he frowned. “Not the sex bot kind. Right?”
A flush of heat like the Venezuelan summer rushed up Ionia’s face. “No...no.”
This conversation was not going in the direction she had hoped. “He seems more militant. Don’t know what I did wrong, but he went kinda NAR soldier when I activated him.”
Simon tilted his head and rubbed a finger up his smooth jaw, down to his chin and tapped twice. He looked up suddenly and put his finger in the air like a professor about to make a point. “Was there anyone injured nearby or a threat of any kind?”
“Both. Kind of. Not really, but he may have guessed that.”
“Auto defense. Used in the mainland battles to help prevent casualties. They come with hand-to-hand standard, at least the older ones do.”
“Hey, he’s brand new.” She gritted her teeth. Her droid was the heat, even if she’d activated him wrong.
“Hold on. I just meant he was an older model. I’m sure he’s brand new. The older ones are better. They’ve taken a lot of the personality out of the modern ones. Our house helper does her job and waits for commands. No room for development. The first models were given some free will, interests, but then they had issues with them and took it back out.” Clever Simon. He retained everything he’d ever read. His Results score didn’t lie. He was a genius.
“TY, Simon. You are well informed.”
“Tech is the heat.”
“Who are you talking to? Ionia?! Why didn’t you get me?” Miranda, Ionia’s best friend from Mac Town and Simon’s sister, filled the screen, all flawless Asian skin and dark eyes. She pushed forward, crowding Simon out.
“Randa! How are you?”
“Fine. Well good as can be expected.” She paused for a beat as if to catch her breath. “You know dealing with this joker is a burden.”
The sight of her friends hit Ionia like a hit of oxygen on a long climb. “Gawd, I miss you!”
Miranda stepped back from the vid capture. “Miss you too. Sorry, Ionia. I gotta go.”
Simon returned and inclined to the side. He looked toward the left, his back straightened and his brow folded, his lips pressed together. “Yeah, I will.” He faced the screen again and said, “Ionia, my family is having the annual Solstice party, and we would be honored if you and your mother would join us here in Mac Town.”
Ionia’s heart stopped, and she hid her shaking hands from the camera. Simon was inviting her to a party. The party of the year. She’d always wanted to go, but her mom had not had any interest in socializing. Her mom had banned her from going alone because she was too young.
The warden couldn’t say that now. Ionia would be seventeen by the time of the party. Mom would agree. She had to. “Yes, I’d love to come.”
He smiled, but the skin around his eyes didn’t crinkle like they usually did. “I look forward to your family’s visit. I have to end coms now. My father needs my help. It’s been lovely chatting.” His voice dropped into a stilted, formal and cool tone. Someone had to be in the room with him, probably his parental. His father was a legendary hard-ass, especially since his wife had passed from Environ Syndrome.
“Thank you for the invite. See you soon.” The screen died. She had three weeks to convince her mother to go to the party. But first, she had to convince her to let her leave her room. Work, work, work.
###
“Time!”
The computer remained silent. Damn, she’d forgotten again. A lifetime of dependence was hard to break. The antique dial clock that was designed into the wall clicked, and she struggled to read it.
One minute had passed. One, single solitary minute. She had her sparkly boots on, her jacket, and she’d even listened to some of the android’s manual. How could time possibly move so slow? She tapped her feet against the floor. She fingered her bracelet and tried to sit down on the bed, but almost instantly stood up and started to pace again. Her heart beat in her ears. Three minutes left. Three minutes left. Three minutes left.
Why did everything take longer when you wanted it to happen? She even had a plan. Sort of.
She walked the five steps to the door and back to her bed then back to the door, almost stepping on her half-eaten dinner. Most of the time her mother’s food was gourmet quality. The last meal had tasted rehydrated at best, preprocessed at worst. Probably part of the punishment. She would fix that. “Time,” she said in a barely restrained whispered.
The whoosh of the door drowned out PVT response. Den stood at attention in the door frame, a small, half smile on his face. Was he pleased with himself? She certainly was pleased. She couldn’t resist. He looked so human and sweet. A blast of happy shot through her, and she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. Again, he didn’t feel like she expected. Not hard or tense in her arms, like when he had carried her, but relaxed and muscular.
Her arm circled his shoulders. His hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a full body hug. Those programmers should get mad props. Den knew how to hug--not too tight, but not so loose, not wooden or awkward. His touch felt like a taste of Goldilocks’ oatmeal--just right.
Her belly dropped and, even through her jacket, every point of contact between their bodies seemed to burn.
She pulled away and looked into his crystal eyes with the sapphire spikes, and her heart quivered. His breath brushed her face, warm and fresh. His lips hung close, inches from hers. Perfect lips.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sounded funny, lower, like she’d just woken up.
“I am following companion protocol with my mistress.”
She pushed away, untangling herself from his embrace. Weird sensation. Must be the excitement of her plan working. Her mouth was dryer than normal. She had to adjust the humidity in her room.
The edges of his mouth turned down, his forehead crunched. “I am to do the mistresses’ bidding. I arrived at the appointed hour and released the lock.”
“Yes, Den you did fine.”
He didn’t smile, but the lines in his face relaxed. His chest seemed to expand slightly with the praise.
She exited the room, and Den followed and crept down the hall silently behind. She cast a look at him. “Do you like your name?”
Den’s brows furrowed and his lips parted. “It is the name you gave me. Do you enjoy the moniker?”
“Yes, I do. It reminds me of a
story from when I was a kid…but I’m asking if you like it.” She paused and turned to him fully.
“If you do.”
A hot shot of annoyance burned in her veins, and her hands rolled into fists. She held her breath and pushed down the squeeze in her chest. She’d been cooped up too long with the four walls and a rolly chair. Her mother was the cause of all this, not Den. Den was her savior in armor or made of armor, either way. He didn’t understand and didn’t deserve her angst. She released her fists and blew out.
“Let’s get to the control room.” She sidestepped down the hall. Den followed, copying her every move. Tiny lights were spaced evenly, every few meters on each side at floor level lit the dim passageway. The station kept them lit for safety, and in her case, sneaking around in the middle of the night.
They rounded the corner. The control room door was open and brightly lit. Crap, crap, crap, crap, and crap some more. Her mom sat in the next room.
She threw out an arm to stop Den’s forward motion. He struck her arm, his bulk nearly barreling past, but she held the line, and he stumbled to a stop. She bit her lip to hold in her yell and motioned for Den to lay flat against the wall. Her mother never worked into the night, and when she did, it was in the lab. Something must be wrong. She put a finger to her lips, and Den mirrored her. She shook her head and whispered, “Quiet. We wait here until she’s gone. No noise.”
He nodded.
Her mother’s voice echoed in the quiet. She must be on coms with someone. “No, there is nothing here. His experiments are lost. CONUS came and hosted a full debrief.” A long pause, feet shuffling, rapid tapping of a hard shoe against the polymer floor. Her mom only did that when her nerves were rattled.
“I’ve had enough. We are done. Goodbye.” A grunt and her mom clicked off, muttering under her breath, angry muttering, and for once the anger wasn’t directed at her daughter. What was her mother doing up at this hour taking coms?
With a brush of air, her mother exited the room, taking the rear corridor. The door to her mom’s bedroom slid shut with a clunk.
Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One Page 4
