Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  Ionia paused. She probably should retreat to her room and wait until another night, a safer night, but there was no guarantee tomorrow would be safer. This might be her only opportunity. Ionia waited, one breath, two--ten. She crept into the darkened control room, Den crowded up until she felt his breath on her neck.

  “Backup.” He took a step away, and she scanned the near pitch-dark panel. “Damn, I wish I had thought to bring a light.”

  Den lifted his left hand. His palm glowed and gave off enough shine to show her the main control panels. She let her smile spread until her cheeks hurt. She had to finish DLing the rest of the manual and discover all of Den’s secret talents.

  The main Cortex connector, a behemoth, and a relic, sprawled over the entire north wall of the station. A large bay window, one of the few in the station spread above it, gave it the feel of a gigantic airplane cockpit.

  Covered in a layer of dust, the processor consisted of switches, levers, dials, monitors and the backup keyboard. It was installed the same time the mainland had Withd the last outpost with the best that CONUS could provide.

  The best they could provide a quarter century ago.

  She moved the chair, careful to avoid the tiny lever under the keyboard. Hitting the oh-shit emergency button would shut down the station and send alarms from here to Mac Town. And that would prove extremely bad for stealth mode.

  She fired up the physical unit and used the keyboard to access security. Hacking it should be easy, but she was a mess with electronics, much to her mother’s shame. She needed an expert.

  “Den.” She swiveled in the chair and looked up at him. “Can you access the mainframe without tripping any of the alarms?”

  “I can communicate directly. No alarms.” His hand glow brightened as did the glow behind his eyes. “And no keyboard,” he added, with a tinge of what sounded like pride.

  The console echoed the glow in his face, golden, almost magical, and hummed in gentle response, like a contented baby seal.

  “Can you put a back door on the controls to the Cortex and my room’s lock?” she asked.

  He nodded. It took less than a minute for the glow to fade from his eyes. “Done.”

  She arranged the chair and keyboard in the exact place her mom had left it and thrust her finger in the air toward the hall. Den waited in a relaxed stance, absorbing her every move. It didn’t bother her, in fact. It was a comfort after all the time alone.

  “To the galley.” She almost shouted. The flush of victory warmed her face, but she knew to keep her voice modulated. Her mom would hear any loud noise.

  They retraced their steps down the corridor then took a sharp left to hit the kitchen. The polymer plain cabinets and sink stood boring as ever, designed to endure, not to look pretty. If it were up to Ionia, they would be washed in gold or red; add some checked patterns to keep them modern but give some movement. Maybe even a picture or two of the trips they’d taken or a few candid captures of the family. But it wasn’t up to Ionia. The kitchen looked like an army canteen, and her mom liked its spartan simplicity.

  The cabinets were lined with cans and jars, plain labels standing in perfect symmetry, all faced out, all evenly spaced, all grouped by usage. Beats, potatoes, beans. Gross, but she was starving.

  She shoved the cans back and reached deep in the back. Ahhh, peanut butter. She unscrewed the top and dipped her finger into the jar, took a big swoop and licked it. The spread tasted better simply because she wasn’t supposed to have it. Or use her finger. But what the hell? No one ate it but her. She hunted through the rolled top bin on the counter and found bread but nothing else fresh.

  All the fruit from Cam’s delivery had been hidden and hoarded, probably by Rod. She cursed him and his freedom and found strawberry preserves on top of the fridge. Not fresh, but certainly delicious.

  Den hadn’t followed her into the kitchen but stood in the doorway like a sentry. She let the comforting buzz of success fill her. She was out of the room and had her own bodyguard. She took a large bite of the sandwich. “Ah, that’s the ‘tuff,” she mumbled through the mouthful. Tart and creamy mixed held together with the delicious homemade bread. “You don’t need to eat, right?” She felt oddly guilty, eating in front of the droid. All her instincts told her to offer him something.

  “This flesh will need nutrition, but most of my chassis is supported by solar and electrical power. My backup battery can go for fifty years without recharge, but the main power source needs replenishment.”

  “That’s the heat.” He was more than she could have hoped for, more than she had imagined, and he was going to continue being ever so useful. “How are you at enclass work?”

  “I have basic programming of history from Neolithic to present day up until May 25, 2140. I can do advanced mathematical calculations. I have a variety of scientific knowledge, but it’s limited to non-intuitive disciplines.”

  He was about to add something, but she waved at him to stop. She washed down another bite of sandwich with an icy swallow of Blueberry Fizz. “Perfect. You have a pile of my work to catch up on. Back to my dungeon.”

  Chapter Three

  Den looked strange sitting in her rolly chair. He seemed too big for it, too big for the room. His hand hovered over the keys to send all her enclass work for the next month to Mac Town.

  “Whoa, hold on. Don’t hit send. I have to pace this out, so they believe I really did finish. Let’s have some fun before Rod or Mom catch a hint that I’m sprung.”

  He waited for instructions, utterly still. She wanted to work on one of her projects, sewing, painting--anything, but she had not found where her mother hid the materials. Maybe she’d thrown them out with the garbage. To her mom, all the art, the beauty, the fun, that mattered to Ionia was worthless. Like she was worthless.

  But not totally useless. At least, she was resourceful. She’d found a way out of her captivity, a way to get her work done. And more adventure as long as she could keep Den’s visits a secret.

  “So now that my homework is done.” She grinned. She couldn’t help it. Her plan was working. She couldn’t wait to tell Simon and Miranda how she’d outmaneuvered the parental.

  “I do not understand the facial gesture. I have cross referenced, and I discern no indicated reason for good humor.”

  She blasted a laugh then snapped her mouth shut with her hand. “If nothing else you are an endless source of entertainment.”

  Den’s eyebrows crunched, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond.

  “Speaking of entertainment. Do you know how to play poker?”

  “I have a basic knowledge of the game and the rules.”

  She reached under her desk and searched. Please, let them be there. Her hand hit the adhesive covered package, and she pulled out the worn deck of cards.

  “Mom missed these. I haven’t had anyone to play with since–well, a long time.”

  She spread out her patchwork blanket on the floor and motioned for him to join her. He sat smoothly, but his legs stuck out stiffly in front on him, like a nutcracker soldier without joints.

  “Try crossing your legs.” She folded her legs, plunked down, and let her back rest on the bed.

  He copied her and lost some of his awkwardness. She slid the cards from their box, shuffled, dealt five to each of them. The droid picked up the cards and eyed them as seriously as he had her enclass work.

  “She got rid of all the decks, and I couldn’t even play with Rod. He was too much of a wimp to stand up to her. I hid these. Just in case.”

  “In case?” Den replied, tilting his head and fingering the cards.

  “Nothing.”

  “Which version of the game?”

  “Mac Town Hold’em and no using your internal calculator to count cards.”

  “Will there be wagering?”

  “That would make the game more interesting, but I have no credits. My dad and I used buttons that represented chores. Mom hates--hated it when we switched.” I assign every
one a task for a reason.

  “We’ll use buttons. I can show you how betting works. Crap. She took all the buttons.” She searched her bare room and stopped at the sole remaining decorative item. “It’s my old world coin collection. They are going to waste down here anyway.” She leaped up and seized them from the display case. Coins from all around the globe. Worthless in a world of virtual money. Well, not of value unless you were a collector. “Some of these are actually worth some credits if I ever cash them in with a dealer in Mac Town.” But it was too hard to part with them. She’d built the collection with her dad over the years, and the thought of breaking it up sent shards of pain into her chest. Why was she thinking of her dad so much? She was usually better at closing the mind’s bad-things closet door.

  She cleared her throat and then carefully popped open the case and distributed the money. “Remember, you don’t get to keep this. It’s a game for fun.”

  “Ah, fun and games. I can help with ideas. I have the entire Karma Sutra pre-installed on my hard drive. As well as numerous other enjoyable activities.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded and waited.

  But he wasn’t a sex bot…or was he? Companion could mean several different things. She had never been intimate with anyone, due to isolation and all. Some of her friends at enclass, back when they had lived down in Mac Town, had told her stories about experimenting. She’d been too young to care then, fourteen going on fifteen. But now, she was curious. Would it hurt to maybe experiment a little? Practice so that when she did have a real live man, she’d know what to do. She’d heard of a game she wanted to try.

  “Do you have a strip poker program? We can use clothing to wager.”

  “Very acceptable. I will start.”

  “You don’t have to--”

  His charcoal shirt vanished, leaving a masculine, bare chest right across from her. She took a sharp intake of breath. Damn, they really, truly did good work in those CONUS labs. Whoever he had been modeled on had a fantastic body. His chest was curved and firm, and she could see the scattering of dark hair and the trail that led from his perfectly toned abs below his waistline. She swallowed hard and licked her dry lips. It was like having a living, breathing rocker or vidclips star right here at her demand.

  With a deep, steadying breath, she nodded. Strip poker. All right.

  She double tapped on her pinky nail. “Increase temp in room ten degrees.” Now that she had Cortex access she wasn’t about to freeze. She slipped one of her fuchsia wool socks off, threw it into the kitty, and picked up her hand.

  She glanced at her cards. Not much, a pair of fives, ace high. Den picked up his cards and held them stiff and straight. He put down two. “I’ll take two.” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, or maybe she was imagining things. His lips remained slightly parted as he examined the cards she tossed him. Caramba, he was one hot man, machine, whatever. It didn’t seem to matter.

  Sitting became uncomfortable, and she crossed her legs under her. An antsy, unfamiliar discomfort worked through her belly as if she wanted something, craved something, but couldn’t imagine what was missing.

  She threw in her cards. “Three.” She pulled them up. Nothing. She forced her frown away and plastered a tiny grin on her face. “K’ I’ll start with another sock.”

  “I’ll call the sock and raise you a shoe.”

  She looked down. She should have added some layers before starting this game. She adjusted her cards. “What all is included in your basic programming?” She didn’t want to ask outright if he had sensual protocols.

  “I have a wide array of knowledge and I can DL a large quantity of information, personality traits, skills...”

  “What about....” How did she put this delicately? “Like on the ads. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he rearranged his cards so that they were perfectly aligned.

  “Oh, and I see your shoe and raise you a top,” she said.

  It was only fair, he had taken off his, and it was getting very warm in the room. She pulled her angora sweater over her head, very glad of her silk bra collection, and the fact she had worn one tonight. Her sweater tumbled into the pot.

  “I am running a seduction protocol right now. Would you like me to stop?”

  “Hmm, no,” she said. He seemed way too far away, and the room took on a comfortable haze. Her muscles relaxed, and she scooted closer to him. He smelled delicious, like a huge piece of chocolate double layer cake. Chocolate was her favorite. And she wanted to take a bite.

  “I’m pleased, as long as it makes you happy. Is the amount of pheromones to your liking?”

  “Pheromones?” She had heard the word before but couldn’t remember where. And it didn’t matter. Her breasts felt too heavy and constrained in her bra. She should take that off too.

  “Surrrreee. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She giggled at her own joke. This was fun. The most fun she’d had since coming to SPS.

  “Good.” He reached over and put a hand on her knee, and a small jolt shot through her right to her core. Looking down one more time at his cards, he placed them face down. “Fold.”

  She threw down her cards showing her pair of fives, ace high.

  His brow folded and his pursed his lips. “Mistress, I’m unsure of the rules by which you are playing. That hand wasn’t strong enough to raise. Mathematically.”

  She felt her smile spread ear to ear; he was just too much. So cute and innocent.

  “It’s called a bluff, and even if my cards were weaker, you thought they were better. You folded, so I win. As my prize, I will take a kiss.” She launched forward off balance, but Den met her, grasping her shoulders, and brought her in tenderly, pressing his lips against hers tantalizingly slow.

  His lips were soft and moist and moved gently against hers. Sparklers flashed in her brain as she responded and instinctively turned her head sideways allowing him to deepen the kiss. He let his hands slide down her arms. They were warm, and the flesh on flesh contact left a trail of tingles in their wake.

  He effortlessly pulled her closer until they were no longer awkwardly leaning across a pile of clothes. Heat radiated from his body. She wanted to be closer, to touch him. She ran her hand down his firm, warm, chest and the tiny hairs tickled her palm. He leaned back, and she looked into his eyes, crystal, like the ice in the glaciers outside, but with slashes of cobalt that brought life to them. His face flushed, and his breathing rasped in ragged intakes.

  She had to ask. “Do you have to breathe?”

  “No, not like you do. I have to have enough oxygen to keep the flesh alive but not to keep the body functioning so I can go a long, long time. It’s less unnerving to most humans if I do.”

  “Oh.” Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was his lips on hers, the heat of him. She felt wanted, adored. A bubble surrounded her made of safety and comfort, and she never wanted this feeling to end. Never wanted Den to stop.

  He rubbed a thumb around her nipple through her bra. Electric pleasure jolted from the spot through her entire body, from the roots of her hair down to her toes. Her hands slid upward, and she buried them into his thick, sable hair, clutching on as if he were her anchor. This was not boring. It was the opposite of boring. She wanted more. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but she wanted--to inhale him, press herself against him, just more.

  She forced an eye open. All Den’s attention focused on her, every move for her pleasure. It didn’t seem fair. She smoothed a hand down his muscled back.

  He pulled away and looked at her, eyebrows elevated. “You are not required to give me pleasure, mistress.”

  “But what if I want to?” She smiled her I’m-getting-into-trouble smile and pulled him down to her mouth.

  He paused a millimeter before touching her. “Mistress, this is all about you.”

  Scuffling sounds. Movement from the corridor, boots running, coming fast. She pushed Den away, head spinning.
“Jesus, we’re going to get caught. Oh-my-sweet-mother of Odin...” She realized then exactly how much trouble she would be in. There wasn’t a chance she could hide in time. “We can’t get caught.”

  “Can not get caught,” Den said. “Understood.”

  He scooped her up and placed her on the bed, quicker than she could even think, coving her with a blanket up to her neck. His palm flashed as it had back in the control room and the light dimmed. He vanished like a teleporter had swooped him to another world.

  The door slid open. She opened her eyes a crack but pretended to be asleep. Heavy breath, panting, and a shuffling, the vague smell of sour alcohol, stumbling sound of boots. Brandy and Rod.

  “Could’a swore I heard a porno. Musta forgot to turn off my vidclip. Come on, girl.” He shook his bearlike head and motioned for Brandy to move on. The door slid shut. Immediately, Den was sitting on the edge of her bed.

  She was suddenly very conscious of how little clothing she had remaining, not that she was a prude or against experimentation, but her practice session had gotten way, way out of hand.

  “Turn your light on low,” she said.

  Den turned on the palm glow. Still shirtless, his hair scattered, disheveled, which made him look even more attractive.

  “Would you like to continue our game, Mistress?”

  Yes. Definitely. “I’m not sure.”

  “I am capable of fulfilling your every desire.” He seemed eager, and it made her want to kiss him again.

  “Maybe. But don’t call me mistress anymore, it makes me feel like an S & M queen. Call me Ionia.”

  “Ionia.” The way his voice lifted into a sigh made her name sound almost precious on his lips. “I do have an S & M protocol. I can be either dominant or submissive--”

  “Whoa. I’m not a prude, but let’s slow down.”

  “Anything for you, Ionia.”

  The sound of her name from him made her want to grab him and wrestle him to the bed. Anything she wanted. She looked into his eyes and leaned in. He moved forward too, his lips a few centimeters from hers. Anything she wanted.