He was better than a statue. He had the breath of life. His skin maintained a healthy glow even with the tiny dark spots, and his virgin-ice-blue eyes seemed to burn from within. None of the lackluster, flat fish eyes for her android. No, he had been made by an artist.
Maybe he was more alive than her. More alive than she felt inside anyway. She leaned down further against his chest, her head pressed against his ribcage. She heard a whir in her ear, as soothing as a heartbeat.
“Are you okay?” His voice didn’t rumble up like a human. It probably came from somewhere in the brain.
She looked up at him. His forehead was furrowed, and his mouth pressed together. He stared at her as if she could tell him the answers to the universe.
“Fine.” She gave the standard reply, expecting the standard response. The asker would then forget she ever existed, their duty done. Instead, Den squeezed her closer and wrapped his arms around tighter.
The tangled ball of tension in her middle uncoiled. How long had it been since someone had held her for comfort?
She couldn’t remember.
Maybe when her dad was still alive. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she tried to keep her heart still. He was gone forever. And now her mom could be gone, too.
“All of the skills you listed are indeed important.” His hand touched the back of her head and smoothed her hair. “But the art you do. It is a rare gift. It is a very human gift that artificial life forms do not possess. I see only things as they are. You see them as they may yet be.”
Her heart twisted around inside her chest like it had been placed in an ice shredder. She drew in a frayed breath and snuggled closer to Den with his ever-warm body. “What is going to happen to us?”
“I can not predict the future. No astrology or destiny. Remember?”
“Den, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to tell a joke.”
“Just relaying the facts.” His hand kept stroking her hair. It soothed her, calmed her from full-tilt panic to semi-tilt panic. Better, but not in the same hemisphere as good.
“It will be fine. I know that the Feinsteins will send the constables after our asses soon enough. Mr. Feinstein will not lose one of his blazers without searching.”
“Ionia. The electromagnetic energy that is blocking coms...”
“Yes?” Her heartbeat crept back up into frantic-panic zone again.
“It would also repress the GPS in the blazer and in myself.”
She pushed up out of his arms and laid her head in her palms, letting the words seep in. “So they have no way of finding us.”
“Logic dictates they will follow a similar path that we did. The have a forty percent chance to locate our camp.”
A flash of heat erupted from her stomach and flared into her brain. She could almost feel her eyes turn red. “What kinda screwed up android are you? I mean really, why can’t you just call for help? You’re worthless.”
She could hear the echo of her mom in her words.
Den’s head tilted down. His eyes left hers and fixed on the floor. “I am sorry.”
Blaming him was wrong. He’d done nothing but help and try to save her.
And she knew the truth.
She knew.
She rolled in her lips and bit them shut, squeezed her eyes tight to stop the sting. She would not cry. “No. I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded strangled like someone had stuck their fingers in her vocal cords and yanked them out of shape. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Now we are both in trouble.” The full on cry pushed, waiting. Her breathing became ragged. “Bet you wish you’d been assigned to some rich deb in NYC. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but with me.” She packed the feelings down and shoved them in a box, yet the lid wouldn’t seem to hold.
Den put his hand on her upper arm and rubbed up and down, soothing. “I would have no other mistress. I have compared you to others in my searches and found you to be...most unique.”
Supportive like he always was, a rock, a companion.
“Unique? That’s a good word for it. Try horrible. And being the horrible master that I am I didn’t even read all of your manual.”
“It was unnecessary.”
Sometime in the future, a rescue group would find their frozen bodies. She would be biowaste, and he would be a metal shell. If they could revive him, he’d be scrapped because he was tied to her. His demise would be another thing to add to her list of Ways I Screwed Up My Life.
She was an albatross, an anchor, a jinx. He would be better off free of her entirely.
Then a new thought hit her like a ray of sunshine right after a storm, sudden and unexpected. She had read part of his manual, and something she discovered could fix everything. If it worked, he would never have to worry about a lame master again.
“My good and loyal companion. You are gonna live. I will make sure you do.”
“How?” He sounded amused.
She grabbed the hand that was still stroking her and held it wrist side up. His skin, so smooth, so human, yet when she pressed the panel open all she saw was cyber optics and wires. Was his internal working that different from the veins and blood and cells in a human?
Lines formed on his forehead and his lips turned down, but he didn’t resist. “Ionia, perhaps I could guide you.”
“Shhh.” She looked for the blue lever, ticked it fully on, and held her breath.
###
Fire.
Den’s brain circuitry burned. Nothing existed but heat and pain. His wiring morphed, changing, reconnecting in new ways. He fell backward and kept falling, no ground under him.
His body numbed. The pain subsided, then-- nothing at all.
Was he decommissioned?
This didn’t feel like being turned off, it was worse. Aware, but in a shell that would not respond.
His eyes closed, hearing sensors faded, touch gone. The emotional chip inside sent a spray of electrons that vibrated every molecule of his being. Humans called it terror. He considered it for a half a millisecond. An unproductive emotion.
He wanted to run, to scream, to fight, anything to release the sensation.
What had Ionia done? The lever. That was the only thing in his memory bank that was blocked from access. He knew about every other function, every nuance of his existence. He tried to connect to the Cortex again. Anything to keep from dwelling on the fact that he could no longer move. Even his normal breathing function that kept his living parts functioning ceased. The skin, eyes, hair, all began to degrade.
Another thrust of white-hot energy began at his toes and shot up through his head. His functions all returned at once. Everything in him bathed in searing electric power. His arms and legs straightened. Hot jolts of energy stretched him. He opened his eyes and screamed.
###
Jesus, what had she done? She crouched back against the tent wall and looked at Den’s smoking body. Why didn’t she think before she did something? The manual had said moving the lever gave him free will, it hadn’t mentioned electrocuting the crap out of him and leaving him for dead.
Was he dead? Or damaged? Or broken? He was her muscle, strength, and sole connection to the outside world. He also was her closest friend and partner.
He made her feel better. Valued. Important. She’d just wanted to make him feel better too. To give him a fighting chance if she died. To give him what she’d always longed for--freedom. But she’d made a rutting oil spill of a mess of it. Shit and damnation.
He bolted upright sucking in a harsh breath. Ionia’s heart gave a jackhammer stutter. Why was activation always like waking the dead? She swallowed hard and crawled toward Den.
With another sharp intake of breath, he flung himself away from her as if she were Satan. His eyes darted wildly around the area, his mouth open as if he couldn’t inhale enough air. Finally, his gaze rested on her. “Why?” His voice cracked like a frightened child waking up from a nightmare.
She patted the air in his direction trying to send calming waves. “Den, I was trying
to help. To set you free.”
His lips pressed together, the hands at his sides balled. “I did not want this. Too many. Too many.” He pressed his fist against each side of his head so hard the flesh turned white.
“Den. What do you want me to do? How can I help you?”
He lunged for her so fast she couldn’t avoid him. His finger dug like steel pinchers through her top.
“That hurts! You’re hurting me.” Her words seemed to pierce the veil of his crazy panic. Instead of looking beyond her, he looked at her.
“Ionia.” He blinked, his hands released and fell to his sides. “Hurt. I do not want that.” His breath still came in harsh gasp but began to slow. He looked down and away from her, crossed his arm against his chest, and turned.
She stood looking at his back, panting. Waiting to jump if he moved. But after a few minutes, it didn’t look like Den was going to rip off her appendages. Her heart turned down to simmer, and she collapsed onto the heap of coat. She had got it wrong--again. How many people would she hurt before she could figure out that she was useless?
And dangerous.
Just like her mom said. She might as well give up here. How could she save anyone? She pressed her eyes closed and let her head fall to her knees.
###
The fire that had seared every circuit in his being--cooled. His breathing calmed. He had experienced pain before, unwanted stimulus, and destruction of his flesh, but nothing like what had happened when she’d flipped the switch.
It was as if his basic code, his processing circuitry, had twisted and contorted and he couldn’t even use his visual input...eyes, his eyes.
He fought to make sense of the rush of information.
The Garden of Eden, a story from a human construction of religion flashed in his consciousness. The knowledge of everything. It was like she’d forced the apple upon him.
But he didn’t want it. Didn’t want it. Didn’t want it.
He had choices, as many choices as there were stars in the cosmos. His processes began to spin again, but he caught the one thing that could hold him, center him, fix him to the spot.
She was crying.
Not that a human without his perception would even know, her heart rate and breathing indicated extreme emotional distress.
He had hurt her.
His visual recep....eyes, use the human terms, she would like that. He blinked and refocused. Her image came into his sight. She sat on the pile of vivid crimson coats, her shining hair hung loose and wavy down beyond her shoulders, shielding her face and creating a virtual cloak of protection.
He had hurt her, and that fact renewed his swirling torture. He consciously interrupted the loop. No more. Helping her, protecting her, was still the priority.
He knelt by her side, careful not to touch her. His olfactory nerves could smell the faint hint of rose from her skin. Her shoulders heaved with repressed emotion.
“Ionia.” He kept his voice low and even and placid, trying not to startle her. It didn’t work. Her head sprang up. Her gray eyes had dewy moisture around the edges.
“Den,” she said. “I’m...” Her voice crackled and stuttered. She pressed her lips, swallowed hard enough for him to see her throat move, and gathered herself. “Sorry.”
“I have broken the most basic rule and injured you. Would you like to deactivate me?”
He offered his arm. It was what should happen, but with Ionia, he was never sure of the logic she would employ.
She leaped into his arms, and a smooth, cool sensation rippled throughout his body. It was pleasant. He wrapped her against him and engaged the soothing protocol. In her heightened sensitive state she needed comfort.
“It was my fault. I flipped the switch. It’s all right as long as you are not going crazy again. You’re not going crazy again, right?”
He shook his head.
“Then we are fine.” She laughed and her chest vibrated against him. “Well, as fine as we can be stranded in the middle of the frozen turd tundra.” Her heart rate slowed, and he released her. She even turned up the corners of her mouth, in a tiny smile, but a chord of dissonance rang though his mind, a low vibration that jarred his raw nerves.
“What’s wrong? You ok?”
“I can continue for a time.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“It is the same face I have had for the duration of our relationship.” The unease he had felt when he first awakened buzzed in his circuitry just under his main processing. He needed reassurance, guidance, and direction. “What would you have me do?”
“You can do whatever you want now. I can’t tell you what to do.”
A flash of heat crawled through his circuitry pulling at his pain receptors. “That is why I am malfunctioning.” Energy from the unpleasant emotion forced his feet to shuffle. He paced to work off the stimulus. “I have...every option.” He spoke the words, but held the synaptic response; if he dwelt on the myriad of choices, it would lead to machine madness.
And that, he could not endure.
“Here let me turn it back off if you hate it.” Her bottom lip protruded more, in the way it did when she was disappointed.
He retreated a step. “No. You cannot undo this command. My hardwiring synaptic connection has been fused.”
He noted how her mouth twisted to the side, then changed his explanation.
“My CPU has new pathways.” Seared into his cyber brain with a force that made the pacing want to return. Protocol saved him. He was having a conversation, and obsessive pacing wouldn’t be acceptable.
A small new section of his processor sent a message that made it worse. He didn’t have to care what was acceptable anymore. He could pace, or leave, or shut down as he desired. That began the loop. He closed his eyes to limit the visual input and to put all his effort on finding the one thing that could hold him together.
“You don’t look so good again,” Ionia said. He sensed her nearing him, putting a hand on his chest.
His body would not respond.
A faint vibration rippled into the tent, then a smattering of light. After a full minute, Ionia noted the illumination as well. “There! There are lights flashing through the tent.”
She left him. The place where her hand had been felt too cool and bare.
But he couldn’t open his eyes, not until this list of endless options stopped. Too much data to process. The information scrolled and seized his autonomy. He pushed to make his mind and body connect again before it was too late.
###
“Den! They found us.”
He stood still like a copy of Michelangelo’s David. Not a blink, not a motion, not a breath. Static as a statue.
“Den.”
No flicker of response. She had broken him. Her chest felt tight.
But there were lights outside. Someone had found them in the wasteland. Maybe they could help.
Thank all the gods or wherever they were. Finally, the constables had arrived. Salvation on a blazer.
She slid her coat half on and scooped her feet into her untied boots. She unzipped the tent enclosure and cast one look back at Den, who was standing immobile, his eyes closed. She had to make sure they saw their camp, and then Den would be safe.
She ducked out of the tent. The frigid wind shocked her system. She’d forgotten how cold it was just outside of the piece of polynylon.
Shivers vibrated her body. With one hand she clasped the edges of her coat together, and with the other reconnected the tent.
A dim light teased at the edge of the world. Dark figures moved in the distance.
The wind picked up and tossed snow into her face as if she stood in the center of a shaken snow globe. She knew better than to come out without the proper clothes, but in her rush to signal the rescue team she’d forgotten.
Her eyes slanted closed against the gust. The flash of light disappeared.
Snow slapped against her in icy rivulets. Damn, they couldn’t be gone. She scanned
again and caught a tiny glimmer approaching quickly from her left. Her heart did a tap dance. She forgot holding her coat together, forgot the cold that stole her breath, forgot everything but the posse aiming for her. She waved her arms and jumped, to grab their attention.
They drew closer, fiery streams coursing behind their machines. Ionia pulled her coat together and zipped, shoving her bone cold hands into her jacket pockets. The group slid up to their camp, dressed in shabby, worn overcoats that looked like relics from the Continental Wars. They all had similar dark helmets covering their heads and shielding their faces.
They stopped two meters from their tent but remained in their blazers. Ionia’s stomach flipped, and her mouth dried.
They weren’t constables.
They were coalers or oilers, and that was all sorts of not good. Over their worn jacket on their right arms, they wore the red band of the NAR, probably exiled from the Continent. Refugees who took any kind of work just to eat.
They didn’t care about anything but getting paid and getting laid.
One turned on his speaker to bullhorn level. “Lost out in the backcountry, little girl? We’ll give you a hand.”
“No, nope, it’s all right here. Me and my...boyfriend, just inside the tent.” She shouted over the squall.
“Where’s your blazer? I think you’re that runaway I heard about on the Cortex.” He raised an arm and his gang switched off their blazers and dismounted.
“Den! Den! Come on out here!” Her voice and her body shook, and it wasn’t just from the cold. What the hell was she going to do against a gang of big, lunk-headed men?
The leader of the group, tall and wide with arms like a gorilla, swooped off his blazer. His buddies followed five in all, and converged. The big guy had a blaster in a holster at his side.
Great for burning through sections of glacier, or mining.
Or putting huge holes in people.
She tried to swallow, and her feet itched to back away. She took a step, which only encouraged the group forward.
Her blood surged, pounding in her head, blocking her ears. Her hands shook.
They removed their anonymous helmets. The leader approached. The looks on their faces, the smirks, the leers, the way they touched their gun handles. Not safe. Not good. Definitely, not here for rescue.
Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One Page 16
