Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  Behind his thick bush of dark beard, she could see him smile, his teeth stained, his lips peeling.

  “Wait, please. I just....” Her brain blanked, and her limbs vibrated with adrenaline. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. “Den!” she screamed, this time all her false bravery gone.

  Even if there was nowhere to run, she couldn’t just stand here and wait for them to grab her. She turned and dug in for a sprint, but her clampons were not extended. She skidded and fell face first into the hard snow.

  Hulking beard guy stepped on the back of her sparkly boots. Her ankles bent under the force. “Stop it! That hurts!”

  “You try to run from your rescuers? Lady, that deserves some punishment.” He increased the pressure.

  “Stop!” The tendons in her ankles burned and stretched. She tried to push up to her knees, to wiggle out from under his foot, to scramble away but his weight was too much.

  “Please.” She fought the crack in her voice. Damn these men for thinking they could just abuse her. Damn, being a small female. And damn, damn, damn not having a weapon.

  The man laughed, joined by his posse, but the pressure relaxed. “Now she’s learned.”

  He removed his foot, grabbed the back of her coat, and set her back down facing the men. Her throbbing ankles gave way, and she collapsed to her knees.

  “Quite the right place for the likes’o you.” His Brit accent gave his voice a casual breeziness as if he was discussing the weather, even as he thrust his hips toward her face. She got a whiff of his reeking, days old sweat smell and choked.

  “Gives me some thoughts on how you will pay us back for saving you, bitch.”

  Something seemed to snap behind her breastbone and another adrenaline dump burned through her veins, sending needles of acid down to her toes.

  She was no man’s bitch. No one should be treated like this. And she was not going to allow it. Her hands couldn’t feel the cold, only the hot push of blood from her fluttering heart. She raised her head, drew back her fist, and punched the hulk in the balls.

  He woofed out air and doubled over. The laughing stopped. Ionia scrambled away, over the snow. She couldn’t see. She didn’t care.

  Escape. Run. Crawl.

  Hands snagged her legs, yanked her, pinned her arms, and pulled her back to the circle.

  Her ankles slammed nails of pain up her legs. “I don’t think there is enough of a reward to keep this around.”

  “Lads, shall we have a go at her?” Another voice shouted from far away.

  “Back to the base first. It’s too bloody cold.”

  She crawled away. He latched onto her leg and pulled backward. Spikes of pain throbbed through her ankles.

  “First, she’s got to pay for what she did.” The original hulk wrapped a worn glove around her throat and lifted. Her feet dangled. She rasped in tiny sips of air.

  Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

  She clawed at the fingers, beating them with her naked, frozen fist, but her strongest effort made no impact.

  He squeezed. She kicked, but he extended his arm and allowed her foot to jerk in the air. She swung as if hanging from a line, like a dying fish.

  The man snorted and gave a constipated chuckle. “Ain’t so feisty now, eh?” His voice dripped with superior swagger.

  The edges of her vision blurred with dark spots. Her heart punched against her ribs, fighting for air.

  Her arms went weak, boneless, limp, useless. She was going to die. The gang voices muffled, and her sight blackened. She’d failed, and now her mom was alone.

  Sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.

  Chapter Ten

  Voices. Deep, rumbling, threatening non-Ionia voices.

  The light from the blazers made the inside of the tent glow to the level of 1.075 lux. Den stood in the center, looping. The noise from outside scratched his consciousness. Something moved.

  The occupational manual for NAR employment, and the periodic chart filtered through his processor. The information continued spinning. Movement stirred outside the tent. He needed to investigate, but he couldn’t.

  He was like a POW he’d seen in one of his historical clips, tied to a chair in an internment camp with images flying across the mural of his mind. No choice. No consent. No chance of escape.

  Endless possibilities.

  A warning flashed in his monitors. The rhythm of Ionia’s heart, her vital signs, dipped and wavered. Her breathing slowed to dangerous levels. The manuals flipped, danced, flew, words and meaning, lights, sounds, colors. All whirled until they became Ionia’s round and imperfect face.

  Danger, eminent danger.

  The deepest of his programming welled to the forefront.

  Ionia. Protect. Mistress. Danger.

  He must act. Levering up, he flipped his vision to x-ray. Six assailants, well-muscled, and large for human norm. His sensors found Ionia, hanging by her neck. Her attacker was two point five meters to Den’s left.

  Den hurled himself through the tent. The thin plastifabric tore as he flew into the man’s abdomen. Ionia tumbled to the snow. Den straddled the attacker and slammed a fist into his chin with enough pressure to render him unconscious.

  Two of the attacker’s companions started forward. One was tall, thin, the other a small, stocky, mass of human.

  Den leaped up, twisted, and landed between them and Ionia. He scanned her body. Her breathing was shallow, potential frostbite grew in her exposed extremities. Ionia needed medical attention.

  The two grabbed Den on each side. Ionia’s injury had distracted him.

  He pulled the stocky male forward, off balance, using a Judo hip throw, and slammed him into the ground. A sharp strike to the chest of the other winded him. The man’s bearded face reddened as he tried to breathe.

  He wouldn’t get the chance to recover. Den calculated an elbow to his midriff would finish the altercation. He jerked his arm into the man’s thin body, doubled him over, and flipped him on top of his accomplice.

  Den stomped the man’s torso, holding his full strength in check so he would not crush his victim’s breastbone. The man gasped for air, and the stocky one at the bottom fought to remove his partner.

  The last three offenders hovered near their blazers. Den removed his foot, rounded the pile of humans, and faced them.

  The one that stood the furthest away threw a leg over his blazer. The remaining two did not approach.

  He desired to pound them, crush their bones, and throw them into the crevice they had left five kilometers back, but Ionia needed medical assistance, and that took precedence over his urges. “I will cease my attack if you withdraw.”

  They turned to each other, then looked at their companions moaning on the ground. Neither seemed to be able to make a decision.

  “We will withdraw, mate. After we get what we came for.” The man in the center of the pile mumbled.

  Den detected a sharp rise in heart rate and rate of breathing coming from the direction of the blazer. He looked for a new threat. The male farthest away pulled a laser blaster and pointed at Den’s chest. Den threw himself down, close to Ionia to shield her in case of misfire. Blue laser blast slashed, cutting into his upper arm. Pain receptors expanded and consumed his brain, shutting down vision, audio, and locking his joints. He fell.

  His nanobots raced to seal the opening. Den’s vision returned, saturated in red.

  Critical power level reached.

  Only enough energy to keep his flesh living remained. He pushed up, anyway. He had to protect Ion--Ion--Ionia. His frost bitten hands slid against the icy slope. No power left. His systems gave one last warning cry, and his monitor blanked.

  ###

  Her mind fuzzed in and out like a vidclip on a sunspot day. A faint picture of Den fighting her attackers swam into her memory.

  The bastards had shot him.

  A flash of light and hands wrapping around Ionia’s arms. A slam against her aching stomach. Warmth pressed against her core.


  She pulled her head up to see, but something hard pounded against the base of her skull. Bolts of torture impaled her head. Her body sagged. Her face and fingers numbed.

  An engine roared close to her ear, and her heart flipped into hyper drive. She was on a blazer, draped like a poached seal. She had to get off. Get out. Get away.

  The drivers shouted something to each other that she couldn’t make out, but the blazer didn’t move, the engine idled louder, and the heat from the engine grew warm against her face. She cracked her eyes open and saw nothing but sled runners and tundra. A shout and the rider rose in his seat and twisted back.

  Her captor shuddered, turned, and flicked a switch. The blazer jostled forward, sending an ax pick of pain cutting into her head and her stomach. The snow swept by, notching up her nausea. She swallowed, but the queasiness would not retreat.

  The driver jerked. The blazer seized and stopped dead. The forward momentum flung her into the air in a high arc. She slammed against the ground on her back. The stars spun into a vortex in the sky.

  Everything hurt. Her mind and body nothing but a bundle of pain and confusion.

  “Ionia! Oh, my sweet Higher Power.” It was Cam’s voice, or she had whacked her head so hard she was hallucinating.

  Ionia blinked, pushing back the dark that threatened to blot out her vision. The stars rotated around in the sky like a wonky top. She wished the world would stop spinning.

  Then Cam’s face hovered over her. She had a heavy furred hood that made her look like a jungle lion with a mane.

  “Cam? What are you doing here?”

  “You’re alive.” Cam’s shoulders relaxed forward, her eyes closed. She blew out air like she’d been holding her breath.

  Her eyes flittered away from Ionia to something behind her. “Simon. Bring a med kit out of the transport. Hurry.”

  “What?” Ionia’s vision wobbled. She squinted at Cam’s face. “What happened to those men?”

  “Ah, I scared them off with some fancy shooting and my big ass convertible monster.”

  “Wait. How did you find me?” This had to be a dream, a fantasy taking over because reality sucked so hard she couldn’t deal anymore. “Are you real?”

  Cam snorted. “A bit too real for some. I’m really here, love. Can you move? Don’t move. Can you feel all your parts?”

  “Kind of personal, but okay.” Ionia tried to wiggle her fingers, then her toes. She thought they were moving. “Can’t feel my hands or face. What happened?” Her backstroking brain settled, and a dark hand of panic clawed at her heart. “Cam. Am I okay? Why can’t I move?”

  Cam’s eyes were twice their normal size, which was enough to make the panic hand squeeze Ionia’s heart harder.

  Ionia struggled to rise. Her body jerked and folded to the ground. “I can’t feel anything.”

  “Shhh, calm down, or you will make it worse. Simon! Hurry the hell up.”

  “Simon’s here?” Ionia’s voice sounded hollow like it wasn’t coming from her chest but somewhere far, far away.

  “I sure am.” Simon pushed up next to Cam, his face tight and pinched and pale. The smile he put on was as fake as old American money.

  Ionia fought to push up to see him.

  “You need to stay calm. You are going to be fine.” Cam grabbed her arm and jabbed her with what felt like a harpoon filled with acid. The meds coursed through her, spreading, saturating, soothing. “Holy Mount Odin, what the hell was that?”

  “Now can you feel your... anything?”

  Ionia wiggled her fingers and this time they responded, heavy and scorched as if she’d held them into a fire. “Yeah, but it hurts.” She pushed up to her elbows.

  Simon knelt on one side, Cam on the other. The converaplane, in overland mode, sat in the path of a banged up blazer. The driver who had held her, gone. There was no trace of the other blazers besides the long dark trails left burned into the snow.

  “What are you guys doing here? What are you doing together?”

  “When you went missing, Dad wouldn’t send out a search party. The weather was too bad. I was worried, so I went to the terminal.”

  “And you found Cam looking for work for hire.” That made sense. She didn’t just fly. She knew how to drive every kind of transport in any terrain.

  “Why would you run off like that into the waste?” Cam asked.

  “My mom. Something happened at the station, and they think she’s dead.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry, poppet.” Her voice lifted three octaves.

  “No. Don’t be sorry. She’s still alive. She’s gotta be.”

  Simon and Cam exchanged a look, the kind of look that said about a million things that they weren’t willing to say out loud. Ionia swallowed down the fresh surge of worry like a dose of nasty medicine.

  She was feeling more human again but ached from her squashed ankles to her freeze-dried face. She tried to stand, but her legs were like ice during the spring thaw. Simon clutched her left arm and Cam her right and hoisted her up. Both maintained their grip to keep her from slumping right back down.

  “Did you find her? Is she ok?” A sweet, young, soft voice floated from the transport.

  “Randa? You’re here too?” Ionia felt her heart lift as it always did when she knew Miranda was near.

  “She was gonna tell Dad I left if I didn’t bring her, but she swore to stay in the transport. Isn’t that right, little sis?” Simon sounded both pissed and playful. Ionia couldn’t decide which emotion dominated his voice.

  “I hate it when you call me that. I’m not little.” Ionia could almost hear the look of disdain in Miranda’s voice. They had danced the sibling two-step often when she had visited. She wondered how it would have been if she’d had a sister. Or a brother. Would life have been more bearable if she’d shared the hard, hard life of being Professor Anabel Patel Sonberg’s only and imperfect child? She doubted it.

  “You are smaller than me, and I don’t have time to argue. Open the doors.” Simon said and shuffled her to the ladder leading to the doors.

  She looked at the inside and remembered the last time she’d been in Cam’s plane. A new chill seized Ionia’s heart.

  “Den. What about Den?”

  “I almost forgot about your droid. Did you bring him?” Cam asked.

  “He was shot for me, and I forgot him.”

  Her chest felt empty and hollow like the organ didn’t occupy the space anymore. How could she be so self-centered, so muddled-headed, so stupid and forgetful?

  “You’re in shock. The only thing keeping you lucid right now is the patch meds I gave you to boost adrenaline and warm your extremities. Where is your droid?”

  “Den. His name is Den, and he’s over there.” She pointed weakly to where she thought the tent area would be.

  “Here,” Simon said. “Let me take you to the transport, and Cam can gather him up. She has a sled I’m sure.”

  “I do,” Cam said. “Go with him.”

  Ionia’s head swam from the pain meds and the anti-frostbite mumbo jumbo they’d dosed her with. Cam left. Simon slid his arm around her waist, and half carried her up the loading ramp.

  Ionia was inside the transport in seconds. The heat felt tropical compared to outside and sweat pooled inside her jacket. Randa guided her to a swivel chair and helped remove Ionia’s coat. Simon sat across in one of the chairs and Randa sat on the floor to one side of Ionia.

  Miranda shoved a straw at Ionia. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

  The straw impaled Ionia’s tongue. “I also now have a tongue piercing,” Ionia said.

  The back of the mobile unit vibrated open, and cool air washed in, held back only by the environ controls that fought to maintain temperature.

  Cam entered, pulling the dolly behind. “The damned oilers are gone.”

  Den lay on the flatbed dolly. He still appeared human, but this time he looked like a dead human. Ionia’s heart squeezed into a tight ball, and her body shook.

  “I
’m going to give Ionia another patch. I think she’s going into shock again.” Simon stood and reached for the med pack.

  Ionia shook her head. “No.” Her voice was shaky. “He just looks...”

  “I can fix him.” Simon looked over at Den, taking in the torn, bruised flesh and the missing section of shoulder from the gunshot wound. “I think.”

  “Do it. Do something,” Ionia couldn’t lose him. Not him, too.

  Cam secured her lift and closed the gangplank. The temp of the compartment rose. Cam shot Ionia a hooded, narrow-eyed look.

  “I’m fine. That patch has me working just as good as new.” Ionia wiggled her scarlet fingers. Agony slashed from each movement, and what was left in her stomach crept up her throat. Ionia swallowed and gritted her teeth into an I’m-really-okay grin.

  “Cam--stop worrying. And Simon, fix Den,” Ionia said.

  Simon’s brow folded slightly, but he nodded. “Hey, Randa. Get some ointment for her frostbite. I’m going to look at the droid.” He pulled opened Den’s arm panel, plugged him into a nearby outlet and examined his wiring.

  “Already got it, Dingle.” Miranda took Ionia’s hands and rubbed some cool, clear gel on her angry digits.

  Cam had secured the transport rear entrance and moved past them to the driver’s area. “Back to Mac Town to get you some real help.”

  “Den said we were closer to SPS,” Ionia said.

  Cam turned and frowned at Ionia, but didn’t say anything.

  “They have med facilities,” Ionia continued, “and we can check on my mom.”

  Cam’s frown melted and her voice lost its edge. “I’m sorry, but your mom is probably gone. The constables said it looked bad. Isn’t that right, Simon?”

  Simon, who knelt over Den, jerked up at his name. “Huh, it didn’t sound good.”

  “I don’t care what it sounded like, or what the constables said.” Ionia steadied her voice, centered herself, and stood. “I would know. I would know if she were dead.” Ionia’s arms quivered again. Randa squeezed her upper arm, then patted her, shushing like she was comforting an infant.