Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

Ionia’s legs wobbled, but she stayed standing. “You know I will end up going. And if you don’t help I will go alone.” Like she would make it to the door in her state, but she wasn’t giving up. Never. Not on family.

  “Ionia. I can’t let you do that.” Cam’s voice dipped and became titanium hard. “I can’t save your mom, but I can save you. It’s just the shock talking anyway. Once we’re back in Mac Town, you’ll feel better and be more reasonable. Look at yourself, half dead from exposure. Look at your droid.” Cam waved a hand toward Den’s body. “And the Feinstein kids are getting into heaps of trouble.”

  “We don’t mind,” Miranda said. “And seriously, Daddy can’t stay mad at me for long,” She grinned, sounding like a kid cutting curfew for kicks instead of risking life and limb on the tundra.

  Simon turned from working on Den and let his gaze slide over Ionia to focus on Cam. “We are relatively safe in this monstrosity. Cam is armed. And we brought extra weapons as payment.”

  Ionia noted the wall of laser blasters she knew had been borrowed from the weapons room in the Feinstein house.

  Ionia’s slow moving mind finally switched gears. The reason she’d left without telling Simon or Miranda was this. Getting them into trouble. And the weird suspicions she had about their Magistrate dad, but mostly she didn’t want to involve them. She would just have to find another way to get to the station--later. “Fine. Let’s go back to Mac Town.” Blood rushed to her extremities and her ears throbbed with the pulsing of her heart. It was not what she wanted, but it made sense.

  Den sat up like a corpse risen from the dead to defend its zombie master. Only this zombie had a gun, and it was pointed at Cam.

  Cam’s eyes darted up and widened. Her hand lunged for her weapon then stopped, hovering above the holster.

  “Let Ionia do what she desires,” Den said.

  Simon’s white face paled out. “Call him off, IO.”

  “Knew I should’ve secured those blasters.” Cam’s attention dropped to the gun at her side. Ionia knew she was guessing how fast she could get to it versus how fast the malfunctioning droid could shoot.

  “Put your hands in the air,” Den said.

  Even with his partially frostbitten face and missing upper arm, he was her android in shining armor. But she couldn’t handle it if anything happened to Cam, Randa, or Simon.

  “Please. Put the gun down. You can’t hurt my friends.” Ionia’s mouth went desert dry. He wouldn’t hurt them. Would he?

  “I will not harm anyone unless they do not do as instructed.”

  “Being ordered by a damn droid,” Cam’s voice lowered to a whispered growl, but she didn’t reach for the gun again.

  “Den. They aren’t going to hurt me.” Ionia kept her voice sing-song like she was speaking to a child or a small animal.

  “If you fired inside,” Simon said, “the transport would combust. These things blow up like C-4 when ignited. It’s a late model converta transport and cheap to make, so people keep using them.” He had to give a bit of history, but that was Simon.

  “The station is closer, has a med facility and the ice sheet surrounding this area is extremely unstable. Moving forward is the safest option by a margin of 78 percent,” Den said.

  Miranda nodded. “Let’s go to SPS. There will be help there. And honestly.” Miranda waved the med scan over Ionia. “She’s already improved quite a lot. And we can find her mother.” She sounded eager. Probably because she never got to go anywhere and didn’t fully realize how bad the situation was. “Simon, if it were our mom, wouldn’t you want to go?”

  Ionia felt her heart twang like someone had picked a handharp. Maybe Randa did realize what was at stake.

  Simon gave a quick nod and averted his face. “Let her decide. It’s her transport. I’m not facing down an armed droid.”

  “It’s ok. We can go back.” Ionia looked up at Den. None of the sweet caretaker who’d painted her toenails remained. He choked up on his gun, all military goon.

  “No. You will be safer at the station. Protection protocols have been initiated.” He lifted the nozzle of the gun.

  Cam’s stonewall tense face crumpled. “This is the second time you’ve crossed me, droid. And there will not be a third. Fine.” Cam gave Den a look designed to melt the flesh from his robotic body. Her face wound tight, eyes narrowed, lips pressed. She slipped back to the front and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I guarantee you will not like what you will find.”

  Den let the nose of the gun in his hand dip but didn’t release it totally. “Continue, but I can determine where we are going.”

  Simon leaned forward, and Den’s gun shifted toward him.

  “I only want to verify the self-repair is working.” Simon held his hands palms up toward Den but cut an accusing look at Ionia.

  “Stop. Do not harm him,” Ionia said. “Simon is trying to help. Why don’t you use your free will and choose not to be a jerk?”

  “My only mission is to protect you.” Den didn’t look at her but continued to allow his eyes to patrol the cabin.

  “Giving free will to a glitching, military-trained droid?” said Simon.

  “I don’t believe in being forced to do things.” Ionia said, a bit of hurt tinging her voice. “I think everyone should be free to choose.”

  “But it’s a machine.” Simon ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head, like he wanted to say more, but refrained.

  “He’s a mechanical life form with self-awareness. And he has feelings and emotions--”

  “Fine. I don’t need a debate on AI rights. But your timing could have been better.”

  Ionia’s face flushed hot, but she held her tongue. Simon had risked a lot to come and find her, but that still didn’t forgive his complete lack of Den-related empathy.

  The engine of the transport hummed, ready to leave. “Everyone strap in. It’s going to be a rough ride. More weather is coming in.”

  Den lowered his gun and leaned against the wall of the transport, still attached to the charging station. Randa scurried into a seat. Ionia found her place. Each move shot fiery lashes through her extremities. Simon helped her ease into one of the seats behind Cam and strapped her in. His hair fell onto his forehead, and she could smell the light musky scent coming off his skin.

  “What are you going to tell your dad?” Ionia asked.

  He dropped into the chair opposite her and clicked his chest strap just as Cam slammed the accelerator. They were all pushed back into their seats with force. “I will tell him I was trying to retrieve his investment. That should satisfy him.”

  Ionia let her body relax against the heated seat and closed her eyes. “I just hope my mom...”

  “I know.” He took her throbbing hand and squeezed. “Me, too.”

  The warmth and motion lulled her. Simon’s hand against hers sucked some of the sting from the healing. He’d defied his father and came to find her. He must care about her a little, if only as a friend. She let herself drift off with their hands still entangled.

  ###

  A new flow of power surged in Den’s synapses. The jolt from before had settled, and his processes had balanced, but when he tried to consider next moves the endless vortex threatened. The only solace he found was Ionia, and she lay unconscious, healing with the human boy near the front.

  Safe. At least she was safe.

  He scanned the other members of the party. All the humans’ body temperatures and heart rates had dipped to normal range after the stressful encounter. All but the captain. The one named Cam had unusual spikes in pulse that remained elevated. Den kept the gun at his side in case of further confrontations.

  The transport jostled, and Den realigned. The humanoid boy had been correct. Any emission of a firearm would cause the transport to implode.

  His shot would not have caused an explosion because it would be precise and hit the intended target. But he could not guarantee the aim of his assailant.

  According to his data files, the threat of v
iolence worked as well as the practice.

  What if the driver had shot and destroyed the transport? What if he had ceased to exist? What if Ionia ceased to exist? The discomfort ran through his sensors, fear, sadness, grief.

  Loss.

  He didn’t want to stop being. He didn’t want Ionia to stop being. He could not find the logic behind the sensation. Why had the makers installed such software that could not be explained or understood in logical ways? Uncertainty had nearly cost Ionia her life and inspired the useless emotion of fear.

  He had never questioned the makers, nor his purpose before Ionia had changed his program. The free will option was going to take an extreme adjustment to his thought patterns and operating systems.

  Something shifted in the ice plate outside. Something major.

  Den’s sensors picked up an explosion over thirty meters away. The impact should not involve a threat to the transport.

  A low rumble vibrated the transport, increasing in volume and intensity by the second. With his minimal connection to the Cortex, he had DLed the geology of the immediate area and ascertained that…trouble, that’s a capital T that rhymes with P. All he wanted was a place where there wasn’t any trouble. Lines from vidclips and plays flashing in his mind. Confusing and stark.

  Stop. Cease.Terminate.

  His synapses were his. He could control it. Whatever had happened in Feinstein’s house still twisted in his CPU, forcing strange images and words in without his will. But he would control it. He would exercise his will. Ionia needed him and all his faculties.

  “I believe there is an upcoming problem in the path ahead.” The vibration could mean any number of things, a deep shift of ice, or a chain reaction from a larger earthquake.

  “Shut up you useless, defective, poor excuse for a dildo,” the captain said. “It’s my bloody ship. My gauges do not read a problem. I trust my gauges more than I trust a malfun--”

  The roar--a sound wave that reverberated in his auditory sensors--filled the cabin. The transport shook for a few seconds then jolted up and down. The cab tipped wildly to the side. Only the seat straps held the humans firm.

  Den lost his footing and fell away from the power station. His gun flew from his grasp, and his body floated weightless. The power line connected to his torso grew taut and kept him from tumbling into the cargo hold. He grasped the wall and fought to right himself against the shifting environment.

  His protective owner-defense protocol flipped on, and red settled over his vision. He didn’t have a full charge to his batteries. It didn’t matter. He needed to get to Ionia.

  The humans voiced their terror by screaming, mostly the young female, Miranda Feinstein. Her head fell to the side, and her loose, long hair spilled out.The boy held on to the armrests and closed his eyes, waiting for the outcome.

  Den did not wait for an outcome. Den made his outcome.

  Aftershock vibrations shook the vehicle. He dug his fingers into the metal of the wall and held himself still, then pulled forward using the frayed headrest before him and maneuvered a foot against the wall. He caught the smell of burning rubber and polyplastic, a hint of smoke.

  He reached Ionia, still strapped in and unconscious. She was so low on energy that the crash didn’t wake her.

  The only human fully functioning was the captain. “Damn freaking, oilers. What the bloody blazes where they thinking? Blasting without doing a SSA or putting up flares or anything.”

  The wires that connected him to the transport clung to Den. The other occupants hung sideways, their safety belts holding them. The convertible plane’s internal lights flickered then went off. A hum, then a click, and the emergency power cast its half-light. His night vision clicked into place, and the interior brightened. The humans squinted and reached blindly outward.

  “Simon, what happened?” The low moan of the frail child, Miranda.

  “We’ll be ok. Don’t worry, Randa. Captain Cam’s got this.” Simon’s tone did not indicate faith. Den agreed. The captain had no real avenue to ensure their safety.

  “What the hell were they doing? We need to get outta here.” Cam tapped the dark instrument gages and twisted the controls.

  From two meters outside of the ship’s hull the sound of shifting terrain reached into the compartment. The exterior lights flashed, flickered, and died. Nothing showed through the thick, plexiglass of the window. Den sensed, even with his low charge and the damage to his chassis, the ice sheet sliding again at an exponential rate.

  “I want to get out,” Miranda said.

  “Stay put.” The boy reached for his eye-enhancing aid, but it had fallen just out of reach. Den clung to Ionia’s chair, scanning, trying to plot the best path out of danger.

  The captain opened her restraints and using the walls and seats, pulled herself from the chair.

  “It is inadvisable to...” His voice processor halted. He tried again. “There is external instabil--” The impact had made the malfunction return, but he had to warn the captain. He had to stop her before she endangered her life, and worse, Ionia’s.

  He clutched the metal in his hand until it cut into his frostbitten flesh and fought through the static in his neuroprocessor. Finally, he located the language DL Ionia had blasted into his memory. A hundred thousand images flashed into his head, gangsters, old American Westerns, comedies. He pieced a message together. “Quakes a’comin’!”

  The captain’s body jerked, and even though her large eyes narrowed, she shimmied back into the cabin and strapped into her large seat. Both the human youths clung to their seats, hands gripping, eyes wide, faces pale. His sensors told him they were in mild shock, and according to his extrapolations, the situation was about to get worse.

  Another rumble and a jagged dagger of ice rose before them, split the surface of the snowy ice sheet, and shattered it. The ground gave way creating a crevice. The transport slid, still tilted on its side, closer. His external scan only reached a thirty-meter distance, but the bottom of the drop was further beyond what he could sense.

  He was powerless. He had no direction. Ionia was in danger, and he had no map or instructions on how to rescue her from this scenario.

  Maybe that didn’t matter. The switch that Ionia had thrown had woken up a part of his processor that belied his original program.

  He could act. He would act.

  No waiting for instructions or permission. He could dissect the situation and do something. He disconnected the wires attaching him to the wall and grabbed a handhold above his head.

  “Hold on. Its going to be a bumpy ride.” He bit his lip closed, the stress of the encounter causing his random communications to worsen. He closed his eyes, focused, and the correct words came. “I am going to stop our decent. Do not attempt to leave your seats, as it will negatively affect the outcome.”

  The young Feinsteins remained motionless and pale-faced. The captain grunted. He assumed that it was an affirmation.

  He could tell she was a woman of action and did not enjoy accepting instructions, but she must have seen the logic in his plan.

  The transport slid and jerked. The humans clutched their seats. Miranda let out a short scream, but the captain and the boy remained silent, in various degrees of shock. Bouncing over ice boulders, the convertaplane sat upright. He climbed to the portal and looked outside. The vehicle teetered on the edge of an abyss, the bottom reached beyond his scanning range. One more significant impact and they would fall.

  His probability calculator determined the likely percent for survival was 397 to 1 against any of the humans. He had to get the transport back onto the ice sheet before another convulsion. Using his injured extremities, he descended the exterior with the utility ladder on the outside.

  The landscape had metamorphosed. A schism stretched for kilometers. The transport wavered between two levels of the fractured ice sheet. He kept his weight on the fortified edge. The blowing snow subsided, but the cold remained, digging into his flesh as sharp as a new drill bit. He f
ocused his awareness on the job, and moved from the edge, sprinting through calculations.

  Virtual shapes appeared before him, laid over the scene in geometrical designs, the angles highlighted in yellow. He slid below the tracks to the ledge just below and pulled on his leg hydraulics for extra support. The percent of stability lowered as he placed more weight on the edge. It was unlikely that he could push the transport back to ground level in his state of disrepair, and the out shoot was further up than he could logically reach.

  The transport groaned again and swayed. He detected a faint heartbeat.

  “We need to do something. Now.” It was the youngest girl, Miranda, a small huddled figure peering over the embankment.

  A feeling crashed over his processor, wiping all his logic away. Heat flushed his human flesh and spread to his CPU. “You should not be outside. The weight displacement could have caused the death of all the passengers. Including your friend, Ionia.”

  He forced his face calm, but words popped out of his mouth unbidden. “You dang, igit.” His malfunction combined with free will mirrored the human disease Tourette’s syndrome, it would seem.

  The girl snorted and pushed back her hood. “I am too small to make a real difference. It would take at least a two hundred pound displacement to cause instability.”

  He ran over the calculations and found them correct, but it was still a risky gambit.

  “Ms. Feinstein.” He blocked the words he desired to say to maintain polite interactions. Even though he didn’t have to be polite anymore, he felt he should. “You are correct. Please step back before you put yourself or the transport in danger.”

  She stepped back and then leaned forward, and her black hair hung around her face, framing her small features.“You can’t reach the treads. If you try, you’ll end up in the bottom of the gorge.”

  Anger pumped in his veins and rose hot in his flesh. Again, he wished the programmers had omitted some of the human emotions from his repertoire. “I am aware of the potential problem.”

  And he was, but creativity was one of the skills he lacked, and it would be needed for this endeavor.