Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  “Now that Cam is patched up we should explore the station, look for my mom, and gather supplies. Who wants to join me?” Ionia asked.

  ###

  Both Simon and Miranda volunteered to come along.

  Den crowded forward, a tight hold on his gun. “I will be escorting you,” Den said as if to deter the others, as if she didn’t need anyone else.

  “I'll stay with Rod.” Cam tucked her thighs up against her torso and wrapped both arms around them as if to hold herself together. Her gun lay across her knees.

  Ionia had dropped her own gun on the counter. Part of her missed the weapon, especially in the gutted, wounded, haunted-house station, but part of her never wanted to touch another gun.

  The look of pain, the scream of the woman she’d hit, the images stuck like a vidclip on repeat.

  No more guns for now. She could depend on Den for protection, and even with his damage, he had been more than enough of a bodyguard. Ionia led the way up the hall to the control room. The darkness around them was so deep, it felt like opening her eyes in a grave.

  “Den, can you light it up?”

  Den used his flashlight hand to guide them in the near pitch black. The wind whistled outside. Their feet shuffled against the floor.

  Ionia led the group up the hall, and around the last curve, pausing at the entrance of the control room. She gathered herself. The evidence of violence showed everywhere. Rod really had put up a fight, and she was sure her mom had, too.

  They stood before the last entrance. The room hung open, blast marks from quad guns scoring the metal frame and the door peeled back with energy clamps like an old can of sardines with the metal top rolled back.

  “IO, you sure you want to go in there?” Simon said.

  “That’s why I came.” But her feet flash froze to the spot. All the adrenaline that kept her moving drained. All that remained was her heart, a giant, oversized organ, slamming in her chest, pulsing a quick, deliberate rhythm in her head and fingers and toes.

  She didn’t want to go in.

  She didn’t want to know.

  But she had to know.

  She stepped through the doorway. The metallic scent of blood wafted at her. It smeared the front window, coating everything. The imprint of a hand marred the control panel. On the floor, a large circle of congealed brown sludge puddled around the plush chair her mother sat in to make calls. Ionia could imagine her there, so short she could barely see out the window, dictating memos into her digifile.

  Gone. Like her dad. Ionia’s heart jerked a sharp slash against her ribs. She wanted to turn away. To leave. To run. This was too much, too much to expect her to handle. Her mom was gone. Really gone. Ionia was alone.

  She didn’t turn away but stepped forward. She needed proof, and like Mom always said, to prove something you needed evidence. Even if her heart exploded, even though her stomach clenched. She owed her mom that much.

  Miranda clutched Ionia’s arm. “Do you want to leave?

  Ionia rolled her shoulders back and forced her face into a mask. “Not yet.”

  “Come on, IO,” Simon said.

  She whirled on him. She wanted to jump on him and to claw at his face to make him shut up. Her hands rolled in, and she took a breath and held it.

  She thought of the color yellow, of flowers, of the sound of the waterfall her dad used to visit when she was eight.

  Nothing bad could ever happen at the falls. She opened her eyes. Simon and the blood were still there, but then she noticed the thing that was bothering her, the crooked jigsaw puzzle piece.

  “The hand,” Ionia said.

  “What about the hand?” Simon asked.

  “The handprint is too big to be my mom’s.”

  “By a centimeter and a half,” Den said, still waiting by the doorway.

  “And the chair. No one else sits in her chair, but it’s too high. Like someone was sitting on it that had long legs.”

  “It could have been her attackers. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t here and that--”

  “It means she could still be alive and this blood belongs to someone else.” That little sprig of hope expanded into a small vine. She sidestepped the sticky pool of dark blood. “We need to look for more clues. Let’s examine the storage area. Lots of places to hide. Or she could have even made a run for it outside.

  “Den, flash your light around the room. I want to see if I can find any clue to what happened to her.”

  The palm-sized light flowed over the floor. It looked like something had been dragged through the doors and into her mother's rooms.

  The inner sanctum.

  Ionia had rarely been allowed access to her mom's private rooms. Strange to be invading her mom’s privacy, but she followed the trail. Simon hung by the door. Miranda followed. She had thought Miranda would have been the tentative one, but she stayed next to Ionia.

  “If the backup generator is down, we have no transport, no way of communicating, and no heat. What are you planning to do next?” Simon’s voice expanded in the empty, almost black room.

  “Later. Den and I will work on the generator. I have to find out about my mom first. I know there is something here. I have to find the answer.”

  Simon shrugged and scowled, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

  Den swung the light between them to illuminate the speaker. It looked like a spotlight from a disjointed play.

  “Ok, Ionia. I'm merely listing the things we have to deal with once you figure out what everyone else already knows.” Simon turned to face the hall.

  Miranda leaned close to Ionia’s ear. “Don't listen to him.”

  Simon had some points, but she needed to know. Something felt wrong with the whole situation. Off. Like the world had spun backward off its axis and she was going to find out why her every instinct cried bull crap.

  The room was small, almost spartan, and conservative, all but the color--a violent shade of crimson. Ionia had known that was her mother's favorite color but this extreme hurt her eyes. The twin bed sat unmade in the center, again not very mom-like. Beds were always made in Anabel Patel Sonberg’s world with hospital corners, tight enough for a military inspection.

  “Can you up the wattage?”

  “I can bypass certain other functions and allow more light,” Den said. “My power cells are dropping, and there isn't another power source onsite.”

  She had forgotten he needed power like they needed food. “Just give me a minute or two of light then we can go fire up the old fuel powered generator.” Den nodded, and the room filled with bright illumination. Drawers had been pulled out, furniture overturned, and clothes scattered over the floor. The computer screen pulled up but blank, hung on the wall.

  Ionia walked over to the utilitarian dresser. On it sat the only ornate thing in the room, her mom’s jewelry box. Ionia opened the intricately carved, wood inlaid door and found her grandmother’s golden necklace. Gold wasn't worth as much since the Siberian Rush, but it was still quite valuable. “Why trash the room and leave this? It doesn’t make sense.”

  She pocketed the necklace in her coat and turned to Den. “You can dim the lights.”

  Ionia's stomach growled and clenched. The cold seeped through her self-warming jacket. They only had a twelve-hour life without recharge, even with recycling body heat.

  “Let's go to the kitchen and set up some kind of defensive, warming station, and get something to eat. The kitchen is a good place. An intruder would have to pass four internal and external doors to reach it. Any of us could barricade and defend it.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Simon said. “You the leader now?” He gave her a small, closed mouth grin.

  “Well, the so-called leaders are both basket cases, and no one else is having any better ideas,” Ionia said.

  Simon nodded. “I’m on board.”

  Den led the way to the kitchen.

  “Miranda, why don't you tell Cam where we are and what we are doing. Try to coax them to the kitch
en,” Ionia said.

  Miranda broke from the group, leaving Simon, Ionia, and Den.

  Ionia popped open the fridge. They were stocked, at least, but with no way to cook. She pulled out bread, beans and four cans of Refresh which would be a tasty way to get enough calories and vitamins.

  She rummaged through the drawers looking for supplies, slamming the drawer shut, and opening the next.

  “What's wrong?” Simon's flop of hair had grown messier, and she had a strong desire to push it back off his forehead but gripped the counter harder instead.

  “I am. Just… None of this makes sense. Why attack the station and not take any valuables or even set up camp? Why leave Rod alive? Why the footprint entering but not leaving?” She dug into the drawers, taking her anger out on the cabinets.

  Simon raised his hands, palms up. “I don’t know, IO. I’m not a junior detective, but I’m sure we will find logical answers once the constables--”

  “Just stop.” She didn’t want to argue that the constables should have already done an investigation. Simon had too much faith in the system and in his father.

  She reached into another drawer. One was labeled emergency supplies. She should have known Mom would logically label something like that. She found an instalight and a traditional flashlight.

  Ionia flicked on the instalight; it was large enough to provide some light and warmth.

  Miranda and Cam returned, supporting the hobbling Rod between them.

  Cam and Rod found a spot to sit. Miranda joined Simon to help make sandwiches. Den stood, a sentinel, eyes roving over the scene, with a hand on his gun.

  Rod and Cam sat hunched at the table. Rod's head lolled to one side then righted, like he was on a boat in choppy waters. Cam was sullen, her usual grin and upbeat attitude nothing but a memory, a shell of the person she’d been. She seemed smaller, and sat listlessly in the chair, rocking slightly.

  “I'm going with Den to get him charged and to find more supplies.” She gave Miranda the flashlight. Ionia picked up her gun from the counter and handed it to Simon. “If those guys come back.”

  Simon looked very young in the flicker from the instalight, unsure and scared, but he nodded and took the weapon.

  Den and Ionia made their way silently down the hall, Den lighting the way with his palm. The dim glow from the outside had evaporated entirely.

  They took the emergency exit that lead out of Segment Two. The area around it was less dusty, and a box that had once been in the path had been moved.

  “Some of the attackers must have used this entrance,” said Ionia.“These tracks lead away from the station, headed toward the mountains.”

  A cold that was deeper than the chill in the air sat in her hollowed-out bones. Why would anyone, thief or constable, go toward the barren wasteland of frozen fossils. No one ever went there. Not anymore. Not since Dad.

  She got down on one knee, examining the footprints. There was a light splatter of red, mixed with the deep flame boot imprint. These weren’t fugee tracks. Whoever made these had credits or resources. “More blood here, too. This is where they took her. I don’t see any evidence of a blazer, so they took her on foot.” Again, only footprints leaving.

  “You have a good eye for detail.” His comment stopped short and Ionia gave his impassive face a sideways glance.

  “For a human,” she added.

  His face broke into a quick and easy smile.

  “That's where they found my dad. He didn't even tell us he was going. And he wasn’t near any drops, but the report said he'd died from a high altitude fall. Mom tried to find out more, had poured through his computer memory chip notes, but never found out why he was there or what happened.”

  “Your father meant a lot to you?”

  “I was like him. He loved to write on real paper. He loved colors. He loved music.” He loved me. But even if her mom didn't inspire such thoughts, she was still her mom. Still family.

  “Sorry, I've been bossing you around. I guess I want someone on my side. Everything's so messed up.” All the sadness and overwhelming feelings that she'd dammed up pushed. Spears of pain shot through her. She bit her lips and closed her eyes. She would not cry. She would not lose it.

  Den’s hand found her shoulder. He turned her and gathered her into his arms. The warmth from his chest seeped into her. He rubbed her back as if she was a small child that needed soothing. She drew a ragged breath, then pushed away. “Thank you.”

  “Helping you is what I was designed for. It is what I want to do.” His voice took on a tone of wonder like the fact surprised him.

  Ionia tilted her head toward the door. “If you see any clue about the attackers, let me know, ‘kay?”

  “I will be sure to clue you in.”

  Ionia grinned up at him, some of her tension dissolved. “Did you mean to tell a joke?”

  “Technically, it was a pun, also know as a play on words.”

  She snorted. “Den, you always surprise me. Let’s get you charged up.”

  Ionia ran to the outbuilding two meters away and grabbed a tank of petroleum, brought it back and filled the generator. It was another one of the tasks she had practiced on a quarterly basis, so all the mechanics came easily.

  The engine sputtered and choked. Black smoke bellowed out of the exhaust. The machine finally found a rhythm and chugged loudly but evenly. Den extracted two tiny wires from his forearm and hooked into the buzzing generator.

  His skin turned golden and shimmered in the darkness. Den closed his glowing eyes as if consuming something that satisfied his soul. The golden halo around Den darkened, and he opened his eyes.

  “Better?”

  He nodded. His hand light pulsed to full brightness, and he led them back to the station. The wind died down, and the clouds drifted off.

  The landscape outside SPS would look like a pristine fairyland. But from experience, she knew this version of a fairyland was full of freeze-dried corpses.

  Now that they had a clue of where to look, all she needed was a plan. Before continuing, she wanted to make sure that her friends were safe.

  The small kitchen brigade remained almost exactly as she had left them: Simon awkwardly holding a gun and trying to eat a sandwich. Miranda huddled by the warmth of the instalight. Rod and Cam sitting together. They looked like a battalion of battered soldiers huddling in a foxhole waiting for the next set of bombs.

  “You have some power now. The reserve lights should stay on. I found some footprints going away from the base, and I'm going to follow them. I didn’t come all the way here to kick around the station and look at pools of blood. I came to find my mom. The rest of you stay here. Bar the door. Coms should come back soon.”

  Simon and Miranda looked up at her then stared at each other. Miranda shook her head. Simon pursed his lips, in some kind of silent sibling communication.

  The spare gun lay abandoned on the floor next to Simon. Ionia picked up the weapon. She hated it, but it made sense to bring the firepower. “Den, you have free will. You don’t have to come.”

  A deep, fearful part clutched at her insides, and she held her breath. She really needed him, his eyes, his strength, his support. What if he said no?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m coming with you.” Den’s voice was low and sure as if there could be no other answer, no possible other choice. Ionia let her breath slide out, as she turned to pick up her bag.

  “I’m coming, too.” Simon stood, gun held at an awkward angle, but his face was set in hard lines.

  “No. Just no. Den can take care of himself. You cannot.” No more losses, no more dead faces like her dad; she could not bear it.

  “We should wait for my dad.” Simon continued as if she hadn’t spoken, and pushed a hand through his thick hair, brushing it off his forehead. “We should wait for blazers and constables.” He eyed Rod and Cam huddled on the floor. “Or at least people that are somewhat coherent.” He sighed so hard, Ionia wondered if he had any breath left.r />
  “Your dad would only try to talk us out of it,” Ionia said. “You should not go. I forbid it.”

  “You can’t forbid me from doing anything, little Ms. IO. I don’t like it, but I’m not letting you go alone.” Simon crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

  Rod shook his bearlike head. “Damn kids. Should just shoot ya and be done with it.”

  “You are fools to go anywhere,” Cam said.

  “Cam. You and Rod have enough firepower from Rod’s stash to defend the station.”

  “Couldn’t last time,” Rod said. “I’d kill’em all if I had the chance. The alarms didn’t sound. I swear, only Brandy.” His face crunched down and collapsed. The bite of food that hovered in front of his mouth dropped to the plate. “It was my fault. I am your sergeant and I should have been able to beat’em back.”

  His words pinballed in Ionia’s head. She craved to make Rod feel like she did. To make him pay. Some lame admission would never be enough. She wanted to rail back, yelling and pummeling his drunken ass. He was the one who failed, not the station, but she needed him to help protect Simon and Miranda.

  “You have multiple locked, laser-proof doors and you are on alert. We won’t be gone long. It looks like they took her on foot.” Ionia said.

  She shoved the extra survival kit into her pack, as well as ropes and climbing gear, extra food, and a spare light.

  “I want to go.” Miranda stood and rocked back on her heels. Her stylish boots sparkled in the glow of the low, yellow instalight.

  She loved Miranda. Hell, Miranda had been kicking ass on this rescue mission. The threat of her disability cast a long shadow and Ionia didn’t want to be the cause of another loss. “What if you get sick again?”

  “I’ve been fine all this time.” She folded her thin, nearly skeletal arms against her chest. Her lack of color, her labored breath said Miranda was at her utmost limit, but she would never admit it.