“Stay here with Simon, ‘kay? He needs watching after.”
Miranda pressed her lips together hard and stared unblinking at Ionia. Ionia stared right back. The battle of eyes lasted a good ten seconds that felt like half an hour.
“I know you want to help, but it would only slow us down.” Ionia’s voice filled with pleading. She didn’t want to separate from her best friend on bad terms. With everything happening, Ionia may never see her again.
Miranda put her hands out and her eyebrows up, waiting, staring, mentally coaxing Ionia to give in.
“Come on. I need you to be okay with this,” Ionia said.
Miranda broke eye contact first. “I have a bad feeling. But whatever.” She flopped down on the pile of blankets and pulled one around her shoulders, then up over her head, until she looked like a pissed-off swami.
Ionia led the way into the hall with Den following. They switched out jackets for fresh self-heating units, facemasks, and gloves.
A slight ache tugged at her. The walls of the hall were blackened by blaster shots. They held out much of the cold but the space between, the living area, the family rooms, lay emptier than ever. The home she’d known for the last five years was nothing but a shell. She shook and tried to shoulder shimmy the crappy feeling of endings and death away.
She swung the gun strap over her shoulder and punched in the door code.
The trail rolled on toward the endless horizon. There was not much light, but a glimmer crested to the east. This was her last shot. She put an e-tether on the station and hooked it to both her and Den. At least, they wouldn’t get lost.
###
Negative 15 degrees Celsius, low visibility, with only Ionia’s flashlight guiding their trek. The snow displaced under their feet had a density of thirty percent, and the surface held little traction. He depended on the attachment of his clampon boots to remain perpendicular.
Into the Wild again. More prepared, but only slightly.
Den did not approve.
True, the girl made intuitive leaps, which he could not repeat nor truly comprehend. Perhaps she had happened upon a real mystery. She had uncovered facts that may support her mother’s survival.
He didn't want to locate, nor interact with Ionia's mother. Dr. Sonberg had planned to punish Ionia and decommission him.
What would Ionia do without him? And what would he do without her, her imperfect face and unending strange behavior? She needed him.
His saving grace was her direction. Her purpose kept him sane, and that was enough. Maybe the Feinstein boy’s father would intercede, and the madness would end.
His sensors were still dull here, but he picked up the distinct blip of a human heart that was not Ionia’s.
Someone was following them.
Auditory clues indicated a single stalker crept close behind. Den pulled the gun from his back, turned, and zeroed in on the source.
“You should not have followed us. Your appearance is in direct conflict with Ionia’s wishes.”
Simon Feinstein thrust his hands into the air in surrender, although his jaw flexed, and his eyes squinted.
Ionia, who had been walking ahead, took 3.5 seconds to spin on her heel, and absorb the scene.
“I told you not to come.” Ionia’s vitals spiked, and she rushed back to face the Feinstein boy.
“First, call off the muscle.” Feinstein’s eyes narrowed in Den’s direction.
Ionia waved at Den to lower his weapon. He did, as Feinstein was not a true threat, but his emotion center wanted to use force. Perhaps he would resist returning to the station. That made Den’s positive emotion ions hum.
“Seriously, go back. I can’t have you on my conscience, too.” Ionia’s voice wavered.
“I can take care of myself,” Simon said. “And you think I can let you wander off into the Wild alone? I won’t go back. Don’t try and make me.”
She pulled down her facemask and smoothed a hand over her face. “I have to go. You don’t.”
“If you go. I go. Unless he intervenes. And even then, you can’t stop me from following.”
“I could incapacitate you,” Den said, making certain to keep his voice even and not hopeful.
“Den. No.” Ionia’s lips turned down hard, and her eyes narrowed to slits. Sadness sent a wave of negative, painful vibrations through his processor. Den looked away.
“Just let me come,” Simon said. “We should know something soon. They couldn’t have gotten far on foot. I will be fine.”
Seconds ticked by. The wind picked up. Ionia pulled her mask up and jerked her head up and down. She started walking, with Feinstein close behind.
With the two humans leading, they followed the tracks.
After a few moments, Ionia pulled down her mask and spoke. The message was not directed to Den. “Thank you for coming. You know you could have just stayed with Miranda and waited to be airlifted out.”
“I know. I just didn't want you to go alone.”
“I have Den,” Ionia said.
“He's an android. He's not going to try to talk sense into you. He's going to do what you say.”
A flare of electrons brought an unpleasant wash of emotion. But Den remained silent, old protocols dictating his behavior. An android does not interrupt conversations between humans. He’d gotten reprimanded when he’d made his last suggestion. He should follow the rules, unless there is clear and emanate danger to Ionia. No interruptions.
Then the new part of his processor activated and interjected.
She's not the mistress anymore.
He didn’t have to continue with this. He was free. Den shook his head like a human, trying to clear his thoughts. Freedom meant pain and indecision. Give him a calm structure and a list of duties, and he was content. This was torture.
“I was eight when my mom died. I kept forgetting she was gone.” Simon Feinstein spoke in a thin, wane voice that made Den want to turn off his auditory sensors. “I'd wake up and go to breakfast expecting her to be standing in the kitchen frying up some pancakes, but the nanny was cooking. It was like I had to suffer all over again--ya know?”
“It was that way with me. Still is that way with my dad. I can see him in his lab with his day-glow multi-colored scarf and his beard. Oh, Simon, my mom can't be gone too.”
She turned to Feinstein and stopped walking. He pulled her against him. Den had another emotion, one that made him squeeze the gun in his hand.
Feinstein was an incomplete version of a man, still a boy. Ionia needed a mature level of comfort from someone reliable, from someone who knew all the routines and subroutines of grief. But again, his basic protocol kept him still.
She pulled back from the boy’s embrace. Tears stood in her eyes, but she smiled at him. A rare exposed smile, not the moniker she usually put on for the world; this was her secret smile that made her face transform. Another hit in his emotion center because the smile was not for him.
A buzzing noise emanated from the boy’s palm; his hand lit up. Den let his finger curl around the trigger of his weapon, and then he realized he could detect a signal. A weak signal coming from nearby and beaming into the child’s hand. Den looked down. “Coms are back.”
The boy tapped his hand. “Simon! Where the hell are you?” The deep voice of Mr. Feinstein erupted into the air. “The staff said you left with Miranda last night and have not returned.”
Feinstein’s face, lit by the glow in his palm, had tints of both fear and relief. His shoulders slumped, and his eyebrows crunched inward. “Father...Dad, I didn’t want Miranda to come. I told her not to--”
“Where are you?”
“SPS. Ionia needed our help, and then coms went down.” The Feinstein boy’s voice quivered, but only Den’s advanced hearing could have picked up the slight change in treble.
Ionia’s grasped her hands together, and her eyes widened. She glanced back at Den, then at Feinstein, as if looking for direction or instruction on what to do next.
“Are you in the base
?” The Feinstein father’s voice had changed again, higher, less angry, thinner.
Ionia put a gloved finger up to her mouth and tapped, indicating silence. The boy’s hands quivered.
“No. I’m trying to help Ionia find her mom.”
“Get back to the station.” The older Feinstein’s words sounded clipped and harsh, almost like a canine growling on a leash. “I will have a team there shortly. Do not, under any circumstances, continue. We will discuss your disobedience when I get there.”
The Feinstein boy’s heart rate increased, his face flushed. “Sure, Dad.”
Ionia’s mouth hung open, and her hands shrugged up in a helpless gesture. “I thought you wanted to help me. I thought you were on my side. Fine. I don’t care. Come on, Den.”
Den’s electrons pulsed positively. Leaving the boy behind pleased Den. Feinstein complicated his interactions with Ionia, and that was not what she needed. She walked away, and Den followed closely.
The boy’s hand shot out and clamped onto Ionia’s arm. “I’m still going with you. I just can’t just say no to him.”
“Not to his face at least,” Ionia said.
“Not everyone likes conflict, Ionia,” Feinstein said. “But I’m willing to help you. If you don’t want my help--”
“No, I do. I do. I’m sorry. I know though when he gets here all searching for my mom will be over. He’ll use that tracer in your palm and scoop us up, and I will never see my mom again.”
The boy’s physical distress level increased, heat level, respiration, heart rate swung upward. Perspiration created a light sheen over his exposed skin.
Den finally found a discreet way of entering the conversation and nudged it in the direction he deemed appropriate. “You should return to the base. I can accompany Ionia from this point out.”
Feinstein turned to Den and offered his palm. “Can you short out my hand coms?”
Another feeling sped through Den’s sensors, a lowering in pressure, the happy buzz of electrons ceased.
Den scanned his hand. “It would be very physically painful.”
“No permanent damage?”
“Nothing permanent,” Den said and looked to Ionia who nodded.
Den grasped his hand and pulsed a ten-volt stream into Feinstein’s hand.
“Ahh!” Simon yanked away and gripped his hand into a tight ball. Smoke and the smell of burning flesh floated into the air. Ionia grasped the young human’s shoulders and patted him with her gloved hand. “What are you doing? Trying to burn my hand off? I can’t even move it!”
“You okay, Simon?” Ionia asked.
Den shrugged. “You will maintain full usage of your hand after the pain subsides.”
Simon turned to Den. Hooded eyes and set mouth told Den he was angry, but his voice came out remarkably steady. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mr. Feinstein can’t track us now, right?” Ionia asked.
“Not unless he uses more primitive means,” Den said.
“We don’t have much time now that your dad is near. Let’s go.” Ionia followed the tracks.
Den fought to keep his more non-protocol responses in check. By his analysis, she did not seem to be using her logic at all, and it would lead to her death.
The probability calculations flowed in him like hot acid to his gears. Her pain was his pain. But at this moment she was still functioning, lucid, and not in any immediate danger. What could he do but follow?
###
Ionia had wanted this. Wanted freedom. Now she had freedom and with it all the chains and responsibilities. She didn't know what to do. She didn’t know what was right. She didn’t know which way to turn. If Den and Simon hadn't been there, she would have laid down in the snow, rolled into a ball, and cried.
The path rolled forward, nothing but endless snow. Fingers of icy wind slapped at her face. She shouldn't have let Simon come. If anything happened, he would be yet another person she had let down, had put in danger.
Then something on the horizon looked familiar, and she halted. “We found dad here.” She jumped slightly and looked at Simon. She didn't realize she'd been speaking out loud, but he faced her, and even with his snow protective gear she could tell he wanted her to continue.
“He said he couldn't do his experiments in the station so he'd go to the middle of nowhere and take weird measurements.” She pulled down her mask again; speaking was difficult with half of her face obscured. “I don't know. He was always poking some numbers into his gadgets. He used to ask me to go. But I didn't. I just didn't want to be cold. So he stopped asking.”
She let the frigid wind slash at her face, and the pain slash at her heart. She'd never told anyone this. But if she was going to die or become an orphan, well what did she have to lose?
“You couldn't have known Ionia.”
“Just like with my mom. If I had stayed home, maybe I would have heard something, maybe I could have fought them off. Maybe they wouldn't have been able to get into the station.” Her eyes wanted to cry, but all the moisture had gone out of the air. The wind beat at her head in a one-two rhythm. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
“Stop. Really just don't. Your mom might still be alive. When my dad catches up, I'll convince him to keep searching.”
“He doesn’t believe she’s alive.” Simon’s dad had not been upfront, and his men were negligent at best, and she didn’t want to lay her anger on Simon. She had to find her mom, and this was her only shot at redemption. She couldn't be stopped. She wouldn't.
“Come on! You got to know he will.”
“Go back. Go back to your dad. I don’t need you on my conscience as well.” Her face flushed. She didn't know if it was the anger in her heart that was always there like a pot left to boil on the stove, always on simmer, ready to flow over the sides, or if it was the shame in bringing him out to the wilderness.
Den stepped up between them. “You are causing Ionia great distress. Move along.”
“I'm staying.” Simon stepped up to Den, chest to chest, in a testosterone versus overprotective android display that turned her boil down to simmer. They were her friends. They wanted to help. She had to let them.
“It's alright. Just don’t mention your dad again.”
Simon nodded. Den’s face blanked as if he didn’t want Ionia to know what he was feeling.
They walked for what felt like a long time but was probably only a few minutes. A jagged crevice, impossible to see from a distance, appeared a few meters in front of them. The trail ended there.
“Looks deep,” Simon said.
She grabbed her flashlight and flashed it down. The bottom yawned far away, barely visible.
“They could be down there. I’m going to check. Pull out the ropes,” Ionia said.
Again, she was glad her mom had forced the survival training on her. She could rappel down into the crater and have a look around long before the Feinstein cavalry arrived.
“The wall could be unsafe. It’s not as if it’s man made,” Simon said.
“Actually, it is.” Den pointed at an area by the lip of the drop. “Laser blasters dug out the crevice. This area has one of the thickest points of ice sheet. There should be no gap.”
The hairs on the back of Ionia’s neck bristled as if a swarm of mosquitoes landed on her bare skin.
“My mom’s down there.” Dead or alive, that was the question. The image of her father’s blue face flashed in her mind; all his vibrant color gone, his skin chalky, his eyes frozen forever shut. It could not happen not again. She wouldn’t let it.
Simon helped get the gear out. Den anchored the hooks, pulled out the harness, and unrolled the rope.
Ionia pulled her harness half way up her leg, and Den stopped her. “I should go first, to discover weakness in the ice. Feinstein can watch the anchor.” Her bare face ached from cold as she tired smile. The wind wasn’t letting up and howled like a wild beast that had been caged.
“Another one of your many pre-programmed talents?” Ioni
a had to yell over the gust of wind.
“I have many skills.”
He descended into the hole with the expertise of a jaded mountaineer, his clampons dug into the wall. Slowly, steadily, he walked down the incline and landed at the bottom. Even with his malfunctioning arm, he kept perfect balance and hit the floor with a soft thump.
Ionia shuffled close to the brink and swallowed hard. Going over the edge was always the hardest part.
It took a double-fisted drink of absolute faith to lean back over the edge and know the ropes would hold. She took a deep breath to release the tension in her throat that spread to her shoulders and upper back.
Getting tense was not good. Getting tense could get her killed. She closed her eyes, stomped her feet, and shook her hands, trying to push it out.
“Ionia.” Simon grabbed both her arms, turned her shoulders square with his, and pulled down his mask. They stood toe to toe. “It will be okay. You can do this. Just like storming the Martian capital.” He grinned, that unpretentious, sweet grin that she always imagined when she was alone in her room. The kind of smile that shoved an ice splitter in your heart and let all the warm, oozy feelings run out. Simon, her reliable, fun, smart friend slash potential future somebody special.
Her tension retracted its claws, and she wrapped the rope tight around her wrist. “Just like conquering Mars, huh?” Suddenly, the wall didn’t seem as daunting when she thought of it as an adventure. She grabbed the edges of his coat, pulled him against her, and planted her lips on his.
Warm, soft, a bit chaffed from the wind, but nice. Not like when she kissed Den, but nice. She retracted quickly and back-stepped to the edge of the wall.
He blinked a long pronounced blink and shook his head. “What was that for?”
“To the conqueror goes the spoils. See ya at the bottom.”
The space between the top and the floor stretched before her. The distance never looked as far down as it was. Her heart rate spiked. Then the muscle memory came back, her instincts returned, and she bent her knees, moving down the wall quickly.
The strong push of wind and the feeling of being suspended electrified her nervous system. She let out a small shout. This was living.
Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One Page 23
