Frozen Hearts: The Ionia Chronicles: Book One

by Pamela Stewart

  She reached the bottom in minutes. Den wrapped his arms around her. He helped to unbuckle the harness and sent the rig back up for Simon. They waited for what felt like an eon for the rope to fall back down, and Ionia could see the dark shape of Simon on edge. Hesitating.

  “Come on, Simon!” Ionia said.

  She saw his glove wave at her, and he slipped back over the edge. Except, he didn’t maintain his footing and lean against gravity like a normal climber. Instead, he crashed into the wall.

  “Sonofa--” His words cut off as he clasped the rope and swung, sliding against the surface.

  “What are you doing? Put your feet on the wall.” She screamed, and her heart blew up to supersize and beat in her ears.

  “Your companion is not well versed in rappelling.”

  “Ya think?” Ionia said. She wanted to whirl around and punch Den in the arm, but couldn’t take her eyes off Simon.

  Simon held the rope with two hands, unmoving, not looking down or up. He grew still. A normal rappeller would find the wall and get their bearing. But he wasn’t moving. Hadn’t he rappelled before? Her heart jumped more at the thought. What if he really didn’t know what to do?

  “Put your feet on the wall. Walk down it like we did.”

  He didn’t respond to her yell, still dangling near the jagged edges of the wall.

  “What can we do to help him?” Ionia asked Den. Maybe he would have a coaching program or something useful.

  Den’s head and shoulders dipped, as if in surrender. Ionia was sure if he had been human he would have sighed. “I can go up after him, but I am concerned with the weight factor.”

  “Then I’ll go,” Ionia said.

  “You are not physically strong enough to climb then to assist him down. I am. But I am concerned about my torn left shoulder. It can not bear weight.”

  “What do we do then?”

  Den paused as if running through every possible scenario; he probably was running through every scenario. “I go up. Human life is more important than my existence.”

  “Stop. Just stop. I gave you your freedom for a reason. You are important. You are a life form even if you are inorganic.”

  “There are many compelling essays to the contrary.”

  Simon spun in the air above them. A wild blast of air flung him against the wall. One of his hands released the rope like it couldn’t hold on any longer and he skidded down, until he latched back on and dangled again. This time by one hand.

  No, this wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t have to choose between these two. They both were important. She couldn’t lose either. Simon could do it. She just had to coach him.

  “Simon! You have to put your feet on the wall and walk down.”

  “I-I-I can’t.” His voice vibrated with cold and fear.

  “You have to. Do it!”

  Simon held the rope in a death grip.

  “Put your damn feet on the wall,” Ionia said.

  At last, her voice seemed to shatter his thoughts. He shoved one foot, then another, against the wall. She coaxed him down, meter by meter until he dropped onto the snow. Moaning, he rolled over and looked up at Ionia.

  She put her hands on her hips and returned his gaze. “What the holy mother of hot hell were you doing rappelling without help? You obviously have never even tried it.”

  “It looked easy. I thought I could watch you and figure it out.”

  “This isn’t virtual reality, Simon. You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”

  “I know.” Simon finally sat up, and they gathered their packs and looked for indications of life.

  Ionia rubbed her chin and let the picture fall together like colors on a palate merging to tell a story. “Since your sensors are working properly, can you do a four distance scan and triangulate the source of the scan dampener?”

  “That might work.” Simon’s eyebrows puckered in surprise, almost meeting in the middle.

  Ionia snorted. “Yeah, I’m not dumb. Get over it. I just don’t enjoy science as much as I do art.”

  “The signal emanates from half a kilometer to the west,” Den said.

  “Let’s get going.” She led the way. Her mom could be down here. Or what was left of her mom. No time to hesitate.

  Jagged spires of ice littered the bottom of the crevice but left a discernable path going both east and west. They walked for ten minutes, finding no spark of light or life. A blast rang out ahead of them. Ionia crouched and covered her head. Den grabbed for his gun.

  “What was that?” Simon said, holding his flashlight like a sword in front of him.

  “Concussion blast against ice,” Den said. “Driller’s tools. Can’t discern more details without a scan. The sound came from our final destination.”

  Ionia looked at Simon, his lips tight and turned down, his face hardened. They ran down the path in the direction of the sound and to the mouth of an especially wide cave.

  “Is it safe?” Ionia asked.

  “My scanners are zero percent effective at this location. From my visual assessment, seventy percent unless--” Den said.

  Another explosion cut off his words.

  “Ionia, do you want to go in there?” Simon's eyes said he really, really didn’t.

  “My mom might be in there, and God knows what they have done to her.”

  “Ok, let’s check quick before this whole thing collapses.”

  “Only 30 percent chance of a cave-in, and there would be more visual evidence, although I can not calcul--”

  “Let’s just go.” Ionia lifted a hand to stop any more second-guessing.

  Den led the way, with Ionia and Simon behind.

  “Stay close to the wall and behind me.” Den used his most commanding voice.

  She shuffled forward. Her chest constricted like there was a giant band slowly pushing all the air out. This was going to be it. Finally, she’d know. Taking a full breath became harder and harder.

  Den waved them to stop and put a finger up to his mouth. A soft echo of voices wafted down the hall. It was a familiar female voice, then another male answering. She couldn’t make out the words. Blood rushed to her head, and a wave of dizziness crashed into Ionia.

  It was her. It was her voice. Ionia had been sure she was alive, but some small part of her doubted, expecting nothing more than another frozen body and sightless eyes. But that was her voice. Her living, breathing, annoying, mom-voice.

  A shot fired. She couldn’t stand to wait anymore and rushed forward. Simon and Den each snatched one of her arms.

  “We need to examine the situation,” Den said.

  “Examine my ass. That was my mom! She’s alive.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ionia broke from Simon and Den and sprinted down the tunnel’s incline. A pair of iron hands snatched her from behind. Den.

  Behind him ran Simon.

  “It’s my mom. Let me go.” She struggled, wiggling against his unyielding grip.

  “Blind frontal attack isn’t advisable,” Den said.

  “He’s right, IO.” Simon looked pained to have to agree with Den. “If she’s in trouble, we need to find out what’s going on. If you rush in there, you could get her killed.”

  Ionia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing her senses to catch up with her emotion. “Fine.” She yanked her arms free and crept forward into the ice tunnel. Den and Simon followed. A few meters later, they reached the mouth of a large cave.

  The inside had been hollowed out. Floor luminaries stood every few feet. Ionia half expected to see a rig pumping illegal oil.

  Against the far wall was a polished steel door with thick bolts connected to a metallic frame, a hand security pad attached to one side. Beyond strange. What could be of value in a desolate place like this?

  Four people milled about the door.

  Two men huddled by the door, both wearing the dark jackets with red armbands that she instantly knew belonged to the NAR military. Their jackets were not dirty or second hand
. “The cave will collapse before we can get through the door,” one of the armband people, a mush-faced man, said.

  A taller man, without a tell-tale armband, stood next to a very short woman with dark hair. He yanked the woman around. Ionia saw her face.

  Mom.

  Ionia’s head throbbed. Her mouth dried. She flexed her hands, trying to shake off the tingling feeling of too much blood in her fingers.

  Mom was alive, but even at this distance, she looked bad. Swollen eyes, split lip, and she didn’t have the proper outerwear and visibly shook.

  “Dr. Sonberg, please. I will release you. I swear on my children’s lives all you have to do is give me the code. He had to give you the code.” The man seemed calm, collected, refined--and familiar.

  “Sweet god of all that is good and holy. It’s your dad,” Ionia whispered a low, harsh rasp. “What is Mr. Feinstein doing here with my mom?”

  Den stood very still, watching the interchange with interest, keeping himself between Ionia and the incline that led to the cavern.

  Simon’s grip loosened on the gun, and his mouth dropped and remained slack. Ionia squeezed Simon’s arm. His eyes met hers with the look of blank shock. He hadn’t known. But what the hell was a rich magistrate doing in an ice cave with her mother and two soldier men messing with a weird steel door?

  “I can not give you information I do not have.” Her mom paused for a long moment and straightened her shoulders. “My husband never told me about this place. It was some misguided gambit to protect me. If I did know, do you think I would tell you? I’m not brain-addled quite yet.”

  Feinstein casually strolled around a metallic table, drawing a finger over the surface. The table held an assortment of weapons: knives, guns, and an odd metal box with dials. Most of the contents looked terrifying like he was preparing for war. At his feet were piles of the same, everything from laser guns to grenades. The sight made Ionia’s stomach turn super queasy.

  “I tried to do it nicely,” Feinstein said. “Tried to have my men procure the information and leave you in your precious station. But you just won’t cooperate. Now that I’m involved personally things are going to get worse. Don’t you understand?” Feinstein’s voice was smooth; like ice cream melting on asphalt, it had once been something good and sweet but was now ruined. He turned. Simon and Ionia got a glimpse of his face, eyes dark, slightly slanted, just like Miranda’s.

  “I understand I can’t help you,” her mom said.

  Mr. Feinstein’s smile wavered and disappeared, the face of a snake before a strike. “I made you a generous offer.”

  “When something doesn’t go your way you force it your way. No better than a bully,” she said, disdain dripping from every word.

  “That’s how I succeed. This country isn’t a place where nice and kind win. Don’t you want to see that scattered daughter of yours again? She’s my guest. You remember that, don’t you? We can all retire to my home once you give me the code.”

  Her mother pressed her lips together into a thin white line, her coal black eyes shooting lasers of hate.

  “No? Say, why don’t I invite her on a sojourn to visit us? Perhaps she can--”

  “Leave her alone.” Her mom’s voice lowered to a snarl.

  “Well, well, finally some progress. Just tell us the door code, and you can come to my home and see your daughter.”

  Den and Simon remained motionless on either side of her. Den’s eyes flicked around the scene, then back at Ionia. He cocked his eyebrows in a silent question.

  Simon’s cheeks blotched with red splashes, his eyebrows drew together tight. “What is my dad doing?”

  “I’d like to know that as well,” Ionia whispered back. It had been easy to understand when she’d thought some thugs had just grabbed her mom. But Mr. Feinstein? She’d suspected he knew more than he admitted, that he might benefit from her mom’s death, but not this. Not this out-in-out full frontal attack. The most powerful man in Mac Town was holding her mom. Threatening her mom.

  “He can’t...there must be a reason. Maybe she did something...”

  “My mom? She didn’t do anything. She never leaves the base.”

  “I’ll straighten all this out.” Simon took a large step down the laser-hewn steps into the cave.

  Ionia snatched him by the arm, digging her fingers in his jacket, trying to hold him, but he jerked out of her grasp.

  She wanted to scream, to rush down, grab her mom, and whisk her out. But she needed a plan, and Simon was ruining any chance at a no-casualty rescue.

  Simon's eyes focused on the scene before them.

  “Don’t,” Ionia said.

  Simon ignored her and shouted. “Dad?”

  The two soldiers scrambled to pull their weapons. Den clicked his safety off of his gun, stepped onto the first step in the open, and aimed.

  The men paused. The taller one with greasy hair put his hands in the air. The other mushed-face guy cut glances from Feinstein to Den and back.

  “Simon.” Feinstein’s words came out not as a question, but as a resigned sigh. He side-stepped behind her mom and placed his forearm around her throat. Ionia nearly leaped forward, but Den stepped sideways and body-checked, keeping his gun and eyes forward.

  “I need to help,” Ionia said.

  “Getting injured will not help your mother.” Den stood squarely in her path, his body both a block and a shield.

  “What are you doing, Dad?” Simon's voice cracked like when he’d hit puberty. “Did Dr. Sonberg commit a crime?”

  Ionia shot a look at Simon. “What the hell?!”

  “Simon.” Feinstein’s voice oozed out all cool like mercury, smooth and deadly. “I thought I could rely on you. I gave you instructions to remain at the base.”

  “If she’s committed a crime, we need to take her in for a proper trial.”

  Her mom waved frantically as if waving off a hornet attack, which Ionia translated to get out or you’re doomed. Ionia didn’t listen.

  “It’s obvious,” Ionia said. “Feinstein wants something behind that door. My mom has the key, and she isn’t giving it up.”

  Simon’s head whipped back and forth. The military back-up remained at half attention. Den’s gun sights settled on Feinstein.

  “Very concisely put. I didn’t know you could string together that much logic. Kudos.”

  “Why are you doing this to Dr. Sonberg? Let her go. We can all go work out a compromise. I’m sure--” Simon’s tone rose into a high-pitched plea.

  “Simon, you are clever, yet so blind. Did you think I keep Mac Town warm by following the rules?”

  “We don’t need to hurt anyone!” Simon’s head shook no over and over. His hand rubbed his chin and mouth.

  “Do you think your sister’s treatments are free?” Feinstein said. “She would have died years ago with your mother if I didn’t keep her alive. Her medicine cost enough to feed a small country.”

  “Sorry to break up this little family reunion, but I have my crack shot android. If you don’t let my mother go, I’m going to have him shoot you in the head.” She hoped it didn’t come to that. Feinstein wasn’t stupid,; perhaps the threat alone would make him release her mom.

  “Ionia, you can’t let your android kill my dad,” Simon said.

  She narrowed her eyes and wished she had some kind of telepathy to let him know it was an idle threat, but she couldn’t say it, couldn’t show her hand. Mr. Feinstein seemed capable of hurting her mom, of hurting her, of even hurting Simon. She could show no weakness, no waffling or they were doomed.

  Den choked up on the gun. The action keyed into some primal instinct in the soldiers, and they lunged for their weapons. Mr. Feinstein waved them down with one arm, the other still clamped across her mom’s windpipe. “Boys. Let’s not make any sudden moves with an armed killer android about.” There was a hidden mirth in his voice like he knew a secret that he wasn’t telling anyone. Feinstein placed his free hand up in surrender.

  But somethi
ng was wrong. His expression wasn’t fear or submission. The edges of his mouth curved up and his dark eyes glinted.

  Her mother shook her head. “Don’t let him--”

  Feinstein slammed a hand down on a small metal box next to him.

  Den convulsed. He met Ionia’s eyes for an instant, and then all the life drained from him. The gun dropped from his hands. He slumped forward and fell face first to the ground.

  “Den! Den, what’s wrong”? Ionia knelt at his side and pulled at his sleeve. It was a glitch. Just a quick glitch and he’d be ok in a second. “What did he do?”

  Her heart fluttered, fast and light, unable to find a rhythm. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. She was lost without him.

  Simon fumbled for his gun, although he looked too conflicted to do anything with it. Ionia didn’t catch what was said, but Feinstein’s companions snatched up their guns and rushed forward.

  She didn’t have a chance to grab her weapon before they were on top of her. The tall one disarmed Simon. His mushed-faced companion clasped her arm and confiscated her gun. The men forced them to where Feinstein and her mom stood, leaving Den face down on the icy floor.

  “What did you do to him?” Maybe he just knocked him out. Maybe he would be ok. Maybe she was totally and completely screwed.

  “I sent an EMP. My new gadget is very useful, although it needs more power to be truly effective,” Feinstein said. “Let me explain.” His voice rose excitedly, a kid ready for show-and-tell. He loosened his grip on her mom’s throat to gesture with both hands.

  “No,” her mom said. “No one wants to hear anything else from you. Let my daughter go, or I swear by all you hold holy you will wish you were dead.”

  Feinstein pursed his lips, the edges turned down theatrically. “No.”

  “Stop this craziness,” Simon yelled.

  “Son, cease making comments. You’re already in serious trouble for trying to help these criminals.”

  Simon’s face flushed, flaming red, and he lunged forward. The tall man circled Simon and grabbed his arms in time to stop the attack. Simon’s dad shook his head, and his eyes showed a trace of hurt before the too-bright, fake smile returned, and he faced Ionia.