Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The name GenCon sent ice through Adjar’s veins—appropriate, perhaps, for a creature of ice, but this cold was different. This was the cold of dread.
“What do they say?”
“Hold on. Let me—” She tapped at the screen, her gloved fingers clumsy on the small controls. “First one’s dated two days before the storm.”
She read the message aloud.
“‘Dear Ms. Kour. GenCon Polar Division wishes to extend a generous offer for your mining claim, designation NPC-7749. Due to recent geological surveys indicating potential safety concerns in your operating area, we believe consolidation of claims would benefit all parties. We are prepared to offer three times the current market value for immediate transfer of rights. Please respond at your earliest convenience. Regards, Acquisition Department, GenCon Polar Division.’”
“They wish to buy your claim?”
“They’ve wanted it for years. I’ve refused every time. This is the first time they’ve mentioned safety concerns.” She scrolled to the next message. “Second one, dated the day after the storm began.”
“‘Ms. Kour. We note that you have not responded to our previous communication. Given the severity of recent storms and the isolation of your claim, we are concerned for your welfare. Please confirm your status at your earliest opportunity. Additionally, we wish to inform you that our geological monitoring systems have detected significant seismic activity in your area. For your safety, a survey team will be dispatched to assess potential hazards. Cooperation is appreciated but not required. GenCon maintains jurisdictional rights for environmental safety assessments under Martian Colonial Code section 7.3.2. Regards, Safety Compliance Division, GenCon Polar Division.’”
His wings strained against the cloak, wanting to unfurl. The language was polite, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. “They are saying they will come whether you agree or not.”
“That’s exactly what they’re saying.” Her jaw was tight. “Section 7.3.2 is a bullshit provision they lobbied into colonial law several years ago. It basically lets them override private claims if they claim there’s a ‘safety concern.’ No one’s been able to fight it successfully.”
“And the third message?”
She hesitated, then read:
“‘Ms. Kour. Our monitoring systems have confirmed the presence of a significant geological anomaly at coordinates corresponding to your claim. Preliminary analysis suggests this anomaly may be the source of the previously mentioned seismic event. Given the potential scientific and safety implications, GenCon is dispatching an investigation team immediately upon weather clearance with an estimated arrival time forty-eight hours post-storm. Your cooperation in this investigation will be noted and appreciated. Any attempt to interfere with or conceal evidence related to the anomaly will be considered a violation of Colonial Safety Protocols and prosecuted accordingly. We look forward to a productive partnership. Regards, Special Projects Division, GenCon Polar Division.’”
Silence stretched between them.
“They know.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “They detected the explosion. They know something came out of the ice.”
He moved to stand beside her, close enough that his body blocked the worst of the wind. “You believe they seek me.”
“What else could they be looking for? A ‘geological anomaly’ that emerged three days ago?” She turned to face him, and he could see the fear in her eyes, not for herself but for him.
“Adjar, you don’t understand what these people are capable of.
I’ve seen what they do to things they want to study. I’ve seen—”
Her voice broke.
“What have you seen?”
“They’ve always wanted the technology Earth Government uses to transform men into cyborgs.
Their experiments created monsters. A friend of mine worked in a GenCon lab during that time, and she just…
disappeared.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“We never found out what happened to her. Or any of the people they used in those experiments.”
“You believe they would do the same to me.”
“I know they would.” She grabbed his arm, her grip fierce through the thick cloak.
“You’re not just some piece of experimental technology, Adjar.
You’re a living being. A sentient creature from a civilization that predates human existence on this planet.
Do you have any idea what that’s worth to them?
They would cage you. Study you. Take you apart to figure out how you work. ”
The thought should have frightened him. Instead, he felt something cold and hard settle in his chest.
“I will not allow anyone to harm you,” he said.
“Me?” She stared at him. “I’m not the one in danger here. They want you.”
“They may want me. But to reach me, they must go through you and through this place you have built. They will threaten you and use you against me.” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“I have lost much, too much to remember, yet enough to know the shape of absence. I will not lose you as well.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know you fed me when you had barely enough for yourself. I know you healed me when it would have been easier to let me die. I know you look at me and see a person, not an alien or a prize.” He pressed his forehead to hers.
“In my world, such things create bonds that cannot be broken. You are my mate, whether you accept the word or not. And I will burn anyone who threatens you.”
“That’s…” She swallowed hard. “That’s really sweet, but also terrifying.”
“Good. I wish to be terrifying to those who would harm you.”
She laughed—a broken, desperate sound that might have been a sob. “They have weapons. Technology. Dozens of personnel. You can’t just fight your way through a corporate security team.”
“Can I not?”
“No! I mean, yes, maybe, I don’t know how powerful you are, but that’s not the point.
” She pulled back, pacing in the snow, her boots leaving dark prints in the white.
“The point is that even if you could defeat everyone they send, they’d just send more.
GenCon has resources you can’t imagine. They control half the mining operations on Mars, and they have connections in every level of colonial government. You can’t fight an entire corporation.”
“I have fought worse.”
“You don’t remember what you’ve fought!”
“No.” He caught her arm, stopping her agitated movement.
“But I remember fighting. I remember being prepared to die to protect what mattered. And I remember—” The words caught in his throat, fragments of sensation that wouldn’t coalesce into proper memories.
“I remember loss. The kind that breaks worlds. GenCon is new. Human. Temporary.”
“Temporary?”
“In the span of my existence, all human things are temporary.” He softened his grip, sliding his hand down to lace his fingers with hers. “But you are not temporary to me. You are now. You are real. And I will not allow your fear of these people to become reality.”
She stared at their joined hands for a long moment. When she looked up, her eyes were wet but her jaw was set.
“We need to send a response to their offer.” She turned back towards the communication array.
“If I refuse to sell, it puts them on notice that I’m not going to roll over.
It also creates a paper trail—if anything happens to me or my claim, there’s documented evidence that GenCon was pressuring me. ”
“Will paper protect you?”
“Probably not. But it’s something.” She was already typing, her fingers flying over the small interface. “I’m also going to send a copy to the Independent Miners’ Coalition and the local ranger station. They both keep records of GenCon’s intimidation tactics. It won’t stop anything, but—”
“But it might make them cautious.”
“Exactly. And if they are caught actually doing something illegal, the rangers will act.” She finished typing and hit send.
“There. My official refusal of the purchase offer, a citation of my legal rights to the claim, and notice that any attempt to seize or interfere with my operations will be considered corporate overreach.”
“And the investigation they threatened?”
Her expression hardened. “I told them there’s nothing to investigate. The seismic activity was a natural ice shelf collapse which happens all the time in this region. My equipment was damaged but I’m fine. No anomalies here. Just ice and rock and a very annoyed independent miner.”
“They will not believe you.”
“No. But it adds doubt.” She looked up at the sky, calculating. “Forty-eight hours, they said. That gives us at least two days before they arrive.”
“What do you propose we do?”
She was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the endless white expanse. When she spoke, her voice was calm and decisive—the voice of a female who had spent years making impossible choices alone.
“First, we hide any evidence of your emergence. The crater from where you emerged—can you collapse the walls and make it look like a natural formation?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then we need to remove anything that might indicate a non-human presence. Your scales—do you shed? Leave marks?”
“My scales do not shed, but I have been injured.” He gestured to his side, where the wound was now nothing more than a faint silver scar. “If they have equipment to detect—”
“They will.” She nodded grimly. “We need to clean the habitat. Thoroughly. And you…” She hesitated. “You need to not be here when they arrive.”
Her words actually knocked him back a step. “You wish me to leave.”
“I wish you to be safe.” She grabbed his hands, holding tight.
“Listen to me. If you’re here when they come, nothing I say will matter.
They’ll see you and everything else becomes irrelevant.
But if you’re somewhere they can’t find you, then all they have is sensor readings and suspicions. I can deal with suspicions.”
“And if they do not believe you?”
“Then I’ll stall them. Lie. Misdirect. Whatever it takes.” Her grip tightened. “I’ve been dealing with GenCon’s bullshit since I arrived on Mars. I know how to handle corporate investigators. But I can’t do that if I’m worried about you being discovered.”
Every instinct screamed at him to refuse. To stand his ground and tear apart anyone who threatened his mate. But beneath those instincts was something older, something that whispered of strategy and patience and the long game.
Survive first. Fight later.
“Where would I go?”
Relief flooded her features. “There are ice caves to the north. They’re natural formations.
I’ve mapped some of them for potential mining sites.
They should be deep enough that their sensors won’t penetrate, especially if you stay still and mask your heat signature.
” She paused. “Can you do that? Mask your heat?”
“I can go dormant. Not full sleep, but… quiet. My body knows how to conserve warmth and hide from detection.” Another fragment of memory drifted through his mind—lying motionless in snow while danger passed overhead. “How long would I need to remain hidden?”
“A few days at most. They’ll do their investigation, find nothing, and leave. They can’t maintain a presence this far out without significant logistical support.” She squeezed his hands. “Then you can come back, and we can figure out what to do next.”
“And if they do not leave? If they decide to establish a more permanent presence?”
“Then we deal with that when it happens.” She managed a wan smile. “One crisis at a time, remember?”
He studied her face, memorizing the determination there, the fear she refused to let rule her, and the stubborn hope that burned beneath it all. This small, soft, impossible female who had pulled him from death and demanded nothing in return.
“I will go,” he said finally. “But I will not go far. And if I sense any threat to you—any indication that they mean you harm—”
“You’ll come back.”
“I will come back and I will end them.” He said it simply, as one might state that the sky was red or the ice was cold.
“This is not a threat or a boast. It is truth. I do not yet know all that I am capable of or what powers I possessed before my long sleep. But I know that anyone who hurts you will learn exactly what an Ice Dragon can do when he is motivated.”
Her eyes widened. “Ice Dragon?”
The words had emerged without conscious thought, another piece of self-knowledge surfacing from the depths.
“It is… what I am. What we were called. Keepers of memory. The guardians of the polar vaults.” He frowned, trying to grasp the fragments.
“We preserved knowledge through ice and time. We were—”
But the memories slipped away, leaving only the echo of purpose.
“Ice Dragon,” she repeated softly. “I’ve heard legends about them. I thought they were myths.”
“Perhaps some storytellers remember better than I do.”
Amused by the dry observation, she gave the joyous laugh he loved so much. “Okay, fine. My mythological dragon mate is going to hide in a cave while I deal with corporate bureaucrats. This is officially the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in.”
“And do humans often find themselves in such situations?”
“Never.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, wishing he could extend his wings to shelter her from more than just the cold. “When this is over and the threat has passed, we will speak of the future. Of what comes next.”
“The future,” she murmured against his chest. “I haven’t thought about the future in a long time.”
“Then I will think about it for both of us.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I have had millennia of sleep. I have much time to make up for.”
“That’s either romantic or ominous.”
“Perhaps both.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, and despite the threat looming on the horizon and the fear she tried to hide, she smiled at him.
“Come on, Ice Dragon. We have work to do.”