A/N:

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy.

As my standard policy, I'm not going to over label this work. If you truly suffer from triggers of any kind, and can't tolerate reading anything that pushes you out of your comfort zone, then stop right here. That's not to say that that this story will or won't have any of those elements ... but if you come at me with something like (using a random off-the-wall example) an Olaf/Gerda pairing is a trigger for me, I'm just going to ignore you. (And the reason I'm writing this is because of the flak I received from my last posting).

I'd like to thank Concolor44 for taking the time to look this over. Please don't send him hate mail if you didn't like my story (again, writing this because of what happened with my last posting). Also, thanks to Cattleworks (not involved with fan fiction at all, but a multi-talented artist and college friend) for reviewing this, too.

Lastly, this is a Kristanna story. I don't have an OTP and write and read all kinds of stories with various pairings. I've never written a multi-chapter story before. Expect infrequent updates.


Arrival

Arendelle-255. It was the lone planet in its solar system. The early eBooks simply described it as an earth-sized celestial body on the outskirts of the galaxy, located just close enough to its sun to make it habitable.

Habitable? For whom? Summers were bitterly cold, but winters? They were beyond awful. So the term "habitable" was definitely up for debate, at least that's what Kristoff Bjorgman thought.

He scanned the arctic landscape before him—raw and desolate, with pockets of drifting snow and tinted blue ice. If not for the many geothermal formations spotting the planet, survival would have been near impossible … at least without some serious tech.

Maneuvering for position, Kristoff's hand roughly grazed over the synthetic blue-gray material of his heavily insulated parka as he slipped it on. He then gathered his goggles, wool hat and gloves. The gloves, a dusky gray and worn by use, were so threadbare that his skin was almost showing through. He figured he'd have to spring for a new pair soon, very soon. In the meantime, he wrapped some insulating tape around the more worn portions just to get by.

Grand Pabbie had always emphasized that he should maintain his personal effects, and Kristoff did, but with the considerable expense of the utility robot around the corner he was short on credits and had to walk that tightrope between buying what he wanted and buying what he needed.

When he was properly suited, he bent down to pick up his battered toolkit, feeling its heft, and exited the cab of the snowcat. Outside, familiar frozen fields of white surrounded him with the exception of an azure haze not too far off in the distance. He muttered a curse as the first bite of cold assaulted his body.

That haze was his destination for the night. It was one of the many geothermal oases spotting the planet, and he knew that this one had a hot spring just perfect for soaking. He could hardly wait to sink into the languid warmth, already anticipating the revitalizing heat that could rejuvenate him to the core. It wasn't often that he could bask in such luxuries.

As it was, these geothermal oases provided a reprieve from the arctic-like cold for the indigenous lifeforms as well as its extraterrestrial visitors, like Kristoff. It was amazing how vegetation abounded within their confines. Verdant trees, draped in photoluminescent blue moss, would sporadically rise from the ground. The trees seldom grew very tall due to the frigid atmosphere, with rare exceptions, but combined with the moss, made welcome and dramatic beacons that signaled sanctuary for travelers on the open tundra.

Kristoff grunted as he wandered over the variable terrain consisting of snow, rock and ice. "I'll have you fixed in no time, buddy!" he proclaimed through clenching teeth. He heard a contented bellow over his headset in response and smiled.

The moss and trees weren't the only flora harbored in these sanctuaries. Scattered throughout each hot spring refuge, tracts of multi-colored flowers, reminiscent of Old Earth's crocuses, could often be seen blossoming in narrow swaths or clustered around steaming vents. Bushes laden with azure berries typically gathered nearby and on their periphery. In the summer, pink trumpet flowers could also be seen with huge blooms nearly a foot in length and glowing as pale as a white dwarf star. It almost made you forget what a harsh planet Arendelle-255 really was.

Footing forward and arriving at the damage, Kristoff pondered his bad luck. He was speeding toward his campsite when his snowcat, Sven, threw a track after hitting a hidden outcropping. He cursed again under his foggy, freezing breath as he hunkered down adjacent to the vehicle's idler. The utility robot on order sure would have come in handy here. Instead, he drew an electronic reader from his toolbox and called up Sven's service manual. Inspecting the damage and the manual, he reluctantly drew some parts from the spare parts bin located on either side of the cat. Great, more stuff to buy when I get to the City.

Because he was so close to his immediate destination, gusts of wind carrying sparkling blue spore washed over the otherwise barren terrain. They formed dazzling motes as the wind danced and swirled around him while he worked diligently. It might have been magical if it wasn't so frigid or if he had actually been witnessing this for the first time. Another sudden bite of cold caused him to shudder. He clenched his teeth further to keep from chattering. I can hardly wait to get the hell out of this hole. Some day, when he had earned enough, he would leave this planet for good. It would take a lot of hard work and years of toil, but he knew he was up to the task.

Breaking the rubber lined alloy thread, the big man struggled to bring the track back into alignment. It was tedious work, requiring a fair amount of muscle and even some welding. Why do you live like this? he asked himself. Oh, yeah, Ice. Harvesting ice was how he made his living.

Of course, ice here was hardly ordinary. Ice on Arendelle was different, very different.

The moss was at the epicenter of it all. At his destination and the other thermal glades, moss shrouding the trees made the areas eerily beautiful. When in bloom, they were the source of the brilliant blue spores and the reason why this planet was extra special. It was the symbiotic relationship between the moss and trees that helped both survive. With the frequent and abrupt temperature changes on the planet, the moss acted as an insulating barrier. Simultaneously, the trees allowed the moss to gain much needed height so that its spores could spread throughout the land. Faintly sparkling in the day and glowing brightly blue in the night, the resulting landscape punctuated the other-worldliness of Arendelle-255.

That other-worldliness was keenly evident at the moment, as a pocket of luminescent spores washed across his partially covered face and settled on the exposed skin—namely his cheeks and nose. Kristoff sneezed, wiping at the cerulean particles lining his nostrils. The spores had a tendency to cling to warmth and life. His clothing and gear remained relatively untainted.

Ancient legend had it that Ponce de León, an explorer from Old Earth, was forever searching for the Fountain of Youth. Kristoff knew this legend was a myth, but if it had been true, that explorer was certainly looking in the wrong place. The fountain, or to be more clear, water imbued with the properties of longevity, could only be found here on Arendelle-255.

That magic came from the mold spores. The very same spores now clinging to his nose and cheeks, and that were unique to the planet. Others had tried to bring the moss offworld. They had even gone as far as to recreate the entire biosystem, but to no avail. Apparently, some elusive dependency existed which was necessary for the spores to function as an age-retarding agent. Furthermore, the spores couldn't be harvested directly. It was only when they consolidated with the very ice found scattered throughout the landscape that the life extending properties became leavened.

Arendellian Ice. Kristoff harvested it by himself, and, for the most part, it was the way he liked it. In the past, he had had partners, but life here was rough and one too many times he caught his partner trying to swindle him … or sometimes they just couldn't hack the hardship and just gave up … or died an unpleasant death before they managed to figure that out. He winced at that last thought.

He had to admit he was jaded, although there were times when he did yearn for human companionship. Sven, his snowcat/AI construct, took the edge off that loneliness, keeping the ice-harvester sane during long treks. Still, it wasn't quite the same. He wondered if the utility robot scheduled to arrive tomorrow would add or detract from the nagging isolation that occasionally plagued him?

Having nearly completed his repairs, he asked Sven for a diagnostic report causing the snowcat to jog its tread back and forth as it collected information. "Area scan, Sven," Kristoff added. "Any signs of fog headed our way?"

"Nope," came the reply in that goofy, pitched whine now characteristic of Sven's voice. Kristoff shook his head. Sven hadn't always spoken that way. The module regulating his voice had gradually deteriorated to the point it sounded like a caricature. Eventually he was going to have to break down and upgrade it, but gloves first.

He scanned the horizon out of habit. You had to be careful when you were out on the tundra. Ice harvesting had more hazards than just the harsh climate and abject solitude; Arendelle-255 had its fair share of predators. If the climate didn't outright kill you, the fauna surely would.

Early in his career, he'd come face to face with the jötnar—an aggressive bipedal species characterized by their intimidating size and wild tufts of gray-green fur. A single jötun was terrifying—with its humongous insectoid eye, razor sharp teeth and saber-like talons—but a pack of them was the stuff of nightmares. Native to the planet, they roamed the tundra camouflaged by a cloud of self-generated fog. What made matters worse was that fog was a common phenomenon, often found surrounding the borderlands between the tundra and the geothermal hot spots. Sometimes, natural fog would even drift miles from a thermal oasis, depending on the prevailing winds. Travelers never knew if they were running into inclement weather, or some carnivorous horde.

The jötnar were believed, by some, to be intelligent. Kristoff had enough experience with them to count himself amongst those that did. In fact, he'd witnessed how they hunted in packs—they moved with uncanny coordination and precision—and he suspected that they were able to communicate through a form of telepathy.

For protection, he'd come to rely on a railgun. This modern day crossbow came in handy, providing the impact necessary to take down one of the giants. The key was to identify the alpha jötun, and take it out—never a trivial task in low visibility. The rest of the pack would jerk to a standstill when the alpha was dead … at least long enough to make for an escape. Kristoff figured it had something to do with the breaking of their telepathic link. The alpha was the linchpin holding that communication channel open.

Even worse, and perhaps more frightening, were the ice wraiths. Any traveler settling on an oasis had to be wary of caves, outcroppings or the very trees themselves. The ice wraiths could be found suspended from heights, waiting for prey to roam underneath. Their chameleon-like flesh had the consistency of something between a slug and jellyfish. Conical and about the size of a human's head, with a variety of ill-shapen protuberances, they blended well with their surroundings. After they attacked, their bodies would slowly expand and envelop its victim's head, while their coloring would change, typically taking on the mushy gray-red matter of the brain tissue they consumed. The attacks always proved fatal. An ice wraith's projectile beak would immediately burrow in and devour its prey's cerebrum, leaving behind only the most primitive portions as the wraith's neural tendrils emerged, attached and assimilated to the host's brain stem. From that point, it would abandon its enclave to search for a mate and breed. During its search, the wraith would emit a high pitched wail, a sound sourced from both assailant and host. The noise curdled the blood. Not even the jötnar were immune to an ice wraith's attack, although they would seldom venture very far into any thermal glade.

Kristoff had witnessed an ice-harvester turned wraith. She had been a newbie, naive, like so many, to the dangers of the planet. The sight of the wailing woman—her body distorted by the abomination settled over her head—would forever haunt him as she ran, caterwauling with a screeching orchestrated for the damned.

He burned her … it … with a flame thrower. The final scream almost sounded human. The stench of burnt flesh left yet another permanent imprint on his mind. He buried the charred remains under some rocks with a marker made of frozen wood.

And yet, in spite of all the dangers, here he was, pressing on, surviving, all because he hoped to get rich and one day live in luxury. Or was it that he just didn't want to spend his life in poverty?

Picking up his tools, he was satisfied that Sven was now in working order. "You're all set, buddy."

"Thank you!" came the reply and Kristoff worked his way back through the cold and into the cab, ready to make his way to tonight's encampment.


It was mildly chilly when he woke—so much better than the typical bitterly frigid air outside of the glade. He had picked a good spot, too, not far from the steaming spring where he had taken a relaxing bath after arriving. Sven was a few meters away, ever vigilant for intruders.

Arendelle City was a good two and a half hour haul from his current locale by snowcat. By now, Kristoff's stomach began to grumble, so he went about preparing breakfast for himself—canned beans and some dried jang-jeng meat pulled from his stores.

The meat was slightly sweet and plenty salty, but complimented the beans. He ate the beans straight from the can with a spoon, while the jang-jeng was laid out on a cloth he would later use for storage. With his food next to him, Kristoff sat on a large rock sipping on a cup of bitter coffee between bites. He savored the coffee's aroma even if the taste was less than ideal. Maybe when he got to Arendelle City, he'd treat himself to some better fare. But then he thought about his gloves and Sven's voice module, spare parts and all the other small repairs and necessary improvements he needed to make. He frowned.

Finishing off his meal quickly, he briefly walked over to the hot spring where he stretched his arms, soaking in the heat from the water for one last time. One might have thought he was perpetually starved for warmth the way he relished the steamy heat wafting over him. He wasn't certain when he'd have another opportunity to bask in such pleasant warmth. Soon afterwards and perhaps with some reluctance, he broke camp and climbed onboard Sven, ready to make his way toward the City.

"Oaken's? Really? Not Oaken's!" chimed Sven in that voice that sounded like it was coming from a bad ventriloquist. There was no mistaking the tone; it implied that Kristoff was an idiot.

"Look, I'm not an idiot. I didn't have much choice. He's the only one that does offworld imports."

"Wasn't this the same Oaken that supplied you with my voice module? 'Electronics of my own invention?' Huh? Remember how good that worked out? Huh?"

Kristoff nervously scratched the back of his head. "Aw, come on! That was a local product that Oaken made, not a robot import. 'Own invention …' Right? And besides, where else was I gonna order a utility robot from? The Duke? He's an even bigger crook than Oaken."

"Hmpf."

"What? You know I need help out there on the ice. Besides, I'm getting a free box of suntan lotion with this deal." The way Oaken had played it up, it sounded like a big plus, but as soon as Kristoff uttered the words out loud he realized how stupid the whole thing really was. What was he thinking?

"Oh, yeah, that's almost as good as dance lessons with the Duke. Knock, knock … Arendelle-255? Planet of eternal winter. And, you know, you could just find another partner. Plus, I wouldn't be surprised if Oaken's just trying to offload toxic waste on some unsuspecting idi … umm, unfortunate. Think of how much money you'll be saving him in dumping fees!"

Kristoff groaned. "Sometimes, I hate you, Sven." Well, he didn't actually hate him, and the truth was that that was exactly like something Oaken would do. The giant of a man was always trying to push his surplus junk and spinning it as if it was some kind of bargain.

"Liar. You know you love me. I'm your best friend."

"You're a snowcat enhanced with A.I. How can you be my best anything?"

"It's because you're a pathetic human. You're in awe of my superiority. Simple."

Kristoff imagined Sven grinning right about now, if he had actually been more than cleverly written code forming an elaborate neural network. "I really do hate you sometimes."

The trip wasn't all that long, and they soon pulled into the outskirts of Arendelle City. It wasn't much of a city, per se, just a collection of outbuildings catering to the needs of ice-harvesters, like Kristoff, and off-worlders interested in purchasing said ice.

Most of the structures were built from NanoCrete—done rapidly and cheaply to house their wares. The stuff, once programmed, practically built itself.

Holographic and 2D advertisements masked the structures, for the most part, so the owners, likely, never worried about building aesthetics. In fact, the advertisement made the streets so busy with noise and flare, visitors could barely keep their focus.

Arendelle City was situated on one of the largest geothermal hotspots on the planet. Sadly, most of the original wildlife had been destroyed in the process of settling the area. However, a preserved and unique feature was the large body of water situated at its eastern end—it gave the illusion that Arendelle City actually had a harbor. Whatsmore, the water was teeming with wildlife—unusual in itself, since most active regions either had bodies of water too hot or small to support complex life forms.

The only other structure worthy of mention was the spaceport. Oaken's Trading Post was situated right on the grounds, making it one of the premier facilities for goods of all kinds.

Kristoff guided Sven through the red light district as he made his way to Oaken's. This area was dominated by ads for softbots: replicas of a variety of sentient and not-so-sentient beings designed to service their customers in any fashion whatsoever. The Duke, naturally, dominated this market. His cheesy grin, framed by his equally cheesy gray mustache could be seen at every corner.

"Dance with Princess Anna of Corona Borealis or her sister, Crown Princess Elsa." his holograph declared. By "dance" he didn't mean dance at all, although a hologram showed him comically twirling a beautiful redhead around a ballroom floor. Half the laugh was that he was a good head shorter than his partner. "Size doesn't matter," was another one of his catchphrases as he attempted to lure in customers.

The Duke's lineup also featured the Princes of Crux, all thirteen of them, along with a few alien species like the Slugmen of Tarr. Hey, whatever floats your boat, thought Kristoff as he maneuvered around a pedestrian standing mesmerized in the middle of the street.

Kristoff had to admit, he was intrigued, if not tempted, by the Princess lineup. The two Princesses of Corona Borealis were rumored to be gorgeous. He had to wonder if the softbot versions did them any justice, although the holographic images, if accurate, certainly showed promise. Whatever the case, Kristoff just couldn't picture himself stooping to the level of renting an artificial construct for pleasure. Maybe he was just old fashioned? Yet even if he was willing, the expense was outrageous. Too many harvesters squandered their resources on the vices of Arendelle City.

Soon enough, Kristoff was at the Spaceport. He took a sideroad from the hub and found himself in front of Oaken's Trading Post. A giant animated holograph featured Oaken, complete with his red bushy mustache and mutton chops, hawking a "lutefisk" special.

Kristoff frowned. He knew very well that the so-called lutefisk was none other than heavily processed Arendellian sewer trout straight from the City's harbor.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, Sven," he announced.

Climbing out of the cab, he made his way past the myriad advertisements strategically and unavoidably planted all along the entranceway to the trading post. The facade of the building was paneled in wood, which was surprising given the expense, although it was undoubtedly locally sourced.

Kristoff pushed through the paned front entrance only to be greeted with more advertisements. The lutefisk hawked outdoors was stacked neatly in the central aisle and on prominent display. A pair of robotic drones circled above the stack, projecting lights onto the multiple jars filled with strips of sewer trout. None of it looked the least bit appetizing, even to someone as hardened as Kristoff. Nevertheless, the drones proclaimed "Xtra Tasti!" in bold neon letters scrolling along their sides.

Beyond the display, and crouched behind the store's main counter sat Oaken with his trademark friendly mutton chops. His nose and cheeks bright and his expression jolly, he seemed the epitome of the welcoming host. The tips of his fingers danced lightly and playfully together while loosely forming a steeple.

"Yoo-hoo, blowout on lutefisk today!" he announced, as if the point hadn't been driven stupefyingly home already. When he recognized Kristoff as his customer, the mask of his jovial expression dropped ever so slightly. The two, of course, had dealt with each other before and Kristoff had raised the huge man's ire when he accused Oaken of being a "crook" during the voice module debacle. Well, if he isn't a crook, he's certainly a swindler.

As he explained to Sven however, Oaken being the only merchant that dealt with custom imports made doing business with the man necessary.

"Thanks, I think I'll pass." Kristoff gave the lutefisk display a side glance and found his stomach churning. "I'm here to pick up that utility robot I ordered six months ago. It is here—right?"

"Ja, ja …" Oaken twiddled his fingers some more. "Oaken always delivers his customers their orders when they are due." There was a broad grin on his face when he added, "However, there will be a slight surcharge on this order."

"A what?"

"A surcharge—ja?" he indicated, nodding his head. His ever jovial expression didn't change a bit.

Kristoff followed the nod with one of his own which slowly transitioned to a shaking of his head until Oaken was mimicking the same move. "The bill was for a fixed amount. We're settled. You can't just charge me extra."

"It will be an extra forty credits," declared Oaken.

"Forty! For what?"

"You failed to indicate that the shipping crate would be so heavy. It will be an extra forty and I will throw in a pass to my sauna and a jar of lutefisk."

"Listen, you know I don't swing that way." It was well known that Oaken's sauna was a gathering spot for gay men, most especially Oaken's so-called "family." As open minded as Kristoff was, that was a line he never wanted to cross. He shuddered. "But there's no way I'm paying a surcharge, either. What do you mean that the shipping crate's overweight? I pointed out exactly what model I wanted, the B-9-M-3 General Utility Robot built by Jupiter 2, Inc. Weight and shipping costs were detailed right then and there. It doesn't get any simpler than that!"

"That is not what you ordered," replied Oaken plainly. His smile persisted.

Kristoff wanted to scream. You were right, Sven. "Of course, that's exactly what I ordered. You were standing right here when I placed it." He slapped the counter to emphasize his point.

"You have the receipt—ja?"

Grumbling under his breath, Kristoff reached into his pocket to retrieve his eWallet. He did a quick search for financial records from six months ago.

"Voila," he triumphantly announced as he nearly shoved the device into Oaken's smug face. "The receipt."

Oaken squinted. The form clearly showed that Kristoff had placed an order for a B-9 robot. Kristoff inwardly gloated. There was no way Oaken was going to be able to weasel out of this one.

Oddly, Oaken's expression broke into an even broader grin. "Oh-oh, sorry. It is not notarized." He drummed his fingers haphazardly together.

"Say what?"

"This receipt." Oaken perched his large digits around Kristoff's eWallet and pointed it back at him. "It lacks electronic notarization. Ja? How do I know that you did not make a forgery?"

"Fa-fa-what? Why you …"

Oaken began to rise. At seven foot, he was a monster of a man. Kristoff had been tossed out of the shop once before. It was an experience he'd rather not repeat. He threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Can I at least see the merchandise?"

Continuing to rise, but with a lesser degree of menace, Oaken motioned Kristoff to follow him, "Ah, ja, ja, we will go to the shipping and delivery bay. Follow me."

Kristoff brushed the back of his head. He was hardly a small man, but Oaken was a good ten inches taller. He followed the looming bulk to the back of the shop, half-staring at the olive, teal, and pink designs making up the man's sweater. There were various items on sale throughout the store, including the sun balm Kristoff was supposed to receive as an incentive for posting an order through Oaken. He had to wonder if this day could go any more wrong? He winced, imagining what Sven would have to say about all of this.

A sliding door stood before them and Oaken waved his hand in front of a sensor, presumably a bio-scanner, at which point the door automatically slid open. Lights turned on in succession as the two of them entered a mini-warehouse/loading bay. Anti-grav pallets stockpiled with various goods lay randomly strewn across the NanoCrete floor.

"This way," Oaken motioned.

They went further back toward the entrance of a loading bay. Laying on a large pallet, stood a human-sized cryo-transport. Wait, what? None of this was making sense? Why would anyone ship a utility robot in a cryo-transport?

"Um, that can't be right. A B-9 robot doesn't need to be put in stasis for interstellar travel," declared Kristoff.

"Ja, ja," answered Oaken while nodding in agreement.

The two of them approached the container. Curious, Kristoff stood over the rectangular object, peeling away the protective wrapping while getting satisfaction out of listening to the material tear. With the covering off, an oblong, occluded window was revealed running the length of the unit. Kristoff briefly looked for the control panel, found it, and immediately pushed a button labeled "Occlusion Defeat."

In that instance, the properties of the window changed, transforming from obsidian to crystal clear in the span of a few seconds. Both Kristoff and Oaken's eyes rounded at the sight before them. Inconceivable!

That was not, could not be, a utility robot. The form revealed was a woman's. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman Kristoff had ever seen. She lay there as if deep in slumber, with her eyes closed tightly; there was a light spattering of freckles on her cheeks which extended over the bridge of her button nose. Her hair was gorgeous, and added to her beauty. Twin plaits colored a very light copper framed her angelic face and graced her shoulders.

Wearing a light green conforming utility uniform, it was obvious that the woman—a softbot?—had, at least as far as Kristoff was concerned, the ideal feminine physique. The softbot wasn't necessarily busty, but wasn't flat chested either. Instead she was just the right blend of slender, curvy and athletic. Kristoff felt an immediate and intense attraction. Get a grip on yourself, buddy. That's a softbot! God, if it wasn't for the fact she was so impossibly pretty, he would have sworn she was real.

Turning to Oaken, Kristoff declared, "That's not what I ordered! That's, that's ..." He truly was at a loss for words, and he waved his arms in the air articulating nothing.

"A softbot," finished Oaken. He twiddled his fingers together as if he had just made a point and won the argument.

No-no-no-no! This can't be happening! "Look, this has got to be a mistake. Some kind of cosmic mix-up. I didn't forge anything. I can't afford a softbot, even if I wanted one!" The last declaration was a mistake. He could see Oaken's eye's lighting up with credit signs. "And don't you get any ideas, Oaken. You know it's true. Only someone like the Duke could afford one of these units."

"Ja, ja."

"That's it! I'm getting to the bottom of this now." Kristoff searched and found the button to bring the cargo out of stasis. He activated it and watched the window's surface fog up as frost formed along its interior. Meanwhile, a buzzing sound emitted from the transport as fans engaged. Alongside the control panel, a timer began to flash, slowly sequencing down to zero.

When the counter finally reached zero, the lid of the transport sprung open. Both Oaken and Kristoff leaned over to get a better look. The softbot's eyes opened to reveal that they were a distinct aquamarine. Wow, was all Kristoff could think.

She … it? ... began to cough, then broke into gibberish. "Els, there's no way I'm gonna mar …" The eyes suddenly came into focus as she finally noticed the two men leering from above. "Oh, h-hi … wh-who are you two?"

"The bigger question is, who are you? And where's my utility robot?" asked Kristoff gruffly.

"You are a softbot, ja?"

The woman pulled herself upright. "Cold, cold, cold … brrrrr." Shivering, and wrapping her arms about herself, she surveyed her surroundings as her eyes flashed back and forth. "A soft-what?" It took a moment, but a look of understanding washed over her face. "Oh, yeah, a softbot. That's me! I'm the softiest bot you'll ever see. But, hey, just call me Anna. I mean, not Anna… Roxanna. Yeah, Roxanna. That's it. Must be ... the weather? Can somebody turn up the heat? Um, where am I exactly?"