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.

Thanks to the usual gang for reviewing this ... Also, a full sized cover image for Arendelle-255 can be seen at Renderosity:

renderosity dot com /mod/gallery/ice-world/2804109/?p

And Into the Vortex

The rhythmic humming of the snowcat's caterpillar treads was the only sound filling the cabin. Occasionally, the sound was joined by an odd thunk as the tracks clashed with some surface anomaly. No one, not Sven, not Roxanna, nor Kristoff uttered a peep.

Normally, the ambient noise and occasional banter were enough to keep Kristoff in high spirits. Only now, with Roxanna sitting silently beside him, and Sven mysteriously quiet as well, Kristoff felt strangely unsettled.

From the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at Roxanna. Her light copper braids caught his attention and for a moment he imagined them unplaited, with those lustrous locks cascading freely over her shoulders. Curiously, his face flushed. He was acutely aware of her presence, her breathing, her very body heat, and then there was something else … something lurking just under the surface he couldn't quite put to words. For some reason, he felt compelled to speak to her … to say something ... anything ... just to get her attention, but he stopped himself, fearing that he would sound stupid.

With her face pressed against an insulated window, she looked so lost in thought. Did softbots lose themselves like that? The way she viewed the outside world, with all the wonder of a child, had him thinking. What went through the mind of a softbot anyway? Maybe Roxanna's memories had been implanted with modern cityscapes and she was comparing them against what she was seeing now? Or, was this experience akin to a newborn child's, with every vision being something foreign and unique, to be relished as the world before her spectacularly unfolded? He wasn't sure.

He shook his head, perhaps simply to clear his mind of its clutter. He supposed that Arendelle City had a unique ambiance, what with its ubiquitous use of NanoCrete and the ever present holographic montage decorating each city block.

Another stolen glance caused the heat to come to Kristoff's cheeks again. How did he measure up in her world view? And why would that even matter? She's not even human.

The need to say something surged but he squelched the impulse and settled back in his seat instead.

Things took an interesting turn as they pushed into the red light district. The number of advertisements jumped in volume and became more risqué. Kristoff could tell that Roxanna became increasingly agitated. She squirmed noticeably against the cushioned seat each time an image of a half-naked something appeared.

Her reaction surprised him. Wouldn't a softbot be programmed to welcome sexuality? Kristoff began to dwell on this and all the other incongruencies the softbot exhibited. A seed of doubt formed: Was she, in fact, a softbot after all? He rubbed his chin pensively. When he looked at her for any length of time, he found himself floored by her beauty—he knew beautiful people existed throughout the galaxies, it was just hard to believe that such acute perfection could be seated next to him, and all through a random role of the cosmic dice. Even her freckles seemed strategically manipulated to enhance her looks. Once again, the urge to say something rose to the surface ...

"What the hell!"

"Whoa!" The sudden exclamation startled him. A ginormous holograph featuring a shirtless, hairy chested Duke, with the two alleged Princesses of Corona Borealis snaked around each of his thighs, appeared before them. The animation ran in an endless loop, with the royal sisters, the same redhead featured in the dance holo spied earlier in the day accompanied by her platinum blonde sister, fawning at the Duke's booted feet. The animation ended as they turned to kiss each other passionately.

"T-that's … that's disgusting!" bellowed Roxanna. "What the fuck is wrong with that asshole!" Her face took on fifty shades of red. Her hands clenched into fists. "They're sisters!"

Kristoff was shocked, clearly not by the language, but by Roxanna's use of it along with her intense reaction. It stood in sharp contrast to her earlier behavior.

"Is that the guy we're gonna see? 'Cause I'm gonna shove a boot up his skinny, wrinkly, doofy butt."

"Whoa, whoa, feisty pants! Calm down." Before he even knew it, he had his arm around her shoulders in an attempt to sooth her. "It's not like you even know the Coronian Princesses."

"Hmph. How would you know?" she huffed.

"They're recluses—never been seen by the public. All anyone seems to know about them is their hair color"—he found himself curiously examining Roxanna's strawberry blonde hair—"so a bot fresh out of the factory would have no chance of running into them. Right?"

No immediate answer followed. If anything, her anger seemed to seethe.

"They're sisters! Yeah, I lo … I mean, I'm sure those sisters love each other, but what kind of perverty pervert would think up this kind of crap? Incestuous lesbians? Ew, so gross! Grrr."

"Rule 34," piped in Sven.

"Huh?" both of them sounded simultaneously.

It was then that Roxanna seemed to become aware of Kristoff's arm. Those aquamarine eyes squinted at him suspiciously. "And even though I'm not a lesbian …" She began to peel Kristoff's hand off her shoulder, finger by finger. "Don't. Get. Any. Ideas. Mister muscly, blond guy."

"It's Kris … Ow!" He quickly pulled his hand away as she dug her nails into the last finger still holding purchase.

"You know, I could be engaged …" she added, with mild indignation.

"What? You're a softbot … They don't come pre-engaged. And before you tell me you're a B-57—"

"52."

"Whatever … They don't come pre-engaged, either."

"Hmph."

"I vote that she's a lesbian," interjected Sven. "And the whole engagement thing is nothing but a merkin."

"Funny. Real funny," Roxanna remarked flatly. "I'd kick you right now if I thought it would work any better than last time." Turning to Kristoff she asked, "Does this thing come with an 'off' switch?"

"My feelings are hurt," commented Sven glumly.

"Gah! I've been cursed by Loki," Kristoff sighed. "I'm kinda wondering if you come with an off switch." Roxanna returned his last remark with a death glare.

He rubbed at his injured finger, wondering if meeting the Duke was just going to make an infuriating situation even more infuriating—pretty much the drum beat of the whole day. Still, he reluctantly admitted, an angry Roxanna was, somehow, oddly cute.

It wasn't long after Roxanna's outburst that they arrived at the Duke's Emporium. Gaudy lights adorned the NanoCrete structure. Its arched entrance was spray painted in faux gold and inlaid with cheap colored glass tiles that were meant to imitate rare gems. Perched over the arch was the building's marquee. Duchy of Weselton-Pleasure Emporium, it proclaimed in bold neon letters as the sign flashed repeatedly.

At each corner, towering spires rose above the main structure where they were crowned by bulbous domes. Undulating text followed the length of the spires, only to balloon into bombastic advertisements as the letters crested above their respective peaks. If memory served Kristoff correctly, this architectural style was known as Nouveau Trumpian. Largely out of style, it was emphatically embraced by the Duke here in Arendelle City.

Naturally, holographs exhibiting the offered "attractions" were strategically placed throughout. Kristoff was about to suggest that Roxanna stay inside the snowcat, however before he could articulate a sound, she was already pushing her way outdoors. Her brows were knit tightly together, and her cheeks puffed out. Seeing a scrolling sign just under the marquee advertising the Princesses of Corona Borealis as this week's featured special, for some reason, further incensed her.

Two burly goons dressed in high collared, maroon, long coats stood at opposite corners of the arched entrance way into the Emporium. Both of these men must have lifted fashion tips from Oaken in terms of facial hair. One of them, a stocky, broad-jawed fellow had the same friendly mutton chops as the store keeper, only his hair was a rich chestnut. The other sported mousy brown sideburns that extended as far as his jaw, sans mustache.

Roxanna ignored the two and pushed past them without so much as a glance. Kristoff noted how the men—bouncers? doormen?—eyed her curiously, and perhaps, a little too appreciatively. It must have been a rare occasion, indeed, when an exceptionally attractive woman entered the confines of the Duke's establishment through the front door.

They scrutinized Kristoff, too, as he followed close behind, most likely to assess his risk potential. Kristoff did likewise. On the ice, you had to size-up strangers quickly. Arendellian Ice wasn't found just anywhere, and while most harvesters honored a staked claim, some did not. Kristoff walked past these two with care.

A woman decked out in an archaic princess outfit stood behind a glitzy kiosk nestled in the lobby. She was adorned in a sparkling lavender dress that clung closely to her body and exhibited a lot of cleavage. Her honey blonde hair was in an elaborate updo, and her eyes were overdone in copious green eyeshadow which stood in sharp contrast to her pale complexion.

As Kristoff got closer, it was easy to see she was an artificial construct. So, this must be a softbot. The texture and pallor of her skin was plainly off, to the point that it didn't pass as natural. Her features were exaggerated as well, with a waist that was too thin and a bust too large. It made her look cartoonish and oversexed, which was probably the point.

He did a double-take between the bot and Roxanna, carefully comparing the two. A sinking feeling came over him. She's … Oh, God! No-no-no! Roxanna's got to be a softbot, just a really good one!

"Welcome to the Duchy of Weselton, where all your fantasies can come true. We're running a special this week: Princesses of Corona Borealis," declared the softbot.

Roxanna leaned into the kiosk. "I'd like to see the Duke, please."

The softbot looked confused. "The Duke's not an available attraction. We do have some suitable substitutes, however, if you have a thing for geriatric men. Would the two of you be interested?"

Kristoff nearly choked.

Roxanna, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. "I don't think you understand. I'm here for a job."

Kristoff's choking fit persisted.

"A job?" inquired the softbot. Apparently, she wasn't programmed to expect this. Neither, to be honest, was Kristoff.

"Yes, since you're running this special, maybe you need an extra to fill in for Princess Anna of Corona Borealis," stated Roxanna flatly.

By this point, Kristoff was sure his face had turned an unpleasant shade of blue.

"Well, that's a position typically filled by a softbot. I'm not sure your hair's the right shade of red, or if you have that princess look, but I'll contact the Duke to see if you meet his criteria. Maybe he could use you as a spare."

"Spare," mumbled Roxanna.

This was the point where Kristoff would have said a whole lot if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't even breathe. Feeble gusts exited his lips but otherwise nothing intelligible.

Roxanna cut him off before he could gather his breath. "Sush, Kristoff." She quickly looked him over and whispered, "And get a hold of yourself. You're embarrassing me."

What? Well, at least she had gotten his name right. Meanwhile, the softbot was busy flipping a series of switches, and entering text behind the kiosk.

Shortly thereafter, a spherical drone sped into the lobby and hovered next to the group. "Is this the subject?" inquired the drone in a voice that sounded like a cranky old man.

The softbot at the kiosk answered, "Yes, sir."

"Hmm, interesting …" The drone's electronic eye surveyed Roxanna closely. "So, you're looking for a job, mhm? Well, please, some movement … Perhaps you could show me how you walk?"

With a generous smile, Roxanna complied and began walking toward the drone, arms initially by her side. As she got closer, her arms came up and extended toward the ceiling, her hips began to smoothly rock and twist with each step. Kristoff stood, mouth agape—this was nothing like the subtle hip sway exhibited earlier at Oaken's. It was predatory, punctuated by feline grace. Her arms came down with a flare as she twisted back toward Kristoff. Then she boldly walked back toward the harvester, her face painted with a sassy grin as her hips continued to gyrate seductively.

The voice coming from the drone seemed to be clearing its throat. "Er, yes, we might have a spot for you. Please follow the drone to the elevator."

Kristoff leaned in toward Roxanna and casually whispered in her ear, "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

She smugly replied, "It runs in the family."

There was an elevator housed in each of the spires. The pair followed the drone to the shaft located at the front right, where the drone hovered for a moment in front of a stainless steel door, and emitted a series of chirps and tweets. The door opened, prompting Roxanna and Kristoff to enter.

The drone followed them inside, where the group found themselves surrounded in a lavish compartment. The floor was decked in rich hardwood, while the walls were covered in deep velvet. A gold panel nestled near the door indicated only a single destination: Penthouse.

The door closed smoothly in front of them and the elevator began to accelerate. The motion was barely perceptible.

"Ah, mysterious woman … come to me so I can exploit you to my benefit!" emitted the drone. Apparently, the operator—presumably the Duke—failed to turn the transmitter off. Both Kristoff and Roxanna eyed each other without saying a word.

It was a short moment later that the doors slid open. An expansive oval office was revealed, opulently decorated with exotic woods, bronze sculptures, and inlaid marble relief borders. Various paintings adorned the walls, many of which seemed to be portraits of the Duke, himself. This was nothing like the fake adornments found in the rest of the building, although the lavish decor, in Kristoff's mind, was overdone. It did signal considerable wealth, if not taste.

The Duke, who actually looked smaller in stature than he appeared in the holograms, stood up from behind his desk. "Weselton Brimsby, at your service, or as everyone knows me, the Duke. And you two are?" His lips curled into a snide, half-smile as he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Roxanna."

"And I'm Kris … um, Christopher," said Kristoff cautiously, not willing to give his real name. Roxanna gave him a side glance.

The Duke, in keeping with his apparent nature, wore a ridiculously overblown dignitary-style uniform, adorned with fake medals, a red sash, and gold epaulets (featuring dangling tassels). Kristoff bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

Coming from around his desk, Kristoff observed that the Duke was wearing high polished jackboots to, eh, compliment the rest of his outfit—with elevated heels no less. Kristoff bit his tongue even harder.

The Duke walked in a sprightly manner and quickly closed the gap between himself and his would-be employee. Standing directly in front of her, it was apparent that he only came to just above Roxanna's shoulders, despite wearing heels. "So … you want to play at being a princess, hmm?" He raised himself on his toes in order to make better eye contact. "I sense a motive here. Is there one?"

"N-no. Of course not!"

"No? Well, perhaps I should inspect the, um, merchandise. What do you say?"

"What?" Roxanna looked less than pleased.

"I have to see if you can pass as a princess. You're pretty enough, in a plebeian way. Not exactly busty, but there's more than a handful to explore … Not that those ice harvesting scum are that picky anyway. Still, I have a reputation to keep." He attempted to move a hand to Roxanna's breast, but it was quickly intercepted.

"I don't think so."

"Er, yes, I see. Well, we'll have to work on your demeanor. Deficient. Not princess-like at all." He pulled his hand away, and wiped it against his coattails. Surveying her once again, he nodded to himself. "Hmm." Then he managed to grab her by the elbow and quickly span her about so that she was facing away from him. "You do have an exemplary rump, I must admit ..." He reached out and grabbed a cheek with either hand. "And quite firm, too."

Kristoff felt a surge of outrage and was about to intervene when Roxanna whirled about, her face redder than he'd ever seen it.

"I think I've had enough. You … pervert!" She poked her index finger straight into his chest. "Listen up, Weaseltown."

"Ack! Weselton! It's Weselton!"

"No. There's definitely a weasel in here somewhere." She continued to poke her finger into his chest, backing him up until he was caught between her prodding digit and his desk. "What kinda sicko are you? Princess special … and that holo you've been airing all about town!" She practically growled. "You do know they're sisters—right? You must have never had a sister yourself."

Roxanna removed her finger from his chest and breathed down on him. Like an agile monkey, the Duke took the opportunity to slip to the side, away from her and his desk. His demeanor transitioned from one of fear to rage. "You … you impudent nobody! Do you know who I am? I own this planet." Roxanna refused to give way, however, and the Duke slowly backpedaled. "You have no idea how much power I hold. I'll ruin you! Along with that bumbling oaf you brought along! I'll have you two strapped to one of my dungeon tables and offer you up to the dregs! You're nothing but a cheap whore!" he continued.

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. In a blink of an eye, Roxanna pivoted her hip as her right thigh arched forward to execute a flawless roundhouse. Her instep connected perfectly with the side of the Duke's head.

Kristoff, standing nearby, managed to catch the Duke's collapsing figure. "Holy shi—" Roxanna fired him a warning glare. "Great, we're back to this again," he mumbled. Carefully, he laid the Duke down on the carpeted floor.

Roxanna simply frowned, but then scrambled behind the Duke's desk. She found a console there and rapidly began to type.

"What're you doing there, Red? The Duke's out like a light. We need to get out of here before he comes to. We're already in plenty of trouble. I don't want to face off against a troop of his henchmen."

"Red?" Roxanna looked up momentarily from her typing with a puzzled expression. "Just a minute, Yellow."

Kristoff did a face-palm. "Ugh. Okay, maybe I deserved that." He glumly looked at the Duke's supine body. "I definitely won't be getting my B-9 now." In that moment he felt as if he had been struck by lightning. Oh, God! "Asimovian laws," he said between his teeth, as he looked back at Roxanna. No!

He was about to confront her, when she returned his gaze with a cheshire smile. "Mission accomplished!"

His eyes narrowed and he scratched his head. "Mission what? Never mind, let's get the hell out of here." Things were too dangerous at the moment. He grabbed her hand as she came out from around the desk. It felt more human now as he pulled her back to the elevator.

The first thing Kristoff did after climbing on board was to snatch the hovering drone from the air and smash its electronic eye against the floor. The violent movement and subsequent harsh noise startled Roxanna. Its impact left a considerable mark against the hardwood, as well as fractured pieces of the drone littering the surface. He then pressed the elevator's down button and waited for the doors to close.

"Ahh, my neck! My head! Erik, Francis! Take care of the redhead and blond on the lift. Use extreme … prejudice. I demand retribution! Send a nurse. Oh!" came the garbled instruction from the damaged drone.

Kristoff picked up the fractured sphere and held it against his chest.

When the doors opened again, he was not surprised to see the two goons formerly standing by the Emporium's entrance, in front of the elevator. He was surprised that they were armed with boilers. Illegal on most planets, boilers emitted a tight stream of microwaves that would rapidly excite water molecules into a frenzy. When the beam made contact with flesh, it would cause it to cook violently from within, frequently resulting in a bloody explosion. It was an especially cruel weapon.

Having been forewarned, Kristoff was already prepped. With the remains of the drone in hand, he hurled it directly at his immediate foe, the man with the extended sideburns. The antagonist immediately crumpled to the ground with a soft cry and a hard thunk.

Mr. Friendly-Mutton-Chops froze for that instant allowing Kristoff to take the opportunity to drop to his right knee and slide forward toward his opponent. He grabbed the man's wrist, the one carrying the weapon, with his left hand, while his right leg slid in under his foe's long coat and wrapped itself behind the base of the other's left. With his head and shoulder making contact against his adversary, Kristoff applied pressure on the captured leg until the Duke's henchman toppled backward. The fall jarred the boiler from the man's hand. The next two moves allowed Kristoff to slide over and past the previously trapped leg, into side control, and then onto and over a stout belly. The violent action caused a coat button to pop and scatter on the floor. Wheezing sharply, the brown haired man struggled to breathe. Kristoff used his considerable bulk strategically to put painful pressure on the man's chest.

His opponent, as he struggled for air, made the mistake of reaching for Kristoff's throat with his right hand. Kristoff's response was to neatly catch the arm just below the elbow and snugly trap it against his body. With his left hand, he savagely pressed down on the side of his rival's head, applying considerable force and using the side of the man's skull as a pivot point. Kristoff's left leg swiftly passed around and over the henchman's anchored head, like a gymnast using a pommel horse. His right arm, still holding the man's arm solidly in place, was joined by his left. Both Kristoff's legs were now tightly positioned on the far side of his adversary's body.

With his soon-to-be victim's arm squarely captured, Kristoff leaned backward, making sure the man's thumb was pointed upwards, toward the ceiling. His legs pulled in against the burly man's body, his knees squeezed sharply together, and his hips rose. There was a loud crack, a painful shriek, and a feeble whimper as Kristoff broke the man's elbow in an armbar.

Meanwhile, Roxanna had apparently captured the remaining antagonist's boiler. Kristoff did likewise as he untangled himself from the injured strongman.

The entire encounter lasted mere seconds. Roxanna looked at the man on the floor wide eyed. The other assailant was just coming to, applying pressure to the side of his wounded head.

"Alright, Hans and Franz, you two better stay put if you know what's good for you," threatened Kristoff. His directive was answered by a series of moans. Roxanna seemed to wince at the words. "Come on," goaded Kristoff as he grabbed her free hand with his.

Together they ran straight through the lobby and out the main entrance. Neither of them looked back as they made a beeline for Sven.

Scurrying aboard the snowcat, Sven remarked, "Well, I can tell by your lack of breath that your visit with the Duke went exactly as I would have predicted. Let me guess what your next move is going to be ..."

"Sven, full ahead, flank speed!" demanded Kristoff. "Head straight out for the Eternal Vortex."

"Gee, I never would have guessed."

Kristoff grunted. As they sped past the Emporium's marquee, he caught a new message announcing, "This week only: the Duke, himself, will personally service the first fifty customers free. Anything goes. Act now!"

Roxanna had a smug grin on her face.

"I should be afraid of you, shouldn't I?" asked Kristoff.

"What do you mean?" she replied sweetly.

Kristoff's eyes suddenly narrowed as Roxanna continued to feign innocence."Okay, the gig's up. You've been playing everyone from the moment you got out of that crate. You're definitely not a utility robot, and with that show you put on back at the Duke's there's no way you're a softbot, either. Time to come clean."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Hmph!"

Kristoff sighed. "Listen, feisty, no artificial construct—none—can break the three laws. You know, the Asimovian Laws of AI ... do I need to list them? Number one … you can't hurt any humans! You clocked the Duke back there in his office with a roundhouse. Not only that, that kick was no ordinary kick. You've trained. Spill the beans, Roxanna … if that's even your real name."

Roxanna looked down at her knees, then brought her eyes up to meet Kristoff's. "Okay. You got me. And maybe I let you believe what you wanted to believe." She pulled lightly against her braid, looking a little guilty. "So … my real name's ... Anna. Anna Agnarsdóttir." She fidgeted, and turned her head away from Kristoff. "And I made a mistake. A really bad mistake. A whole lot of mistakes, I guess … This might be one of them." Her head turned back around and she met Kristoff's eyes once more. "You see—where do I even begin?—I had an arranged marriage. I know. I know. Who does that? Right? Well, let's just say it's the way things work in my circle. And, honestly, the guy was gorgeous, so it was an easy 'yes.' I was so stupid … planning the wedding … all the flowers … the chocolate, all that stuff … I fooled myself into thinking we were meant for each other ... and then I found out he was plotting to kill my sister, and then me, too."

A/N - For those of you who don't know:

The Three Laws of Robotics (aka Asimov's Laws) - Created by science fiction author, Isaac Asimov (and introduced in 1942):

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

(In the case of A255, these laws apply to any artificially intelligent entity)

Rule 34 (from the Urban Dictionary) - Generally accepted internet rule that states that pornography or sexually related material exists for any conceivable subject.

Merkin - A pubic hair wig. They were popular back in the 1700s when mercury was used to treat STDs. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Erik and Francis - According to the Disney Wiki, these are the names of the Duke of Weselton's bodyguards.

Hans and Franz - Characters from the SNL skit, "Pumping Up with Hans & Franz." Hans and Franz were two Austrian bodybuilders.