Penny for Your Thoughts

The jötunn's cry reverberated in his mind as Kristoff carried Anna to Sven. He boarded the snowcat, heart pounding loudly, unlike Anna's, whose vital signs remained faint.

Before Sven could even utter a sound, he cut him off. "Don't … just don't."

Kristoff was torn. On one hand, all his instincts warned him that he should survey Dirty Eddie's camp and follow up on the whereabouts of the albino jötunn. On the other, Anna was still in a terribly fragile state. From a practical standpoint, he should leave Anna with Sven and investigate, but what if she needed his help while he was away?

She could die if I can't get back in time. He simply wasn't up for the risk—not to him, but to Anna. "Gah! I'm an idiot!"

"Glad we finally see eye-to-eye on something," came Sven's tart response.

"What did I just say before?" Kristoff's brow furrowed. "If only you had an eye," he flatly remarked. He felt a little guilty when the words came out harsher than intended. But then he reconsidered. Gently laying Anna down on her bunk, he mumbled "eye-to-eye, my ass."

A faint smile played across her lips.

What's this? She's not going to give me grief about my language?

Her eyes cracked open to look at him. "Language," she managed to croak through a thin smile. Kristoff echoed her smile in return.

Grabbing a nearby cloth, he wiped the sweat and crusted vomit from her face. "Well, looks like you must be recovering." His smile grew broader for Anna's benefit, although a deep hollow remained in the pit of his stomach. "We should probably get you out of your clothes and into the shower …"

Anna's eyes closed. Her small hand reached out for his, squeezed momentarily, and then relaxed as she slowly settled into a kind of sleep.

"Um, yeah, right. I mean … Sven, let's make tracks and get us the Hel out of here."

The snowcat lurched forward and Kristoff knelt down beside Anna, propping up the pillow under her head. He instinctively brushed stray hair from her face.

"You're gonna be fine," he whispered. In the back of his mind, he wasn't so sure, nor could he shake the feeling that he had just made a colossal mistake by not scouting the area to see if Eddie had a partner.

There was a sudden crackle in the air as a holographic image of the Duke's head appeared before Kaptajnløjnant DeVos, detailing the buffoon's droopy mustache, blue eyes, and all-too-obvious hair-piece. The Kaptajnløjnant sat patiently inside the shuttle transport's meeting room where he entertained the Duke with a faux smile. "What can I do for you, Weselton?"

The Duke was mildly taken aback, apparently ruffled by DeVos addressing him by his given name. DeVos' smile broadened, this time genuinely.

Clearing his throat, the Duke began, "Good news, good news, Kaptajnløjnant ." His lips twisted into a sly smile.

Tiny motes of dust randomly reflected light as they drifted by the holographic projection. DeVos contemplated the grin. "I'm all ears," he prompted.

"There's been an interesting development in the North …"

The Kaptajnløjnant shifted in his chair, crossing his legs, and nodded for the Duke to continue.

"My informants have recently been in touch with an ice harvester."

DeVos leaned forward. "Not the infamous Christopher?" he inquired, suddenly giving Weselton Brimsby his full attention.

A toothy grin followed. "No, no … not exactly."

"Explain."

"There was an incident witnessed by another ice harvester …"

The Duke launched into a long-winded diatribe causing the Kaptajnløjnant to imagine the rest of the man's body wildly genuflecting, with waving hands and odd postures as the disembodied holographic head took on a series of manic expressions.

DeVos considered what he heard and filtered through the details, learning that a pair of ice harvesters had ventured into the far north. One of the harvesters went off to scout the region and was apparently attacked and devoured by a jötunn—the Duke spent an inordinate amount of time describing the grisly particulars. That, of course, wasn't terribly interesting. What was interesting was evidence of a struggle involving other people at the site of the jötunn attack. Could the others have included that Bjorgman fellow along with the princess?

"Heh, a struggle, you say?" DeVos carefully stroked his chin before adding, "And you think it might include the fugitives, Roxanna and Christopher? If so, this certainly warrants investigation." He leaned in towards the Duke's image. "I'll have the Grendel fly over the area if you could relay coordinates. Meanwhile, any chance you could send some bounty hunters up that way?"

"Hmm." The Duke paused. "I doubt I'd find many willing to venture that far north without some guarantee of compensation … and on such scanty evidence." The grin that overtook his mein was obscene.

DeVos kept his expression neutral. That sly bastard's trying to siphon money from me. He would have considered it, too, if not for the fact that he had to make sure there were no ties to Prince Hans. Should the Duke's bounty hunters accidentally kill Princess Anna, it was imperative that the Duke looked like he was acting on his own accord, and a money trail leading to the prince would make that difficult.

"You know, Weselton,"—he sighed heavily—"I'm a soldier, not a banker. Money? That's a weapon I normally don't have at my disposal. But you, with your business and all, are practically swimming in it."

The Duke was about to object when DeVos got up from his seat and began pacing the floor. He managed to mask the smile creeping across his lips. "So, here's the deal: I'll provide you with the needed data and support. And you? I'm sure you can take care of the necessary finances. If things go sideways, I'll send in my troops. But a pair of bungling oafs would hardly require any intervention on my part—right? Nothing your bounty hunters couldn't handle …"

The Duke cleared his throat. "Yes, yes. That makes sense," he seemed to agree.

"Good. Then send me those coordinates and we'll see what the Grendel comes up with. In the meantime, DeVos out." He abruptly severed communication with the Duke, resisting the urge to laugh openly at the pathetic old man until his image vanished into oblivion. The man was a useful tool, no more. "Good-riddance, Weasel-ton!"

The hum of the anti-grav units came to a halt, leaving the passageway to the bay doors in relative silence. Crown Princess Elsa Agnarsdóttir waited patiently, albeit nervously, for them to open. The shuttle had just landed at a private spaceport near the capital city of Westergaard.

Just moments ago, her shuttle had departed the HMS Fjord, a heavily armed dreadnaught currently orbiting the planet Isles, the fifth in the Epsilon Crucis system. It had taken her several days of negotiation with her father to secure the Fjord, and then another week for the ship to return from patrol and be resupplied.

Elsa scrutinized herself to make sure her attire was in order. She had selected a tailored pantsuit with elegant, flowing lines for her meeting with the prince. The idea was to project a no-nonsense persona while still underscoring her feminine lines. Elsa, by nature, was a modest woman, but she was keenly aware that her beauty could be used as a tool under the right circumstances.

There was a sudden woosh punctuating the opening of the doors. Finally!

As she stepped from the shuttle's bay door, she took in a deep breath—it smelled different here, not unpleasant, but simply foreign. I wonder if Anna thought the same thing when she first landed on Isles? A sharp pang assaulted her as she stood there on the spaceport's tarmac. Oh, Anna! Where are you now? Images of her sister's smiling face cascaded through her mind, but then the smiles morphed into expressions wrought with fear and anguish.

The searing pain she felt was replaced just as quickly by anger. Conceal, don't feel! She repeated the mantra to keep her emotions in check. Whoever was responsible for her sister's disappearance would surely feel her wrath.

The crown princess's personal guards, a contingent of tall, fierce looking men, gathered around her as the entourage from Epsilon Crucis strode forward. The Crucis group was led by a faceless robot whose gleaming white surface, where seen, reflected the surrounding environment. What wasn't exposed was shrouded in a flowing maroon vestment trimmed with gold embroidery.

Internally, Elsa's brow furrowed. Where is Prince Hans? She displayed no outward signs of annoyance, although she was sure that this was a calculated snub by the prince, if not the entirety of House Westergaard. Instead, she put on an amiable face, and greeted the approaching group with an open smile.

"Your Royal Highness," hailed the robot. "I am Sitron, Prince Hans' personal servant. Regrettably, the prince has taken ill and sends his deepest apologies for not being able to attend to you personally." Sitron bowed deeply before her.

I'm sure he took ill upon hearing of my arrival in a Mark II battleship, Elsa thought. She eyed the Epsilon Crucis assembly carefully, there were a number of men and women included in the retinue.

Already, her senses were involuntarily at work. Her face didn't betray her emotions. The queen noted the sensors mounted on the robot's head, too. No doubt I'm being observed from afar. It's too bad that Prince Hans' personal assistant is an artificial construct. I could otherwise learn so much …

"Please convey my message to the Prince that I wish him a speedy recovery. In the meantime, I'll be staying until I can have a private audience with His Highness." Elsa's smile never wavered as she took a graceful step forward, looking directly into Sitron's primary sensor.

The window pane offered up mild squeaks as Kristoff wiped the condensation from inside the cab. He glanced outside where he could see heavy snow falling, quickly covering the tracks in Sven's wake—that was good. He had deliberately navigated into inclement weather to hide their trail. With the cloud cover, coupled with Trallis tech, they were nearly impossible to detect, or so he hoped. He had been employing a similar strategy over the last two weeks ever since their encounter with Eddie.

Meanwhile, he spent most of his free time nursing Anna back to health. He was familiar with field triage, but he wished he could get her expert medical attention. Out here, in the barren tundra, that was impossible. Nonetheless, he pushed forward to the best of his ability.

Fortunately, the Trallis were giving him support, too, and coupled with his life on Skallagrim along with his travails on Arendelle-255, his managed to yield some postive results.

With Anna on his mind, he made his way back to her bunk to check on her condition.

"Hmmm, Anna's vital signs have been looking better and better. Pretty soon you'll have to poison the girl again," Sven's tinny voice squeaked as Kristoff neared her berth.

Fingers stiffened. He knew he was being overly sensitive, but Kristoff's half-buried feelings for the girl would inconveniently surface at times like these. He especially resented the incident being called a poisoning, although for anyone whose core DNA signature wasn't tuned to the drug—and that was anyone outside of his home world—it was exactly that. "I did not poison her!" he gruffly replied.

"I'm sure it makes you feel better to think that way."

"How was I supposed to know she'd break into … The box's got a crypto-lock on it!" Kristoff spoke out of frustration. Anna had a lot of questions to answer once she recovered.

"Doth protest too much, methinks."

"I'm no lady," he muttered, then more forcibly, "Who programmed you to be so … surly?"

"I think you know how this works ... I'm an A.I. My personality's shaped by stimuli. Positive feedback reinforces certain behavior patterns. So, if you're looking for someone to blame, I would suggest a long look in a mirror ..."

Kristoff grumbled to himself. Sven had a point.

As he reached Anna's bedside, his thoughts shifted, even if just for a moment. Her hair was in deep disarray, looking more like a copper-colored lion's mane than anything else. There was also a line of drool tracing its way down the corner of her mouth to the bottom of her chin. His lips automatically curled in amusement as he wiped her face clean, then he gently brushed stray hair from her eyes. His fleeting amusement was replaced by concern. Oh, Anna ...

Thankfully, she had survived the gangr—the transformative drug that could only be used by his people, although she still hadn't recovered, exactly. For the first week she ran a dangerously high fever, tossing and turning every which way. Later, that settled into a normal fever—if any fever could be called normal. Even for someone like himself, coming off the gangr was nearly crippling.

The first week was awful. She smelled rank, as concentrated sweat oozed from her pores, sharply smelling of ammonia.

He did his best to feed her and keep her hydrated, spoon feeding her soup made from bits of jang-jeng and wild mushrooms. Kristoff was lucky enough to have discovered a small cache of mushrooms along their way northward. From experience he knew these mushrooms would ease her fever as well as provide a measure of body and flavor to the otherwise spartan broth.

Anna was so weak he'd have to drag her to the WC, unceremoniously plopping her on top of the john. He'd squeeze his eyes shut out of modesty for her, and do whatever was absolutely necessary to get her settled, and then give her her privacy. Fortunately, she ate so little that it wasn't often she needed that kind of relief.

By the end of the week, however, she absolutely needed cleaning. Since the incident, she was never able to shower on her own and that, of course, led to the infamous sponge bath.

Over his lifetime, Kristoff had never hesitated to meet danger head on, but here he found himself involuntarily shaking at the prospect of applying a wet sponge to her bare skin. It was ridiculous, to be sure. He was doing this out of necessity, not because he was some kind of perv. What could go wrong?

He tried to be as discreet as possible, disrobing her to a minimum, but her undulations after he applied the sponge to her partially exposed chest were downright criminal. He had just slightly unzipped her green utility uniform, unveiling an expensive looking pendant. Water from the sponge had trickled down her cleavage, causing Anna to gasp and suddenly grab his hand. As if that wasn't bad enough, Anna's motion resulted in Kristoff's hand landing directly above the peak of a very perky breast.

Sure, the sponge and her uniform actually separated his hand from any real contact. Nonetheless, it caused Kristoff to lose his composure and freeze in place. And it looked bad, really bad—like something out of a badly written smutty novel.

To compound the issue, her eyes were clearly open, staring accusingly at him. That's when he panicked, pulled his hand away, and ended up dousing her with a bucket of water. Her whole body convulsed and he chastised himself for being an idiot. It was a huge mess, but he certainly wasn't going near her with a sponge again. Cleaning up the mess afterwards wasn't much fun, either. He wrapped her in towels. Somehow, he even managed to change her clothing, swapping her wet utility uniform for a set of dry clothing acquired at Oaken's.

Fortunately, her fever settled a day later. She was even able to take care of herself, no longer requiring him to spoon feed her. If she noticed that she was wearing a new outfit, she never said a thing.

Looking down at her now, he noticed a speck of drool still hanging from her chin. Her eyes flashed open as he wiped her clean.

"Kristoff?"

"Hey, Anna, how are you feeling?" he softly intoned.

She struggled up from her bunk. "Awful. I'm really hungry, and my body is an achy mess." Her hands reached her head. "Oh, my God! My hair! How long has it been like this? Kristoff!"

He laughed. He hadn't seen her this feisty since the gangr—it was a great sign. "I don't know … two weeks? You've got crazy hair. Honestly, I think there's an alien living on your head. It's amazing that you've managed to keep it secret for so long."

"Not funny!" Her lips pouted. She looked absolutely adorable.

"Hold still." He thumbed away a dab of drool just at the corner of her lip. Anna didn't object.

He pulled back for a moment. "Yeah, much better." Soaking in the details, she did look much better. "We need to talk."

That's when she flashed him a concerned look, "You're not going to break up with me, are you?" It was followed by a wry smile.

He chuckled softly, although he suddenly became aware of his heart pounding. "Nah." Modulating his voice to sound like Sven, he continued, "If you break up with her now, she's going to die …"

"Kristoff …" her voice faltered.

Sven, on the other hand, took the opportunity to interject, "I hope you're not trying to imitate me there, cowboy."

He ignored the A.I., but Anna seemed lost. Maybe he hit a little too close to home? She did almost die. "I'm sorry, that … it wasn't funny." He reached for the back of his head, and scratched at a non-existent itch. "Um, change of subject…" He paused. "Since your illness, I've been wondering, you know, Anna, about the box … with the, um, chocolate—how did you open it?"

She didn't look comfortable, and cast her eyes toward the ground. "It must have been open, I guess," she mumbled.

"No. No, I'm positive it was locked. Not only that, it had a crypto-lock on it and only I know the combination…"

"Really? I don't know how to answer that."

"And that thing … Marshmallow … Explain please?"

"I need to use the bathroom," was her reply.

"What? No. Anna!"

Nonetheless, she pulled herself out of her bunk and stepped past him, spewing out a stream of sorries as she urgently stepped on his feet and into the WC. An hour later she emerged with her hair wet and in twin plaits, obviously having showered and taken care of her hair. She was also wearing new clothes, including his XephyrTech shirt, which hung to her knees.

Kristoff wasn't about to let her off the hook, though. "Anna," he began, "Let's finish our conversation."

"Um… What conversation?"

"Ah, no-no-no!" He wagged his finger in front of her face. "You're not getting off the hook by ignoring me. Explain." He drew closer. "The weird way you somehow knew exactly what to get at Oaken's … the crypto-lock … the series of fits … and the psycho-babbling … what was that all about? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear there's some kind of mind thing going on here …"

"Am I losing it?"—but when he tried to look Anna in the eye, she sharply turned her face, avoiding his gaze.

The jötnar—he always thought they were telepathic—was there a connection? His mind began to race. Crazy thoughts began to surface. When he was checking out her butt back at Oaken's, she had turned and looked at him accusingly. Other little incidents that he had dismissed at the time suddenly fell into place. He was flooded by a surge of emotion as he came to an epiphany. Of course, by the gods, she can read—

Her eyes finally met his, shining a brilliant aquamarine. "Minds," she finished.

A/N - Well, I have issues with this chapter, part of the reason there was such a long delay. My apologies for those of you who are still reading.

As always, comments and reviews are appreciated!