I shrugged then lumbered over to my post by the entrance. My headache had waned after a shower, but water in New Beijing was controlled by Venta Co., and they weren’t generous with it. I only got a minute or two to wipe myself down and scrub out the tiny rifts in my artificial leg before it cut out. Wai’s final gift to me. I could tell by how clean the inside of the stall was that she’d taken her time the night before.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I’d done the right thing by pushing her away, yet I couldn’t seem to quiet the pangs of guilt pulling at my brain. The only thing that could cure me was a drink, so I snuck a flask out of my duster and kicked my legs up. I didn’t even try to hide it.
Yan Ning was right. The Tongueway was bustling, though the Twilight Sun was everyone’s last choice as always. I let in a few haggards who’d clearly had as rough a night as I had. I patted them down and scanned their IDs. Not that Yan Ning cared if I let in illegitimates, but we had to keep up appearances in case any Venta officers happened to check in.
“Malcolm Graves, I can’t believe it!” someone exclaimed just as I was about to doze off.
A man in a Venta officer uniform altered his course toward me. At first, I worried that the collectors from the night before had decided to waste more time on me, but when he got close enough for my tired old eyes to distinguish him, I realized it was worse. I was glad I’d already thrown up that morning. It was Trevor Cross, a former rival Venta collector. Judging by his new uniform, his employers hadn’t been overly kind to him since I ran into him my last time on Titan. He’d gotten in Zhaff’s and my way while pursuing the Children of Titan, so I put a bullet in his leg. Should have aimed for his loud mouth instead.
“I heard two collectors down at the station grumbling about some crazy old coot named Malcolm who cheap-shotted them at the Mangled Mare,” he said once he reached me, wearing that same damn pompous grin he always did.
“Those two had it coming.” I lowered my feet and positioned myself in his way. Of all the shitholes in Sol, of course he had to stumble upon mine.
“Oh, I’m sure. They couldn’t remember your real last name, but as soon as I searched your fake one, I couldn’t believe my eyes. They wanted to come down here themselves, but I told them we had a history. Said I’d make things right.”
“I hope you aren’t expecting a thank you.”
He snickered. “Never from you. I just had to see with my own eyes. I figured you’d finally died after bungling things on Titan.”
“Maybe I’m remembering wrong, but you and Madame Venta had a hand in that, I think.”
“Fucking Ringers, right?”
“Yep. Who would expect anybody to rebel after providing them with enough black market weapons to outfit an army? I see you’ve got a new job, though. I guess Venta put the blame on you too, huh?”
He ground his jaw but managed to maintain his composure. “I decided I was tired of getting shot in the leg by old men.”
“I’m not going to lie; an officer’s uniform suits you.”
“Captain, actually.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty.” Someone else stepped up to the door to get inside. The bald man’s rags were ripped all over, revealing his milk-white skin. He was a generational offworlder for sure, judging by how incredibly tall and lanky he was, but the deep, grime-caked wrinkles creasing his forehead were odd for someone from a low-g environment.
Trevor and I paused, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. All he did was stare at Trevor with eyes as dark as charcoal.
“You got an ID?” I asked. He shook his head. “What’re you planning on doing without credits?”
He pointed over my shoulder at the viewscreens inside. Kale Trass and the other Ringers had apparently landed, but crowds and protesters in the spaceport were causing significant delays. I glanced back at the silent offworlder, studied him from head to toe, and then grinned.
“All right, head on in.” I waved him forward and started to pat him down, struggling to reach his towering shoulders. All the while, he continued staring at Trevor.
“Really, Graves? An illegitimate right in front of me?” Trevor asked, gesturing to the Venta Co. insignia denoting his membership in their private security.
I finished up with the offworlder and lightly nudged him inside. “Shit, I forgot. Sorry about that, sir.”
He sneered. “That’s no problem; we’re off duty. But you let rabble like that into your place, then I’ve got to see what’s inside. C’mon, boys.” He waved a crew of two other off-duty officers over and shoved by me. With their uniforms on, I couldn’t do anything about it. I tolerated my new job too much. It kept me well imbibed. Trevor’s eyes lit up as they beheld my new home in all its dingy glory.
“Welcome, officers!” Yan Ning greeted from behind the bar, as excited to see new customers as a kid on M-Day seeing a Departure Ark for the first time. “How can I help you?”
Trevor ignored him. “Oh, this is too good,” he cackled. “The great Malcolm Graves, reduced to doorman for a bucket of shit.”
My fingers started to itch. Yup. I should’ve gotten rid of him for good back on Titan.
“Don’t even have a single dancer,” one of his mates snickered.
“If this is what retirement is like, I hope I die young.” Trevor laughed.
“Maybe I’ll show you what I did to those two collectors last night,” I said, seething.
“Please, old man. You don’t have your little pet Cogent around to protect you this time. What was his name? Zhaff, right? Heard he didn’t get as lucky as you back on Titan.”
I leaned in, inches away from his face. His men immediately crowded me, hands on their shock batons. “Don’t you dare say his name.”
Trevor grinned as he pushed me back. “You aren’t worth wasting my time.” He waved to Yan Ning. “How about a round of your best Martian vodka for everyone here. All five of them.” He and his crew burst out in laughter as they took seats at the bar. Trevor plopped down right beside the grim, mute offworlder.
Yan Ning filled glasses and started shuffling them over to everybody at the bar. “What about one for the doorman?” Trevor asked. “Don’t want him missing out.”
“Sorry, sir,” Yan Ning replied. “Staff doesn’t drink on the job here.”
“Staff? You do realize who that is, right?”
“I never ask.” Yan Ning shrugged and finished handing out drinks. He placed the last in front of the mute offworlder, who glared at it as if it were toxic.
“What’re you staring at, sewer trash?” Trevor barked at the stranger. “You gonna take this with us or what?”
The offworlder had remained utterly silent since sitting down, not even opening his mouth to breathe. He hadn’t touched his drink either. In response to Trevor, he merely folded his arms in a conscious display of denial and turned his attention back toward the newsfeed.
“Too dumb to take a handout,” Trevor grumbled. “How’s about the keeper of this fine establishment joins us instead.” He snatched the glass and slid it to Yan Ning so hard that he had no choice but to grab it or it’d spill everywhere.
“Sir, I insist—” Yan Ning said before being cut off.
“Take it. Days like this don’t come around often.” Trevor grabbed his own glass and raised it to signal a toast. “Old friends, new places. To Malcolm Graves!” he shouted, nodding toward the viewscreens, where every newsfeed depicted images of Kale Trass’s face while also recording the ceaseless unrest at the spaceport. “Without him, none of what’s happening today would be possible.”
I stormed forward, grabbed Trevor by the collar, and pulled him from his seat. My fist was raised and ready to clock him. “Why don’t we settle this again?” I growled. For a moment, fear twisted his smug façade, but then Yan Ning said something that brought the grin right back to his lips.
“Get your hands off of our guest, Haglin!” he ordered, using my fake name despite Trevor blurting out my real one. E
ither he wasn’t paying attention or he knew better than to worry about the truth.
“Listen to him, Haglin,” Trevor said. “You wouldn’t want to spend your retirement behind bars.”
I glared at him and his two companions. Their shit-eating grins matched his. A couple years back, I would’ve thrown the punch and known I could easily take down three shoddy Venta officers, but based on the night before, I wasn’t even sure my battered body could knock Trevor out with one hit.
I dropped my fist and released him. The smirk he wore as I did renewed my sense of nausea. It didn’t matter how many times I’d bested him in the past, letting him get the upper hand went against my nature. I might as well have changed my name for good because the weight Malcolm Graves used to carry was officially gone.
Trevor settled down in his seat and finally lifted his half-spilled drink to his lips. He took it, signaling everyone else in the bar with one to do the same. Then he slammed it down and cleared his throat. His smirk didn’t fade for even a millisecond. “Some things never change. New master’s got you on an even tighter leash.”
“Fuck it,” I groaned. I reared my arm back to punch him, but just before my hand shot forward, the room shook. And not like it might from a passing train. It was the kind of violent tremor that occurs on board a spaceship while passing through Earth’s dense atmosphere.
It caused me to stumble, and my hand smashed into the edge of the bar. The dated viewscreens went grainy or black, and light pendants throughout the bar swung. A layer of dust that hadn’t been roused in years swirled about the Twilight Sun, drawing everyone into a frenzy of coughing.
“What the hell was that?” Trevor grated. His men had their weapons drawn as they struggled for a dust-free breath.
“Is everyone okay?” Yan Ning shouted.
“Get your damn screens working!” Trevor propped himself up on a stool and started slapping the nearest one. The image was now too fuzzy to see anything but blurs of motion.
The silent, illegitimate offworlder stood. His gangly fingers were wrapped so tight around the back of his stool that they went an impossible shade of white. For the first time since entering, he showed emotion—fear and rage all wreathed into an expression I knew too well but was too distracted to place just then.
Nobody had noticed my failed attempt at a punch, and after I steadied my artificial leg, which had yet to endure such a sudden motion, my experience as a collector took hold. I instinctually bolted out of the bar onto the Tongueway to see what was going on. People were in a panic, but other than loosened dust, there was nothing different about Old Dome.
Sirens echoed, and flashing red emergency lights filled the manmade crevices, offering a peek at the shimmering world of towers above. I didn’t think. I made a break for the nearest Redline station’s stairs leading up to the city’s upper level, fighting my way through a mob of frightened, wealthy Martians trying to force their way down.
At the surface, I saw the reflection of the New Beijing Spaceport in the glassy façade of a handful of towers. That was where everyone was running from. Smoke filled the air around one of its elevated landing platforms. Security hovercars and drones darted about as they tried to extinguish the spreading flames.
“This can’t be happening again,” I whispered to myself. A bombing of New London, Earth, carried out by Ringers, was the first and only case Zhaff and I ever got to work on.
I weaved my way down the sidewalk, having to duck under a few hovercars whose drivers were in too much of a panic to obey traffic laws. The plaza at the foot of the spaceport dome was even crazier. All those thousands I’d seen on the viewscreens protesting Kale Trass were now fleeing like a stampede of frightened animals.
Venta Co. and Red Wing officers had quickly established a perimeter. That was one benefit of living in a city off Earth. Private security groups were far better trained and more experienced.
“Sir, please step back while we evacuate,” a Venta officer out front said to me.
I instinctually reached for my ID to show I was a collector and therefore above a lowly officer like him, and then suddenly, it all came back to me. I wasn’t. The ability to run headfirst into peril with the promise of credits died the moment I denied Luxarn Pervenio. I was no longer any different than the mob fleeing.
My head sank. I’d have to wait for the news feeds to find out what happened just like everybody else. Smoke, withering flames, rubble—it was evidently the result of an explosion. But by who? Was this New London all over again? Was Kale Trass still up there? Had someone been stupid enough to make a move on him?
In my Pervenio days, I never had to wait long to find out the why behind crimes. Not that I ever let that affect my work. I did what was asked of me, kept my mouth shut, and got paid. But now that I was on the outside, it didn’t mean I could turn off my innate curiosity over what made criminals tick.
I ducked around the crowd, trying to see if there was an unpatrolled area where I could sneak into the spaceport. I reached a break and got ready to plot my course, but that was when I saw what had parted the people nearby. A smoking piece of the spaceport’s landing pad had blown free and crashed in the plaza. None of the medical teams had arrived yet, but a few officers were trying to clear the area of civilians.
I bounded toward one of the bodies crushed beneath the rubble. “Sir, you need to keep clear!” an officer shouted, giving chase. I ignored him.
A pair of skinny legs stuck out from a melted railing connected to a smoking chunk of plasticrete. I knew who they belonged to even before I rounded the corner to see her face.
“Sir!” The officer grabbed my shoulder. “I won’t ask again.”
“I know her!’ I snarled. The look I shot at him must have sent a shiver up his spine because he backed off and gave me space. Wai’s eyelids were stuck half open—and not the way someone’s might go if they’re caught dozing. Her torso was crushed like an empty tube of paste.
Dead.
A younger me wouldn’t have been so rattled by it, but ever since Luxarn had partnered me up with Zhaff, I’d gone softer. Try as I did to drive the sweet young offworlder away from me and toward better things, she’d met the same fate as all the rest.
I glanced up at the smoldering portion of the platform from which bloodcurdling screams echoed across the stale, dome-enclosed air. It felt like my body had been dipped in molten rock, I was so angry.
Someone made their last mistake planting a bomb up there. I wasn’t a collector anymore, but I still had a gun. And this time, it was personal.
Nine
Kale
“Everyone in!” I boomed. I grabbed Rin and rushed her toward one of the airships forced to land on top of the debris. She was woozy, hardly able to walk a straight line, but she was going to live. I leaned her against the car so that I could catch my breath. Aria was already inside sorting the wounded.
The landing pad was chaos. Officers from Red Wing struggled to bring things to order. Shock batons crackled as they tried to scare people away from the scene. Pulse-rifles shot into the ground to further the same goal. The area nearest to where the preacher had been was a bloodbath. Martian citizens were in too many pieces to count the dead. Among our escorts, the Venta Co. officers had taken the biggest blow. Director Yashikawa was pinned upright with a length of railing sticking through the center of his chest. The only bodies I cared about, however, were the ones clad in white. Two of my guards lay dead, bodies broken and seared. They’d followed me to this foreign world, and now they’d never return home because of me.
“Mr. Trass!” Captain Barnes said as he clutched my arm. “That’s too much weight for a single vehicle.”
I seized him by the chest plate and pulled him close. “Is this what you wanted, Captain?” I growled, then coughed. Even with my mask on, the taste of ash and smoke filled my mouth.
“I swear we had nothing to do with this. Many of my men are dead over there! Please, let us help keep you safe like we were hired to.”
“I won’t give you the chance to divide us.”
“I will,” Rin interjected. She attempted to stand on her own weight, failed, then closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “There are drones everywhere, but they won’t be able to see clearly enough to tell which one of us is you. We should scramble in plain sight and have every car take alternate routes in case of another attack.”
“My thoughts exactly,” the captain said.
“A lot of good Earther thoughts have done us!” She grimaced in pain from raising her voice. “It’s up to you, Lord Trass. Or we can head straight back to the Cora and get off this rock.”
“We aren’t going back,” I said. “Not yet. Captain, load each car and have your men transport our dead back to my ship. We came here together, and we’ll be leaving that way.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Trass.” He started off toward his men, but I stopped him.
“If you try anything, I’ll have every member of your clan-family across Sol hunted down.”
“When Red Wing takes a contract, we do everything in our power to fulfill it. Now please, sir, let me do my job.”
A thousand different insults bounced around in my head, but I decided just to let him go. If he was planning a hit on me, there was no reason to rile him further, and if he wasn’t, no reason to give him cause to change his mind. A younger version of me wouldn’t have shown such restraint, but I was slowly learning what it took to lead.
Rin moved to start giving orders, but it took only one step for her to grow faint and fall against the car again.
“Get inside and have Aria look at you,” I said. “And when you get a chance, make sure Gareth knows we’re all right. That’s an order.”
I could tell she wanted to protest, but for once, she couldn’t muster the energy. After she was on board, I had my entire squadron of guards shuffle between cars. Fourteen of them were with us now, and since all of them wore sanitary masks, tricking any peeping Earthers would be easy. The most injured remained where they were in the car with Aria and Rin, and after I was sure every one of my people was safe, I prepared to join them.
Titan's Rise: (Children of Titan Book 3) Page 12
