Titan's Rise: (Children of Titan Book 3)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Aria was halfway through getting the word “thank” out when Madame Venta stormed away. I didn’t get to see her expression but judging by the way the bottom of her dress whipped around to keep up with her, I could only imagine. Millions of people worked for Venta Co., and I knew that any of them who’d ever spoken to her like I had were probably floating through space without a suit.

  “Right this way, Ri… Titanborns,” Karl said. The other brother snickered. “That still what you people like being called?”

  Rin drew herself so close to him that he couldn’t miss the rippling edges of her scars peeking over the top of her sanitary mask. “Why don’t you try the other word, and we’ll find out,” she said.

  He nearly choked on his next breath. “Titanborn, of course. Just making sure. R—right this way.”

  I had two of my men retrieve the dead Cogent to bring with us, and then Rin, Aria, the guards, and I followed Madame Venta’s sons in. The Venta officers had to wait on the landing pad while we strolled right in with weapons, armor, and a corpse. None of the USF officers posted in the upper lobby said a word either.

  “That went relatively well,” Aria whispered into my ear.

  The corners of my lips curled into a grin—not forced like it had been countless times since we took Titan, but a genuine smile. Madame Venta surely had sway, but to me, it seemed like they were finally taking us seriously.

  Ten

  Malcolm

  I burst through the front door of the Twilight Sun. I’d kept my cool since discovering Wai’s body, but inside, my blood boiled.

  “There you are, Haglin!” Yan Ning shouted as he scurried out from behind the bar. The place was busier than I’d ever seen it, with at least half the tables filled and most of the bar. Every eye was fixed on the news feeds, which he’d somewhat managed to return to working order. “You’ve got some nerve running off at a time like this. I should—”

  “Where the hell are they?” I growled, stunning him into silence.

  “You… huh? Where’s who?”

  “Those Venta officers. Where’d they go?” Trevor and his cronies were nowhere to be seen.

  “Probably to do their jobs.” I peeked into a few booths just to make sure. Yan Ning followed me around. “Speaking of, I can’t deal with any more slip-ups. I don’t care who you are, this is your last warning.”

  I drew open the last booth. Two offworlders were busy humping inside; she in a dress and him with his drawers down. I startled them so bad they knocked heads and spilled two glasses of synthahol all over the floor. The two degenerates scurried past us and out the door. Calamity sure did bring out the best in people.

  “Haglin, you hear that?” Yan Ning said.

  I ignored him. I checked my holster to make sure everything was in the right place, then brushed by Yan Ning. He grabbed my arm a bit too aggressively and was lucky I didn’t rip his hand off.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he questioned. “You’re still on the clock.”

  “You know how many worthless sacks of meat like you I’ve stuffed in a cell on Mars? You touch me again, I’ll make sure yours is on Pluto.”

  Nothing else needed to be said. He backed away, completely flabbergasted. All those weeks of ignoring what I might really be and the truth must have hit him like a hovercar. He returned to the bar so fast, he knocked over a few bottles.

  “You can’t stay upstairs if you don’t work, Haglin,” he shouted after me as I neared the exit. “You’ll pay full rent!”

  I reached into my pocket and removed the key card. I dropped it in the entry and continued on my way. I couldn’t say where I’d spend the night, nor did I care. The search for information often brought me to corners darker than the Twilight Sun’s, and I didn’t plan to sleep until I found what I needed.

  I had a refurbished hand-terminal, but with all my old Pervenio contacts lost, it was of little use to me. The news feeds wouldn’t say anything substantial about what happened until the perpetrator was found and the truth could be spun in such a way that it appeased most parties. I had to do things the old-fashioned way. Since it was still daytime and many of the Old Dome workers in the city were out at the factories dotting Mars, I knew just where to start.

  The worst part about a bombing in New Beijing was that Venta Security shut down the Redline. That meant crossing the Tongueway on foot. The crowds were smaller than usual as people hid in their homes, but every step was a reminder of the artificial limb I didn’t want. One thing the doc never told me was that walking with one leg I couldn’t feel meant the other felt everything. No matter how much I exercised it, which admittedly wasn’t much, the muscles got sore fast. From my thigh to my foot. I couldn’t even tell which side I was favoring anymore, but whatever I was doing, it was wrong.

  It didn’t matter. After I found the bastard responsible for pulverizing Wai into a puddle on the sidewalk, I could get back to retirement. There were dozens more hole-in-the-wall bars like the Twilight Sun waiting for a gun for hire in Old Dome.

  I stopped outside of a Venta security outpost halfway down the Tongueway. They’d filled out a small shop connected to a Redline station. There were posts nearer to the Twilight Sun, but this one was special. For starters, I knew the captain, and it wasn’t Trevor. If I found him, I knew I’d wind up doing something I’d regret.

  A few drunks and strung-out offworlders were sprinkled around the lobby. Otherwise, it was empty. With Kale on Mars and the bombing, most officers would be heading to the security headquarters or USF Assembly Building. They had more important things to do than clean up sewer trash.

  News feeds on viewscreens hanging from the ceiling played for nobody. I did my best to ignore them. The talking heads were at it again, speculating about who could be behind the attack to a backdrop of grainy footage taken by reporters who couldn’t get close. I didn’t want my instincts tainted by the musings of people saying what whoever paid their bills wanted them to say.

  “Is Captain Harris in?” I asked the window attendant. She was kicked back at her desk, boots up on the table and basically taking a nap while she watched something on her terminal’s screen. Sounded more like an entertainment program than a newsfeed.

  “Depends who’s asking,” she replied without looking up.

  “Malcolm Graves. Tell him I’ve got a business proposition.”

  She hopped on the coms, voice as dreary as could be. You’d think the city was in perfect shape. Nothing more boring for a low-level security desk clerk like her than a crisis period.

  “He’s not interested,” she said.

  “Tell him I’d rather not hop on my hand-terminal and mention Mannekin to anyone,” I replied.

  “Don’t you know what’s going on out there? We’re busy.”

  I glanced to my side. A salt sniffer coughed and decided to sprawl out across a line of empty seats. “It sure looks like it. Just tell him.”

  If a subordinate had rolled her eyes like she did while I was still a collector, I’d have had her ass shipped to an asteroid colony. I couldn’t stand ineptitude. It slowed things down, and in my line of work, that was the difference between taking down a killer and him squeaking off a few extra shots.

  “He said come in,” she finally answered, only seconds before I considered taking my shiny new leg and shoving it through the door myself.

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  An officer at the entry confiscated my gun and then let me through. As a collector, even from a rival corporation, I once could flash my badge, and lowly officers wouldn’t dare touch me. Now I stayed quiet and tried not to draw attention.

  The outpost’s bullpen wasn’t big enough to fit more than a few desks. They were half empty, their officers off patrolling. Exposed water pipes rattled beneath the plasticrete ceiling. A few signs for what used to be a noodle shop still clung to the walls. Tiny outposts like this in the heart of Old Dome weren’t used for more than ringing up miscreants like the ones inside. Minor offenders.
Drug addicts. I guess Venta didn’t think putting any credits toward looking appealing to those people was worth it.

  That was one difference between Venta Co. and my old employer. Luxarn always ensured that anything visible to the public had a polished coat. A waste of credits at times, probably, but he was a perfectionist. He never wanted people to see the rust filling Sol, but instead, be constantly reminded of how far humanity had come despite the apocalypse.

  “Graves,” Captain Harris grumbled from inside his cramped office, as if I’d stirred him from a nap. Considering his legs were up on his desk and he was staring at the ceiling, I probably had. “I thought I was done with you.”

  He had a jaw like an anvil, but it didn’t account for much. The rest of him was wrinkled and world-weary. Unkempt hair he’d never combed in his life. He was probably older than me and was happy never to advance any further than where he was. Typical Venta Co. rubbish.

  “So did I.” I plopped down in the seat across from him and made myself comfortable. There wasn’t even a porthole inside the office, and a leaky pipe relentlessly dripped onto the edge of his desk, far too close to his console for comfort, like he cared.

  “Sure, come right in,” he said. “What is it, Graves? I heard about the trouble you caused the other night. Collectors? If you’re here thinking I can get them off your back, you’re even stupider than I thought.”

  “Oh, come on, Harris. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  “I don’t have time for your games today,” he said.

  “I need a favor.”

  “I thought we already made things even when I got you that ID you’re carrying, no questions asked.”

  “Something came up,” I said.

  “Something always does.” He kicked down his feet. “Let’s hear it. I’m in the mood for a good laugh.”

  “I need access to the Venta reports about the bombing. Not the bullshit on the news feeds. The real intel.”

  “And I want to retire to a penthouse in New London. Unfortunately, Graves, I like my job. As far as I’m concerned, we’re already square, so why don’t you find another officer to screw over.”

  “But I like you.”

  “Too bad.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “How about I put a call in to one of the reporters I know,” I said. “I’m sure they’d love to find out about a security captain selling illegitimates to a mad scientist and keeping the credits.” It happened almost a decade back when a deranged lunatic named Lucas Mannekin was trying to turn people into organic androids. I knew Harris was too lazy to ever find something on me to make us even, so I’d been using him to get what little bits of Venta Co. intel he knew ever since.

  He bit his lip in frustration for a few seconds, then slammed his fist on his desk. “Do it, then. You think they’re going to care anymore with what’s going on out there? Fire one of their most experienced captains while Kale Trass and the Ringer circus are in town? Please, Graves, just leave and save yourself the humiliation.”

  “My humiliation?”

  “Sure.” He reached down, drew a pulse pistol, and aimed it at my chest. “You say a word, and I’ll have my men bury you so deep in the sewers, even you won’t be able to crawl out.”

  Now I was fuming. I had learned on Titan that you can only push somebody so far, but I never expected any resistance from Harris. Mostly I was angry that I was foolish enough not to put up more of a ruckus before discarding my firearm. I was rusty.

  “You’re going to pull a gun on me?” I said.

  “I did some digging around after I had that ID pulled for you. Turns out you aren’t a collector anymore at all. And with all the shit Pervenio Corp’s going through, I don’t think they’d waste much effort helping a washed-up gun like you. So, how’s about you get the hell out, and we pretend none of this ever happened.” He stood and made his way to the door, keeping his sights trained on me the entire way.

  “Do you really want to test that?” I asked.

  “Test what?”

  “That Mr. Pervenio won’t care.” I stood and glared straight into his eyes as I brought myself close enough that the barrel of his pistol pressed into my chest. “Go on, give it a try. You think I’m not still working for him because some leaks on the darknet might say so? With what’s happening, we’re not running things the same way. No more badges or titles. Undercover.”

  “You’re full of shit.” He tried to sound confident, but a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth told all. The seeds of doubt were planted.

  I moved closer. His pistol dug into my sternum so hard it hurt. “Then pull the trigger and put us both out of our misery.”

  His jaw grated and his lips pursed while he considered his next move. Finally, he lowered his firearm and sighed. “Maybe there’s a little something I can do to help you,” he said as he returned to his seat.

  Now that was the Captain Harris I knew. Never eager to go above and beyond. Always happy to take the path of least resistance. “I knew you were smart,” I said. “All I need to know is who was behind the bombing.”

  “If I knew that, they’d be handing me a medal. The headquarters and collectors are still investigating.” He started typing on his terminal with one hand. Whether he was intentionally going so slowly just to piss me off or was really that lazy, I wasn’t sure.

  “Surveillance feeds?”

  “You think I get to see that? Only whatever footage the news managed to grab, which I’ll tell you wasn’t much. All drones that weren’t synced to ours or the Red Wing headquarters were downed for safety concerns.”

  “Lot of good that did. Well, you give me what you do have, and there’ll be some credits in it for you on the backend. Say, ten percent?” He perked up immediately. Of course, it was a lie, but the promise of being paid figured to be enough to keep him quiet for long enough to find another fake name.

  “What kind of pie are we talking about?”

  “One hundred thousand credits. Luxarn has interest in being first to bring in whoever was responsible for this morning. While everyone else is focused on securing the meeting, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “You won’t be the only collector hunting.”

  “No, but I’ll be the best one. So, Captain, what can you tell me?”

  He keyed a few more commands and squinted at the screen. “I can tell you that whoever set off the bomb bungled it if they were aiming for Kale.”

  “So the boy king survived?”

  “Not a scratch,” he said. “Only two Ringers actually wound up dead. Most of the casualties were civilians and Red Wing men. Plus, there’s a Venta director in the morgue.”

  “Director?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “You want more, you’re going to twist the arm of someone with higher access than me.”

  “I won’t push my luck.” I stood. “You’ve been a great help, Captain.”

  “Ten percent, Graves. If I find out you got the bastard and I don’t see my credits, I’ll be sure to tell those collectors exactly where to find you.”

  “You’ll be rewarded as soon as I am.”

  His grin stretched from ear to ear. He said, “As usual, it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Always. Now get that damn leak fixed,” I grumbled before heading out of the room.

  It wasn’t exactly a lead, but the information opened plenty of possibilities. Who would purposely attack Red Wing, Venta, and the Ringers all together? My old employer was the obvious answer, but even in his flustered state, Luxarn wouldn’t be so sloppy. If he wanted Kale dead, he’d make sure he went for him alone and not risk worsening relations with rival corporations, considering how dire things were for Pervenio Corp. So who could it be? Had the Children of Titan played their sleight-of-hand game again? Sacrifice two of their kind to draw our attention while they were up to something far worse?

  I would have killed for access t
o the surveillance logs from the Venta and Red Wing drones, but that would take time I didn’t have. Dedicated or not, there’d be collectors on the job with a hell of a lot more resources than I had. If I wanted to find Wai’s killer and give whoever it was what they really deserved, I’d have to work fast.

  It was the afternoon by the time my gun was finally returned to me, and I departed the Venta security post. Captain Harris’s one last gift was having his officers dig through holding for the weapon at the speed of a slug caught in a snowstorm.

  Things in Old Dome were starting to pick up. Not like usual, with so many citizens scared by the bombing, but that was the perfect time to find whoever I was after. Most of security remained in the upper city where people mattered, so all the gangs and streetwalkers had the run of things.

  It was only when I stepped into the first cathouse on my list in the heart of the Tongueway that I realized I hadn’t been so sober this late in the day since I left Luxarn Pervenio’s office on Undina. That was why my human leg was so sore; there was nothing to dull the pain. I didn’t mind. It kept me focused.

  The average career of a streetwalker wasn’t long, so most of my old informants were either already dead or lost in the slums. I spotted a dealer in an alley by a popular Red Wing casino who had somebody sneaking up to him for a fix every couple of minutes. A low-level slinger wouldn’t know anything, but with that kind of traffic, he must have had access to the newest stuff—Titan’s foundry salts. I could thank Kale for that treat. Ever since he took over the Ring, tons of Titan’s chosen narcotic had found their way to Earther worlds like he was giving it away.

  Addicts were only ever after a newer, better high, and the gangs of Old Dome were happy to oblige. It was a constantly shifting landscape of villainy. Corps shut them down, and they sprang up with new names and markings, but it was always the same scum. Hell, half the time I was convinced they were backed by corporate directors that only turned on the leaders when things got too hot.