From Ice to Ashes

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “That you were a Trass?”

  “No. That after spending my entire life listening to every word my brother had to say, running, hiding, and taking on names, I could finally have it back. Control something.”

  “No matter how awful it seems.”

  “Great a man as your father was, the one thing he never understood was that he didn’t have to bear the burden of Titan alone. They were never going to be able to keep you hidden forever. Eventually, the truth finds us all.”

  “And a part of me is grateful for everything you’ve told me, but the rest of me—”

  “Would rather live in that moment when all that mattered was kissing a girl. I know. You can hate it now all you like, Kale, but once you realize what it’s like to stand for something, to truly make a difference, you’ll never look back.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I do. I see him in you so clearly. When the time comes, you’ll want more than just to speak for us. It’s why you proposed this plan, and why I was so eager to accept. You’ll want a gun in your hand, leading the charge in the name of Titan, just like he dreamed of doing.” She stared longingly down at the barrel of her rifle. “It’s who we are. We see a chance at giving our people a real home in the face of hardship, and we build an ark to cross space and get to it.”

  With my mind now focused, I noticed the glimmer in her eyes when she spoke of Trass, the austerity of her façade. Our relation to him was more than faith to her. She believed it completely, and for the first time the notion that it might be true really hit me. I could understand why my father had felt the need to bear the burden alone. To hide. They were planet-sized shoes to fill.

  The cargo bay’s door whooshed open and promptly ended our conversation. The four of us immediately hopped to our feet, but Maya raised a finger to shush us. We were behind a row of storage containers, and she peeked around the end of them toward the door. I followed. Two male Ringer workers came strolling in, wearing tidy, Pervenio staff uniforms. Pointed hats rested on their heads, as if they were attending a formal ball in a Pre-Meteorite era.

  “One more meal before we hit Zero G,” one of them grumbled. “Can’t they wait until we dock?”

  “We better be getting paid a full shift for this.”

  “You know we won’t,” the other responded. “ ‘Wasted gas for a weeklong trip is expensive,’ they’ll say.”

  They stopped by a pair of food supply crates and started loading them onto a rolling rack.

  “Fucking Children of Titan. You’d think they realize that they’re just hurting the rest of our wallets?”

  “I don’t think they care.”

  Maya drew her pulse-rifle and leapt out into the aisle. “You’re right,” she said, aiming at them. Our earlier conversation dropped from my mind and I remembered who she was. I hurried out beside her, fearful that she might shoot them, Ringers or not.

  “Don’t move,” I warned them. “Don’t shout.”

  Their hands shot into the air. Their jaws dropped beneath their sanitary masks. They couldn’t get much paler than they already were, but any hint of color fled their cheeks.

  “P…please, don’t shoot,” one of them stuttered.

  That was when I realized I had a rifle of my own aimed at them. I lowered it. Maya stomped forward. “Uniforms off,” she demanded. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

  “Listen to her and you’ll be fine,” I said, hopeful that I wasn’t lying.

  They didn’t wait. Hands shaking, they removed their uniforms down to a pair of crummy boiler-suits you couldn’t get anywhere else but in the Darien Lowers. My eyes darted between them and the barrel of Maya’s rifle the entire time.

  “On the floor,” Maya said once they were undressed. They crumpled their uniforms and placed them down. “Masks and gloves too.” They hesitated for a moment, and then decided to do as she asked and risk exposure. “Good. Now come this way.” She took a step back and beckoned them around the corner. They obeyed, at least until one of them saw my face up close. He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost.

  “By Trass, it’s you,” he marveled. “Kale D—”

  Maya cracked him across the head with the butt of her rifle, knocking him out. Gareth did the same to the other.

  “Maya, what are you doing!” I whispered sharply.

  “Two walked in,” she replied. “Only two can walk out. Now get dressed.”

  She approached their uniforms, but I tugged on her arm. “What are you going to do to them?”

  “Hide them. Or do you have a better idea?” I didn’t. She pulled away from me and picked up a uniform. “From now on you’re a servant on the”—she paused and read the tag printed above the chest—“Ring Skipper…”

  “What kind of name is that?” Vick laughed.

  “An Earther one. Now help Kale with his armor. There’s no time to waste.”

  Vick appeared behind me and started removing my suit. Gareth helped Maya. Vick waited until the top half was folded down over my torso before somehow switching off its power. The tiny needles in my back and chest slid out. I instantly fell to my knees, finding that I had to work to draw breath again. The weight of the suit, in combination with my weak natural muscles, was too much to handle. Vick forced me onto my ass and freed my legs.

  “It’ll take some time to get used to,” he said. “The G-pill we took should help.”

  He drew me to my feet, and then let go without warning. I stumbled forward, legs feeling like jelly as the gravity of Saturn’s upper atmosphere pulled on them. I had to lean against the row of containers in order to make my way over to the uniforms. Maya held one of them in front of her face, grimacing.

  “Not sure you can pass as a man,” Vick remarked.

  “Lucky for us they think we all look the same,” she replied. “Get dressed.”

  Getting it on all by myself was like exercising with heavy weights. I had to take it one exhausted arm at a time for the top half, and sit to shove my wobbly legs into the pant-legs. I was breathing heavily by the end of it.

  I patted the man’s pocket to find he had only an ID card with him. Then I lifted his sanitary mask. The idea of putting someone else’s on was revolting. I washed off both the mask and the man’s gloves in a service sink.

  I glanced back at Maya as I snapped the mask over my mouth. I’d never seen her out of her bulky armor before. She was excessively skinny, no doubt from having survived on a limited amount of ration bars for so long. Her elbows protruded like beads along a string. The uniform fell loose over her chest so that it was impossible to tell if she had breasts, though not that many Ringer women were well endowed in that area. A sanitary mask covered the worst region of her facial scars, which actually made her pleasant to look at, though I couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of her hair drawn into a bun and hiding beneath a pointed service hat. The trappings of civilian life didn’t suit her.

  “You look gorgeous,” Vick cackled as he dragged one of the unconscious bodies across the floor.

  “Shut up,” she snapped, cheeks a light shade of pink.

  “Seriously. Forget your sister. I might take a run at you when this is all over.”

  “Shut up!”

  He snickered, but kept his mouth shut.

  “So now what?” I asked as I put on a pair of gloves.

  “We need a hand-terminal,” she said.

  “You didn’t have any on the Sunfire?”

  “None that still work. You think you’ll be able to steal one?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Unless you’d rather break into the command deck. Mazrah’s taught me a few tricks, so I should be able to relay a message to her through their com array without them realizing.”

  I smiled. “Finally you pick something I’m good at.”

  “All right then—let’s go. The kitchen is expecting our delivery.”

  “You two don’t take long,” Vick said. Gareth held open a tall storage container while V
ick stuffed one of the bodies in. “Once we hit Zero G you’ll be expected in restraints.”

  “We won’t. If anybody else comes through that door—”

  Vick finished with the body and slapped the container on the side. “Give them a shiny box just like these two. I know.”

  —

  Maya and I emerged from the cargo bay, pushing the rack that the Ringer staff had prepared for us. We kept our heads down on the way out, wary of surveillance despite our disguises. A crimson carpet with gold-colored frills extended down the center of a gracious hallway. Wonderfully elaborate faux-wood moldings ran along the edges of the tall, white, paneled ceiling, hiding thin air recycler vents pumping in unpleasantly warm air. Golden pendant lights hung from it, high enough for even the tallest Ringer to pass comfortably.

  Maya whispered something to me as we rolled along, but I was too distracted to hear her. “Kale,” she said when I didn’t answer right away.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “We have to remember to follow every order we’re given,” she repeated. She stared straight ahead, focused on our task and not fazed in the slightest by the most luxurious space I’d ever entered…and it was only a hallway.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m used to having a captain.”

  “I’m not worried about you.”

  We turned at the first branch in the hallway. It looked the same.

  “Do you have any idea where you’re going?” I asked.

  “Not at all, but they do.”

  Two Earther security officers appeared from around another corner a ways down. They weren’t freelance like John and his team. These were legitimate Pervenio Officers, in full armor and regalia, armed with guns and the newest in shock-baton technology. Seeing one again made me cringe as I remembered what the lit end felt like.

  “Aye, you two!” one of them hollered. “Get those back to the kitchen now. We’ve got hungry customers.”

  “Staff is stretched thin,” Maya said. “They sent us to grab this, but we haven’t ever worked the kitchen.”

  “I hate when they shuffle in new help.” The officer rolled her eyes. “This way now.”

  They rushed by, and Maya and I exchanged a nod before turning the cart to follow behind them. She was smart. Once we had our uniforms on, no Earther security officer would know who or where we were supposed to be.

  We rounded another corner and soon approached an ornamental door clad with more fake wood. As we got close, I actually started to wonder if it was the real thing. The officers held it open for us.

  “Unload quickly. Servers are already sending out the first course.”

  We rolled the cart into a sweltering room encased in shiny metal. Stoves and other kitchen appliances were steaming. Voices of a dozen chefs and prep-men yammered in every direction. The latter were mostly Ringers, too invested in chopping ingredients to notice us.

  “Finally!” a stout Earther I assumed was the head chef exclaimed. He lumbered around an oven over to us, wearing a scowl and a ridiculously tall, white hat. “These people paid good money not to wait. Next time you’ll be paying for it.”

  His thumbprint unlocked each container. They opened with a refrain of hisses and steam, revealing more frozen slabs of meat in vacuum-sealed bags. Each one bore the emblem of Pervenio Corp alongside addresses of the industrial animal farms on Earth they’d come from.

  “Start unloading, Ringers!”

  Maya held her tongue, and we got to work tossing the meat onto a counter manned by a Ringer prep-man who transferred them into zap-defrosters. They were then passed along to chefs to be heated in tremendous industrial ovens. It was an extremely efficient kitchen. The security officers observing from the corner kept everyone focused.

  None of the slabs of meat were very heavy, but by the time we emptied every container my arms burnt with soreness. Sweat poured down my forehead. I was preparing to lean against the wall and take a break when there was a clank.

  One of the prep-men dropped a plate, and before he could apologize the head chef backhanded him across the face. The Ringer flew into a counter, the edge of it slamming him in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. The entire kitchen went silent for a moment, but when the head chef turned his attention back to the food, everyone else promptly did the same.

  Maya’s hands squeezed into tight fists. I prepared myself for the worst, and then someone slapped a finished plate down on our rack. On it was a steak, cooked to perfection and served beside the greenest spread of steamed vegetables I’d ever seen in my life. Then came another plate, and another, until the cart was full.

  “What’re you two standing around for? Tables are waiting!” the head chef yelled at us.

  We rolled the rack toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. Another pair of Ringer staff appeared with an empty rack right behind us. It was difficult to focus on pushing with the fantastic aromas wafting right in front of my nose. I wasn’t sure what smell was what, since I’d never experienced food like this, but it sure beat salt and molten metal. I immediately regretted having gotten a job on a gas harvester and not a luxury cruiser.

  “You see any terminals in there?” Maya asked.

  “None,” I said, though I hadn’t exactly been paying attention. The hubbub of an active kitchen was hard to ignore.

  We emerged into the ship’s galley. Or rather, dining room—it was much too grand and seated far too many people to be a galley. The gentle, harmonious melody of string instruments played through hidden speakers. Hundreds of Earthers sat at round tables with frilly tablecloths draped over the tops. The tall ceiling was coffered, and I had no doubt that the rich-colored wood it was made of had been cut from real trees. Sparkling chandeliers fell from it in equal intervals, dozens of crystal arms arcing away from their centers.

  The hallways of the cruiser were nothing. This was now the most ostentatious room I’d ever visited in my life by far, and the sight gave even Maya pause upon entry. Massive paintings on the pearly walls hung above a molded, wooden trim. At first I thought they were prints, but the brushstrokes had texture. I didn’t even know people painted anymore. They were landscapes from ancient Earth, a place nobody would ever see after the Meteorite struck. Blue skies, green pastures—they’d all gone away soon after Trass fled.

  Countless Earthers glowered at the food on our rack as if we weren’t there. They appeared famished. Judging by the width of their stomachs, they didn’t know what real hunger was.

  I nodded to Maya, and she returned the gesture. We rolled the rack forward and began serving plates to each patron. They cracked their stubby fingers and licked their lips, prepared for a delicious meal. Forks clanked, knives sawed, and all I could focus on were the sounds of teeth chomping on thick slices of meat. Earthers slurped down drinks fashioned with genuine alcohol, poured by additional Ringer staff. They laughed and reveled, celebrating the mere fact that they existed.

  It was unsettling. At first I wanted to grab a plate and gobble up its contents in front of them, but the more we served the more I just wanted to shove it down their throats. To watch them choke on portions so excessive they could’ve fed an entire level of the Lowers for days. Armed security officers posted all around the room made doing any of that impossible. They weren’t watching out for patrons getting too drunk and disorderly—they were keeping an eye on us to make sure we didn’t attempt to sneak some of the good food.

  “Hey, Ringer!” a customer shouted to Maya after we served his table. He was so fat his jowls bounced as he talked. A stream of red juice from his steak stained his chin, and he raised the piece of the meat stuck on his fork for us to see. “I thought I told the kitchen I wanted it well-done.”

  Maya froze.

  “Are you deaf?” he continued.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what that means,” she replied, with an edge to her tone that made me nervous.

  The Earther cackled, bits of food spewing out of his mouth. The others seated at his table covered their mouths to hide their laugh
ter. “Well, how about you get me someone who does. Or better yet, take this bleeding shit back and get me a new one!” His fork clanged against the plate and then he shoved it toward us.

  Maya remained silent. I could see her fingers twitching. Three years on a gas harvester, far from civilization, and she was ready to explode.

  “There a problem over here?” a security officer asked, arriving seemingly out of nowhere. His hand rested securely on the handle of his shock-baton.

  “Yeah,” the fat Earther growled. “This one won’t take my plate back. I didn’t order it like this.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, jumping forward. “I’ve got it.”

  I hurried over to take the plate, and as I did I noticed a rectangular lump in the man’s pocket. My heart started racing like it always did when I reached the object of a job. I positioned my back so that the officer’s view was obstructed. With my left hand I picked up the plate, purposefully allowing the loose fork to fall to the floor to distract the Earther. As I bent over to retrieve it, my right hand slipped into the pocket of his fancy tunic. His chubby leg made it a tight fit, even for my fingers, but it also likely mitigated some of his sensation.

  “Sorry about the mistake, sir,” I said, feigning all the pleasantries of a proper servant.

  He snorted and folded his arms on top of his belly. “Fix it.” His breath reeked of alcohol, a fact I hoped would keep him from noticing anything was missing until we were long gone.

  When I returned to the cart, plate in hand, his hand-terminal was stuffed securely into the waistband of my pants beneath my shirt. The officer moved along, and I nudged Maya to remind her to focus so we could finish our mission.

  We emptied the cart, and then returned to the kitchen. We didn’t get far before our rack was topped off with additional plates, each of them bearing a triangular slice of something white and creamy. I’m not sure what it was, but the fragrance was so sweet it was nauseating.

  “I don’t know if I can handle another round,” Maya grumbled.