Titanborn

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “These days we all feel like one and the same,” I said. I placed my hand on his leg and nodded to him. “But all right, Zhaff. Let’s make them pay then. Helmets on!”

  Zhaff nodded back, and we reached down, picked up our helmets from the rack beneath our seats, and placed them over our heads. The other officers on board did the same. We were all wearing Pervenio-issued, spaceworthy armored suits, so I heard a gentle hiss as the seal formed around my neck. After that, the only thing I could hear was my own steady breathing.

  “Coms check,” I said. The com-link built into each suit connected our entire squad with one another and to Director Sodervall if he needed to make contact.

  “I’m a go,” each officer answered individually.

  “I can hear you,” Zhaff said last.

  “The Piccolo’s cargo bay ramp is sealed,” the pilot announced, his voice now directly beside my ear. “I’m going to back up against it. Prepare to breach.”

  My stomach jumped suddenly as the ship banked around hard. The force would’ve tossed me clear across the cabin, but restraints wrapped around my chest held me tight against my seat. I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored the pain pulling at my sides. A few seconds later we straightened out, and all my innards did the same. I released a mouthful of air and set my restraints to release.

  “I’m opening up,” the pilot said. “Switch on oxygen.”

  I hit a button built into the wrist of my suit. I couldn’t feel the change, but I knew the small amount of oxygen woven into the suit could be the difference between life and death out in the heart of space. This wasn’t my first time breaching a rogue vessel.

  The cabin depressurized, and then the rear hatch popped open. I used the bars along the ceiling to pull my weightless body over toward the starless maw. Spotlights from the transport turned and shone their light ahead of me, revealing the hull of what I assumed was the Piccolo. A row of grated ducts stuck out from its sides like the keys of a piano, connected to tremendous pumps used to siphon gas out of Saturn’s atmosphere and into vats inside to be refined and sorted. All of it was rusting, and appeared to date back to a time before I was born; before the Earthers ever even reunited with the Ring. Director Sodervall wasn’t exaggerating when he said the thing was old.

  “Hold on,” the pilot said.

  Bow thrusters had us gradually reversing toward it. I grabbed hold of the ceiling as tightly as I could. The back of our ship slammed into it so hard that my tired arms gave out and I lost my grip. Everything seems to move a lot slower in the vastness of space. I flew forward, but before my helmet smashed into the side of the Piccolo someone grasped the back of my suit and drew me back.

  “I told you, you should have exercised,” Zhaff said.

  His voice was flat as ever when he spoke, but it was actually the kind of remark I knew I might say in a similar situation. I hoped maybe I was rubbing off on him. I turned my head and glanced back at him. All I could see through his visor and bulbous helmet was the yellow glare of his eye-lens. It made him look like some manner of ridiculous, mythical Cyclops.

  “That’s what you’re here for,” I said. “Okay, boys. Light this thing up.”

  A short, ribbed tube extended from the back of the ship and formed a seal with the Piccolo. The process released a whistling sound so shrill it made me wince even through my helmet. When that finished, one of the officers floated forward with a fusion cutter in his hand. The blade of heat it emitted was so intense that it had to be powered by our transport’s engines in order to operate.

  It took a hell of a lot of energy to cut through the dense hull of a gas harvester, no matter how old it was. They had to be built to withstand the tempestuous atmosphere of Saturn, and wind speeds during storms that could tear a man’s limbs from their sockets. Sparks flew out as the officer cut a wide circle. When he was done a chunk of the Piccolo came loose and was pushed inward, leaving behind an orange ring of smoldering, molten metal for us to pass through one at a time.

  “How appropriate,” I murmured under my breath as I stared at the opening.

  “What was that, Malcolm?” Zhaff asked.

  “Nothing. Weapons ready. Let’s go.”

  The three officers pulled their weightless bodies through first, pulse-rifles at their hips. They used the chunk of the ship’s hull as a shield in case an ambush was waiting for us. Zhaff went next and I followed, until all five of us were floating somewhere in its cargo bay. The inside of the Piccolo was completely dark.

  “Zhaff, oxygen levels?” I said.

  He raised his hand-terminal and keyed a few commands. “Breathable.”

  I reached up, switched off my air supply, and drew my visor all the way back. The warm, stale air was completely stagnant, which let me know that the air recyclers weren’t functioning. Eventually the oxygen would run out.

  “Spotters on,” I whispered, my voice now escaping my helmet. I placed mine on through the opening where my visor had been, and switched them to thermal. The cargo bay remained completely empty of heat signatures.

  “On,” everyone but Zhaff replied. Of course with his eye-lens he didn’t need spotters. To be honest a part of me figured he could see through walls with the thing.

  Zhaff tapped me on the shoulder and motioned forward. I nodded.

  “Magnetize,” I said. I hit a button on my suit next to my oxygen, and my boots were slowly drawn to the metal floor. They were charged with a small magnetic force, not enough to walk properly, but enough to keep me anchored after every extended step. It was similar to walking under the natural conditions of Luna, only the rest of my body still felt completely weightless.

  The rest of the squad did the same, and we moved ahead through the cargo bay with long, bouncing strides. My pistol was raised, and the daunting quiet had me on edge. Other than our magnet-induced footsteps, the only sound filling the Piccolo was the gentle purring of its engines. Then I heard a clank.

  “Fuck!” one of the officers yelped.

  “What is it?” I questioned.

  Another officer switched on the flashlight built onto the barrel of his gun. A series of large pallets filled with harvesting canisters sat against the walls. Thousands of liters of flammable gases all around us. The officer had banged his knee on one canister and it was still reverberating.

  “Everyone watch your step,” I said. “We release one of those and we’ll all be cooked.”

  “We must reach the ship’s command deck,” Zhaff said. “Any rebel combatants or surviving members of the crew are wanted alive if possible.”

  “Good luck with that, freak,” the officer who banged his knee remarked. “I see one of these Ringer fucks, I’m putting them down.”

  I reached back and grabbed him by the shoulder. “He’s right,” I growled. “We’re here for information. One stray shot and this thing will go up in flames. Shoot to wound and only if you have to. Those are Director Sodervall’s orders, so unless you want to take it up with him when we get back, you’ll listen.”

  Regardless of how much Zhaff could irritate me, he was right, and I knew his report would reach the ears of Director Sodervall. I was trying not to screw up what was now my third opportunity to prove my worth in as many months. Plus, it didn’t seem right that anybody but me could talk to my partner like that.

  The officer grunted in response, but I could tell I’d gotten through to him and the others. They’d likely never heard my name—it wasn’t part of a collector’s duty to earn fame enough to be feared—but they knew what I was. Any collector who’d served as long as I had held considerably more clout than an officer or guard. They’d probably never even had the opportunity to utter anything more to a director than the word sir.

  “All right, Zhaff and I will head for the command deck,” I said. “You three take the engine room. Gaining complete control of the ship is our highest priority. Remember, watch those trigger fingers. Com’s open.” The Pervenio officers went in the opposite direction at the first branch in the hall, leaving Z
haff and me to continue on our own. I turned to him. “You got the ship schematics?”

  “Memorized,” he said.

  “Why am I not surprised? You lead then.”

  Zhaff moved in front of me, and we started off down the dark passage. I decided after a few steps that my spotters weren’t working for me. Waiting for heat signatures to pop up in a warren of winding corridors would only lead to me making mistakes. I preferred to see out of my own two eyes when I could.

  “Screw this thing,” I said as I removed the device and switched on the small flashlight fixed to the top of my pulse-pistol. “I’ll leave the signatures to you. I’m going basic.”

  It might’ve revealed our positions, but our magnetized footsteps were the loudest sound in range so it didn’t matter much. With the flashlight I could better see the condition of the ship. Much of the circuitry and systems were left exposed through the grated walls and floors. I noticed a spot of blood on one pipe from which hot steam poured through a narrow gash.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Why turn everything off?”

  “It is possible the broadcast utilized a great deal of energy,” Zhaff answered.

  “I guess so—” As the words left my lips a male Ringer soared sideways across the hall ahead of us. “Freeze!” I barked.

  “Don’t shoot!” the Ringer whimpered. He grabbed hold of the wall and raised his free arm. It was shaking.

  “Turn around slowly,” Zhaff said.

  As the man turned his head, I shone my light in his face. A sanitary mask covered his mouth, but it was covered with blood as if he’d had his nose broken and his eyes were rife with terror. He held out his hands; they were empty.

  “Please, I didn’t do this,” the Ringer said.

  “Quiet!” I ordered. “Get on the ground now and you won’t be harmed.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He extended his arms, grabbed hold of the grated floor, and pulled himself down, looking like quite a pro when it came to being detained. That was a common thing for Ringers from the lower wards on Titan, where learning how to steal food was a crucial part of staying alive.

  “Cuff him,” I told Zhaff.

  Zhaff got behind him and held him down against the floor so he could bind his wrists with a band of fiber-wire. “Are there any militants remaining on board?” he questioned.

  “I…I don’t know,” the Ringer stuttered. “They switched all the lights off and disappeared. I swear, we didn’t do anything!”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Zhaff assured.

  “Don’t try to make a move,” I said to the Ringer. He nodded vigorously and Zhaff lifted off him. His weightless body started to drift upward, but without his hands he would be completely useless at escaping.

  I switched on my com-link. “We’ve encountered our first member of the crew,” I said. “He was unarmed.”

  “Us, too,” one of the officers responded in my ear. “He’s…alive,” he added with a grumble.

  I tapped Zhaff on the shoulder and he continued forward. He turned left at the next branch in the corridor. My magnetized boots brushed across a large patch of blood splattered on the floor. It was still fresh enough to rub off on the soles.

  “I guess not everyone got into that air lock alive,” I whispered to Zhaff.

  Zhaff stopped moving and knelt. He ran his gloved finger through the grooves of what appeared to be bullet-induced dents on a nearby pipe. “Doubtful,” he said. “The attackers used non-lethal rounds.”

  “How generous of them. So nobody got to miss out on their little show.”

  “It was a message,” Zhaff clarified.

  “Trust me, I know. I’ve seen plenty like it, though usually they target officers or soldiers, not innocents.”

  “The harvesting of Saturn’s gases is vital to expansion. Removing one ship, no matter how outdated, will cost Pervenio Corp greatly.”

  “Not to mention make Venta Co’s efforts around Jupiter seem far safer to invest in,” I realized. “I’ll give them this, these Children of Titan sure did their homework.”

  Something moved behind us. I whipped around quick enough to see someone’s foot disappear around the corner. I went to follow it, but Zhaff grabbed my arm and shook his head. “Ignore it. That Ringer is unarmed. The command deck is close.”

  We walked until the corridor we were in ended at a sealed door. The screen on the console adjacent to it was blinking red with the word ERROR.

  “Locked,” I groaned. “Naturally.”

  “One moment,” Zhaff said.

  He knelt in front of the console and drew out his hand-terminal. He held it up to the screen and typed furiously in order to hack the controls. After a few seconds he signed the door to slide into the ceiling, and before either of us could do anything the air in the corridor rushed through the opening into the command deck, heaving Zhaff and me out with it. The room had a dome-shaped viewport for a ceiling, but its structural members were splayed open, exposing it to space.

  I grabbed on to the floor with my off hand before I was sucked through the breach. Somehow Zhaff managed to seal the door behind us, halting the change in pressure and allowing the vacuous conditions of space to take hold. I quickly set my visor to close before I suffocated and switched on my limited oxygen supply.

  “Forgive me, Malcolm,” Zhaff said into the com-link. “The door was too dense and I could not get a reading of this space to know it was ruptured.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. I swung my feet around so that my magnetized boots would cling to the metal floor. As I did I noticed that someone else was holding on to the floor by the ship’s command console.

  “Don’t move!” I shouted before realizing that the Ringer couldn’t hear me with my helmet sealed.

  Zhaff pushed off the back wall and darted over my head. He perched on the captain’s chair and aimed his gun down at the person. Whoever it was, they were also in a space suit, and their helmet turned slowly to see him. I shone my flashlight on the area as quickly as I could. Through the visor I could see it was a young girl, probably in her late teens, with a pale Ringer face and hair so blond it could’ve been silver. I immediately noticed she had something clutched in her hand.

  “Hand!” I shouted into the com-link.

  Without hesitating Zhaff grabbed the girl by the forearm and slammed it into the edge of a command console. The device, which appeared to be little more than an older model hand-terminal, floated out from her fingers. Zhaff promptly snatched it and placed it in his belt. Then he yanked her away from the command console and pointed to the sealed entrance.

  I turned around and heaved myself toward it. Zhaff followed close behind with the girl in tow. He set the door to open. The rapid change in pressure made it incredibly difficult to pull myself through even in my suit, but as I curled my legs to push off the floor and give myself a boost I felt a strong thrust from Zhaff. The door slammed shut behind us, and when I removed my visor everything was quiet again. Zhaff tore off the girl’s helmet and held his pistol against her forehead.

  “What were you doing?” he questioned, his voice more elevated than I’d ever heard it. It was enough for me to know that she was in trouble if she lied.

  All she could manage was to shriek in response and grasp for her injured arm. Her bulky suit made it difficult to tell, but judging by her expression it was probably broken. She was panting wildly, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Her lips were shuddering.

  “Tell me,” Zhaff demanded.

  Maybe it was because she was so young, but I actually felt bad for her. She didn’t look like a terrorist at all. In fact, despite her face having many typical Ringer features, she was relatively short for one and it made her look even more frail and harmless. She also wasn’t wearing a sanitary mask like they usually did.

  I placed my hand on Zhaff’s shoulder and brushed him to the side. I knelt in front of her and gazed straight into her eyes.

  “You’d better not irritate him,” I whispered to her. �
��Just tell us what you were doing up here and you’ll be fine.”

  “Malcolm,” Zhaff said. I glanced up at him, and he was holding the hand-terminal up so that it faced me. The screen was completely white except for an orange circle in the center. “All of the data has been wiped off it except for this image.”

  The girl’s eyes widened as she saw the device. “I found that connected to the command console!” she said, her frantic breathing hardly able to keep pace with her words. “By Trass, I swear I only found it when I got up here! I…I only wanted to see what they did.”

  Zhaff nodded to confirm her story, and I looked back at her. “I believe you,” I said. “So the attackers came through the command deck. What happened to them?” I incidentally shook her shoulder a bit too hard and she winced.

  “They all left…I think,” she moaned. “I…I was trying to switch the systems back on so we wouldn’t run out of air, but I was locked out.”

  “Are you sure you did it correctly?”

  “I am…was the navigator. I know how to run the ship. All of the power was being diverted to the engines using emergency overrides.”

  “Shit!” I cursed to myself. I switched on my com-link to message the rest of our squad. “Have you reached the engine room yet?”

  “We’re there now,” one of the officers answered. “Thing’s humming, but all the lights are off down here as well. Wait…We’ve got something. Argh—” His feed cut out.

  “What is it? I repeat, what did you see?”

  I heard gunfire erupt through the com-links of the other officers as they attempted to respond. After a short period theirs went silent as well.

  “Zhaff, we’ve got to get down there now!” I shouted.

  Zhaff started to run, but as he did we were thrown back against the wall. A powerful force seized my body, enough to make me feel like my eyeballs were going to pop backward into my skull. The Ringer girl howled in pain.

  I figured out what was happening immediately. The Piccolo had begun to accelerate at a full burn, on a course set directly for Pervenio station. We were standing on a four-hundred-ton projectile with an ion-drive engine core as well as unknown amounts of flammable gases that together could create an explosion as powerful as an atomic bomb if it overloaded.