Contents
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK ONE
Prologue
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
Epilogue
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK TWO
Prologue
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
Epilogue
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK THREE
Prologue
1. Kale Trass
2. Malcolm Graves
3. Kale
4. Malcolm
5. Kale
6. Malcolm
7. Kale
8. Malcolm
9. Kale
10. Malcolm
11. Kale
12. Malcolm
13. Kale
14. Malcolm
15. Kale
16. Malcolm
17. Kale
18. Malcolm
19. Kale
20. Malcolm
21. Kale
Epilogue
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK FOUR
Prologue
1. Kale Trass
2. Malcolm Graves
3. Kale
4. Malcolm
5. Kale
6. Malcolm
7. Kale
8. Malcolm
9. Kale
10. Malcolm
11. Kale
12. Malcolm
13. Kale
14. Malcolm
15. Kale
16. Malcolm
17. Kale
18. Malcolm
19. Kale
20. Malcolm
21. Kale
22. Malcolm
23. Kale
24. Malcolm
Thanks for Reading!
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK .5 (PREQUEL)
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN, ORIGINS
142 Hours Until Impact…
22 Hours Until Impact…
Chapter 1
About the Author
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN
©2018-2020 RHETT C. BRUNO
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.
Published by Aethon Books LLC.
Cover Art by: Jasper Schreurs
Cover Design, Print and eBook formatting and cover design by Steve Beaulieu.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are property Aethon Books.
All rights reserved.
THE CHILDREN OF TITAN BOOK ONE
TITANBORN
Prologue
Somewhere outside New London, Earth, a tall, lanky Ringer named Nash stood within the cargo hold of an unmarked transport shuttle. Although he was human, three centuries of living on Titan had stretched his people’s bodies and bleached their flesh. He wore a white armored suit with an orange circle painted on the chest. His helmet was off, revealing a soaring forehead, a long, tapered jaw, and a sanitary mask pulled tight over his mouth.
Across from him stood a Ringer many years his senior. He was equally tall, but unlike Nash, he was dressed in nothing but an unmarked boiler suit, and his sanitary mask was covered in grime. Bloodshot eyes appeared even redder against his ashen skin, but they were resolute.
“When our ancestors fled Earth with Trass before the Meteorite struck, I bet they never thought any of us would return,” Nash said.
“Or be enslaved by the very people they left behind,” the older Ringer replied. “Perhaps they should have gone farther.”
The older Ringer shook his head. “It wouldn’t have helped. There isn’t a star these Earthers won’t try to reach one day.”
“Let them. Soon the Ring will be free.”
“If they don’t wipe us all out first.”
Nash pursed his lips in anger, but before he could say anything else, the older Ringer stepped forward.
“Enough,” he said. “We have to stay focused.”
Nash groaned, and as he did, someone else stepped into the cargo hold from the shuttle’s cockpit. This one wore a matching suit of white armor, only it had no orange circle, and the helmet was on, complete with a tinted visor that blocked the face. He was shorter than the others by at least a third of a meter and was holding a small metal cylinder with blue light emanating from slits on the sides.
“Is it finally ready, Doctor?” the older Ringer asked. “I’m running out of time.”
“Yes,” the Doctor said through a vocal distortion device. “Are you?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The Doctor handed him the tube, and the old Ringer inspected it. He ran his fingers along the sides, but when he reached the flat top, the Doctor stopped him.
“Careful,” the Doctor warned. “Don’t worry, my employers assure me that it’ll pass New London scanners.”
“It better,” the older Ringer said with a snarl. “We’re putting a lot of faith in you.” He switched the device into his left hand.
“It will. You remember where to use it? We don’t want casualties.”
The older Ringer hardly paid attention to her. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. You get that right where we planned, and they’ll never see your men coming.”
The older Ringer stared into the Doctor’s black visor for a few seconds, and then the two exchanged a nod. The Doctor turned around and marched back into the cockpit.
“Our people won’t forget this,” Nash said after the Doctor was completely out of sight.
“They will,” the older Ringer countered. “Nobody will ever speak my name because what I do mustn’t be remembered. What comes after will be.”
Nash’s lips started to tremble. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. “I won’t forget,” he said. Nash spread his arms and rushed forward to hug the older Ringer, but he bowed out of the way.
“You shouldn’t risk it,” he said.
Nash froze for a moment, then grunted before he decided to embrace his older comrade anyway. They touched their foreheads
together and held each other there until both of their cheeks were wet with tears.
“From ice to ashes, Alann,” Nash whispered.
“From ice to ashes,” the older Ringer repeated. He backed up and stared down at the glowing device in his left hand. A glimmer touched in his sickly eyes. He was ready.
ONE
The day was A.D. August 29, 2334, three hundred years after the Meteorite crippled Earth. In a little over three months’ time, I, Malcolm Graves, would help spark a revolution. I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t even consider it a possibility as I crept through the dark, cavernous hallways of a mining facility on an asteroid named 92-Undina. I was focused entirely on the job at hand.
One of the mining chiefs on Undina had decided his wages didn’t match his labor, and he was becoming a problem for my employers at Pervenio Corporation, who happened to own the entire mine. I have no problem with a man asking for more credits if he thinks he deserves them. Hell, I can’t even count how many times I’ve done the same. But this rabble-rouser, Yev Tavar, had inspired the entirety of Undina Mining Sector D to stop working, overthrow the security team stationed there, and shut down all hangar access. With food and water stores in their sector able to last around six months, waiting out their less-than-peaceful strike was not a viable option.
Undina was an M-type asteroid that was unbelievably rich in valuable metals. Pervenio Corporation had drawn it into a close orbit around Earth a few years back when they were selected to build an Ark for the coming Departure, though not without complications. Three centuries ago, a moon-sized Meteorite had nearly wiped all life off Earth, so people remained skeptical about keeping asteroids nearby no matter how lucrative they were.
Seemed foolish to me not to have brought it closer to a spaceport or land it on Luna. Undina wasn’t going to miraculously change its orbit unless someone with a lot of credits wanted it to. But the United Sol Federation—USF—still made the rules when it came to protecting Earth, even if the corporations that really ran Sol didn’t care for them. A few handshakes under the table with the Assembly, however, and Pervenio Corp bent the rules as always. At the expense of every Earther’s sense of safety, Undina orbited closer to Earth than any asteroid mine before it. No more than two days outside Luna by modern ionic impulse drives.
For those reasons, and I’m sure a few more, my employers were eager to get Undina back to running at optimal conditions. That was where I came in. As a collector working for Pervenio, my duties consisted of cleanly settling their issues before they grew into something worse. The bounty on Yev Tavar was ten thousand credits—dead or alive. A nice haul for what appeared to be a routine “eliminate the instigator of a workers’ strike” contract. I’d dealt with plenty in my time. Offworlders never seemed to be satisfied with their lot in life, especially those dwelling in the hollows of asteroids.
I crept up to an emergency hatch within the cramped tunnel that bridged together mining sectors C and D. The passage was so squat that my hair scraped across the craggy ceiling, and the musty aroma of air recyclers in need of repairs filled my nostrils. They clicked and whined like beasts in the darkness. I stopped in front of it, reached into my pocket, and removed my lucky charm: a small figurine of an old Ark Ship named the Barsamin. A coruscating line down the center indicated where it’d once been cracked in half before I fused it back together. I raised it to my lips before returning it to its proper place.
Then I knocked on the glass portion of the hatch. As I did, I slid my right hand down to my hip and drew my long-barreled, collector-issued F-3000 pulse-pistol from its holster. My baby.
“This is Aaron Duvell, minin’ chief of sector C,” I lied into the two-way intercom built into the airtight seal. I put on my best underprivileged offworlder twang.
“You can’t enter,” a raspy voice responded.
“We’re standin’ with you, didn’t you hear?” I continued. “We got the security officers pinned down and need help gettin’ rid of ’em. They still got their guns.”
Another lie. A Pervenio security team and I had already locked down sector C and ensured that the strike didn’t spread there. I’d been careful, however, to leak news that riots were occurring throughout Undina as miners chose to stand alongside Yev Tavar. There was no better way to appeal to the sense of narcissism inherent in anyone willing to start a near-futile rebellion, no matter how small it was.
“Wait here,” the man on the other end said. A few minutes went by in silence before the hatch rose a few inches. The dissidents had destroyed the control console on my side so only they could operate it. A pale hand poked through the narrow opening by my feet. “Show us your ID.”
I pulled open the flaps of my faded brown duster and withdrew the ID card of the sector C mining chief, Aaron Duvell. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get him to agree to help turn in his comrades—just a few extra credits and a promise to end all the discord that threatened his livelihood. I placed the card in the rebel’s open palm, and he immediately reeled it in.
Another few minutes passed, and then the hatch flew up into the ceiling. Two miners with pulse-rifles awaited me on the other side, but my gun was also raised. As soon as the opening was clear, I planted a bullet in the arm of one of them, causing him to drop his weapon. The other panicked and squeezed his weapon’s trigger too long and too hard. The recoil from the rifle had the untrained man shooting at the ceiling, and I’d already bolted forward to arrive safely beside him. I smacked him in the side of the head with the butt of my pistol and watched him crumple to the rocky floor. Then I quickly turned and kicked the other miner in the head so that they were both unconscious.
There was no reason to kill any more workers than I had to. Those were the express orders of Director Sodervall at Pervenio. Laborers were cheap, but transporting new ones wasn’t. That was why we didn’t switch off their life support in the first place and end things in a hurry. That, plus the fact that we had no idea where the security team Yev Tavar had displaced was being held… if they were still alive.
“Sorry, boys,” I whispered as I knelt and deconstructed both of their pulse-rifles.
When I was done, I pulled my spotter goggles down over my eyes and set them to thermal imaging. The confined, rocky tunnels in the bowels of Undina were dark, especially since I’d cut the main power to the sector beyond the emergency access I came through. All they had beyond that were a few small generators, which they would need to sustain their food supply. Breathing was all I’d allow them to do until this was over.
I delved in deeper, indistinct voices echoing down every branch in the cramped service corridors I passed by. I ignored them. My spotters picked up the heat signature of a miner approaching, carrying a light-torch. It didn’t illuminate much beyond the few meters in front of his face, so I couldn’t tell whether he was armed. I didn’t intend to give him a chance to show me. I tucked myself into a small nook in the wall and ducked down so my duster, which matched the dark hues of the rock, covered most of me.
As he passed my hiding spot, I sprang out, wrapped my arm around his neck, and dragged him to the ground. I squeezed just hard enough that he couldn’t cry out, but not so hard as to kill him. This, unfortunately, had me close enough to get a whiff of him. He smelled foul, like he hadn’t showered in over a week. Somehow this Yev character had convinced all the miners in sector D to settle in for the long haul and do everything they could to conserve water.
After thirty years as a collector, it was my experience that most self-appointed leaders never attained that kind of clout. I never cared to ask how much Pervenio was paying these people to spend their lives in the mines, but what Yev was demanding must’ve been quite appealing if his followers stood so adamantly against the most powerful corporation in Sol.
“When I let go, I’m going to ask you a question,” I whispered. With my other hand, I raised the barrel of my pistol until it was pressed snugly against his temple. “If you try to call out, I’ll splatter your brains all over t
his rock, and not a soul will ever know. Clear?”
He gagged, but I felt him attempt to nod. I loosened my grip a bit and allowed him to gasp for air. Once he had his fill, I grabbed his jaw and spun his head around to face me. The young man’s whole body quaked.
“Now,” I said. “Where is Yev Tavar?”
The miner tried to speak, but only a few incoherent words came out. He was petrified. I’d seen the same expression he wore on countless faces before. It happened when simple, hardworking men were stirred into a cause they never had any intention of fighting for.
Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set) Page 1
