Not wanting to get caught staring, I turned my attention to the view-screens behind the bar.
An advertisement interrupted the local newscast.
“Help preserve the human race!” a rousing male voice said as a recording panned across a post-apocalyptic scene. A burning tree sat on a hill overlooking a ruined skyline—a glorified reproduction of Earth after the Meteorite hit back in 2034. “Colonies throughout the solar system await your arrival, and Pervenio Corporation is proud to aid you in your transition. Help us add our domes to the crimson surface of Mars, or help with the harvesting of vital gases on the Ring. The fight to ensure our survival rests in your hands!”
The ad ended with the emblem of Pervenio Corp—a crimson helix wrapped around a crooked branch—projected over a crowd of people who were waving off a massive ship headed up into space. A small patch of text—which most people missed—popped up at the bottom of the screen, indicating all that couldn’t be promised when someone decided to move offworld—most significantly, their safety or legitimate work.
For everyone who grew up on Earth, it was one of countless century-old ads put out by the USF or any of its sanctioned corporations encouraging the diffusion of the human race. After the Meteorite drowned half the planet and nearly wiped out humanity, that was the creed that drove the survivors. The idea was not to risk extinction by staying secluded on Earth.
I’d grown weary of the message by the time I could speak. To me, it was like listening to a song I’d heard so many times, that when it came on, I found myself mouthing the words without really enjoying or realizing it.
For the offworlder I’d assumed to be a Ringer beside me, the ad evoked a far different reaction. Even under his mask, I could see the twitch of resentment pulling at his lips, and the rage filling his bloodshot eyes.
It was easy to understand why. In A.D. 2031, when the colossal meteor somehow had its course altered and was discovered to be hurtling toward Earth, a small group of scientists under the leadership of a visionary named Darien Trass turned their attention to space instead of wasting time attempting to restore its old trajectory. Trass built an Ark for three thousand people and sent it to Titan, the orange moon of Saturn. He decided back then that it was the most promising celestial body in all of Sol for human expansion due to the resources offered by it as well as the ringed gas giant it orbited. The Ring, as it became called, had everything but breathable air and warmth.
Over time, the settlers of the Ring forgot about their old world, our world, as they focused on constructing their new one. Their initial ship grew into bigger and more advanced settlements across the surface of Titan. They began adapting to the low gravity and their sunless skies, growing taller, slimmer, and paler with each ensuing generation. They even grew accustomed to the cold. On the occasions a job took me way out there, I found the temperatures in the Ringer-inhabited lower wards of their colony blocks to be unbearable. They kept them at freezing, and for them, that was like summer.
It was sometime when I was still a child that our two peoples reconnected. Those who’d stayed behind on Earth as doomsday approached, and those who’d fled for colder pastures. At first, we tried to accept each other with open arms, but as more and more immigrants from Earth flooded into the Ring, they realized it wasn’t only the Ringers’ appearance that had changed. Being in sterile environments for so many years had crippled their immune systems, and we Earthers brought with us all the bacteria and diseases that no longer affected us.
Sickness on Titan prevailed. Entire colonies were crippled, allowing the physically stronger people from Earth to take control of every level of the Ringer infrastructure with ease. What had been a grand reunion quickly went sour. Earthers grew to resent the Ringers for Earth, and the Ringers never took too kindly to being assimilated into our culture or having their loved ones crammed into quarantine zones due to rampant illness.
Maybe it was the whiskey, but as I thought about how strange it really was to be seated next to a Ringer in the heart of New London, I found myself curious.
“Don’t see many of your type out here for M-Day, offworlder,” I said.
I didn’t want to flat-out call him a Ringer yet, even though I was confident my assumption was correct. I knew better than most that people could be touchy about where they were from. It was possible he could merely be an exceptionally tall man from a proud Earther family unfortunate enough to have spent most of the last few generations buried deep within an asteroid mining colony. Could be that he was merely getting over an everyday cold and was bitter toward immigrants who could afford to go to a planet-sized moon instead of a floating rock on the edge of space.
He shot me a sidelong glare but didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a g-stim with the markings of Venta Co on it, Pervenio’s biggest rival. The injection contained a special concoction of chemicals and steroids that helped offworlders deal with Earth’s gravity and not pass out from exhaustion. It was an older line, likely only purchasable on the black. The man stabbed it into his neck beneath his mask. His eyelids flickered as the chems coursed through his veins, then he stowed the pack. He took a sip of his water and looked back up toward the newscast.
A female correspondent came on screen, standing in front of a raucous mob somewhere else on Earth, discussing the M-Day festivities there. When she was done, another correspondent came on talking about somewhere else, and then another. It went on like that for minutes; long enough for me to need another drink.
The screen then cut to reporters stationed in colonies throughout the solar system. First, it showed the interior of one of the massive dome colonies on Mars, and then a view of the central atrium within a shiny colony block on Titan. There, the celebration didn’t seem as jovial as everywhere else. The correspondent was jostled around while behind her, a throng made up of mostly long, pale faces hollered. A few punches were exchanged between a Ringer and a pink-skinned Earther before a gunshot rang out. The feed quickly cut away to the large galley of a construction ship orbiting the newly founded Europa Colony where the crowd appeared cheerful again.
When Titan went offscreen, the offworlder next to me grunted in a way that, through his mask, sounded like it may have been a chuckle.
“That’s where I’m from, Earther,” he said, confirming my thoughts. His voice was muffled slightly by his mask, but it sounded hoarse and weak, like an elderly man.
“So what brings you to our darling homeworld?” I asked. Inquisitiveness was a part of my job. Even on vacation, I had a difficult time turning it off.
“I thought I’d come visit an old friend before I die,” the Ringer responded before he started to cough.
It was obvious he wasn’t healthy, but I hadn’t realized how bad until then. I could hear the built-up phlegm in his throat. Whether that was due to his offworlder lungs straining to deal with Earth’s strong gravity or his apparent sickness was anybody’s guess. At first glance, he didn’t look like he could possibly be much older than forty. It could be hard to tell with Ringers, though. The low-g conditions on Titan gave them shallower wrinkles.
I took a tiny swig of my whiskey to cover for my immediate lack of a response. After swallowing it, I said, “I see. You’re going to need a harder drink then, Ringer. Next one is on me.”
He stared daggers in my direction, his ashen cheeks flushing with as much color as they possibly could. The glass he held rattled against the counter as his hand shook. “Titanborn,” he growled before turning his attention back to the screen.
I wasn’t sure what I’d said wrong, but again, I’d met enough people from places beyond Earth’s gravity well to know that they were easily offended when it came to their titles. As I shrugged off his reaction, the newscast transitioned to a live feed located just outside New London. Everyone inside the Molten Crater hollered, “It’s starting!” as they scrambled to get outside.
The M-Day anniversary address was about to begin, earlier than anticipated. I’d seen them more times
than I cared to remember or admit. I thought about staying inside and watching on the small screen since I’d only just gotten my drink but quickly remembered that this year’s Departure Ark had been designed by Pervenio Corp.
It seemed like ages ago they were selected for the second time in my life. Every fifth M-Day, the company that proposes the most promising design for a Generational Ark was commissioned by the USF Assembly to construct that vessel. Over the course of that period, anyone who was a registered citizen of Earth could be selected by a lottery to embark on a journey across the stars to spread humankind. For many Earthers, there was no greater honor than being chosen to propagate humanity. I was just curious to see the fruits of those poor miners on Undina who’d harvested so much of what was used to construct the grand vessel.
“Next time, then,” I said to the Ringer as I tipped my glass in his direction. “Cheers.”
I drained the rest of my whiskey before following the herd out. It burned and itched all the way down, but the relief it offered against the angry voices of the dead Undina miners reverberating in my head made it totally worth it.
When I reached the Molten Crater’s exit, I glanced back over my shoulder. Everyone who wasn’t passed out appeared to have cleared out. Even the bartender. Everyone except for the Ringer. He’d taken a seat on one of the vacated stools at the bar and remained alone, sipping on his glass of water, bloodshot eyes glued to the newscast.
THREE
Once outside, I didn’t bother shoving my way to the edge of the raised walkway to get the best view. There was no way to miss the Departure if you were within the city, since New London was essentially converted into an enormous exhibition of the event. The countless ads strung along the maglev rail line and projected onto the glassy façades of buildings switched over to the USF feed live from the landing pad outside New London Spaceport. It was three kilometers or so away along the Euro-String, and only the richest citizens of Earth could get a spot there on M-Day.
None of the city’s structures were exceptionally tall—Earthers had transitioned away from sprawling cities with skyscrapers to elongated cities on strings centuries ago for safety reasons—but they were tall enough for me to see fine over the bobbing heads of the augmenting crowd. As a trio of inter-atmospheric ships zipped noisily overhead, the myriad screens zoomed in on fifty men and women wearing dark-green tunics with badges on their chests consisting of eight small white dots along a line with a larger one in the center—The symbol of the United Sol Federation. Those fifty were the lauded members of the USF Assembly. The crowd broke into a frenzy of cheers as their supposed leaders came into view.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the sight of them. I recognized a few of their faces but never bothered to learn most of their names. I wondered if all the years traveling around Sol playing Mr. Fix-It for Pervenio Corp just made me cynical. The assembly may have been elected by registered citizens of Earth, but anyone with a real education knew they didn’t have any legitimate power. Pervenio Corp, Red Wing Company, Venta Co—those were only a few of the more powerful space-faring corporations that directed the future of humankind.
I’d heard a retired, probably drunk, security officer explain it best during a rant while I was dragging a bounty into a holding cell many years ago. “If you compare us humans to a hand,” he said, “then the USF is the palm. It holds everything together, but it doesn’t move. The corporations are the fingers that plucked us out of a second Dark Age before reaching into the blackness of space as a personal ‘screw you’ to every god that’s ever been prayed to. The assembly, Collector, is little more than the visible face of the corporatocracy, providing the illusion of control to billions of people who have none… folks like us.”
In my opinion, truer words have never been spoken, and I’ve held them close to my heart ever since. I wish I could remember the fellow’s name.
Once the noise started to die down a little, Talo Gavaren, the Speaker of the Assembly and the only name I actually did know, stepped forward to a podium and started doing what he did best. The haggard old man’s buoyant voice filled the chasms of the packed city.
“People of Sol!” he began. “Today we must remember our ancestors. We must remember the billions of souls who lost their lives after the events of September 3, 2034. Three centuries ago, on that day, humanity was nearly wiped from the universe. But today, my people, I am here to tell you that we have never been stronger! Our continued existence, never more secure!”
The crowd went into a full-on frenzy. Shoulders bumped into me from every direction. Spray from raised drinks fell upon my head as if it were raining.
“We have spread out into Sol. From Earth to Saturn, and everywhere in between,” Talo continued. “Right now, people on Luna are watching! People on Mars and Europa and Titan are watching! And now, for the tenth time since the founding of this federation, we will look even farther. My people, it is my great honor to introduce the man whose latest vision will allow us to reach beyond our lone star. One thousand of your brothers and sisters have been chosen to join that vision. They will bear the honor of carrying the flame of humanity, for centuries to come, to worlds unknown. My people, I give you Luxarn Pervenio!”
It was impossible to tell exactly what anybody was cheering for anymore. The clamor had been constant for the entire speech. Talo stepped down, and Luxarn Pervenio replaced him, surrounded on either side by guards in black-and-red armor with the logo of Pervenio Corp printed above their chests.
Luxarn was the wealthiest man in all of Sol. His corporation had been around since before the old governments of Earth dissolved into the USF. He had a stake in almost every major colonial effort in the solar system except Europa and had the largest slice of the Ring—which was undoubtedly the most profitable. Even though he was technically my employer, I’d never actually met him in person. Few had. My dealings went exclusively through the directors placed in charge of every city or colony throughout Sol, which Pervenio Corp administered. Sodervall most of all.
“Sol!” Luxarn pronounced, spreading out his arms triumphantly and laughing as though all the applause was meant for him. It may well have been. It was impossible to fathom how many in the raucous crowd worked under the umbrella of Pervenio Corp. Many probably didn’t even realize it.
“I cannot express what an honor it was to have our esteemed assembly select our design for this year’s Departure,” he said. “Since that momentous occasion five years ago, we have worked tirelessly to construct the most advanced Ark in the history of humanity.”
Luxarn rattled on about the many great feats of engineering his new creation contained. I missed all of it after the part where he said that once it reached max velocity, it would theoretically be able to reach the nearest star, Alpha Centauri, in approximately 128 years, even though it was headed to the Tau Ceti system farther away to avoid having the same destination of the last Ark, built by Venta Co. That may have sounded like an eternity to some, but I’d seen all the Departures in my lifetime. It was the lowest estimation I’d heard about an Ark’s travel time by nearly fifty years.
It almost made the venture sound appealing enough for me to have wanted my name selected and my body frozen or however they sent the lucky winners, but only a small part. I wasn’t sure how long I could go on without having the thrill of a new target to hunt down. Already being on vacation for a few days, including the shuttle ride from Undina to Earth, had my skin crawling. And I couldn’t leave my daughter behind while I crossed the stars, wherever the hell she was in the solar system.
It’d been over a year since we’d even exchanged a message over Solnet—five or six since I’d seen her in person. We never saw eye-to-eye, but ever since her dying mother placed her at my feet and told me she was mine, Aria was the only true family I had, same as I was for her. After all, I hadn’t spoken to my own clan-family since I’d become a collector as a still-young man. I always imagined one day I might sit down for a drink in some backwater bar, and by some chan
ce, notice her across the room, all grown up.
“I give you Hermes!” Luxarn Pervenio finally announced, swiftly regaining my attention. His hands extended toward the sky.
The deafening howl of engines grew so loud that it would have drowned out the crowd if they hadn’t already been rendered silent by his words. Merchants, drunks, beggars, and security officers alike stared up at the murky sky in anticipation. Soon after, the enormous ship sailed high above, right at the edge of the visible atmosphere, and cast a huge shadow over the entire city. It was the largest ship I’d ever seen, double the size of the one my lucky figurine was designed after, and that was saying something. The details were impossible to make out from so far away, but the thing was easily a kilometer in length and had an equally long, blue-hued stream of distortion trailing behind its twin impulse drives.
Awestruck applause started to build while the Hermes soared by. Without realizing it at first, even I began clapping softly. The ship weaved in and out of the layered clouds, too large to be obscured by any single one. If life existed on whatever planet it wound up on, I couldn’t imagine what those creatures might think when that metallic mammoth pierced the sky. And even if the ship never actually reached another star, there was no denying it was one hell of a funereal send-off.
I was caught off guard when something caused the walkway to tremor so violently that I was thrown off my feet. Hot flames and shrapnel spit up into the air from the direction of the maglev rail station across the way. A portion of the blast tore through a USF security hover-car unlucky enough to have been flying overhead. Its engines sputtered, causing it to spin out of control and take a crash course straight toward the Molten Crater.
Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set) Page 3
