I recognized the outfit minus the scarf, which must’ve been covering a sanitary mask. It belonged to the Ringer I’d sat next to earlier at the Molten Crater. Apparently, he hadn’t been killed by the hover-car that crashed into it. He pretended to be an elderly Earther to hide his height as well as the fact that Earth-g added a funny lurch to his strides, as if a heavy weight were hanging from his neck.
“You said every passenger was a citizen of Earth, correct?” I questioned.
“According to the scanners,” the security officer said.
“That man is not from Earth,” Zhaff affirmed, without a shred of uncertainty in his voice. The Cogent didn’t even need to recognize the Ringer’s outfit to tell what he was, poor angle and all.
“No, and he’s not an old man either,” I continued. “At least, no older than I am. He’s a Ringer. Anyone with eyes would have seen he wasn’t from around here. Security at that station should be fired.”
“There was a lot going on.”
I drew a calming breath before I shouted at him. The USF was always too busy concentrating on expansion and developing a defensive missile matrix around Earth that could dispel another giant meteorite to train officers to handle a real situation. Until they got their heads out of their asses and started worrying about the right things—like angry offworlders—there was no point dwelling on it.
To Zhaff, I said, “I saw the Ringer at a bar before the M-Day address. When I left, he had his eyes glued on the newscast like he was waiting for something. I’m guessing he didn’t stay there long after. Didn’t get a glimpse of anything suspicious on him, but using a false identification right before a bomb goes off seems like a little more than a coincidence to me.” I turned to the security officer. “Don’t you think, Officer?”
The security officer’s cheeks went red with embarrassment. He leaned over and squinted at the video feed. “But the retinal and ID scans come up clean,” he protested. “Jack Fletcher, a retired factory worker from the outskirts of New London.”
I glanced back at the recording. The Ringer’s non-cane hand was closed into a fist, holding something as he approached the rail station’s retinal scanners. Security was too busy watching the sky to pay much attention. Guy was smart. When the Ringer bent over to put his eye up to the machine, he used the closed hand to help lift his head, as if he were too old and weak to raise it without aid. Sick as he was, I hadn’t found him to be that crippled in the Molten Crater. When the scan was complete, he simply limped into the maglev train’s passenger car without any trouble and disappeared.
I shot a glance over to Zhaff. He nodded, confirming my unsettling assumption.
“Send a note to USF security to keep a lookout for Mr. Fletcher,” I ordered. “And while you’re at it, have a patrol sent to his residence. I have a feeling he won’t be there, but wherever they find him, he’ll be missing at least one eye.”
The color drained from the security officer’s cheeks. He swallowed hard and then started to draft a message.
I interrupted him. “Before you do that, where was the train headed? Can we have it stopped before it reaches its destination?”
Before the security officer could move, Zhaff rifled through some information on his console. Within a few seconds, he had an answer. “Express to Glazov station, Old Russia,” he said. “It arrived there ten minutes ago.”
“You should have had it stopped the moment that went off,” I growled. “Hell, it never should have been running today.”
“And deny Venta their scheduled shipment on board? I… everything checked out before dispatch. How were we supposed to know?”
I bit back anger. I wasn’t sure why I expected USF security to be anything but incompetent. In our line of work, intelligent people went off to serve the true powers in Sol where the real action was. People on Earth assumed they were safe from anything but meteorites, until they weren’t.
“Looks like we know where we’re heading, then.” I placed my hand on Zhaff’s shoulder and grinned. His head instantly snapped around. His expression didn’t change, but his eye-lens focused on my face as if it was searching for answers.
Once I removed my hand, Zhaff said, “We should wait to hear back about Mr. Fletcher from the patrol first.”
“You’re welcome to stay.”
I set off toward the exit without looking back. It wouldn’t be long before other collectors saw what Zhaff and I had, so there was no time to waste. After a short moment of hesitation, Zhaff followed, which made me feel a little better about the whole partner situation. He couldn’t be further from Aria, but as far as I knew, Cogents were supposed to dutifully serve their superiors. Zhaff following me, despite his reservations, meant that at least for the moment, I was in charge.
With that realization and a solid lead to follow, I was feeling confident. If I chased down every offworlder who tried to falsify their identity to move freely around Earth, I would’ve been out of a job ages ago, but I’d seen the ire in the Ringer’s face when the advertisement for migration to Titan came on. I don’t believe in coincidences.
I stepped out of the surveillance center with a new bounce to my step. My mood came crashing back down when a familiar man waiting outside spun to face me. He was in his mid-thirties, wearing a fedora that looked like it belonged in ancient Earth. A few loose curls of wheat-blond hair wisped across his forehead as if he were perpetually posing for a picture.
“Malcolm Graves,” he said, wearing a wry grin. He was Trevor Cross, a Venta Co collector. They’d been Pervenio’s chief corporate rival in Sol since the Great Reunion with Titan. They were always after a stake in the Ring but recently had turned their attention to developing the moons of Jupiter in order to compete.
He and I had a similarly cold relationship. He’d only been a collector for around a decade, but there were very few people whose faces I wanted to punch more. It didn’t help that he used a pistol that was an identical model to mine.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Trevor continued. He positioned himself in my way so I’d be forced to shove him aside if I wanted to pass.
“Venta Co’s still got you buying their groceries?” I replied. “Cute.”
“Always with the jokes. Last I heard, you were on vacation. Figured you’d be spending it with that Ringer bitch of yours, not here. What was her name? Ry—something?”
“Not for years. Besides, somebody’s got to find this bomber.”
“Right, and that’s you?” He snickered. “What’re you going to use, your compass?”
I was struggling to keep my hands from curling into fists, when Zhaff tapped me on the arm. “Malcolm Graves,” he said. “We are wasting time.”
“Who the hell is this thing?” Trevor asked.
Before I could say anything, Zhaff stepped forward, Pervenio badge shining under the halogen lights of the security headquarters. “I am Malcolm Graves’s assigned partner.”
Trevor looked like he was going to burst out in laughter. “Wow. Never thought I’d see the day the great Malcolm Graves became a babysitter. They must really be pissed at you.” He leaned in, his crooked smile so close to me I could wipe it off his face with one motion. “Or maybe they’re just getting tired of watching your wrinkles get deeper.”
My hand hovered over my pistol. I glared straight into his blue eyes, my blood boiling. A younger version of myself might not have been able to show such self-restraint. “Watch it, Cross, or I’ll shove my pistol so far down your throat you’ll be shitting bullets.”
He backed away, still smirking. “That how they taught collectors to use them in your day, old man? I wouldn’t want you to waste any lessons on me with your new partner right here.”
I took a deep breath and allowed my hand to fall away from my holster. “You’re lucky there’s work to be done, or I’d give you one,” I said as I shoved past him. Zhaff followed me wordlessly.
“I’m all ears, Graves!” he shouted as I walked away. “I’ll tell you what: After I find t
he bomber, I’ll use the credits to buy you a cane. You can teach your new pet a hell of a lot with that!”
I stopped and started to turn around, but when Zhaff walked by me, I decided against it. Causing more issues with Venta Co would only infuriate Director Sodervall more. That was the last thing I needed, so I swallowed my pride and continued on. Trevor had a problem with pushing people too far, and I had little doubt he’d get his one day.
“I’ll beat you with it,” I grumbled under my breath.
“What was that, Malcolm Graves?” Zhaff asked, completely calm.
“Next time, keep your mouth shut,” I said to him. “Let’s move.”
SIX
“I’ve never seen the streets this empty,” I said to Zhaff. “On M-Day no less. What a shame.”
Garbage from the day’s festivities drifted aimlessly across the streets, and most of the outdoor activity came from USF patrols policing the city. Even the homeless were nowhere to be seen. Security hover-cars flitted high across the skyline, their bright spotlights sweeping across the ad-laden faces of buildings and plunging down dark alleys.
The New London rail station where Zhaff and I were headed was the only place that appeared busy with pedestrian foot traffic. Enhanced security had the inspection line stretching out past the entrance of the station. Citizens living beyond the city limits were desperately trying to get out of New London before anything else went wrong. A portion of the northern platform had, of course, been knocked out by the explosion, but all the others remained operational.
The nightlife in New London usually couldn’t hold a torch to that of offworld colonies. Earthers, in general, were a conservative bunch. On most nights, you could barely spot anyone on the streets after midnight unless they were up to no good. M-Day was different. Revelry would rock the city, and lights would be shining until the sun rose the next morning; until stomachs were turning and eardrums were ringing. Presently, I could barely hear the soft beat of music emanating from indoor bars and clubs. Security made sure none of it spread outside.
“The celebrations continue inside,” Zhaff responded. “It will be easier to monitor there.”
“It’s still strange to see,” I said, glancing over at Zhaff. He stared forward, unaffected by the abnormal sight. “This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
“That information is classified.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, frustrating as his answer was. “Trust me, I can tell. Even your face wouldn’t be so calm seeing it like this if it weren’t.”
“Are you sure taking the rail is the fastest way out east?” Zhaff asked after a brief silence.
“I’m sure,” I said. “This new line of maglevs are two times faster than the best hover-car. Easy.” I saw him reach for his hand-terminal like he was going to check my information. “Stop. Just trust me.”
“Then, as I said earlier, we can request a Pervenio airship.”
“Taking to the skies with all the craziness going on?” I said. “It’ll take forever for one to scoop us up. They have better things to do securing the ports.”
Zhaff checked his hand-terminal, and this time I allowed it. “By my estimation, we would arrive approximately three minutes earlier if we were retrieved with the next half-hour.”
“And we’d alert the entire region to our presence. It’s Old Russia; they might not even know there was a bombing. That gives us the upper hand. Besides, I messaged ahead, and Pervenio set our ride up for an express run. We’ll beat any ship by a mile.”
“If they do not cause any issues.” He nodded toward a group of Church of Three Messiahs evangelists obstructing the entrance ramp to the rail station. They held up screens displaying only the word STAY and were dressed in layered robes with patterned tallits draped over their shoulders. The men wore headscarves and grew out beards out that dipped to the center of their chests. The woman covered half their faces with shawls. Each of them had a cross-shaped emblem tattooed down their forehead and across their brow.
“Right, it’s your first time here,” I said. “They’re harmless. Just trust me and stay close.” I slapped him on the shoulder. He stopped for a moment, stared at my hand, then continued on.
As we shoved through the crowd, an evangelist clutching the hefty tome of the Final Testament against his chest preached at us in an incensed whisper. It grew louder with every word, and the emptiness of the city made his voice echo.
“The ring of flame will swallow us all!” he shouted. “This is our punishment for trespassing in the realm of heaven! Repent, brothers. We must repent!” He didn’t get a chance to say much more before a security hover-car positioned itself above.
“Disperse, now!” an officer blared through the vehicle’s onboard speaker.
“So long as Earth remains, our feet are secure on her surface!” the evangelist hollered back. Then there was an earsplitting crack as the officer in the hover-car fired a pulse-rifle down at the feet of the protestors. They all fled except for their leader. At least until a second shot came inches from striking his head.
I didn’t bother to watch the rest. I heard the pitter-patter of their bare feet slapping against the metal street as they scrambled. The lead preacher shouted, “You will burn!” again and again until his voice was a hoarse and distant echo.
“Soon as anything on Earth goes wrong, the fanatics come out of the metalwork to lay blame,” I said as Zhaff and I continued into the station. “Some people never learn.”
“Judging by their beliefs, it does not appear they ever will,” Zhaff responded.
“So you don’t believe in any gods?” I asked. I knew the answer to that question the moment I met Zhaff, but I was curious to hear how a Cogent might respond. Curiosity… another side effect of my job I could never turn off.
“I have read all five thousand and ninety-two pages of the Final Testament and have seen nothing to justify any of its proclamations. Questions without answers are a waste of time.”
“Amen,” I joked. Zhaff didn’t appear to get it.
We reached the platform for trains running to Glazov station. Those waiting in line to get onto passenger cars were scanned and patted down three times over. Extra effort too late, typical USF.
It would’ve taken an hour to reach the front if we were civilians, but that was another one of the perks of being a Pervenio collector. We presented our IDs and were led right onto the train bound for Glazov station. Like I told Zhaff, they’d reprogrammed it to dispatch immediately and expressly to Old Russia so we wouldn’t waste any time.
I slumped down in a window seat as far from any other passengers as I could get and closed my eyes. Zhaff sat beside me.
“Do you, Malcolm Graves?” he asked as the train started up.
I looked at him, confused. “Do I what? And please, for the love of Earth, just Malcolm.”
“Do you believe in any gods, Malcolm?”
For a moment, I thought about saying yes purely to push the Cogent, but I had plans to sleep through the hour-and-a-half trip to Glazov.
“No,” I answered firmly.
I’d been to too many places beyond Earth, and seen too many horrible things in my life to have faith in some form of higher power watching over me. Plus, any god willing to drop a meteor on Earth didn’t seem to me like a power worth praying to. The majority of humanity shared my opinion. Surviving the apocalypse compelled most people to forget about faith and cling instead to the tangible things that helped them survive, and to those with enough wealth and power to provide it all in our shattered world.
That was how the USF and its corporations came into being in the first place, but there were still factions of people who believed the Meteorite served as cosmic punishment for our transgressions. The preacher we'd passed belonged to the most prevalent of those groups—the Church of the Three Messiahs—which took the texts of what I’m told used to be Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, and blended them into what became known as the Final Testament. Maybe it all used to make sense, but
the Meteorite jumbled everything from nations, to religions, to people’s sense of things.
Somewhere along the line, the Three Messiahs’ ancient teachings became a warning against traveling into space lest God complete the job he started with the Meteorite. It sounded silly to me, though I have to admit, I was envious of anyone who could have such unshakable faith in something beyond themselves.
“But I understand the appeal,” I added.
“It is foolish to believe another meteor that size will strike Earth,” Zhaff stated. “It was a scientific anomaly that will likely not occur again for many millions of years, if it ever does. At the current rate of human expansion, a similar instance in the future would barely dent the population.”
“You know what I believe in? Getting sleep whenever I have the chance. If you’re going to be a collector, you might want to consider adopting that policy.”
Before Zhaff could reply, I turned away, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep right away since my mind was churning, but I was tired of conversing with the Cogent. I already missed working alone.
Zhaff was right, though. The chances of another substantial meteor hitting Earth were minuscule, yet the fear of it happening again was all that drove us. Everything those who remained on Earth had done since recovering from the Meteorite was done under the creed that humanity’s extinction was being made impossible. The expansion into Sol. The way the Earth’s settlements were reconstructed. How Earthers reproduced. Even the train I sat on.
Cities once expanded endlessly in every direction and rose to scrape the clouds, but in my time, everyone on Earth lived along strings of conurbations that stretched for hundreds of kilometers but rarely exceeded a kilometer in width. Six tracks of high-speed maglev trains ran down their centers like spines and along them, nodes of residential, commercial, industrial, and agricultural infrastructure alternated. This way, the areas remained spread apart, but if one segment of a string were to be cut off from the rest, it could survive independently. Like an earthworm growing two heads after being sliced in half.
Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set) Page 6
