Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  I shoved my way back through the accumulating crowd. I couldn’t deal with the idea of having to make two visits to the Q-Zone every day.

  “Cora, there you are!” someone exclaimed.

  Air fled my lungs in relief. I spun my head around and saw that she was safely exiting one of the other decon-chambers. A Ringer man jogged toward her, grinning.

  I knew him well. Desmond Parks was another member of the Piccolo’s maintenance crew. He was the fastest maintenance worker on the ship, probably good enough to be a real mechanic one day if he didn’t like butting heads with the Earther crew members so much. It’s safe to say we weren’t friends. In fact, after leaving behind the shadows of the Lowers, I tried my best to avoid those. I considered Cora the closest I had to one, though our exchange on the lift was probably one of the longest continuous ones we’d ever had. Of course, she rarely spoke much to anybody. Sitting across from her in the Piccolo mess hall for meals every day was more than enough for me.

  “Oh, hey, Kale,” Desmond addressed me nonchalantly once we all convened. “Didn’t know you two were together.”

  “We’re not!” I replied, much more loudly than I intended. My cheeks went hot when Cora shot me a perplexed glare.

  Desmond rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. C’mon, Cora. Lester and Yavik are waiting for us so that we can all load up before heading down to the Foundry. You coming, Kale?”

  I wanted to. I couldn’t remember a day that I’d ever gotten to spend time with Cora outside of the Piccolo. Then I regarded her and remembered that I was no longer a member of that crew. In fact, I was currently unemployed... in a legal sense. I had no credits to waste on drinks. Only that salt-sniffer Dexter could help me with that.

  Cora waited for an answer. The first thing that sputtered out of my mouth was: “I can’t right now.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot,” Desmond said. “I heard our beloved captain is busy searching for your replacement now that you’ve stepped down.”

  Cora stopped. She turned toward me, visibly shocked. “You’re leaving?” she asked softly.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Desmond said. “Typical Kale. Got sick of kissing old Culver’s ass, I bet.”

  I froze as well. Leave it to Desmond to ruin my plans to drop out as quietly as possible. But I hadn’t expected her to seem so disappointed.

  “It’s complicated,” I said.

  “Well, hopefully, your replacement isn’t as much of an Earther lover,” Desmond said, calling me that for a different reason than people from my old life used to. Just because I didn’t try to provoke fights during our shifts and focused on work so I could return to the coolness of my bed didn’t mean I wanted to kiss the captain.

  I ignored Desmond and held Cora’s gaze. She was a girl of few words, but her expression was enough to make my chest tighten. “It’s only temporary,” I insisted.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but Desmond grabbed her arm and towed her along. “Let’s go, Cora,” he said. “Leave him to his more important business.”

  She stared back over her shoulder for a few seconds as they set off across the node toward one of the branching tunnels before she bit her lip and turned away, leaving me standing alone like a fool and worried that this was the last time I’d ever see her. I knew it was for the best I didn’t go, crew or not. It wasn’t worth the risk of a few drinks loosening up my tongue enough to where I might mention something about John, Dexter, or my mom. It wasn’t worth Desmond ridiculing me in front of her for not having a drink either.

  “Bye,” I whispered as they disappeared into a tunnel.

  It was time to focus on doing whatever I could to help my mom. Her condition was rapidly worsening. I exhaled, pushed Cora out of my head, and got back onto the lift. Dexter was waiting for me with work that might actually put a dent in the number of credits I needed to earn.

  FIVE

  It turned out that I was going to wind up at the Foundry that night, though not with anybody from the Piccolo. When I met with Dexter in his chop shop, he informed me he’d just received a tip from someone about the registered parts of Solnet. As usual, he said, it was going to be “as simple as finding a starving Ringer.” I doubted that, but I was glad the job didn’t include me going to the Uppers. After the riot in the atrium, there was bound to be so much security up there I’d have to cram through doors sideways.

  My target was once again a hand-terminal, only this one didn’t belong to an Earther. I didn’t like stealing from Ringers, but Dexter’s contact wanted the information stored on it so badly he was offering ten thousand credits... close to double what John’s was worth. Enough to pay half a year’s worth of rent. The woman was supposedly an undercover Earther-sympathizing informant, trading information in exchange for special treatment.

  The Foundry’s musty air filled my nostrils as I stepped in. It was a place Ringers went to forget—the largest, most renowned club in Darien. Once the site of a production factory on Level B5, it consisted of a series of gaping caverns. Male and female dancers in skintight plastic bodysuits like those in the Sunken Credit lined machine belts that cranked along through the swelling crowds of Ringers. Vibrant, pulsating lights refracted through clouds of mist that spilled out through exhaust vents once meant for safety. Bars were built into stacks of machinery, colorful bottles feeding through reallocated pumps to work the taps.

  There was nothing else like it. In the Uppers, bars were quieter and filled with ads telling you what to drink and where to get it. In the Foundry, the rock-strewn walls were barren, and all that mattered were the hundreds of feet slapping across the floor as Ringers moved their bodies to pulsing beats. Earthers loved to tout their ancient stringed instruments and their slow-paced music, but I’d found those didn’t help anybody lose themselves. Trass’s settlers had no room for instruments on the Ark. My ears teemed with the synthesized rhythms of Titan.

  I shuffled through a mob of masked men and women. Some of them swayed from drinking too much. Others danced like their lives depended on it, pupils rolled up into the back of their heads, probably from sniffing foundry salts. Sweat spraying in every direction made the floor slick. Shower stalls by the exit were available to be used whenever anybody wanted. Rudimentary decon-chambers stood at the entrance. There was everything necessary to help the Ringer patrons feel safe so they could unwind.

  I’d enjoyed nights at the Foundry plenty of times, but I hadn’t been in the mood since the news about my mom. It didn’t feel right to dance or indulge, and drinking was the only way I could get myself to feel comfortable amongst the undulant crowd. I stuck to the walls and kept a lookout for Cora or Desmond. Wherever they were, I didn’t want them to spot me.

  My mark was across the club. The far side of the Foundry was lined by raised suites with broad, tinted translucencies. They’d once been observation rooms for the factory but were presently used as private suites for some of the Foundry’s wealthier guests. According to Dexter’s contact, the terminal I was after was in the one on the far right.

  Easy enough. Usually, I had to scope out locations, but the suite would be a single hollow, maybe with an adjoining bathroom. The only issue was getting inside.

  An intimidating guard was posted at the base of the stairs leading up to the suite. He or she wore shiny white carbon-plated armor and a helmet with a visor so tinted that it was impossible to tell what was behind it. The pulse-rifle on his or her back was much newer than the ones Dexter’s goons touted. That was going to be a problem, but the guard would have to piss eventually. I’d have to time the shift changes and figure out when to slip in.

  I skulked over to an abandoned piece of machinery being reclaimed as a table, overlooking a group of dancers. It was the perfect spot from which to pretend I wasn’t watching the suite. I was about to take a seat on one of the stools, when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed silvery hair.

  I rushed around the side and ducked beside what had been a storage bin. Cora, Desmond, and a few more Ringer mem
bers of the Piccolo’s crew shoved across the dance floor toward my position, fresh drinks in their hands.

  They seated themselves at the table, so close to me I could see their legs swaying through gaps in the machine’s base. I couldn’t hear anything over the blasting music, but Desmond and his friends were chatting it up like always. Cora remained silent. She seemed as somber as when I’d left her. I hoped it wasn’t thanks to me.

  Spilled drinks made my latex-clad hands stick to the rock as I stayed crouched. The floor had its own unique stench. More than a few people had clearly chosen to vomit in the bin beside me, with many hitting the side instead. I distanced my head as far as I could and focused on the suite. Three guards in identical white armor were outside now. Two marched down the stairs, and between them sauntered the woman I assumed the suite belonged to. Dexter hadn’t given me a name or description, but I didn’t need them. A glittering velvet dress hugged her lithe figure, cut high up on her thighs. It was an outfit of such extravagance that there was no wonder she needed the guards. True Ringer or not, she stuck out in the Lowers like my people did above.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs in a frantic state and turned her head. Long, silken brown hair swept over her shoulders, and for a moment, it seemed like her eyes locked on me. I felt a chill. She was beautiful, but not in the way I was used to. There was ferocity to her features, like she knew she could have anyone she wanted pawing at her feet.

  I was spellbound. Then she turned, hollered something at her guards, and they all hurried away. It didn’t take long before the sparkle of her dress vanished within the mob of lanky Ringers. Questions like who she was and why in the name of Trass she was staying in the Lowers filled my mind. They were hushed when I realized that, in her rush, the lift door to her suite hadn’t closed all the way. Jammed or broken, a rift along the bottom revealed the flicker of view-screens changing feeds beyond.

  “It’ll be easy,” Dex had said to me about the job. I wondered if he had anything to do with getting her to rush out. There was no time to care.

  “Sorry, guys,” I whispered under my breath. I knocked into the machinery hard enough for one of the empty glasses on the portion being used as a table to fall off and shatter. Cora yelped. Desmond cursed. The move distracted my former crewmates for the few seconds I needed to sprint out toward the suite.

  A pack of cavorting drunkards helped provide cover on my approach. Scantily clad dancers handled the rest. I casually leaned on the suite’s stairs once I made it over, pretending I’d drunk a little too much and was having trouble standing. With my peripherals, I studied the door. My eyes hadn’t been playing a trick on me. A bottle lay on its side in the opening, causing the fail-safes to keep it from closing all the way. The door was open, just enough, I figured, for my skinny body to fit through.

  I scanned my surroundings. The woman in the violet dress was nowhere to be found. Neither were her guards. I took one slow step onto the stairs, then moved a bit faster as if I belonged. She probably had the device on her, but I could scope the place out. Or better yet, find somewhere inside to hide and wait for my chance. Vents were tight, but I’d squeezed into worse.

  I kneeled and checked under the opening for guards. Seeing none, I took one last glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching. The coast was clear, a sea of carousing as far as the eye could see. Except for Cora. I spotted her staring longingly into the bottom of her empty glass while Desmond nudged her in the side to try to gain her attention.

  I turned back to the door. It was time to focus. I lay down and pulled myself through the narrow opening. My head made it in easy, but getting the rest of me through proved more difficult than I’d expected. My ribs pressed against the unforgiving metal floor and felt seconds from cracking when I emerged, gasping for air. My foot accidentally tapped the bottle off the stairs, causing the door to slam down. Fortunately, a nearby control pad allowed it to be unlocked from the inside.

  I got to my feet, groaning as a sharp pain pulled at my sides. It passed quickly but seeing what was within the room made my jaw drop. At first glance, it was an unassuming hollow—ice-rock walls and a dropped grated ceiling affixed with dim lights like any other. Across from me, however, was a curved array of view-screens the likes of which I’d never seen before. There had to be at least one hundred of them. They were deactivated, but I could think of only one purpose for such a workstation: surveillance.

  My pulse hastened. Dex was far from trustworthy, but I wondered if even he knew who or what he’d sent me after. I approached the screens guardedly, despite being alone, and once I was close enough, I saw it. Sitting harmlessly on the counter by the station’s seat was a hand-terminal. Not just any hand-terminal either. It belonged to me... or at least it had until I’d sold it off cheap so my mom could stay comfortable. I recognized the Venta Co branding, the bent portion of the casing on the upper right-hand side, as well as a series of scratches along the lower part of the screen.

  “What the hell?” I asked.

  I grasped the device and rechecked my surroundings. There was nobody else in the room. I held it up, and when I swiped the screen to see if it was on, a message popped up all on its own.

  WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER, KALE DRAYTON. I NEED YOU TO SMUGGLE SOMETHING ONTO THE PICCOLO. DO THIS FOR ME, AND YOUR MOTHER WILL BE RELEASED FROM QUARANTINE AND CURED OF WHAT AILS HER. LEAVE NOW. VISIT THE FOUNDRY AGAIN BEFORE DEPARTING FOR YOUR NEXT SHIFT, AND THIS ARRANGEMENT WILL BE NULLIFIED. YOU HAVE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS TO REPLY WITH A DECISION.

  FROM ICE TO ASHES,

  R

  The farther I read, the harder my heart thumped. By the end, my throat was dry, and my forehead dripped with sweat despite the icy temperature.

  The contact address was unknown, and R might as well have been a word in Old Russian, because I had no idea who it could be. But I’d spent enough time in the shadows to know when someone was asking me to do something unsavory. That was when people were vague. Nobody ever worried about telling you the truth of what they wanted if the truth was clean.

  I decided that all the stress on me was causing me to see things. There were thousands of hand-terminals like mine. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that another had similar blemishes. I took a deep breath and closed my eyelids tight so that I could reset my vision before giving it another read.

  As my eyelids reopened, the entire array of screens blinked on simultaneously. Every single one displayed the same feed: a view of my mom’s room in the Q-Zone. The sight caused me to stagger backward.

  “Mom?” I whispered. Whether or not I was mic’d, she wouldn’t have been able to hear me. She was half-asleep on a torn mattress—not exactly what they’d promised when I’d paid for a better room. One of her scrawny arms draped over the edge into a trash bin filled with bile, while the other was attached to an IV. A sequence of rashes dappled her face, which unless they’d just formed, had been covered by makeup when I visited her. There was no sound, but I could see her groaning. Every few seconds, her eyes opened slightly, as if she were checking to make sure she was still amongst the living.

  I tossed the hand-terminal onto the counter and ran to the workstation’s control console to try my luck at learning where the feed was coming from. A series of alien-looking algorithmic encryptions locked me out. I could slice through most rudimentary safeguards given the time, but this was well beyond my capability. My frustration built, and when I slammed down on the keys, the array went black again.

  “Mom!” I shouted. I tapped one of the screens. It was still warm. Then I whipped my body around and scoured the empty room for anything that might help me figure out who I was dealing with. I didn’t know anybody, not even a fence, who went by R. There was nothing. No stray clothing or closets. Not even a lavatory. Just metal, rock, and at least a hundred blank screens.

  It suddenly hit me: This had to be Dexter’s doing. Either a cruel prank... or worse: He feared his secrets being in my brain and wanted to get rid of me. Security could be on its way
to detain me any second. Exchanging unsanctioned communications was considered highly illegal on Titan. It was enough to get you locked up on Pervenio Station for years.

  I prepared to run, then froze. The hand-terminal had belonged to me. If it was still registered in my name and discovered with that message on it, I’d be screwed no matter what. I snatched it, shoved it into my pocket, and took off for the exit. It opened easily.

  I launched myself over the railing of the stairs without thinking and plunged into the crowd. Cora or Desmond or anybody could have seen me. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of the Foundry and to Dexter. If he really was setting me up, I’d get on my knees and promise that I wasn’t being used by Pervenio as a snitch.

  Level B6 was so quiet, the dark, yawning tunnels had the feel of an ancient crypt. The hullabaloo of its many factories was absent. Every hatch I passed was sealed tight. Exhaust vents and air recyclers moaned as if they were infested with ghosts.

  I tried to act calm, but the device and the message in my pocket made that nearly impossible. The best I could do was to just keep from stumbling over any exposed pipes. I turned in to the tunnel leading to Dexter’s chop shop, and the silence somehow grew even more unbearable. I could hear my own heartbeat.

  Unlike the rest of the area, light poured through Dexter’s wide-open hatch. I thought about what I was going to say to him while I approached. A whole slew of pleading and flattery— whatever it took to get him to keep to his word so that my mother wouldn’t be left to die alone. It would hurt my pride, but I’d recover.

  I stopped outside to gather focus. Once I felt as confident as I knew I’d ever get, I turned the corner.

  “Dexter, you—” The words got stuck in my throat as I stepped through.