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

by Rhett C. Bruno

  On most mornings, Captain Saunders frequented his favorite coffee shop. The majority of Earthers did. To them, it was considered a high-end beverage, though I couldn’t figure out why. I found it repulsive. The captain had bought me a cup when I first signed on with the Piccolo, and it almost made me throw up.

  Despite having been there before, it took me longer to find the place than I’d expected. The vibrant ads and white walls throughout the Uppers were disorienting, and landmarks were of no use since the lofty ceiling was masked by a uniform layer of suspended gardens for the wealthiest of Earthers to enjoy. I remembered for sure that the shop was in part of the Uppers the path to the docks never took me on. It’d been nestled between two of the towering residential towers, which rose fifty meters to support the gardens as well as Darien’s enclosure.

  I couldn’t ask for directions since the many Earthers shopping and eating kept their distance from me, as if I were the one who could infect them. I didn’t mind. My recent trip to the Q-Zone had me on edge, and I made sure my mask and gloves were on as tight as possible.

  I grew frustrated with searching, when I noticed a familiar planter filled with broad, frilly leaves and purple flowers. It was located at the base of the tower the captain’s brother lived in, directly across from the biggest viewport in the sector. From the correct angle, it almost seemed like the plants were growing on the surface of Titan. Of course, as I neared, I could see the moon’s barren landscape stretching for kilometers toward a few distant factories alongside methane lakes, spewing black smoke.

  The coffee shop was in a glassy pavilion across from it. A line extended from the faux-wood counter in its center and out the front door past where an officer was posted. I didn’t see Captain Saunders anywhere inside, so I took a seat by the viewport and stared out at Titan while I waited. I needed to try to keep calm.

  The view may have been nothing except for barren plains and distant, rock-strewn plateaus, but I found the moon’s severity beautiful in its own way. It was the only natural world I’d ever known. Saturn had no surface—nothing to ground me while I was there—so it was hard to count it. I imagined when my people once soared the sky in winged suits before the Great Reunion, free to move about without fear of sickness or persecution.

  Presently, a storm brewed in the distance. Lightning bolts danced across my view as if they were part of a choreographed light show. I must have watched it for thirty minutes. It was the only thing keeping me sane as I continually checked the ever-replenishing line at the coffee shop for Captain Saunders.

  My stomach started to growl, and my neck got sore from supporting my head. At some point, two security officers arrived to loom nearby, trying to pretend they weren’t watching me. It appeared the captain wasn’t going to be found so easily. My next move was to knock on his clan-brother’s door—my mom’s ex-employer, whose home I’d once robbed—to see if he could help. I just had to hope that the captain hadn’t already headed up to the Piccolo’s hangar on Pervenio Station, with the shift starting in a day.

  I stood, but as I did, I noticed someone familiar approaching the line in the pale reflection of the viewport. I spun excitedly and spotted Captain Saunders. He had the typical pinkish skin and stocky build of humans from Earth, though his arms appeared relatively weak compared with most. A prim beard hugged his jawline, mottled on the right side by a series of faded burn scars that were common amongst harvester workers. He didn’t move with the delayed hop-skip that walking under Titan’s low g caused. I’d seen an ad earlier outside of the docks for a new line of form-fitting weighted suits, and the captain wore one under his synth-leather jacket.

  “Captain!” I hollered and jogged toward him. The wary security officers mobilized to follow me.

  Captain Saunders turned to me. His baffled expression didn’t change when he realized who I was. He clearly wasn’t used to seeing the Ringer members of his crew back on Titan.

  “Drayton, what are you doing here?” he questioned. Every single Earther in line focused on us, which I’m sure only fueled the irritation in his tone.

  I offered him a salute and took a moment to gather my breath. Sitting still for so long caused me to forget how much the heat was getting to me.

  “I need to talk to you, Captain,” I panted.

  “Well, spit it out then, boy,” he said. “I don’t have time to waste.”

  “Sir, I made a mistake. I know what I told you last time we spoke, but I’d like my old job back.”

  The captain sneered. “Is that what you expect? You tell me you want to explore other options, and then I take you right back as soon as you have a change of heart. That’s no way to run a business, boy.”

  “I know, but Desmond said you were still searching for my replacement.”

  “That bastard Desmond,” the captain grumbled. He scratched his scruffy chin. “He is right. This break hasn’t been much of one, thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But if you ju—”

  He cut me off. “I wish it were only just you. People don’t want to work on an old-model harvester anymore, even if she works fine. Bonuses for the extra gas those automated hunks can’t gather aren’t worth it anymore apparently. Earthers won’t even respond to my postings, and last week, two other Ringer maintenance workers got taken into quarantine. Probably enjoyed themselves a little too much on break, as usual.”

  My features darkened, and he must have noticed because he cringed and momentarily dropped his gaze toward the floor. I doubted his clan-brother had told him the truth about my mom—he and the captain weren’t close or anything—but the Q-Zones were a sore subject for any of my kind, and not to be brought up lightly.

  “Right, sorry,” he muttered. “Well, you’re in luck. If we go up there undermanned, we’ll risk becoming the next Sunfire. I need all the hands I can get back on board.”

  “Are you sure?” I cursed myself for giving him the opportunity to change his mind. I was expecting to have to beg him. Getting a spot on any harvester had been difficult when I first started, since Earthers got their choice of newer ships and of every position above maintenance.

  “I don’t really have much of a choice,” he said. “Shift leaves in a day, and like I said, the crew is light. You’ll be in the same position, mostly maintenance, and Culver will continue seeing to it that everyone who works hard gets the occasional chance to earn some mechanical training on real repairs. Offer is as solid as ever, though I will be docking you a small fee for the trouble you’ve caused me. We’ll call it five percent. Deal?”

  He was a businessman before anything else, and I knew I shouldn’t expect a promotion after almost leaving; I wasn’t that important. I thought about telling him the truth about my mom to see if he’d change his mind, but the pay was no longer relevant. Captain Saunders was fair, and while I wouldn’t consider us friends, he’d given me my first chance in the real world. That was more than most Ringers from the Lowers ever got.

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Sign me back up.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let it be a lesson that you can’t just go quitting on a whim, boy. Work is scarce. You’re not going to find much better on the Ring unless you know something about botany or can get picked up for a security detail.”

  “I know. It was a mistake.”

  “Don’t let it happen again.” He patted me on the arm with his uncovered hand before I could dodge him. “Report to the Piccolo by tomorrow. I’ve got to try and find another Ringer or two to replace those I’ve lost, and then we’ll be off.”

  “Works for me,” I said, attempting to distance myself from him in a way that wasn’t noticeable.

  “It’ll be another four-month-long shift inside the gas giant, so pack a few shirts. Prove to me that you’re willing to stay on for the long haul, and maybe in a year, I’ll have you in line to be a mechanic. Maybe the head mechanic one day. We’re all growing sick of old Culver anyway.”

  “Head mechanic?” I asked, shocked. Culver, the Piccolo’s elde
rly head mechanic, had creases on his face so deep that it looked like he’d been working on the ship since the day it was built. The crew used to joke that he’d die curled up in one of the harvesting tanks before he retired.

  “Sure. You’ve always worked hard, and nobody seems to complain about you. I know you haven’t had too many opportunities, but everything you ever repaired always ran smoother after. How many Ringers do you know that can say they’re head mechanic of a gas harvester?”

  “None,” I admitted. “It’s... it’s good to be back, sir.”

  “It’s not like you missed a shift, but it’s good to have you back on board, Drayton. Good workers aren’t easy to find these days.” He glanced over at the coffee shop. We were nearing the counter. “You having any?”

  “No, sir. Can’t stand the stuff.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll never understand you people.”

  I smirked. “Well, I’m going to head back to my hollow and start preparing,” I said. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down again.”

  “I hope not.” He held out his exposed hand for me to shake. I gestured to my mask. I wore gloves, but after seeing my mother, I couldn’t bring myself to risk touching an Earther willingly, no matter how safe the Pervenio newscasts claimed it was.

  He shrugged. “Right, better you not go getting sick on me too. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late.” He didn’t wait for a response before turning to the coffee shop’s counter and deciding on his order.

  It was done.

  I released a deep breath. I knew I was making the best choice for my mother’s sake, though that didn’t mean I didn’t wish there was some other way. Maybe, as a mechanic, I’d be able to earn enough credits to help her honestly, but I’d have to wait years.

  I left behind a spate of distrustful Earther glares and walked hastily back to the central lift down to the Lowers. A little too fast, apparently, because I didn’t get far before another stout security officer shadowed me. I slowed down as much as my eagerness would allow. I didn’t want to raise suspicion, considering what I was thinking about doing.

  By the time I reached the central lift and took the plunge, I was so drenched in sweat that it was difficult to peel my clothes off for the decon-chamber. When I was finally through into Level B2, I sped up to a jog, and soon after a run. I could hardly contain myself.

  A few beggars solicited me outside of a food stand selling the parts of plants nobody in the Uppers wanted. Groups of men snorted foundry salts in the shadows, their ragged sanitary masks and shirts making them appear guilty even if they weren’t. They stared right through me as I passed.

  My hollow was located along a long tunnel branching off the west side of the central node. Benji stood cleaning the outside of his hollow’s hatch with a rag that was probably only making it dirtier. I raced by him without bothering to say hello. My thumb extended to work the print-based locking mechanism, and that was when I noticed the view-screen posted adjacent to my hatch.

  The month’s rent to Pervenio Corp had come up short. Apparently, paying for both our home and my mom’s upgraded stay had now depleted my account as well as hers. We had a week to come up with the credits, or the hollow would be leased out to another poor Ringer scraping along for a living. Without John’s terminal or the noodle shop, I wasn’t going to be able to raise them. Even if she got out, my mother would be homeless.

  “Everything all right, Kale?” Benji asked.

  “Not now, Benji,” I said, seething. “Fuck!” I punched the screen as hard as I could. It was Pervenio-made, so the thing didn’t even crack, but it sure as Trass hurt my knuckles.

  “Kale!” Benji approached me, his face flush with concern.

  “Would you just stay out of it!” I shouted, shoving my finger into his chest.

  I flung open my hatch, stormed inside, and locked it. Then I hurried over to my bed and tore the hand-terminal out of my pillow. My chest heaved as I typed a response.

  IF YOU CAN REALLY HELP MY MOTHER, I’LL HELP YOU. WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU NEED?

  -KALE

  I struck “Send” before I could second-guess myself. I wasn’t sure if I felt a sense of relief or nausea afterward, but my response to R streamed invisibly out into the ethers of Solnet, bouncing off laser-com relays throughout Sol toward wherever R was.

  I sat quietly for a while, barely able to tear my eyes off the bright screen. I tried switching on the Darien Newsfeed to distract myself, but again, that didn’t help. A story about Pervenio Corp’s decision to ask the USF Assembly to include offworlders in the Departure Lottery played. The reporters said Titan’s locals were thrilled and depicted the riot in the Upper Ward’s atrium from an angle that made it seem like it was a celebration. On one of the clips, I could see myself standing in the corner of the screen, looking bewildered.

  “Liars,” I grumbled.

  I switched it off and decided I preferred staring at a blank screen. I’d started to doze, when suddenly, my hand-terminal vibrated. I fumbled to hold it upright and steady the screen so that I could read the incoming message.

  MY IDENTITY IS IRRELEVANT. HAVE FAITH THAT MY END OF THE BARGAIN WILL BE FULFILLED AS LONG AS YOU SUCCEED. I NEED YOU TO LINK THIS HAND-TERMINAL TO THE MAIN NAVIGATION CONSOLE OF THE PICCOLO ONCE IT IS WITHIN SATURN’S ATMOSPHERE. THE PROGRAM LOADED ONTO IT WILL EXECUTE AUTOMATICALLY AFTER YOU DO SO.

  FAIL, OR REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE, AND OUR ARRANGEMENT WILL BE NULLIFIED. YOU ARE MORE THAN YOU KNOW, KALE DRAYTON. TRASS GUIDES YOU.

  FROM ICE TO ASHES—R

  “What program?” I whispered, as if anybody could hear me. I leaned back against the rocky wall of my hollow. I don’t know why I was surprised, but I was hoping for more of a direction than that.

  My hand-terminal made a strange squealing noise, as if answering me. The screen flickered, and a new icon appeared in the corner of the flat screen: an orange circle set against a white background. I attempted to open whatever the strange program was, but it was encrypted and, again, well beyond my ability to slice.

  A program... I didn’t have to sneak a bomb or a weapon onto the Piccolo but merely upload whatever the program was, and my mother would be free. Of all the unlawful tasks I’d ever been asked to perform, this one seemed perhaps the most innocent. The only sneaking around required would be to make sure nobody examined the hand-terminal too closely on my journey to Pervenio Station, which I didn’t think would be difficult, since the device operated the same as any other hand-terminal.

  Yet, as the tiny orange circle stared at me like an all-knowing eye, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the program was more than what it seemed. A similar symbol had been painted on the hatch of Dexter’s shop where I found him dead.

  I put the device down and exhaled. It was too late to turn back. I could’ve reported the message before I responded, but now I was too guilty to avoid imprisonment if I were caught. I closed my eyes and pictured my mother’s face, her sallow flesh pulled so taut that she was beginning to look like a skeleton, and I knew I’d made the only decision I could.

  EIGHT

  Scanners. Why do there have to be scanners?

  The morning after meeting with Captain Saunders and getting my job back, I waited in line at the Darien Docks to board a shuttle bound for Pervenio Station. Getting onto any inter-Ring Shuttle off Titan required passing through heavy-duty security scanners and decon-chambers.

  They existed between the Upper and Lower Wards, but while I’d been nervous passing through them with the hand-terminal, those scanners were focused mostly on ensuring nobody had unlicensed weapons or explosives. Since the last time I’d taken a shuttle, however, state-of-the-art scanners had been installed in the docks, I presumed because of all the recent trouble on Titan. Being Pervenio-made meant that they were the finest in the solar system, and they were integrated fully with decon-chambers for the sake of efficiency. Not even Earthers could avoid full inspection. That meant Pervenio officers were going to directly examine all my belongings w
hile I was being cleaned. I wouldn’t even be there to provide an explanation for the mysterious program on my hand-terminal if they noticed it.

  My throat got so dry I could hardly swallow. For years, I’d made a living breaking laws, but they were never serious enough to get me spaced had I been caught.

  The Earthers waiting at the shuttle’s designated hangar went first—only they could afford the best seats—but I was next in line. Another failed attempt to see my mom before I departed had forced me onto the last possible shuttle that would reach Pervenio Station in time for the Piccolo’s departure. In my rush, I’d hurried to the front of the Ringer passengers. I regretted it immediately. The teams monitoring the security equipment probably would’ve been listless by the end of the line. Now I would have their full attention.

  I aimed my gaze straight ahead and tried not to panic. Sweat poured down my forehead. Thankfully, the warm temperature inside the metal-clad hangar had every other Ringer sweating too. My flaring nostrils or twitching fingers probably weren’t much of a help, though.

  “Next,” a voice called out.

  I could picture officers breaking into the decon-chamber while I stood naked and alone, their batons cracking me across the head before they cuffed me and dragged me away.

  “Next!” the officer in front of me grunted. “Pay attention, Ringer! We’re on a schedule.”

  It was my turn. I murmured “sorry” to him and handed him my ID card. He scrutinized it, and me, for about a minute before returning it and ushering me into the decon-chamber. It was much bigger than the one at the quarantine—more industrial. They were never my favorite things to step into, but typically, I only had to worry about my body coming up clean.

  The din of the waiting area was silenced as the vacuum-sealed chamber closed behind me. The only sound other than the rapid thumping of my heart was the soft, melodious hum of high-end electrostatic cleaners powering up.