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

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Time to get you cleaned up before Yan Ning has a heart attack.”

  She extended a hand. I took it and went to sit up, but pain wrenched my side and caused me to wince. I reached for a cluster of sore ribs, realizing that my knuckles were scraped and bloody. Had I been in a brawl? That’s right; those uppity collectors who had the nerve not to recognize me.

  I rolled over and realized we were in the garbage alley behind the Twilight Sun. I recognized it by the neon sign at the corner with half the letters unlit. My pants were soaking wet, and as much as I wanted to tell myself it was just beer, I knew the answer before I smelled it. I’d pissed myself. The sensation in my damaged lower body was strained enough while I was sober. Being loaded up as much as I was had apparently caused my bladder to lose control.

  What a picture I must have painted. Former veteran collector for Pervenio Corp, and apparent confidant of Luxarn Pervenio himself, waking up in an alley covered in my own piss and blood.

  Wai knelt and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “C’mon, lǎo tóuzi. Let’s get you up.” She strained her weak offworlder muscles to help me, and eventually, I mustered the energy to beg my artificial leg to provide one final push. My other leg shook as I leaned against the wall and spit out whatever wretched taste the night had left in my mouth. My lip stung from a fresh cut.

  “Your shower is already warmed up for you,” she said. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  “Like hell you can.” She wrapped her arm even further around me and guided me toward the rusty stairs leading up to my apartment. I’d never felt so hungover in my entire life. Every liver-spotted part of me wanted to fall off and be done with it. Find a new body to latch on to.

  The stairs were brutal. I could tell my weight was crushing Wai, even though she did her best not to show it. At the top, we both had to lean on the railing to catch our breath.

  “Why are you helping me, girl?” I panted.

  “I have no idea.” She shrugged then grinned impishly. “Because I like you, lǎo tóuzi. You’re the first friend I’ve made up here who wasn’t my boss or just there for a show.”

  “Friend.” I sighed. I glanced over at her, unable to force myself to return a smile. I liked her too. She was strong, even if she didn’t realize it. Anyone who grew up in the sewers and still managed to emerge with a shred of charm ought to be. She was better than the life she had at the Twilight Sun. A dancer for now, sure, but once her looks faded, the streets would call to her.

  She deserved better than that. Better than me for a friend. Of the last two people I’d let get close to me, one was in a coma he’d never wake from by my hand, and the other was a daughter I’d chased so far away she joined up with terrorists.

  Wai opened my door and went to help me again, but I brushed her off me, purposely throwing my Earther strength into the motion so she’d stagger.

  “I can take it from here, dammit!” I growled.

  “Cào!” she yelped. “Fine, lǎo tóuzi, I won’t touch you.”

  She hurried in and flopped onto the patchwork of fabrics I had for a couch. I followed her inside, slowly. The place was a dump. Tarnished finishes, furniture all beaten to death. Most of the tiles on the floor were cracked or missing. It was my first permanent home since growing up in a clan-family back on Earth, and it was all I had to show for a lifetime of hard labor. There wasn’t even a single picture on the wall or memento on a table, like I’d materialized out of nowhere.

  “Now I believe you owe me a story about who you really are,” Wai said.

  I leaned on the armrest right next to her, panting. “Trust me, girl. It’s a sad tale. You don’t want to hear it.”

  “You know I love a tearjerker.”

  “Not this one.”

  “Oh, qǐng, lǎo tóuzi!” She clasped my bloody knuckles. “I’ve known you long enough, Mr. Shénmi. Mysterious man. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than pester an old man?”

  She put on a wicked grin. “Not a thing. At least tell me how you got that gāo kējì leg.”

  She leaned forward and started brushing the dirt off the pants leg on my artificial side. She didn’t care that it was stained with urine, as if she were my live-in nurse. In fact, she didn’t seem to care about anything. She treated my tiny piece-of-crap apartment like it was a palace. Like it was better than anything she could ever get outside the sewers. Help her, Malcolm, my brain told me. Drive her far away from this place and from you.

  I pushed her hand away. “Do you really want to know who I am?” I asked. “I was a corporate collector, for too long. Made a living hunting down sewer rats like you who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.”

  She winced. She recovered quickly, but I could tell my words hit her where it counted. “All right, lǎo tóuzi,” she said. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  “No, you’re not. Girls like you, they just can’t help it. See a broken-down man like me and see just how far they can put him over without putting out.”

  Her pretty face contorted even more this time. “I… that’s not true. You told me to stay here any time I wanted.”

  “Yeah. You think I did that just so that I could have the joy of you helping me up the stairs every night?”

  She stood and skirted around me to get to my coffee table. She picked up a half-drunk glass of murky water from a night earlier and held it out for me. “I don’t know what kind of poison yàowù you took last night, but maybe you should take a nap. You’re acting loopy.”

  I smacked the glass into the wall. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me! I don’t need the help of some two-bit sewer bitch who can barely dance!”

  Her lower lip quivered. Tears started to well in the corners of her eyes. I didn’t back down. I couldn’t. The worst hangover I’d had in years helped my tone seem genuine. She attempted to respond, but I didn’t give her the opportunity.

  “Now, unless you’re going to come in and help me shower, I don’t understand why you’re still here,” I said. “Or did you think I was kind to you for another reason? Friends… down here, all you’re worth is a dying man covered in piss, gir—”

  A powerful slap across my face stopped me mid-word. She meant it, and despite her weak offworlder muscles, she made it sting. Tears rolled from her eyes, and she glowered at me for a few seconds before hurrying toward the exit without a word. I watched her the whole way.

  She stopped for a moment in the opening, as if waiting for an apology. A sudden onset of nausea ensured I didn’t do anything stupid like that. I liked her too much to let her waste her life clinging to a crummy gig all because she viewed the bouncer like a father she never had down in the sewers. She was better off driven far away.

  She slammed the door. I leaned over the armrest and vomited the contents of a night I’d never remember all over my floor.

  I was a half hour late for the Twilight Sun’s opening. About the time I usually strolled in, and nobody seemed to care, but on the day Kale Trass was coming to Mars, Yan Ning pretended he did. He laid into me loud enough for all the kitchen and server staff to hear. I nodded without really listening, instead staring at the barren stage. Wai hadn’t come in. She hadn’t messaged sick or about an emergency either. I was glad. Maybe my little outburst was the final push she needed to seek out something better than the dump where I’d decided to hang up my gun.

  “Haglin, are you listening to me?” Yan Ning shoved a fat, hairy finger into my chest, and he was an Earther, so I felt it.

  “Yep,” I lied.

  “Good. And no drinking on the job today. I mean it.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” I surveyed the room. A few patrons sat at the bar, eyes glued to the viewscreens. One couple sat at a corner booth eating what passed for lunch in the place. “I wouldn’t want to scare off all of the customers.”

  Yan Ning’s cheeks flushed a hot shade of red. “Just get to work. The Ringers are arriving soon, and peop
le are coming from all over Mars. And where the hell is Wai!”

  I shrugged then lumbered over to my post by the entrance. My headache had waned after a shower, but water in New Beijing was controlled by Venta Co., and they weren’t generous with it. I only got a minute or two to wipe myself down and scrub out the tiny rifts in my artificial leg before it cut out. Wai’s final gift to me. I could tell by how clean the inside of the stall was that she’d taken her time the night before.

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I’d done the right thing by pushing her away, yet I couldn’t seem to quiet the pangs of guilt pulling at my brain. The only thing that could cure me was a drink, so I snuck a flask out of my duster and kicked my legs up. I didn’t even try to hide it.

  Yan Ning was right. The Tongueway was bustling, though the Twilight Sun was everyone’s last choice as always. I let in a few haggards who’d clearly had as rough a night as I had. I patted them down and scanned their IDs. Not that Yan Ning cared if I let in illegitimates, but we had to keep up appearances in case any Venta officers happened to check in.

  “Malcolm Graves, I can’t believe it!” someone exclaimed just as I was about to doze off.

  A man in a Venta officer uniform altered his course toward me. At first, I worried that the collectors from the night before had decided to waste more time on me, but when he got close enough for my tired old eyes to distinguish him, I realized it was worse. I was glad I’d already thrown up that morning. It was Trevor Cross, a former rival Venta collector. Judging by his new uniform, his employers hadn’t been overly kind to him since I ran into him my last time on Titan. He’d gotten in Zhaff’s and my way while pursuing the Children of Titan, so I put a bullet in his leg. Should have aimed for his loud mouth instead.

  “I heard two collectors down at the station grumbling about some crazy old coot named Malcolm who cheap-shotted them at the Mangled Mare,” he said once he reached me, wearing that same damn pompous grin he always did.

  “Those two had it coming.” I lowered my feet and positioned myself in his way. Of all the shitholes in Sol, of course he had to stumble upon mine.

  “Oh, I’m sure. They couldn’t remember your real last name, but as soon as I searched your fake one, I couldn’t believe my eyes. They wanted to come down here themselves, but I told them we had a history. Said I’d make things right.”

  “I hope you aren’t expecting a thank you.”

  He snickered. “Never from you. I just had to see with my own eyes. I figured you’d finally died after bungling things on Titan.”

  “Maybe I’m remembering wrong, but you and Madame Venta had a hand in that, I think.”

  “Fucking Ringers, right?”

  “Yep. Who would expect anybody to rebel after providing them with enough black market weapons to outfit an army? I see you’ve got a new job, though. I guess Venta put the blame on you too, huh?”

  He ground his jaw but managed to maintain his composure. “I decided I was tired of getting shot in the leg by old men.”

  “I’m not going to lie; an officer’s uniform suits you.”

  “Captain, actually.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty.” Someone else stepped up to the door to get inside. The bald man’s rags were ripped all over, revealing his milk-white skin. He was a generational offworlder for sure, judging by how incredibly tall and lanky he was, but the deep, grime-caked wrinkles creasing his forehead were odd for someone from a low-g environment.

  Trevor and I paused, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. All he did was stare at Trevor with eyes as dark as charcoal.

  “You got an ID?” I asked. He shook his head. “What’re you planning on doing without credits?”

  He pointed over my shoulder at the viewscreens inside. Kale Trass and the other Ringers had apparently landed, but crowds and protesters in the spaceport were causing significant delays. I glanced back at the silent offworlder, studied him from head to toe, and then grinned.

  “All right, head on in.” I waved him forward and started to pat him down, struggling to reach his towering shoulders. All the while, he continued staring at Trevor.

  “Really, Graves? An illegitimate right in front of me?” Trevor asked, gesturing to the Venta Co. insignia denoting his membership in their private security.

  I finished up with the offworlder and lightly nudged him inside. “Shit, I forgot. Sorry about that, sir.”

  He sneered. “That’s no problem; we’re off duty. But you let rabble like that into your place, then I’ve got to see what’s inside. C’mon, boys.” He waved a crew of two other off-duty officers over and shoved by me. With their uniforms on, I couldn’t do anything about it. I tolerated my new job too much. It kept me well imbibed. Trevor’s eyes lit up as they beheld my new home in all its dingy glory.

  “Welcome, officers!” Yan Ning greeted from behind the bar, as excited to see new customers as a kid on M-Day seeing a Departure Ark for the first time. “How can I help you?”

  Trevor ignored him. “Oh, this is too good,” he cackled. “The great Malcolm Graves, reduced to doorman for a bucket of shit.”

  My fingers started to itch. Yup. I should’ve gotten rid of him for good back on Titan.

  “Don’t even have a single dancer,” one of his mates snickered.

  “If this is what retirement is like, I hope I die young.” Trevor laughed.

  “Maybe I’ll show you what I did to those two collectors last night,” I said, seething.

  “Please, old man. You don’t have your little pet Cogent around to protect you this time. What was his name? Zhaff, right? Heard he didn’t get as lucky as you back on Titan.”

  I leaned in, inches away from his face. His men immediately crowded me, hands on their shock batons. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

  Trevor grinned as he pushed me back. “You aren’t worth wasting my time.” He waved to Yan Ning. “How about a round of your best Martian vodka for everyone here. All five of them.” He and his crew burst out in laughter as they took seats at the bar. Trevor plopped down right beside the grim, mute offworlder.

  Yan Ning filled glasses and started shuffling them over to everybody at the bar. “What about one for the doorman?” Trevor asked. “Don’t want him missing out.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Yan Ning replied. “Staff doesn’t drink on the job here.”

  “Staff? You do realize who that is, right?”

  “I never ask.” Yan Ning shrugged and finished handing out drinks. He placed the last in front of the mute offworlder, who glared at it as if it were toxic.

  “What’re you staring at, sewer trash?” Trevor barked at the stranger. “You gonna take this with us or what?”

  The offworlder had remained utterly silent since sitting down, not even opening his mouth to breathe. He hadn’t touched his drink either. In response to Trevor, he merely folded his arms in a conscious display of denial and turned his attention back toward the newsfeed.

  “Too dumb to take a handout,” Trevor grumbled. “How’s about the keeper of this fine establishment joins us instead.” He snatched the glass and slid it to Yan Ning so hard that he had no choice but to grab it or it’d spill everywhere.

  “Sir, I insist—” Yan Ning said before being cut off.

  “Take it. Days like this don’t come around often.” Trevor grabbed his own glass and raised it to signal a toast. “Old friends, new places. To Malcolm Graves!” he shouted, nodding toward the viewscreens, where every newsfeed depicted images of Kale Trass’s face while also recording the ceaseless unrest at the spaceport. “Without him, none of what’s happening today would be possible.”

  I stormed forward, grabbed Trevor by the collar, and pulled him from his seat. My fist was raised and ready to clock him. “Why don’t we settle this again?” I growled. For a moment, fear twisted his smug façade, but then Yan Ning said something that brought the grin right back to his lips.

  “Get your hands off of our guest, Haglin!” he ordered
, using my fake name despite Trevor blurting out my real one. Either he wasn’t paying attention or he knew better than to worry about the truth.

  “Listen to him, Haglin,” Trevor said. “You wouldn’t want to spend your retirement behind bars.”

  I glared at him and his two companions. Their shit-eating grins matched his. A couple years back, I would’ve thrown the punch and known I could easily take down three shoddy Venta officers, but based on the night before, I wasn’t even sure my battered body could knock Trevor out with one hit.

  I dropped my fist and released him. The smirk he wore as I did renewed my sense of nausea. It didn’t matter how many times I’d bested him in the past, letting him get the upper hand went against my nature. I might as well have changed my name for good because the weight Malcolm Graves used to carry was officially gone.

  Trevor settled down in his seat and finally lifted his half-spilled drink to his lips. He took it, signaling everyone else in the bar with one to do the same. Then he slammed it down and cleared his throat. His smirk didn’t fade for even a millisecond. “Some things never change. New master’s got you on an even tighter leash.”

  “Fuck it,” I groaned. I reared my arm back to punch him, but just before my hand shot forward, the room shook. And not like it might from a passing train. It was the kind of violent tremor that occurs on board a spaceship while passing through Earth’s dense atmosphere.

  It caused me to stumble, and my hand smashed into the edge of the bar. The dated viewscreens went grainy or black, and light pendants throughout the bar swung. A layer of dust that hadn’t been roused in years swirled about the Twilight Sun, drawing everyone into a frenzy of coughing.

  “What the hell was that?” Trevor grated. His men had their weapons drawn as they struggled for a dust-free breath.

  “Is everyone okay?” Yan Ning shouted.

  “Get your damn screens working!” Trevor propped himself up on a stool and started slapping the nearest one. The image was now too fuzzy to see anything but blurs of motion.