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

by Rhett C. Bruno

  A few more workers tried to gain my attention as I hurried for the exit. I was in a race against the clock. Soon, someone might check my examination room and find three unconscious bodies, if they didn’t come to first.

  I stepped out into the concourse and looked from side to side. I don’t like to give Venta much credit, but their new station was turning out to be a marvel. Unlike Pervenio Station, which was built into a moon and was mostly solid, this was like walking into a kaleidoscope. Every floor wound around an atrium for the Space Elevator, which sank down to Europa itself, each enclosed from space by great spans of glass angled in different directions. Planting areas, vivid advertisements, venue lights—the glass reflected and refracted, making the entire thing seem like its own contained tubular world. Escalators crossed this way and that, crowded by colonists busy shopping or enjoying time off.

  Because Europa was also tidally locked on Jupiter, it always had the same orientation to the planet, which served as a sky to the colony. Through the upper skylight, which capped the elevator, the planet’s great eye eternally swirled.

  Each floor soared to impressive heights, easily structured thanks to the station itself not being directly on Europa and limited by a gravity similar to Titan’s. It wasn’t overly pleasant for an Earther like me without a weighted suit, which the doctor didn’t have, but this station would serve as a gleaming headquarters while Jupiter grew and Europa was potentially terraformed. Like Titan, it had been tagged for the possibility of human inhabitation far into the future, but on Titan, the locals were deadlier than the air.

  I searched the packed station, unsure if Level 3 meant up or down. I didn’t have much time to worry about it since, through the crowd outside of a tech shop, I saw a glint of yellow and a man dressed in black. I’d had enough dealing with Cogents for one lifetime.

  Now I really need to rush. I headed for the heart of the massive space, where smaller lifts shot up and down along the edges of the space elevator atrium. Apparently, the entire area I was in was considered the Level 1 Mall District. I’m not sure why I was surprised. These corporations always blew their wad up top making things pretty and stuffed the rest below.

  L2 was residential, probably one of the darker bands of the station I’d seen on approach. L3 was labeled as the Jovian Security headquarters as well as lower restricted access. That meant any officer could get to the floor I needed to be on, which was step one. I stepped onto the lift occupied by a construction crew. That remained Jupiter’s primary source of employ.

  One of them rode a Venta Co. construction mech, and the others were in basic boiler suits. The thing towered above me like a great metal gorilla, carrying supplies in its front and with mobile arms and legs mimicking the motions of an operator within its transparent cockpit. The things weren’t nimble to be of much use indoors, but near zero-g construction foremen could do wonders in them.

  Colonies out on the Asteroid Belt abused them more than anywhere else—some even reoutfitting them for combat. Ceres, in particular, had an incredible manned-mech fighting league where you could bet away a shipload of credits if you had them. I knew because I’d wasted a payday from a big job on Eros there once. I’d even snuck Aria in to watch.

  A few workers eyed me as I stepped on. Right before the lift went down, a security officer stepped on, heading back to headquarters.

  “How many damn units do they want us to build on this place?” one of the construction workers asked.

  “All those refugees from Titan have to live somewhere,” answered another.

  “I’m just sick of the lines ever since they flooded here.”

  “It’ll only get worse with the merger talks.”

  The lift stopped at L2, and the construction crew filed out. The mech lumbered past me, and its arm knocked into the officer.

  “Watch it,” he spat.

  “Sorry about that,” the worker replied from high up in the cockpit.

  The doors shut and we were about to head down when the lighting went red, and an alert sounded. A holographic screen appeared in front of us, my face plastered right in the center. It was an old photo from the last time I renewed my collector’s license with Pervenio, but it wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The only differences were fewer wrinkles and gray hairs.

  “This is a station-wide alert,” a feminine robotic voice said. “Be on the lookout for this refugee. He may appear to be a doctor, but consider him armed and extremely dangerous.”

  “Don’t,” I said softly, sliding the barrel of my pulse pistol behind the security officer’s head before he could do the same. I didn’t need many fancy gadgets like the new wave of collectors, but I had none of my usual gear—no spotters or intel, nothing—so I couldn’t afford to take risks.

  “Off the elevator, now,” I said as I reached around him and signaled the doors to open. I couldn’t arrive at the security quarters level dressed how I was now.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” the officer stammered. He sounded young.

  “Good, then walk.” I gave him a light shove out into the hall of the Martelle Station residences. I moved my gun down behind his back and kept it close so nobody would see.

  Gracious halls coiled around the atrium through which the space elevator plunged, the glass here angled in such a way to reflect stars from behind Europa as if it were a night sky. Doors to residential units lined the outer wall entirely around the station’s circumference. Each had a sod lawn out front, complete with a white privacy fence—because why not pretend to be on Ancient Earth? The look repeated down at least ten floors, with smaller lifts set at intervals to traverse them.

  The whole development was a gaudy mess, a far cry from Pervenio’s sleek, reserved designs.

  I searched from side to side. Residents roamed freely, with security officers here and there. The half of the residences across the gaping atrium were blocked off with non-fabric with an aluminum inlay strong enough to keep the void of space at bay. Security drones zipped out of a ventilation system, spreading out to sweep the floor for the intruder—me.

  “This way,” I said as I pulled on the officer. I dragged him up the ridiculous stoop in front of a unit and told him to knock. He did as I asked. Typical Venta Co. security; all the shine but none of the grit.

  “I don’t know what you want,” the officer said, “but you’ll never get off this station.”

  “Who said anything about getting off?” I replied. “Knock harder.”

  A few seconds passed, and I could hear the buzz of the drones nearing. Finally, someone inside grumbled something, and the door lifted.

  “What’s all the commoti—” an old man said, not that I had the right to call anybody that.

  I pushed inside and aimed the gun at him over the officer’s shoulder. The old man’s hands shot up, and fear twisted his features. “Close it and lock it,” I said.

  “Please, I… I…”

  “Now!”

  The man did as I asked, then I waved him over to his couch. The unit was spacious; I’ll give Venta that. High ceilings, top-of-the-line appliances, and furniture. A bulbous viewport on the far side was programmed to show a scene from Ancient Earth rather than the blackness of space. Grass as green as Aria’s eyes swayed in the wind, and a few types of bird I couldn’t name soared by.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the old man stammered.

  “Quiet.”

  I removed all of the officer’s weapons, placed them on a table, and shoved him onto the floor by the couch so I could keep an eye on both of them.

  “Undress,” I demanded.

  “What?” the officer said. “Why?”

  “Just do it. I don’t feel like killing anybody today.”

  A voice made me whip around, gun high until I realized someone had landed on controls for the unit’s viewscreen. A newsfeed popped up, talking heads from around Sol blathering on about something called the Red Wing Massacre, which, according to the ticker, occurred only a short period af
ter we left Mars.

  The screen displayed a grainy image of a man in white armor aiming a pulse-rifle at members of the Red Wing Board in the conference room of their ship.

  A reporter came on screen. “With news that Red Wing Company plans to sell off its assets to the highest bidders after the unprovoked murder of 90 percent of their board, Pervenio Corp is surprisingly expected to be highly involved,” he said. “We reached out to Luxarn Pervenio, Pervenio Corp CEO and Chairman, for comment. What we’re about to show is his first public statement since the forceful seizure of the Ring…”

  I barely skimmed the message, but it held all the buzzwords. Atrocity, injustice, etc., etc. One month or so in transit from Mars, and I’d missed that much? Red Wing folding thanks to a Ringer massacre of their leaders. Pervenio Corp and Venta Co making moves to grow in power.

  Feint-of-hand was the Children of Titan’s repertoire. I’d seen it enough. The bastards had used a peace summit on Mars only to kidnap Basaam Venta, but apparently, they’d left somebody behind to sacrifice their life, ravaging the company that had helped them survive so they could send Earth into a frenzy.

  The news stunned me, and I only heard the security officer making his move before I could turn on him. He smacked my artificial leg with his shock baton and answered my questions about what it was made of. Enough metal and circuitry to give out and cause me to fall, but damn, Mr. Pervenio was good, and dampeners at its connection points caused the surge to die there.

  The officer expected me to convulse, but out of reflex, I shot him straight through the shoulder. At such close range, a chunk of his armor and flesh were bit out. He howled and fell backward, making a racket before I was able to get a hand over his mouth. The old resident screamed and covered his head.

  “Dammit!” I stifled a shout of my own. “I didn’t want to do that.” I peeked up at the closed door. There wasn’t a chance in hell the insulation in a Venta Co. construction was good enough to block the bang of a pulse pistol. “I’m going to let my hand off your mouth. Try to be quiet.”

  I did it, and he cried out at the top of his lungs. I quickly pressed down again. “Oh, calm down,” I said. “It’s just a flesh wound. You still have one good arm. We’re going to get you out of this armor.” A footstep drew my aim to the old man, who slowly crawled toward his bedroom. He froze.

  I bit my lip then said, “Get in and lock the door.” He appeared harmless enough, and I didn’t feel like dealing with two hostages. He scurried inside and signaled the door to shut. I shot the controls so he wouldn’t be able to get back out. One gunshot had already most likely given me away, so what could another hurt?

  “I know you,” my hostage rasped as I let my fingers off a bit. His eyes went wide. “I was an officer on Pervenio Station when you came through to put the Children down. A few of the others whispered you were a legend.”

  I scoffed. There was a time not too long ago when hearing that would have had me parading around like a peacock in heat. “There are no legends in Sol,” I said.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Take my advice, son. Your clan-family, whoever you got who you love, get far away from them. Things are easier in our line of work when you’re on your own. Now, start undressing.”

  He grimaced as he used his healthy arm to start removing the pieces of his Venta Co. armor. I helped him with my free hand, never letting my aim off him. When we were done, I used the couch to get to my feet since my artificial leg was still acting a bit wonky from the shock.

  “Malcolm Graves, we know you’re in there!” an officer outside shouted, banging on the door. “Open up and surrender.”

  I fired at the door. The reinforced metal didn’t allow it to penetrate, but it would keep them from barging in.

  “You don’t have to do this,” the officer said.

  “You don’t know what I have to do,” I replied as I started removing my doctor’s scrubs down to my boiler suit.

  “It’ll be PerVenta Corporation soon,” the guard on the floor said. “Mr. Pervenio could do something to get someone with your reputation out of this. They used your operations as case studies back when I applied to be a collector on the station.”

  “Yeah, which ones?”

  “There was a slave trafficker in a station out in the Belt named Viktor Mannekin,” he said. “You put him down.”

  I closed my eyes and thought back to that mission, more than a decade ago. That was one mission I felt good about after, helping all those poor people that mad scientist wanted to turn into cybernetic servants. He had hundreds of illegitimates like Aria filling cages on his wall, waiting for their turn to be cut open. Sometimes the men I killed deserved nothing better, but I couldn’t help also picturing the bodies of dead and dying Ringers filling that room below the Darien quarantine. Coughing, bleeding, covered in sores and rashes.

  “They aren’t all so valiant,” I said. “Trust me, you’re better off here.”

  “But people like you make a difference. I’ve heard a few Pervenio friends say you almost stopped the Children of Titan before we fled and wound up here.”

  “Stopped them?” I chuckled. “There was no stopping our own creation. Now sit up.”

  I helped pull the scrubs over his shoulders. He winced as it brushed his bleeding shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and tried to look tough. I remembered being a young gun like him, eager to move up the corporate ladder and do what I did best. Tough in front of all the fearless collectors I’d ever run into.

  “You can’t really believe those monsters don’t deserve to die,” the officer said, staring at the viewscreen where more footage of the Red Wing Massacre played.

  The company mostly leased out its services, specializing in security and transport. None of their board deserved to be slaughtered—at least not all of them—but nobody ever reported about Cora and the other Ringer crew members of the Piccolo who Director Sodervall had apparently murdered.

  “Them. Us… I’m not sure who the good guys are anymore,” I said. “I’m leaning toward nobody.” I drew the sanitary mask Rin had given me from my pocket and crouched in front of the kid. “One day, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll understand what I’m doing.”

  I’d spent months on Mars drinking myself into a stupor, wishing anybody would remember who I was. Few would unless they’d run through the right Pervenio circles, but as I tied the sanitary mask tight around his face and stuffed it into his mouth to keep him quiet, the shattered look in his eyes made me crave a drink again. Everyone wants to be remembered until the expectations that come with it. In the end, it’s just easier to be forgotten.

  “Do me a favor and look elsewhere for your heroes,” I said as I started putting on his armor. I had the lower half fitting snugly when I heard a slight buzz. It could’ve easily been mistaken for static from the viewscreen, but the officer knew of me for a reason. I’d been around long enough to hear all sorts of sounds, and that was a security drone moving through the vents.

  “Stay low,” I said to him. He muttered something incomprehensible in response.

  I darted for the wall, carrying the rest of his armor. I stretched my artificial leg back and forth to work out the kinks. Then I braced myself on the back of the couch, reared back, and kicked the wall as hard as I could will my leg to move. The demising wall caved but didn’t break. I did it again, and by the third time, I heard a clank.

  I glanced back and saw that the drone had dropped a concussive grenade in through the vents. The officer’s face went bright with panic. I gave the wall one last kick to weaken the metal, then charged it, holding the armor out in front of me. I crashed through into the adjoining unit as the grenade went off.

  Hundreds of tiny rubber pellets shot out along with a mask of smoke, bouncing this way and that. A blow to the head from any one of them was enough to stun a man. I was lucky I had the lower half of the armor on because they pelted my legs and feet, and covered me in welts even through it.

  I landed in
the next room, where the pellets still bounced and caused a frenzy. Unlike the other unit, this one was packed with at least thirty people. Some were quick enough to cover their heads like me, others were knocked off their feet.

  I waited until the sound of pellets quieted, then popped up to my feet. I needed to brace myself on the first piece of furniture I could find because my human leg stung with pain. Whether it was from the grenade or standing up too fast for my weary old muscles, I wasn’t sure.

  While I quickly finished putting on the rest of the armor, I took stock of my surroundings. Smoke filled both rooms and had everyone who wasn’t groaning or unconscious coughing. The residents were grimy and terrified. Many wore Pervenio-made clothing and weighted boiler suits. I knew the look of refugees from the Ring when I saw them.

  “Freeze!” officers shouted, back in the old man’s room. The laser sights of security officers refracted through the fog, no doubt aimed at the poor security officer. “On the ground! Don’t move!”

  I finished getting the helmet and blast visor on, then looked at all the petrified faces. I raised the barrel of my pistol to my mouth as if shushing them, then headed for the door. I stepped out calmly. One of the officers waiting outside the adjoining unit turned toward me.

  “This one’s clear,” I said.

  He nodded affirmatively then continued along with the others. I took a few steps his way as if I were with him, then turned to skirt along the concourse. More officers flooded down from the lifts. Security drones scanned every level of the residences.

  “Please, stay indoors,” a group of officers ordered a group of civilians crowded outside of their homes. I fell into their ranks.

  “It’s not him,” someone said through the station-wide coms built into my helmet. “I repeat, the intruder is loose.”

  I cursed under my breath and picked up my pace. “You, halt!” one of the nearest officers yelled. I didn’t look back, at least not until I heard my name.

  “Malcolm Graves, stop this.” The voice made me stop in my tracks. The perfect pronunciation of every letter and syllable; the robotic nature like the sentence was coming through an automated reader. I looked back and saw the yellow glint of a Cogent Agent’s eye lens as its owner stepped off the elevator, all clad in black.