Titan's Fury: A Science Fiction Thriller (Children of Titan Book 4)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “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 after 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 o
ne 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.

  “I have the shot!” an officer yelled.

  “He is wanted alive,” the Cogent said.

  “Screw tha—” The Cogent shot the rifle out of the man’s hand before he could fire at me. Mr. Pervenio, still seeing the best in me after everything and keeping me alive. If the entire floor didn’t know where I was yet, that gave it away. All around the atrium, they swarmed in my direction.

  I fired off a few rounds to hold them at bay. A security drone promptly shocked the gun out of my hand with an electric bolt. I was lucky my leg kept me grounded, but the surge up my arm had it feeling like my veins were going to explode. I held my wrist as I took off for the construction zone barrier. A few officers didn’t take the Cogent’s advice—or apparently care about civilian collateral. Bullets zipped over my head and clanged off the railing.

  A security lockdown had the construction zone sealed off and locked. I didn’t slow down. At full speed, I kicked through the entry, crashing through the airlock. A gust of pressure swept me off my feet and hurled me inside before blast shutters slammed down and resealed the airlock. The zone being worked on had a temporary exo-curtain outside as well, so workers were safe from space, but it wasn’t as climatized as the occupied portions of the station. The air was cold, thin, and stale.

  Construction crewmen in light exo-suits, with auxiliary oxygen supply to make up for the conditions, rushed to me as I struggled to gather myself after being flung into a half-built wall. Heavy machinery filled the gaping space, with scaffolding and automated lifts allowing them to move amongst the development. Construction mechs lifted the massive panels that would comprise the exterior plating of the station into place. Sparks flew out as parts of the residences were welded above and below me.

  “You all right, man?” one of the workers said, shaking my shoulder.

  I squeezed my aching head. My visor was cracked, and my helmet dented. I had to pull it off before I could think.

  “Don’t move,” another worker said. “Let’s get a medical crew down here.” He whistled and pointed to a ledge a dozen meters up, where a foreman was busy directing more workers. Clearly, news of my breaking in had yet to impact construction. Shutting it down until I was handled would waste money, and like Pervenio Corp, Venta Co. always had the bottom line to consider. Oh well, I guessed they were soon to be one and the same. Bitter rivals united in their hatred for a common enemy.

  Once I could see clearly, I grabbed the worker right in front of me and wrapped my arm around his neck. “Anyone moves, I break his head off,” I growled. Yeah, me, who wasn’t even capable of shooting a collector beating his daughter anymore.

  The crowd around me backed away slowly. I reached up with my free hand and opened coms with the Cora.

  “Rin, whoever is listening, I need you to put Basaam on right now,” I said.

  “What do you need to ask him?” Rin replied.

  “Not you, him.”

  “You don’t make the rules anymore, Collector.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Put him on, now!” I coughed, and my throat rattled. The thin oxygen made shouting a pain. A few of the workers shifted their stance, and I squeezed their comrade’s throat harder.

  I heard some muffled arguing in the background, no doubt between Rin and Kale, then Basaam said, “This is Basaam. What do you need?” I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting him, but I’d seen him on tech shows and other documentaries before. Sometimes waiting to make a move on a target got boring. Presently, a palpable layer of fear coated his every word.

  “Basaam, I’m sorry to meet you,” I said. “I’m their man on Martelle Station.”

  “You aren’t one of them, are you?” he asked.

  “What gave it away?”

  “Your voice.”

  I snickered. “Basaam, I’m going to need you to tell me which side of Martelle Station your lab is on. I’m going to be accessing it from the outside.”

  “Outside?” Rin said. “We already got you in.”

  “Yeah, well, you sent me in blind. I’m improvising.” I didn’t like the way a few of the workers on the scaffolding above me moved, so I started walking with my captive. “Waiting on an answer here, Basaam.”

  “I… I’m not sure,” Basaam stuttered. “I’ve only accessed it from within the station. They filter all sensitive work through the security headquarters. Then there are a few lifts. I—”

  “Warning, all members of the Martelle Station Residences construction crew,” a voice came over a loudspeaker. “Please evacuate the Sector G work zone. If you are unable to, engage your exo-helmets and oxygen stores immediately.”

  If the workers weren’t stirring before, that certainly got them panicked. Sparks flew out of blast shutters I’d broken through as officers on the other side got to cutting through. I heard more shouting above and below as security officers entered through airlocks on the other levels of the residences. I pushed the worker away from me and ran to a construction mech. Its operator had ditched it and was in the process of fleeing.

  “Take a breath, and dig into that big old head of yours,” I said to Basaam as I ducked under its chassis. “Is there a viewport or something identifiable?”

  “It’s an entire floor of customizable office suites,” Basaam said. “The exteriors
are the same; we never see them.”

  “But you look out. What about a moon?” I said. “Europa has a fixed orbit, so are there any moons you see that I might recognize at this time? I know men like you love to stare out of windows.”

  “Callisto, no wait…”

  Security drones zipped into the space, requesting for all workers to evacuate or find shelter. They were going to drain all the oxygen out of the zone and root me out.

  “Basaam, think!” I said.

  “Io!” he blurted. Yes, that’s the one. It’s around lunchtime, and I sit at my desk and sometimes notice it while I watch the feeds. Sulfur from its extreme geologic activity makes the moon appear jaundiced.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. We had no time to be wrong.

  “Yes. I did my thesis at Phobos Academy on the potential for using that activity as an energy source to terraform it. I wouldn’t forget.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.”

  I gripped the open cockpit of the construction mech and hauled myself up. I knew the drones would see me, but it was my only way out. The plating was thick enough to withstand solar radiation and allow for operation in the harshness of space.

  “There he is!” From above, gunfire clanked off the thing’s hull before I heard the Cogent’s shout about wanting me alive. Laser sights sliced across the room.

  “All right, let’s see what a blue-collar life might have led to,” I said. The worker had left the mech running, so I signaled the cockpit to seal. Glowing controls filled the room in front of me. My hands fit snugly through its hollowed arms to grasp two handles. Moving was supposed to be just like walking—that was what the ads always said.

  I gave the arms a try, and its massive, tool-filled limb swung. A worker ducked under it just in time, otherwise, I’d have smacked him into the outer enclosure.

  “Slowly, Malcolm. That’s it.” I lifted my human leg with a great deal of strain, and it stepped with me. Easy—my ass. Construction was a young man’s game. Operating the limbs took every bit of strength I had.

  Another drone gave the mech an electrified blast, and all the gizmos in the cockpit spun and flashed. I felt the surge in my teeth, but I didn’t slow. I pushed hard with my artificial leg, and the mech pushed off the ledge. In the reflection of the translucency, I saw the yellow of the Cogent’s eye-lens, then I plummeted.