The Aggressive (Book 1 of the Titanwar saga): A science fiction thriller

by Gem Jackson

  Titan wasn’t a terrible place. Not the way everyone made out, anyway. For a long time Leon thought he hated it, right up until he left and heard the way others spoke about it. It made him angry just thinking about some of the words he’d heard used to describe his home. They said it was filled with religious nutcases and extremists; a rough industrial backwater. A couple of years ago he would have agreed with that, but not anymore. A new feeling stirred within him regarding his home. It wasn’t quite nostalgia, but something close to it. It was stronger than familiarity, but tinged with bitterness. Reluctant pride?

  What everyone said about Titan, well there was a superficial truth to it. It was full of religious nutcases and extremists—but they were the ones in charge, not the people he knew, the ones he grew up with. The APSA crew who whispered comments as he passed, or taunted him outright, well, they weren’t wrong in what they said—but they had no right to say it. They couldn’t know the truth of what they said. How could they? Titan was a billion miles away from Earth.

  Leon tapped his leg idly. He pictured the Jackdaw’s Straw hurtling through the ink, every second taking him closer.

  What would he arrive home to? Arrest, most likely. He winced. If Birch was right about the conflict ahead, it didn’t take a great imagination to conjure up what would befall a traitor. As an officer in the APSA fleet he was an enemy of the state. His mother would be pleased to see him. Another wince. She had always been pleased to see him whenever he had come home. The business with his father had taken its toll on her. She had always been a small woman, but the investigation, the trial, the stigma that came from a terrorism charge in the family, it had diminished her. He resented her for this before he left. She should have been stronger, fought harder. He hadn’t said anything to her directly—when did he ever say anything directly? To anyone? But he could still feel the rancour sitting in his chest, weighing him down. Of course, it had been misdirected anger. He was angry at his father. The terrorist. The traitor. The man who betrayed his family and left them behind.

  He had been on placement the day it happened, when he found out about the arrest. He’d not long started at the accountancy firm. A new suit, new shoes and a smart haircut. They were in the morning meeting getting an overview of the week ahead. As a junior member of staff, he worked on audits. Not the digital kind, combing data sent over by companies from the comfort of the air-conditioned office, but the physical sort. Travelling to individual businesses and checking the paperwork. He already hated it. It meant he spent most of the week on his own, finding businesses in parts of the city he was completely unfamiliar with. He was living way out in North Rim Eight at the time and while the firm was located in the well-to-do commercial districts near the centre, an easy commute, the auditing meant reaching the small industrial suppliers in South Rim Three and Four. Just getting to the western side of the South Rim was bad enough, without having to navigate the chaotic network of streets and burrows once he was there.

  Most of the meeting was irrelevant to Leon. He knew his job. He had two businesses to visit that week. Two small firms where he would arrive, introduce himself, before being led, awkwardly, to an office and shown a couple of terminals hooked up to the POS. He would be left alone to spend the next few hours verifying randomised data slices and checking the veracity of the on-line reporting, whilst being silently hated by the employees outside of the office. He’d complete his report, authenticate the returns and head back to the office. It was routine and so he tended to drift off during the Monday meetings. As a consequence, when the secretary interrupted to ask him to take a call, he was completely thrown. He knew it was something bad. He took the phone at his desk and heard his mother's voice.

  “Leon, you need to come home. It’s your father—he’s been arrested. They’re saying he’s a terrorist.”

  He left work, of course, taking the day from his annual leave. It was strange, sitting on the train on the HC line, feeling in some way like he was cheating, getting to leave early on a technicality. Reality re-asserted itself as he reached his mother’s. She was a mess. He suddenly noticed how old she was; the lines in her face, the grey hair and slumped shoulders. There wasn’t much she could tell him. His father hadn’t returned home the previous night and in the morning she had been visited by a small team of police officers. They had arrested his father, they said, based on intelligence reports of deviant and disloyal activities, and had come to collect further evidence. They took pictures, clothing and all electronic devices in the flat. Everything had been so quiet as she had explained what happened. It wasn’t home anymore; the soul of the place had been removed along with the phones and tablets and coats.

  The next time they saw him was on a news update, pleading guilty to all charges. He was convicted with more than thirty others as part of a wide-ranging conspiracy to overthrow the council of elders. They were executed by firing squad, one by one, a month later. Neither Leon nor his mother were allowed to visit or speak to him beforehand.

  From the moment Leon received that phone call, his father had become a ghost; a shadow that hung over the family, tainting them. The betrayal poisoned every social interaction from that point on. They became pariahs. Good, religious people—their friends and acquaintances from the local community, from their church—in an instant turned their backs. In retrospect, it was probably why the firm overlooked him for promotion so frequently.

  Aside from his mother, there was nothing for Leon on Titan. The burning resentment he harboured towards her made leaving easy. He didn’t doubt that she would be overjoyed to see him again. It might even be good for both of them. But he wasn’t going to kid himself. He wouldn’t get within a block of the apartment after everything that had happened around Ceres. It wasn’t worth it. Returning to Titan would be a death sentence—he had to make the others see this.

  It wasn’t difficult to persuade Birch to accompany him to the cockpit. The big man was in something like a similar position to himself; damned if he were to be caught by the Titan authorities and double damned if it were the Cronus. He explained his plan to the guard who wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence, but recognised a long shot when he saw one.

  They entered the cockpit with purpose, Leon heading straight for one of the navigator panels behind the pilot's seat and Birch taking up position behind him to ensure he got the information they were after.

  Leon heard Torren spin his seat round and slam his drink down. He could feel Sleet’s eyes burning into the back of his head.

  “Christ, when the fuck are you gonna learn, Starflight? Get the fuck out.”

  He felt Birch knock into his back as one or other of them tried to get to him. It sounded like Torren. Leon did his best to ignore the curses and struggle behind him and focused on the panel in front. The active sensors had been disengaged but not the passive ones, so the panel was lit up with IFF signals of the vessels around Titan. There were hundreds in all; small lighters ferrying passengers and cargo to the station above the moon’s surface, private vessels going about their business and dozens upon dozens of commercial ships. He scanned the lists, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He re-ordered the list—thank goodness for alphabetical sorting—and there it was.

  “Found it!” he shouted and turned to find the others clawing and grappling with each other. “I found it—the Aggressive—it’s nearby.” They disentangled themselves, gingerly allowing space to open up between them. All three were struggling to get their breath back. Birch’s head was bleeding from somewhere. He wore an expression of grim frustration.

  “What do you mean, the Aggressive is nearby?” asked Sleet.

  “You were wrong before. What you said, that I think I know everything? Well, I don’t.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “I don’t think I know everything. I don’t know about piracy or about hijacking ships. I don’t know about selling stuff on black markets or evading security patrols. But I do know about Titan. I know about the intelligence se
rvices and the informants. I know that if we try to sneak around when the authorities are after us, we’ll be caught and tried as terrorists and shot. Or worse; maybe handed over to the Cronus.” He paused, waiting for her to tear into him, but it didn’t come. Sleet stood, still breathing heavily, fists balled by her sides, jaw stiff and unmoving. “You know I’m right, don’t you?”

  “We’re still waiting for your point, Starflight. About the Aggressive?” said Torren.

  “Okay. So the Aggressive is the ship that we’re due to rendezvous with. This is the diplomat’s ship, yes? Well, there’s our way out. We make for the Aggressive and dock there. There’s no way on Jove that they would let the Cronus get their hands on us and we can hitch a ride back to Ceres on the way back.” Torren burst out laughing and Sleet, in an instant, let all the tension fall away as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I know it sounds absurd—you’ve spent your lives running from ships like the Aggressive, I get that. But they don’t know you hijacked this ship, do they? As far as they know, you were captured by the Cronus just like I was. We can wipe the logs and you lot are victims just like me. We were captured, tortured and escaped. Trust me, this will work.”

  “This is the best shot we’ve got,” said Birch. “I don’t like the kid much either, but on this, he has a point.” He picked at the drying blood on his head, inspecting his nails with interest. “Titan is a viper’s nest when it comes to repression. I was thinking about the options when the kid came to speak to me. Titan is a no-go." He pointed at Torren. “You heard that we’re wanted around the System? Well, even if we change tack and head to a different moon, we’ll end up standing out because of the course change, getting scanned and chased. The Aggressive is the best option.”

  Sleet and Torren looked at each other. “What do you think?” asked Torren. Sleet shrugged noncommittally.

  “You sure about this?” she asked.

  “More than I would be relying on not being snitched on by some Titan informant,” said Leon. He held his breath.

  Sleet sat down and indicated that Torren should do the same. “Torren, get the coordinates from Starflight. If you’re going to adjust course, you need to do it gently. Don’t get us caught.”

  Leon allowed himself to breathe again. There might just be a way out of this after all.

  Chapter 22 – Anton

  Agent Long had been difficult to pin down since the passing of her colleague. She stopped attending briefings with the senior officers and remained in her room. Every so often she returned to the medical unit accompanied by Ramachandran. The one occasion Anton attempted to visit he had been blocked by the scientist, who warned him away for his own good. He could only presume that the Captain had exerted considerable pressure to get her to attend the evening meal.

  Anton took his seat at the table. Long was seated opposite. If it weren’t for the fact that Anton had only ever seen her in black, he might have been tempted to suggest she was in mourning. Her mouth twitched and every so often she scowled at something. She wasn’t drinking anything, which was a bad sign. Alcohol would help things along nicely, if she were open to it. Anton took a sip of Blackstar and silently congratulated himself on having the foresight to request a small supply to be brought on board when they first docked at Ceres station. Foresight of consequences—the chief weapon in his armoury.

  It was difficult, as the end game approached, not to get caught up in endless hypothetical musings. With all the pieces falling into place, it was tempting to assume that success was guaranteed and start planning what to do afterward. He glanced at her again. Silent. Sullen. Depressed? Whatever it was, it seemed to be distracting her from investigating him. She was the only one in the room that could threaten him. The only one who could lay his best laid plans to waste. If she ever realised that, even suspected it to a moderate degree, he would be finished. She looked right at him and he felt his breath catch. It was so easy to imagine that she knew everything. But her eyes betrayed her. There was no steel anymore. No fire burning within. She was broken. For a fleeting moment Anton felt something like pity. He assumed it was pity, though he batted the sensation away before it bore further analysis.

  The crew bustled around them. Young officers poured themselves soft drinks at the table, ratings laid out the first course—a tomato and basil soup—and the senior crew chatted as they took their seats. Prodovnik caught his eye. He had the look of a cat with a thistle up its arse. Anton raised a glass in salute. Let the old bastard sneer. He didn’t have long left, anyway.

  The meal passed uneventfully. Prodovnik tried to needle him a couple of times, but Anton didn’t bite. The crew were in high spirits. Anecdotes were exchanged, jokes told and food was enjoyed. He got through a couple more Blackstars. There was no point in holding back given what was coming, though Long stayed resolutely sober and silent throughout. He caught up to her on the way out.

  “Agent Long, I’m sorry about Mr Abbas. I obviously didn’t know him for very long, but he struck me as a profoundly generous and brave man.” The air hung heavy between them, the occasional noise in the distance rising above the background hum of the ship.

  “Yes. Yes, he was.” Hair covered her eyes. It was matted and frayed. While Long had never appeared glamorous, she had always taken care of her appearance. “Was there anything else?” They parted slightly to let a couple of crew pass between them.

  “Do you have any idea what happened? I’ve heard rumours, of course, but it all seems a bit cloak and dagger to me, if you’ll forgive the expression.”

  She rubbed her knuckles absently. Anton tried to make eye-contact, but she steadfastly avoided him, glancing this way and that, looking everywhere but at him. “I spoke to the chief medical officer. He said it was some kind of aneurysm. Apparently it would have been there for a quite a while and the trauma triggered it.”

  “So, pretty quick then? That’s got to be a relief.”

  She nodded.

  “Strange though, that it wasn’t picked up earlier. APSA folks like you get medicals pretty regularly, don’t you? Plus, we’ve all been through our share of pathscans recently. I’d have thought something like a brain aneurysm would have been caught well in advance.” They were alone in the corridor now, their voices echoing around them. Anton leaned back a little and folded his arms thoughtfully.

  “What are you saying?”

  “It just seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? Not quite fair. We were all there on Ceres, but Abbas was the only one to be shot? Then this, back on the ship? I’ve heard of unlucky but—I don’t know. I guess it just makes you think.”

  “You think it was deliberate?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it seems a little fishy to me, that’s all. I mean, we’re both in the business of suspicion, one way or another, aren’t we?” He laughed. She didn’t reciprocate. “Here you are, chasing a terrorist halfway across the Solar System and then your partner ends up shot twice and killed by an invisible, undetectable condition in a hospital?”

  She grabbed him by his shirt front and slammed him into the wall before landing a thundering punch an inch away from his head. He couldn’t help but wince at the impact. It wouldn’t take much for her to kill him there and then.

  She spoke with bared teeth. He could see the effort it took for her to exert the self control needed not to escalate further.

  “I’ve had enough. How about you keep your fucking opinions to yourself?” She marched off, leaving Anton alone in the corridor, a barely contained grin creeping across his lips.

  “How was dinner?” asked Ramis. They were sat in the petty officer’s mess drinking coffee. Ramis liked the place and Anton was happy to indulge him, despite the fact it was the most cramped officer’s mess he had ever been in. In was quiet though, which was worth something. There had been a change in Ramis since the events with Agent Abbas. The formality between them had dropped a notch, though there was now a hint of awe in the young crewman’s demeanour as he escorted Anton around the ship.

  �
�It was okay. Nothing special. Yours?”

  “Fuckin’ rank.”

  “Same as the coffee then?” They both laughed. As usual, they were alone. The Aggressive was a big ship all right, but the crew was fantastically small. He imagined that many on-board could go their whole shift seeing barely another soul. One of the strip lights above them began to flicker.

  “So, Ramis. You got a girl anywhere? A boy, maybe? One of each?”

  “No-one special,” said Ramis. He caught Anton’s expression and backtracked, “But I do okay for myself. One in every port, that sort of thing. What about you, boss? Is there a Mrs Diplomat McVeigh waiting for you back on Titan?”

  “Aye, that there is.”

  “I’ll bet she’s a looker, eh? A silver-fox like yourself, a good job, probably a few quid in the bank. Yeah, I bet you got it made.”

  “We’re happy enough with each other.” Anton remembered the soft, satin dress of Mrs McVeigh. The way his lips brushed against her neck and she pleaded for her children. He remembered her mouth, blue, and the echo of her screaming. It wasn’t often he thought about those he had killed. He occasionally remembered the odd detail here and there, but only in the same way he might think about a fragment of music or a familiar place. She had been attractive, though. That twitching-insect of a diplomat had done well to keep her. “You must have some stories though, Ramis? A strapping lad like yourself? You must have a tale to tell.” The younger man grinned, eager to perform.

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but there was this one girl, back on Earth, before we left. I was still on leave, out with a few pals, doing a bit of drinking, a bit of dancing, you know what I mean.”

  Anton nodded encouragingly, “I know. I was young once.”

  “It must have been late, maybe three or four in the morning? I’d picked up this blonde—absolutely stunning—had a good two inches on me in heels. Tits out to here,” he gestured a good foot in front of his own chest. “Anyway, we’re dancing away and it’s getting later and later, so I make my move and ask if she wants to come back to mine. She’s up for it so we leave the place, pick up a burger, and back we go. I swear I turned the mic off in the car ‘cos of the things she was saying we were gonna do. Absolute filth.