“Better off sending them all to Earth,” I heard one of the Pervenio Security Officers beside me whisper to his partner. “Maybe some real gravity will teach them to be human again.”
His partner snickered. “It’d solve our problem, that’s for sure.”
My fists tightened. I turned to face them, but before I could do anything impulsive a bottle sailed across the atrium from somewhere behind me and smashed into the view-screen above. The impact was so loud that it sounded like a gunshot. Terrified screams rang out as I was showered in sparks.
“Keep your fuckin’ Lottery!” a voice hollered.
“Trass chose us!” shouted another.
“The Children of Titan already have a home!”
The ring of flowered plants wrapping the base of the Trass Memorial suddenly went up in flames. Then, while I stood frozen, the situation escalated beyond anything I’d ever experienced in the Uppers. A group of Ringer workers grabbed the security officer beside me and beat him with his own baton. They stole the pulse-rifle off his back and fired it at the officers attempting to subdue them.
The earsplitting sound of shouts and gunfire made my head spin. I was in the center of it all. I didn’t know what to do besides cover my ears until someone grabbed my arm. There was no telling how I would’ve reacted if the touch hadn’t been so tender.
“Kale, you’ve got to get out of here!” a woman yelled into my ear.
I turned my head and saw Cora. Her eyes were so close to mine and open so wide that I could see all of the myriad shades of blue wrapping her pupils. I’d seen images of Neptune on view-screens, and even they couldn’t compare.
“Kale!” she repeated. I snapped out of my daze and ran with her. Security officers raced by us toward the fray, and I lowered my head so they wouldn’t notice my mask-covered face. It seemed pointless, considering how tall and lanky I was, but it worked.
We went as fast as we could. Blood-curdling screams and the sound of skulls cracking echoed across the Uppers as an endless stream of Pervenio Security Officers reestablished control. By the time we reached the lift down to the Lowers, I was so drenched in sweat that it looked like I’d just been swimming. Groups of officers were positioned at every corner inside, wielding pulse-rifles now rather than batons. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath as we began to descend. Cora stood next to me. The heat hadn’t left her nearly as exhausted.
She leaned in so that nobody would hear her. “What were you doing up there?” she asked crossly, as if I’d done something wrong.
I thought about asking her the same thing, but I knew the answer. There was a reason the heat didn’t bother her, and it was the same reason she wasn’t wearing a sanitary mask or gloves: She was a hybrid, in the truest sense of the word. Her mother was a Ringer dating back to the first settlers like mine, but she’d been impregnated with Cora by some vagrant Earther who’d forced himself on her. Ringer mothers unfortunate enough to have to endure that typically died of illness before they could give birth, so Cora was a rarity. As such, she was embraced by my people, and had a strong enough immune system to be willing to spend time in the Uppers.
Being mixed-race also meant she had a peculiar look to her, which in my opinion added to her stunning nature. Her neck was long and shapely, the way pretty Ringer girls’ were, but she was shorter than most and slightly curvier. She was also unusually reticent for one of us. A majority of the Ringer girls I knew growing up were excessively outgoing, at least amongst their own kind.
I’d heard that before the Great Reunion made us cautious, sex on Titan was as ordinary as conversation. Being crammed into tight, freezing living quarters when the Ring was first settled had had that effect on our ancestors. No longer. Monogamous relationships between Ringers was the way now. Sticking with someone you knew was safe went a long way toward avoiding quarantine. Honestly, the whole topic made me anxious. It was easy for Earthers, who with their vast clan-families didn’t have to worry about finding somebody, since it was usually arranged. Sometimes I worried I was the only Ringer my age I knew who hadn’t already shacked up permanently with another person. Cora, who hardly had to worry about her cleanliness like other Ringers, didn’t make things any easier.
“Just passing through,” was what I managed to say after an extended period of silence. Seeing her outside of the Piccolo once was a rarity; twice in one day had me tongue-tied.
“Same,” she said. “Trass, I didn’t expect that. What’s Pervenio thinking?”
“Probably that they’re helping.”
“Yeah.”
We stood in silence for the rest of the ride. Her being timid and me being nervous just from sharing her air made for a painfully awkward combo. The lift stopped at Level B3, and I followed her off even though I had nothing to do there.
Outside of the central lift we were awaited by a ring of decon-chambers. I thanked Trass everyone had to pass through them alone. I think I would’ve fainted if I’d gotten into one with Cora and had to watch her strip down.
I stepped out of mine—clean, thankfully—and then an alarm suddenly began to wail behind me.
“Contagion detected,” an automated voice repeated over and over again.
One of the chambers blinked red, Ringers throughout the node gathering to watch. Officers in hazmat suits ran through transparent halls stringing the decon-chambers together, and a short while later I heard screams as a woman was dragged into an auxiliary lift. I didn’t get a clear look at who she was.
I searched the crowd in a panic, but didn’t see Cora anywhere. Strong immune system or not, she looked enough like a Ringer, and that was a one-way ticket to quarantine, even if she would probably survive it.
I shoved my way back through the accumulating crowd. I couldn’t deal with the idea of having to make two visits to the Q-Zone every day.
“Cora, there you are!” someone exclaimed.
Air fled my lungs in relief. I whipped my head around and saw that she was safely exiting one of the other decon-chambers. A Ringer man jogged toward her, grinning.
I knew him well. Desmond Parks was another member of the Piccolo’s maintenance crew. He was the fastest maintenance worker on the ship, probably good enough to be a real mechanic one day if he didn’t like butting heads with the Earther crew members so much. It’s safe to say we weren’t friends. In fact, after leaving behind the shadows of the Lowers I tried my best to avoid those. I considered Cora the closest I had to one, though our exchange on the lift was probably the longest we’d ever had. Of course, she rarely spoke much to anybody.
“Oh, hey, Kale,” Desmond addressed me nonchalantly once we all convened. “Didn’t know you two were together.”
“We’re not!” I replied, much more loudly than I intended. My cheeks flushed a shade of bright pink when Cora shot me a perplexed glare.
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” He set off across the node toward one of the branching tunnels. Cora and I kept pace. “C’mon, Cora. Lester and Yavik are waiting for us so that we can all load up before heading down to the Maw. You coming, Kale?”
I wanted to. I couldn’t remember a day that I’d ever gotten to spend time with Cora outside of the Piccolo. Then I regarded her and remembered that I was no longer a member of that crew. In fact, I was currently unemployed…in a legal sense. I had no credits to waste on drinks. Only that salt-sniffer Dexter could help me with that.
Cora waited for an answer. The first thing that sputtered out of my mouth was: “I can’t right now.”
“Oh, right, I forgot,” Desmond said. “I heard our fuck of a captain is busy searching for your replacement now that you’ve stepped down.”
Cora stopped. She turned toward me, visibly shocked. “You’re leaving?” she asked softly.
“He didn’t tell you?” Desmond said. “Typical, Kale. Got sick of sucking up to old Culver, I bet.”
I froze as well. Leave it to Desmond to ruin my plans to drop out as quietly as possible. But I hadn’t expected her to
seem so disappointed.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Well, hopefully your replacement isn’t as much of an Earther lover,” Desmond said, calling me that for a different reason than people from my old life used to. Just because I didn’t try to provoke fights during our shifts and focused on work so I could return to the coolness of my bed didn’t mean I wanted to kiss the captain.
I ignored him and held Cora’s gaze. She was a girl of few words, but her expression was enough to make my chest tighten. “It’s only temporary,” I insisted.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Desmond grabbed her arm and towed her along. “Let’s go, Cora,” he said. “Leave him to his more important business.”
She stared back over her shoulder for a few seconds as they walked before she bit her lip and turned away, leaving me standing alone like a fool and worried that this was the last time I’d ever see her. I knew it was for the best I didn’t go, crew or not. It wasn’t worth the risk of a few drinks loosening up my tongue enough to where I might mention something about John, Dexter, or my mom. It wasn’t worth Desmond ridiculing me in front of her for not having a drink, either.
“Bye,” I whispered as they disappeared into a tunnel.
It was time to start doing whatever I could to help my mom. Her condition was rapidly worsening. I exhaled, pushed Cora out of my head, and got back onto the lift. Dexter was waiting for me with work that might actually put a dent in the number of credits I needed to raise.
Chapter 5
It turned out that I was going to wind up at the Maw that night, though not with anybody from the Piccolo. When I met with Dexter in his chop shop, he informed me that he’d just received a tip from someone on the registered parts of Solnet. As usual, he said, it was going to be “as simple as finding a starving Ringer.” I doubted that, but I was glad the job didn’t include me going to the Uppers. After the riot in the atrium, there was bound to be so much security up there I’d have to squeeze through doors sideways.
My target was once again a hand-terminal, only this one didn’t belong to an Earther. I didn’t like stealing from Ringers, but Dexter’s contact wanted the information stored on it so bad he was offering ten thousand credits…close to double what John’s was worth. Enough to pay half a year’s worth of rent. The woman was supposedly an undercover Earther-sympathizing informant, trading information in exchange for special treatment.
The Maw’s musty air filled my nostrils as I stepped in. It was the place Ringers went to forget—the largest, most renowned club in Darien. Once the site of a production factory on Level B5, it consisted of a series of gaping caverns. Male and female dancers in skintight plastic bodysuits like those in the Sunken Credit lined machine belts that cranked along through the swelling crowds of Ringers. Vibrant, pulsating lights refracted through clouds of mist that spilled out through exhaust vents once meant for safety. Bars were built into stacks of machinery, colorful bottles feeding through reallocated pumps to work the taps.
There was nothing else like it. In the Uppers, bars were quiet and filled with ads telling you what to drink and where it was from. In the Maw the rock-strewn walls were barren, and all that mattered were the hundreds of feet slapping across the floor as Ringers moved their bodies to pulsing beats. Earthers loved to tout their ancient stringed instruments and their slow-paced music, but I’d found those didn’t help anybody lose themselves. Trass’s settlers had no room for instruments on the Ark. My ears were teeming with the synthesized rhythms of Titan.
I shuffled through a mob of masked men and women. Some of them swayed from drinking too much. Others danced like their lives depended on it, pupils rolled up into the back of their heads, probably from sniffing foundry salts. Sweat spraying in every direction made the floor slick. Shower stalls by the exit were available to be used whenever anybody wanted. Rudimentary decon-chambers stood at the entrance. There was everything necessary to help the Ringer patrons feel safe so they could unwind.
I’d enjoyed nights at the Maw plenty of times, but I hadn’t been in the mood since the news about my mom. It didn’t feel right to dance or indulge, and drinking was the only way I could get myself to feel comfortable amongst the undulant crowd. I stuck to the walls and kept a lookout for Cora or Desmond. Wherever they were, I didn’t want them to spot me.
My mark was across the club. The far side of the Maw was wrapped in raised suites with broad, tinted translucencies. They’d once been observation rooms for the factory, but were presently used as private suites for some of the Maw’s more distinguished guests. According to Dexter’s contact, the terminal I was after was in the one on the far right.
Easy enough. Usually I had to scope out locations, but the suite would be a single hollow, maybe with an adjoining bathroom. The only issue was getting inside.
An intimidating guard was posted at the base of the stairs leading up to the suite. He or she wore shiny, white, carbon-plated armor, and a helmet with a visor so tinted that it was impossible to tell what was behind it. The pulse-rifle on his or her back was much newer than the ones Dexter’s goons touted. That was going to be a problem, but the guard would have to piss eventually. I’d have to time the shift changes and figure out when to slip in.
I skulked over to an abandoned piece of machinery being reclaimed as a table. It was littered with empty glasses and overlooked a group of female dancers. It was the perfect spot from which to pretend I wasn’t watching the suite. I was about to take a seat on one of the stools when out of the corner of my eye I noticed silvery hair.
I rushed around the side and ducked beside what had been a storage bin. Cora, Desmond, and a few more Ringer members of the Piccolo’s crew were shoving their way across the dance floor toward where I was positioned. They had fresh drinks in their hands.
They seated themselves at the table, so close to me that I could see their legs swaying through gaps in the machine’s base. I couldn’t hear anything over the blasting music, but Desmond and his friends were chatting it up as usual. Cora was silent. She seemed as somber as when I’d left her.
Spilled drinks made my latex-clad hands stick to the rock as I stayed crouched. The floor had its own unique stench. More than a few people had clearly chosen to vomit in the bin beside me, with many hitting the side instead. I distanced my head as far as I could, and focused on the suite.
Three identical-looking guards were outside now. Two marched down the stairs, and between them was the woman I assumed the suite belonged to. Dexter hadn’t given me a name or description, but I didn’t need them. A glittering velvet dress hugged her lithe figure, cut high up on her thighs. It was an outfit of such extravagance that there was no wonder she needed the guards. True Ringer or not, she stuck out in the Lowers like my people did above.
She reached the bottom of the stairs in a frantic state and turned her head. Long, silken brown hair swept over her shoulders, and for a moment it seemed like her eyes locked on me. I felt a chill. She was beautiful, but not in the way I was used to. There was ferocity to her features, like she knew she could have anyone she wanted pawing at her feet.
I was spellbound. Then she turned, hollered something at her guards, and they all hurried away. It didn’t take long before the sparkle of her dress vanished within the mob of lanky Ringers. Questions like who she was and why in the name of Trass she was staying in the Lowers filled my mind. They were hushed when I realized that, in her rush, the lift door to her suite hadn’t closed all the way. Jammed or broken, there was a rift along the bottom that revealed the flicker of view-screens’ changing feeds beyond.
“Easy,” Dex had said. I wondered if he had anything to do with getting her to rush out. There was no time to care.
“Sorry, guys,” I whispered under my breath. I knocked into the machinery hard enough for one of the empty glasses on the portion being used as a table to fall off and shatter. Cora yelped. Desmond cursed. The move distracted my former crewmates for the few seconds I needed to sprint out toward the su
ite.
A pack of cavorting drunkards helped provide cover on my approach. Scantily clad dancers handled the rest. I casually leaned on the suite’s stairs once I made it over, pretending I’d drunk a little too much and was having trouble standing. With my peripherals I studied the door. My eyes hadn’t been playing a trick on me. A bottle lay on its side in the opening, causing the fail-safes to keep it from closing all the way. The door was open, just enough, I figured, for my skinny body to squeeze through.
I scanned my surroundings. The woman in the violet dress was nowhere to be found. Neither were her guards. I took one slow step onto the stairs, then moved a bit faster as if I belonged. She probably had the device on her, but I could scope the place out. Or better yet, find somewhere inside to hide and wait for my chance. Vents were tight, but I’d squeezed into worse.
I kneeled and checked under the opening to make sure there were no more guards inside. There weren’t. I took one last glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching. The coast was clear, a sea of carousing as far as the eye could see. Except for Cora. I spotted her staring longingly into the bottom of her empty glass while Desmond nudged her in the side to try to gain her attention.
I turned back to the door. It was time to focus. I lay down and pulled myself through the narrow opening. My head made it in easy, but getting the rest of me through proved more difficult than I’d expected. My ribs were pressed against the unforgiving metal floor, and were seconds from cracking when I emerged, gasping for air. My foot accidentally tapped the bottle off the stairs, causing the door to slam down. Fortunately, a nearby control pad allowed it to be unlocked from the inside.
I got to my feet, groaning as a sharp pain pulled at my sides. It passed quickly, but seeing what was within the room made my jaw drop. At first glance it was an unassuming hollow—ice-rock walls and a dropped, grated ceiling affixed with dim lights like any other. Across from me, however, was a curved array of view-screens the likes of which I’d never seen before. There had to be at least one hundred of them. They were deactivated, but I could think of only one purpose for such a workstation: surveillance.
From Ice to Ashes Page 5