Titan's Wrath

by Rhett C. Bruno

  He bit his lip in frustration for a few seconds, then slammed his fist on his desk. “Do it then. You think they’re going to care anymore with what’s going on out there? Fire one of their most experienced captains while Kale Trass and the Ringer circus are in town? Please, Graves, just leave and save yourself the humiliation.”

  “My humiliation?”

  “Sure.” He reached down, drew a pulse pistol, and aimed it at my chest. “You say a word and I’ll have my men bury you so deep in the sewers even you won’t be able to crawl out.”

  Now I was fuming. I had learned on Titan that you can only push somebody so far, but I never expected any resistance from Harris. Mostly I was angry that I was foolish enough not to put up more of a ruckus before discarding my firearm. I was rusty.

  “You’re going to pull a gun on me?” I said.

  “I did some digging around after I had that ID pulled for you. Turns out you aren’t a Collector anymore at all. And with all the shit Pervenio Corp.’s going through, I don’t think they’d waste much effort helping out a washed-up gun like you. So, how’s about you get the fuck out, Mudstomper, and we pretend none of this ever happened.” He stood and made his way to the door, keeping his sights trained on me the entire way.

  “Do you really want to test that?” I asked.

  “Test what?”

  “That Mr. Pervenio won’t care.” I stood and glared straight into his eyes as I brought myself close enough that the barrel of his pistol pressed into my chest. “Go on, give it a try. You think I’m not still working for him because some leaks on the darknet might say so? With what’s happening, we’re not running things the same way. No more badges or titles. Undercover.”

  “You’re full of shit.” He tried to sound confident, but a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth told all. The seeds of doubt were planted.

  I moved closer. His pistol dug into my sternum so hard it hurt. “Then pull the trigger and put us both out of our misery.”

  His jaw grated and his lips pursed while he considered his next move. Finally, he lowered his firearm and sighed. “Maybe there’s a little something I can do to help you,” he said as he returned to his seat.

  Now there was the Captain Harris I knew. Never eager to go above and beyond. Always happy to take the path of least resistance. “I knew you were smart,” I said. “All I need to know is who was behind the bombing.”

  “If I knew that, they’d be handing me a medal. The headquarters and Collectors are still investigating.” He started typing on his terminal with one hand. Whether he was intentionally going so slowly just to piss me off or was really that lazy, I wasn’t sure.

  “Surveillance feeds?”

  “You think I get to see that? Only whatever footage the news managed to grab, which I’ll tell you wasn’t much. All drones that weren’t synced to ours or the Red Wing headquarters were downed for safety concerns.”

  “Lot of good that did. Well, you give me what you do have, and there’ll be some credits in it for you on the backend. Say, ten percent?” He perked up immediately. Of course, it was a lie, but the promise of being paid figured to be enough to keep him quiet after I left.

  “What kind of pie are we talking about?”

  “Usual Pervenio rate. Luxarn has interest in being first to bring in whoever was responsible for this morning. While everyone else is focused on securing the meeting, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “You won’t be the only Collector hunting.”

  “No, but I’ll be the best one. So, Captain, what can you tell me?”

  He keyed a few more commands and squinted at the screen. “I can tell you that whoever set off the bomb bungled it if they were aiming for Kale.”

  “So, the boy king survived?”

  “Not a scratch. Only two Ringers actually wound up dead. Most of the casualties were civilians and Red Wing men. Plus, there’s a Venta Director in the morgue.”

  “Director?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You want more, you’re going to twist the arm of someone with higher access than me.”

  “I won’t push my luck.” I stood. “You’ve been a great help, Captain.”

  “Ten percent, Graves. If I find out you got the bastard and I don’t see my credits, I’ll be sure to tell those Collectors exactly where to find you.”

  “You’ll be rewarded as soon as I am.”

  His grin stretched from ear to ear. “As usual it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Always. Now get that damn leak fixed,” I grumbled before heading out of the room.

  It wasn’t exactly a lead, but the information opened plenty of possibilities. Who would purposefully attack Red Wing, Venta, and the Ringers all together? My old employer was the obvious answer, but even in his flustered state Luxarn wouldn’t be so sloppy. If he wanted Kale dead, he’d make sure he went for him alone and not risk worsening relations with rival corps., considering how dire things were for Pervenio Corp. So, who could it be? Had the Children of Titan played their sleight-of-hand game again? Sacrifice two of their kind to draw our attention while they were up to something far worse?

  I would have killed for access to the surveillance logs from the Venta and Red Wing drones, but that would take time I didn’t have. Dedicated or not, there’d be Collectors on the job with a hell of a lot more resources than I had. If I wanted to find Wai’s killer and give whoever it was what they really deserved, I’d have to work fast.

  • • •

  It was the afternoon by the time my gun was finally returned to me and I departed the Venta security post. Captain Harris’s one last gift was having his officers dig through holding for the weapon at the speed of a slug caught in a snowstorm.

  Things in Old Dome were starting to pick up. Not like usual, with so many people scared by the bombing, but that was the perfect time to find the people I was after. Most of security remained in the upper city, so all the gangs and streetwalkers had the run of things.

  It was only when I stepped into the first cathouse in the heart of the Tongueway that I realized I hadn’t been so sober this late in the day since I left Luxarn Pervenio’s office on Undina. That was why my human leg was so sore; there was nothing to dull the pain. I didn’t mind. It kept me focused.

  The average career of a streetwalker wasn’t long, so most of my old informants were either already dead or lost in the slums. I spotted a dealer in an alley by a popular Red Wing casino who had somebody sneaking up to him for a fix every couple of minutes. A low-level slinger wouldn’t know anything, but with that kind of traffic he must have had access to the newest stuff. Titan’s foundry salts. I could thank Kale for that treat. Ever since he took over the Ring, tons of Titan’s chosen narcotic had found their way to Earther worlds like he was giving it away.

  Druggies were only ever after a newer, better high, and the gangs of Old Dome were happy to oblige. It was a constantly shifting landscape of villainy. Corps. shut them down, and they sprang up with new names and markings, but it was always the same scum. Hell, half the time I was convinced they were backed by corporations that only turned on the leaders when things got too hot.

  The dealer’s arms were festooned with tattoos, but a skull surrounded by Saturn’s rings was most prominent. I was too out of touch with the Martian underworld to know any of the newest cliques, but that symbol was all over Old Dome. It didn’t take me long to piece together that they were the new mob running things below where corporations cared to be seen.

  I strolled up to him with my head low like I was trying not to be seen. My fist slammed into the dealer’s stomach before he could ask me if I was interested in a hit. He gaped up at me from the ground, dumbfounded. Chapped nose, sunken eyes, and cheeks so shallow he looked like a skeleton—he was the kind of filth a Collector rarely needed to deal with. They tended to take care of themselves.

  “Are you fuckin’ insane?” he snarled. “You know who you’re messin’ with? The Ri
nger Bones’ll have your head.”

  “That what you lot are calling yourselves?”

  “Wait. I remember you.” His chapped lips parted as he grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth and shiny, chrome fillings. “Sold to you just the other night.”

  “That explains a lot.” There was no forgetting how awful the headache was when Wai found me all covered in piss.

  “That was some high-end shit. No refunds.”

  I heaved him up by the collar so hard it choked him and slammed his back against a dumpster. “I’m not interested.”

  His eyes were shifty, but they moved with intention. Every so often he peeked over my shoulder, and I was glad to be sober enough to know what that meant. I whipped out my pistol and stuck it behind me, just in time for the barrel to impede some other Ringer Bones thug trying to peal me off his dealer.

  “I suggest you run back the other way,” I warned without looking. The footsteps of whoever it was fleeing promptly followed. That was the thing about having a Pervenio-issued pulse pistol like mine. I didn’t need to flash a badge to prove who I was. If the Ringer Bones ever found out the truth, I’d have made another group of enemies, but I didn’t care.

  “Loyal group of friends you’ve got,” I said as I tightened my grip on the dealer. “Maybe you should look for a new line of work.”

  “You ain’t got no badge,” he gurgled. “You’re no Collector.”

  “Nope.” I turned my pistol on him and shoved it right up under his chin. “Free to kill whoever I want now.”

  “When the boss finds out about this, you’re dead!”

  “I have a feeling he won’t be around long. They never are.” I slammed him again. “The bombing, what do you know about it?”

  “Upstairs?” he chortled. “We don’t worry ourselves about them.”

  “Well, you better start. You’re out here every day and night. Tell me what you’ve heard about it, or I’ll make sure you’ve had your last hit.” I reached into the pocket on his coat and tossed a tiny plastic bag filled with white powder into the nearest sewer grate. That got his attention.

  “I don’t know nothin’!” he cried, literal tears welling in his soulless eyes as he stared at his drugs.

  “You better give me something then.”

  “I swear! The boss questioned all of us already to see if any gang was behind it. Ain’t nobody got a line on who done it.”

  I pushed the gun into him harder. The tears started flowing down his cheeks. “You’re not helping yourself.”

  “I…uh…I heard some people laughin’ about it. Yeah. That everyone up there got what was comin’.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Nobodies! Some sewer trash on their way to pray at the Three Messiahs convent. People’ve been rumblin’ all day about how those Ringers deserve worse. Whatta you expect after what they done?”

  I held my gun there for a few seconds longer, then grunted and dropped him. He pawed at his throat, bawling like he’d expected to die. If our little conversation accomplished one thing, at least it might illuminate the value of life. But as he rolled over and a few more baggies of foundry salts rolled out of his pocket, I realized how naïve a thought that was.

  He scrambled to pick them up like a starving child for crumbs, then leaped at the sewer grate, ready to shove his whole arm through for more. A better man would’ve shot him just to put him out of his misery. I turned away to continue my quest for information without another word.

  “You’re a dead man!” he cried out as I fell into the crowd. “You hear that? Dead!”

  I must have gone on to talk to hundreds of the worst degenerates New Beijing had to offer, in every shady corner of the Tongueway. Carrying myself like I was still a Collector only got me so far, so I had to use what little was left in my credit account to get people talking. Guy, girl, it didn’t matter. Most were too high to think of anything but grabbing me by the crotch, and none of them knew a thing. Even those who claimed they did just wound up spinning tales so ludicrous that they probably actually believed them. More than a few blamed it on a meteor, which somehow struck the spaceport without putting a hole into the New Beijing dome or anything.

  It didn’t make any sense. By the time I neared the last few shitholes on my list, it was night, and my account was as drained as my withered, old body. Pounding the streets was old fashioned, but it usually yielded results after half a day. Whispers were the Tongueway’s most lucrative trade. People talked, and those people talked. Rumors spread like venereal diseases through Old Dome, and those usually had a kernel of truth in them. Enough to get a lead. But there was nothing.

  All I’d deduced was that the person responsible wasn’t aiming for anyone specific unless they wanted to take out some second-rate Venta Director. They hadn’t bragged about it either. This was beginning to feel a lot less like the bombing in New London. I understood sleight of hand, but the Ringers putting their leader that close to danger was senseless. Bombs could be unpredictable, even in the best laid plans. A piece of debris could’ve done the same to him as it did to Wai.

  I shuffled around a food cart selling some manner of minced meat raunchy enough to make me gag. I’d reached the steps of the Mangled Mare, and the noseless dancer I’d convened with the night before was outside trying to entice men. A mask was strung across her face, enough to hide her blemish at a distance, but up close the cloth was transparent enough to see shadows of the ghastly surprise beneath.

  She was one of the few things I remembered from my bender. Not much detail, but I hoped she might’ve enjoyed my company enough to spill something, anything, for free.

  “Hey there, sweetheart,” I said to her.

  “Not you again,” she groaned. She brushed by me and stroked the back of a well-off looking Martian woman strolling by. The woman took one peek at her and scurried away like it was her first time in Old Dome.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’m just looking for some information.”

  “No. You’re trouble.” She went to seduce another potential patron, but I wrenched my way in between them.

  “You know that wasn’t my fault.”

  She finally stopped to address me. “Oh, it wasn’t? I’ve seen you stumbling around the Tongueway like a drunken fool every night for a month now. Always got a new cut on your knuckles.”

  “That was different.”

  “’Ey, Mudstomper. I was talking to her.” A scrawny offworlder grabbed my arm. He had hoops in his ears hanging so low they stretched the lobe.

  “Get in line.” I shoved him, and since I was an Earther, he went flying onto his ass. He didn’t dare interrupt again.

  “The other girls warned me all you wanted to do was chew off our ears about your bullshit glory days,” the dancer said. “I was fine giving you a chance then, but I bet this is the one club you haven’t been kicked out of yet, isn’t it, Mr. Haglin? I don’t know what your deal is, but as soon as Collectors get involved, I’m out.”

  I gawked at her. I hadn’t been so clear headed since I landed on Mars, so I had no idea if she was right. Haglin Amissum could have been kicked out of any number of places. I thought I’d made myself invisible on Mars, and now more people knew about me than even when I was a Collector. I’d made enemies and embarrassed myself enough that a streetwalker from a curiosities club wouldn’t even share another drink with me.

  “Look,” I said. “It hasn’t been my finest month, but I’m getting desperate. A friend of mine lost her life, and all I want is to find out why.”

  Her demeanor softened. “A friend?”

  “Yeah. Just a chat, that’s all I need. Since Collectors come through here, I’m hoping maybe you might’ve overheard something that might help.”

  “All right, a chat,” she conceded. “But it isn’t gonna be free.”

  I scratched my head. “That’s the thing. My account’s sort of...dried up right now.”

  “I knew you were trouble.” She turned away, but this time I took her shoulder an
d spun her around.

  “I’ll pay you whatever you want tomorrow. I’m good for it.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t care about tomorrow. Today, I was desperate.

  “Get your hands off me!” she shrieked.

  The bouncers at the door heard her and started pushing through the crowd to get to us. My pulse started racing, but it wasn’t because of them. Her outburst had caught the attention of another interested party.

  “By the fucking Meteorite, that’s him!” a man shouted from down the Tongueway. Brash look, clean duster, I was smart enough to remember that he was one of the Collectors I’d affronted the night before. They were probably prowling the Tongueway looking for the same answers about the bombing I was. He grabbed his partner and pointed through the mob of heads at me, and then they bolted in my direction.

  I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with them. I booked it down the nearest alley, but they were right on my tail.

  Stupid, Malcolm, I told myself. I should’ve stayed in the crowd where they wouldn’t risk firing off their pistols. Now the only other people in jeopardy were scattered homeless living in shipping cartons. Easy to cover up, especially for two Venta Collectors.

  “You’re a dead man!” one hollered.

  There was nobody to tell I-told-you-so when a gun went off and the bullet blew through a portion of wall to my right. Chunks of plasticrete splattered into my arm. I dug into the street with my synthetic leg and made an impossibly short, left-hand turn down another backstreet.

  “Get the fuck back here!”

  It bought be some time, but a peak over my shoulder and I saw that they were hot on my heels again. The lead Collector’s muzzle flashed, and I ducked as a bullet zipped by and knocked the hinges off a dumpster. The haggard man sleeping inside it was lucky his head hadn’t come off too.

  I had to think fast. I could return fire, but in the time it’d take to get my gun out of its holster, they’d turn me into a pincushion. And I couldn’t slow down. Another shot rang out. This one glanced harmlessly off my synthetic leg.