Titan's Wrath

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “It isn’t your concern what we’re using them for,” I said.

  “Regardless, I have none of my research. She broke my hand terminal in my room, and even that isn’t enough. Have you somehow transmitted my private logs from Olympus Mons to Titan? How do you expect me to build anything from scratch?”

  My features darkened. “You’ll find a way, or your friends here will have a difficult time enjoying their vacation.”

  “How dare you threaten them!” he yelled, spit dribbling down his beard. The shrill tone of his voice rendered his attempt at intimidation laughable.

  “What is it with you Earthers?” Maya asked. “One woman isn’t enough?”

  Gareth playfully smacked Javaris in the back of the head, then signed, “What. He’s not your type, Maya?”

  “I wasn’t born on Earth,” Javaris said.

  “Well you’re fat enough to have been,” Maya retorted. The insult made him huff. “Lord Trass has given his orders. You all enjoy your sleep. Hopefully after our long, long flight, you’ll have a change of heart.”

  She waved Gareth to take him. Javaris and the two women kicked and squirmed, screaming at the top of their lungs for help until they disappeared around the corner. Maya turned to me and scratched her scarred jaw through her mask.

  “The Cora is ready for departure when you are,” she said. “Everything is loaded up.”

  “Not everything.”

  “Oh, right. Where is our former doctor?”

  “Coming. She had some affairs to see to before she leaves Mars behind for good.”

  “Well, she’s late.”

  “She worked hard to organize all this, Maya. You weren’t in there. To see everything unravel...her own people dismissing us like common protestors. I know you don’t think she cares.”

  “But she’s late. You realize who we have in our cabin, right, Kale? He’s the most vital cog in Venta Co. beside his clan sister. We got lucky the bombing distracted everyone enough to snatch him easy, but if Aria doesn’t hurry, our luck will run out.”

  “Lord Trass,” one of my guards interrupted us from the base of the cargo ramp.

  “What!” I growled.

  “Y…you need to come immediately.”

  My heated glare lingered on Maya a few seconds longer; then we followed him out into the hangar. Captain Barnes waited by the gate, holding a portable viewscreen. The room’s temperature was to his kind’s preference, yet sweat matted his hair to his forehead.

  “Mr. Trass!” Barnes said anxiously. “May I?” He held out the screen, refusing to cross the gate threshold without my permission.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s Madame Venta, sir. She filed an urgent request to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Spit it out!” Maya hissed.

  “Ask her yourself.” Barnes handed me the device, then quickly retreated.

  I took a moment to compose myself before rotating the screen to face me. Madame Venta’s smug face was right in the center, hair pulled into a tight bun like she was about to tend a garden.

  “Mr. Trass,” she said, smiling. “Just when I thought we could be friends.”

  “We’re preparing to leave, Madame, so make it quick.”

  “You kids have forgotten the value of a good conversation. One day I’ll teach you how to play the game.”

  “Is that really why you called?”

  “I know who you have.” Her pleasant tone quickly eroded. “I don’t know why, and I don’t care, but I’m giving you one chance to hand him over. I’ll consider it a rash act of impulse because of how the summit went or because you fear his new engines may one day render Saturn’s gases obsolete. We can continue on as we were.”

  I didn’t provide Maya the luxury of a look, though I knew her expression was probably saying I told you so.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I addressed Madame Venta.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

  Madame Venta handed the device to her son Fern, who cackled like a maniac as he crossed the room. He spun the camera around so that I could see a woman, shackled to a wall naked. Not just a woman. Aria. The mop of auburn hair atop her head gave it away first, rumpled by her captors. She wasn’t bleeding or bruised, but she lurched when she saw me, her limber figure arching toward the camera as she struggled to pull herself free.

  “Kale!” she screamed. “Don’t listen to anything she says!” The rest of her words were muffled when Karl Venta slapped his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite it, but he cursed and slapped her before getting a tighter grip.

  Madame Venta took the camera back. “You know, after I found out about Javaris, I found myself wondering how to possibly get to you when it seems you won’t listen to anybody. Then I caught an early glimpse at a story cover featuring the little show you two put on outside the USF elevator, and it hit me.”

  “What’s she talking about, Kale,” Maya asked.

  I ignored her. “If you hurt her,” I said, seething.

  “I have a hard time damaging something so fair.” She moved to Aria’s side and ran the tip of her finger down her neck and over her breasts. Aria squirmed. “But sometimes, exceptions have to be made.”

  “Get your filthy hands off her!”

  “Give me Javaris!” Madame Venta snarled. She grabbed Aria by the throat and shoved her face into the screen. “It is only out of respect for her former service to me that she still has all her fingers.”

  “I warned you, Kale,” Maya whispered. “I told you we needed to leave.”

  “Let Aria go!” I demanded. “Or I swear to you—”

  “That you’ll what?” Madame Venta scoffed. “That you’ll fucking what?! You’re in way over your head, boy. Give me Javaris and she’ll be returned in one piece. You have five minutes to decide; otherwise, I might start cutting things off.” Madame Venta rubbed Aria’s slightly swollen stomach, a bump still so subtle it was only visible while she was naked. “Or out.”

  The feed cut out just as Aria was able to squeeze a shriek through Karl’s fingers. Without intending to, my strong grip cracked the screen of the device.

  “You should have kept her by your side,” Maya said crossly, but as my breathing started to hasten, her stance softened. She laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re close to her, but we can’t risk everything for one offworlder. The Cora is faster than any ship they’ve got. We should leave now while Red Wing Company still backs us.”

  I couldn’t get words out. I could hardly breathe.

  “If you’re right about her, she’d be happy to give herself for our cause,” Maya continued. “Besides, that Earther bitch is all talk. They have history. Madame Venta won’t just kill her. She’ll keep using her to get Javaris back until we don’t need the fat slob anymore.”

  “She has my son!” I bellowed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I clutched my chest, trying my best to steady my breathing. Maya wrapped her hand around my back to support me but was flung away as I punched the wall of the hangar as hard as I could. The bang nearly made Captain Barnes jump out of his armor, and Gareth immediately bounded down from the Cora to see what was wrong.

  “My son...” I whispered. “Aria has him.”

  “What are you saying?” Maya clutched my face and stared deep into my eyes.

  “Maya, listen to me. Aria is carrying him. The heir to Titan.”

  “Why…why didn’t I…” She stumbled backward. I’d never seen her appear so flabbergasted by anything. If Gareth hadn’t arrived in time to brace her, she might have collapsed.

  “It wasn’t planned, but it’s the truth. Would you have told you?” She shook her head slowly. “Now you know why I need to get her back. We’ll find another way to get Javaris’s tech or build something else for Earth. We’ve got the fuel. Remember all that we went through just to save your sister.”

  “Stop.” Maya dropped to one knee and lowered her
head. “Just tell me what to do, Lord Trass.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MALCOLM GRAVES

  Aria’s captors hauled her through the main entrance of Venta Co.’s central office tower. Since it was located at the heart of New Beijing under the loftiest portion of the dome, it was the tallest structure. The tapering cylinder rose like a layered wedding cake with too many levels to count. A series of terraces wrapped every few floors, until the top one wasn’t big enough to house more than a single office...Madame Venta’s office. Verdant green leaves and brilliant flowers draped over the railings of each terrace, the glass enclosure reflecting the flora all the way up. From the right angle, the entire tower seemed to be one giant plant with the blue, interlocked Vs of their emblem beaming down from the highest point.

  All my time as a Collector, Venta was a shade behind Pervenio Corp. in every facet. You wouldn’t know it looking at their headquarters. Even Luxarn Pervenio wouldn’t build something so ostentatious. The Hanging Gardens of New Beijing. That’s what people called it, like it was some sort of world wonder.

  I entered a quaint café nestled at the base of the dome-scraper across the street. The sweet aroma of leftover pastries filled my nostrils. The crust probably wasn’t the real stuff, but my grumbling stomach hadn’t ingested anything but alcohol for over twenty-four hours. I bought something stale but with frosting to help it go down, and a strong coffee to keep me awake. A few other civilians around my age sat throughout the place, too old to follow the blinking lights and music toward the real nightlife below, but with too much on their minds to sleep. Living past your warranty does that to a man.

  I parked my ass at one of the tables by the window and stared at Venta Tower. A smattering of lights glowed through windows here and there, employees hard at work in the middle of the night. Poor saps. The rest of the city’s illumination derived from the countless ads festooning every other tower’s enclosure. Venta’s was the only one without them, as if the only thing they needed to publicize was how hard their employees worked.

  I watched silently, sipping on coffee that could pass for melted rat shit and forcing down a pastry so manufactured even I could notice it. There were far better places to get a bite in New Beijing but only for people who hadn’t spent all their credits chasing a Herald who wanted to be found.

  Lights suddenly flashed on in Madame Venta’s office up top, which meant my greatest fear was realized. That lady devil was personally involved with taking Aria. The talking heads on newsfeeds behind the café’s counter droned on about how poorly the summit between Kale and the USF had gone. No official details were released yet, but I had a roiling feeling in my gut that this was political.

  Madame Venta had always been deliberate. Luxarn Pervenio could manipulate with the best of them, tugging strings from the shadows like a puppet master. She didn’t play games or bluff, which meant that when she grabbed Titan’s bastard ambassador off the street in public, she probably had her reasons.

  “What the fuck did you do, Kale?” I whispered to myself.

  “Excuse me?” a fossil of a man asked from the table behind me.

  I disregarded him and went to take another sip of coffee. I swallowed a small mouthful before I pictured the blood of Aria’s guards staining my whiskey, and lost my appetite. I’d been part of a number of corporate feuds, and that was an act of war as far as I was concerned. If Venta did something like that to Pervenio in its heyday, that was when Collectors would start being sent out to take shots until everyone’s lust for vengeance was satiated and we could return to our uneasy economic alliances as if nothing had happened.

  My real question was this: Was taking Aria meant to send a message to Kale for something he’d done, or was she a trading chip? I couldn’t stomach either option. Leaving Aria’s life in the hands of a terrorist who fancied himself king wasn’t in the cards. I’d seen his people shoot at her right after she saved one of their lives back on Titan. If it came to it, I was sure they’d leave her behind if it suited their needs in a heartbeat.

  So, I needed to get to her first. Which meant I needed to break into a building as secure as the USF Assembly. A double layer of guard posts stood within the front entrance, filled with heavily armed officers. Security drones whizzed around each terrace, keeping 360-degree watch along with cameras. Not that I was in any condition to climb a tower anyway.

  I sighed and glanced down at my pulse pistol. I could offer its service back to Luxarn in exchange for help, though I doubted he would risk angering Madame Venta for my daughter, who he didn’t even know existed. As far as Sol was concerned, Aria was just another illegitimate offworlder. I spent a lot of energy keeping her a secret throughout my days as a Collector so I wouldn’t get slapped for infringing USF regulations. If I told Luxarn the truth now all these years later, I doubted he’d care, but he might find out she was there on Titan that day. That we were the reason Zhaff died.

  No, it was too risky. I had to go about this alone. Sneaking in wasn’t possible, but I could bull-rush them. Take out the guards out front, hop straight onto the elevator before anyone knew what hit them. I had the element of surprise on my side.

  I stood, closed my eyes, and downed the swill the shop called coffee. Then I stormed out the front door and straight for the Venta Tower front entrance. My whole body was exhausted, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t have to last much longer, and I had Luxarn’s cybernetic gift to keep me upright.

  The officers in the entry were too lost in conversation to notice me coming. Like anybody would. They might’ve be expecting reprisal from a Titanborn but not from a wrinkled, old wretch like me. They’d ask who I was once I was close enough, I’d tell them what I used to be, then they’d hesitate in order to contact Luxarn Pervenio, and I’d put them down. All I had to do was provide Aria a chance to run, and whatever happened to me, well...I’d died once already.

  I lowered my hand until it grazed the handle of my pulse pistol. My trusty companion. The sensation again brought me flashbacks of when I shot Zhaff on Titan, his eye lens shining right before his brains blew out the back of his skull. I hadn’t fired it since. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I still could. Maybe that was the reason I spared the Herald. Not because it was the right decision, but because I lacked the gumption to make the wrong one anymore.

  It didn’t matter.

  I unstrapped my holster and threaded my finger through the trigger guard. I’d pull it, even if it took two hands to apply the pressure. I had to.

  Darkness suddenly fell over my eyes. Before I knew what hit me, my arms were wrenched behind my back, my gun stolen, and I was pulled forcefully to the side. I tried to gain a grip on the street using my synthetic leg, but I was disoriented, and being dragged backward had me at the wrong angle.

  Dammit, Malcolm! That’s rule number one on a job. Never be so tired that you can only focus straight ahead. Someone had come up right behind me and bagged my head. Not someone. Two voices chattered back and forth on either side of me.

  Just breathe, I told myself. Figure out who this is. Kidnapping wasn’t Venta Co.’s MO. Double tap to the back of the head, that was what those two Collectors would do to me if I wound up on their list. I glanced down to see the boots of my captors. They were worn and discolored, like they’d spent too much time wading through sewers.

  Before I could analyze any more, I was thrown into a wall. The hood came off me, and all my questions were answered. Another one of my sloppy mistakes had come back to bite me in the ass.

  “Yep. That’s definitely the one,” the tattooed foundry salt dealer I’d harassed in the alley earlier yapped. His eyes were twitching, like he’d just taken a huge hit. He kicked me twice hard in the gut until one of his crew pulled him off.

  “Let’s off ’em, boss,” crowed the one next to him.

  We were in an empty stairwell leading down to one of the less-used Redline stations in New Beijing. Both of them held me at gunpoint. The last kind of scum you want aiming a gun at you, so hopped up that
their quaking fingers could accidentally squeeze the trigger at any time.

  “Now, now, boys. No need to be hasty.” Those words came from a third, more restrained voice. It was cool and confident, but there was no denying the subtle tinge of madness clinging to the end of each word. He knelt in front of me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned. This was the sorry lot that was going to keep me from my daughter? He looked like a clown. His frilly shirt was drawn open, with the mark of the Ringer Bones gang displayed prominently on the upper portion of his exposed chest. Bar piercings made his ears droop like wax from a hot candle. He even had white makeup smeared sloppily across his face to appear as pale as a Ringer, along with black eye shadow.

  “Thought you could hide from us, did you?” he said. He slapped me playfully across the face. That was when I recognized the lunacy he struggled to cage. His dark eyes stared right through me, like there was nothing there.

  “You shoulda seen the way he came at me, boss,” the dealer said.

  “I hope you guys know who you’re dealing with,” I muttered.

  The leader sprang to his feet and started pacing. He had my pistol in his hands and caressed the barrel. “A retired Collector who couldn’t stay clean.” He cackled like a maniac. “I found out! I always find out. You’re nothing anymore, Malcolm Graves.” Of course, he had connections. That’s what allowed gangs like theirs to rise to the top.

  “What’re we gonna do with him?” the dealer asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet, but it sure will be fun.”

  “Well, you better think carefully,” I said. “I wouldn’t want the last thing you ever do to lack the flare of that outfit.”

  “Oh yes,” he tittered. “So fun.”

  “You’re the Ringer Boner crew, right?” I asked while I searched for a way out of this. I was unarmed, but I had my leg. When he got close enough, I could kick him into one of his cronies and hope the other missed me before I was able to disarm him. It was a long shot, but these weren’t trained Collectors, just street bangers.