“I’ll fucking kill you, Ringer!” John continued to shout obscenities while a group of clamoring workers wearing ear protection arrived to see what was happening. I was glad for the neutral term, which meant he hadn’t recognized me. Like he’d remember much of this anyway.
I stood and scurried across the top of the vat through a wall of steam. A service ladder ran up the wall, only a short jump away. Everyone was too busy staring up at where I had been earlier to notice me clamber up and pull myself through the access hatch at the top.
Warm, humid air stemming from the Uppers blasted my face, and in an instant, my brow was dripping with sweat. I rolled onto my back to gather my breath.
I was in the service tunnels running beneath the Darien hydro-farms. A second access above led directly into them, but the lock controls were well beyond my ability to slice. The tiny porthole in the center provided my only light and allowed me a glimpse of the world above.
Row after row of green leaves extended for kilometers in two lateral directions—all different shapes and sizes, growing fruits and vegetables I’d never tasted in their natural forms. The farms surrounded the two-kilometer-long rectangular enclosure of Darien and were considered part of the Uppers, despite being sunken into Titan’s frozen crust. They were constantly patrolled, so that the mostly Ringer workforce tending the plants had no chance at stealing anything.
About twenty meters above its floor, beyond a series of suspended planters and water-channels, was the farm’s transparent ceiling. Thick, polished trusses braced a layer of glass against the ceaselessly stormy skies of Titan. All I could see beyond it were wisps of white sand and flashes of lightning.
I sighed before continuing my crawl through tunnels so cramped only a Ringer could fit. It’d been years since I’d used that escape route, but I found my way back toward cold air through the labyrinth of increasingly dark passages with relative ease. After a short slide down a vertical shaft, I was able to exit through a busted exhaust vent into the heart of the B3 Lowers’ central node.
Not a soul cared enough to notice me emerge. A sea of Ringers were all too preoccupied with their own affairs, swarming the market stands for ration bars or “fresh” produce covered almost entirely in brown spots. The enormous lift-shaft running up the center of the spacious cavern was currently letting off. It pierced every level of the Lowers, and Pervenio security officers in full regalia were posted along the decon-chambers wrapping it. John and his team already stood at one of them, probably giving a report. The officers wouldn’t care. The shiny pulse-rifles strapped to their backs meant they had more important things to worry about than some Earther dumb enough to get too drunk where he shouldn’t.
I headed down a tunnel branching off the node. Familiar smells of salt and soldered metal greeted my nose—the scents of the many factories and water-plants sprinkled throughout the Lowers. It was impossible to go far without running into one of them.
I leaned against the wall in a shadowy nook near an opening to a series of residential hollows and took out John’s terminal. It was a beauty. Seeing it in my hands got me to crack a smile, my first in Trass knows how long. I opened a slot in the back using a pin I always kept in my pocket while on a job and removed the fingernail-sized battery so that the device couldn’t be tracked.
“New hand-terminal?” someone asked me.
My gaze snapped upward. Approaching from the direction of the central lift, I saw what had been the only pleasant thing to look at while serving my two-year stint on the Piccolo: Cora Walker. She was the chief navigator on the ship since before I started. A lofty title for someone born in the Lowers.
I momentarily lost the ability to formulate words. Even being within a few meters of her usually made me freeze. Her skin was fair as snow-powder and the cascading blond hair tumbling over her slender shoulders was so light that it appeared silver when struck by the right light. Together, they made her rich blue eyes stick out on her face like two brilliant gems.
“Cora, I...” I stuttered. I’d kept my past life a secret on the Piccolo, and as much as I hated lying to her, I planned on keeping it that way. I couldn’t handle her disappointment right now. “Yeah. Just got it.”
“Looks nice,” she replied, her voice so gentle that you had to really be paying attention to hear it.
“Yeah. No wonder the thing was sold used, though.” I shook it playfully to show her the blank screen. “It’s busted.”
“Want me to take a look?”
I hesitated, then realized that I didn’t want her to think I didn’t know how to replace a battery. Being a navigator within Saturn’s tumultuous atmosphere meant she was a whiz with tech.
“No, that’s okay. I’m just going to bring it back to the scrap shop and get my credits back.”
“Oh… okay.” She glanced down at her own hand-terminal. “Well, I better get moving, then. I’m supposed to be meeting with Culver soon to discuss the next shift. See you in two days?”
My heart sank as I remembered that was when the next Piccolo shift was scheduled to start. A shift I wasn’t going to be taking part in. I hadn’t told anybody that except for the ship’s captain, obviously, and my mom, who couldn’t leak the news, considering where she was. I hadn’t told a soul about her yet either. It would’ve made the whole situation feel more, well, real. I had this image in my head of Mom strolling back into our home, completely cured before anyone realized she was gone.
“Yeah,” I lied again. I didn’t have the heart to let Cora know I wasn’t coming back. Seeing her around the Piccolo was the only thing that made scrubbing filth out of canisters while dealing with John and the rest of the crew’s bullshit tolerable. She was the only thing I’d miss.
The corners of her lips twitched a bit as if she was considering smiling, then she nodded. “Good,” she said. “Well, I’ll see you around then, Kale.”
She went to walk away, but I tapped her shoulder to stop her. She turned her head, face lighting up like she expected to hear something thrilling.
“You have the time?” I asked, gesturing to John’s ineffective hand-terminal. Earth-time, that was. Titan’s days were extremely long, and even the first Ringers sent by Trass continued using the far more manageable Earth-time since they were within enclosed settlements anyway.
“Oh, sure,” she said, biting her lip. “Four thirty-five.”
“Shit!” I blurted. “I, uh, I’ve got to run. Bye!”
She watched quizzically as I sprinted past her. Visiting hours at the Darien Quarantine Zone weren’t going to last much longer, and I had to find someone who would take care of John’s hand-terminal before I went to see my mom, then make it to the Uppers for the legitimate job I’d taken after resigning from my post on the Piccolo—cleaning the floors of Old World Noodles. I needed to do something to pay rent until a fence came through.
Sometimes I wondered what it’d be like to have been born into some wealthy Earther clan-family. There’d be a lot less to do.
TWO
The Darien Lowers were cluttered with factories, gambling dens, and clubs that put those in the Uppers to shame. Like pretty much everything else on Titan, they were nearly all funded by Pervenio Corp, even if their managers liked to pretend they weren’t, so the only relatively well-off Ringers I ever knew were fences working the black market. They tucked themselves into the shadows of legitimate enterprises, and even though I was only eighteen, I’d met more than my fair share. Some were safer to work with than others.
One by one, I hurried between the shops of all my old connections with John’s hand-terminal as my ticket in. They wouldn’t even open their doors to see what I had to offer, let alone say hello. A step onto an Earther-run gas harvester, and it was like I’d betrayed my people or was guaranteed to be a rat.
Growing frustrated, and with the end of visiting hours at the Q-Zone rapidly approaching, I decided I’d skip to the last fence I ever wanted to see again, but the one I knew was my best shot. Dexter Howser was the grubbiest, gree
diest man I knew, which meant he’d never say no to easy credits. He liked to use children who hadn’t developed any connections and bring them into his fold, so I’d met him when I was very young. His headquarters was a parts and repair store fronting for a chop shop in Level B6, the lowest occupied section of the Darien Lowers, almost fifty meters below the surface of Titan. The hollow where my mother and I lived was four levels up, but down in B6, the smell of salt was so pungent it made my nostrils sting.
I pulled my sanitary mask tight over my nose. The beggars lining the walls of the level’s central node were so skinny their chins were like knives. A few here and there were even coughing. It was likely from breathing in the fumes from a dozen factories escaping through the worn-down air recyclers, but I wasn’t about to risk getting sick.
Dexter’s place was down a long tunnel, right beside a factory transforming chunks of metal imported from throughout the Ring into circular hatches. The clamor of welding torches and machine belts was so raucous that I couldn’t hear my footsteps. It was just how any fence would like it. Nobody could listen in, even if they tried.
I knocked on the hatch of the unnamed chop shop, and after a few seconds, a voice spoke through an intercom.
“What’s your business?” a man said.
“I’ve got a delivery for Mr. Howser,” I replied. “It’s delicate.”
A camera was nestled into the ice-rock above the hatch. I watched the lens tilt, aim at me, and zoom in. I was out of the life for only two years and, even though I’d grown a bit taller, my gaunt face hadn’t changed. Not a hint of stubble, let alone a beard. They’d know exactly who I was.
“Mr. Howser will see you immediately.” There was a click and a hiss as the hatch popped open.
The space inside was little more than a waiting room with a rusty counter. Scraps of metal lay against the walls, and a haze of dust floated in the air, so thick that everything appeared speckled.
Howser’s muscle consisted of four grungy Ringers, one on either side of the counter and two by the entry-hatch. Their narrow faces were coated in grime, matching their rotting teeth, which appeared even more yellow in contrast to their pasty skin. The area beneath their noses was chapped from snorting foundry salts—a synth-drug made from residue in water purification plants.
They had the kind of look in their eyes that said they weren’t just willing to use the decade-old pulse-rifles strapped to their backs but would enjoy it.
“Kale Drayton!” Howser said, sitting behind an unexpectedly new-looking console set on the counter. “Mr. Gas Harvester. Never thought I’d see you all the way down here again.”
His appearance was similar to his henchmen’s, only dirtier. Wild hair fell to his shoulders, and his messy beard went even farther. He grinned as he saw me, and I could smell his putrid breath from across the room. I counted only three natural teeth in his mouth; the rest were fillers made of chrome.
“Neither did I,” I admitted.
I started forward cautiously, my eyes darting between his armed henchmen. Their weapons may’ve been ancient, but if they were able to fire, they’d still be enough to riddle me with fist-sized holes. It’d been a long time since I’d dealt with people of their sort. Earthers like John could be cruel, but they weren’t desperate… or hungry.
“Hurry now. Let me get a look at you.” Howser snorted a bit of white powder sprinkled on the counter before he rolled out from behind it on an automated wheelchair. Both of his mangled legs were covered by loose pants that dragged across the floor. Rumor had it they’d been crushed by machinery a long time ago. The finest doctors in Sol probably could’ve put his lower half together again, but a man like him wouldn’t pay an Earther for help, even if he could afford it.
He rolled a circle around me, scanning me from head to toe. I couldn’t help but stare at the handle of the razor-sharp knife I remembered being hidden in the arm of his chair. My muscles tensed.
“I worried you might’ve wound up with more color up there,” he said. He stopped in front of me and stared up into my eyes. He grinned, his teeth like a row of train tracks. “What brings you back to your favorite old fence?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the nearest henchman. He breathed down my neck, nostrils flaring. “Mr. Howser,” I began. “I think you know why I’m here. I’d love to catch up, but can we please skip to business?”
He grimaced. “You’re not still bitter about your last job, are you, Kale?”
I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up. Other than his stench, the job was the reason he was last on my list. It was the reason I’d wound up taking the job on the Piccolo. For the parts of my life I remember, my mom worked as a servant for a wealthy Earther merchant named Tanner Saunders. Because of that, Dexter knew that I had a better shot at robbing him than any of the other kids under his thumb. He promised me a fifty-fifty share of whatever I could get from Tanner's place in the Uppers. Naturally, the Earther’s security was tighter than anything I’d ever dealt with, and I got pinched.
I never thought my mom would look at me the same way afterward. My father was shot doing something similar when I was barely four, and my whole life she’d preached about me staying on the right side of the law. But instead of allowing me to go to a cell like I deserved, she convinced Tanner to have me pay off my debts by working on the Piccolo, a gas harvester captained by his clan-brother, Weston Saunders.
Since the alternative was spending years in one of Pervenio Station’s infamous cells, I accepted the deal. If all the Ringers who’d returned from them with half their minds left weren’t lying, the cells were airlocks with a view of space, keeping prisoners under the constant threat of being ejected until they lost their minds. If the Q-Zone was the worst place a Ringer could wind up, that was a close second.
Work on the Piccolo was tedious compared with the shadows of the Darien Lowers, but it allowed me to slip out from beneath the thumbs of seedy fences. The crew was tiresome, though Cora made up for them, and Captain Saunders was actually pretty fair for an Earther. After a year I got even on my debt too, and was placed on salary, where I started to earn some legitimate credits.
Everything in my life turned around until two years later. My mom and I managed to exchange the occasional message over Solnet while I was on the Piccolo harvesting Saturn’s precious atmosphere. During my latest four-month shift, however, she went totally silent. That was until the last day when I received the message that flipped my world over and placed me right back where I’d emerged from.
KALE,
I’VE BEEN SICK. THEY HAD TO TAKE ME IN...
That was all I needed to read. I would honestly have been ready to hijack the Piccolo and drive it straight to Titan if the shift hadn’t been ending anyway. I resigned the moment I got back to Darien so I could stay near my mom. I knew she would tell me to keep working hard and not to worry, but I couldn’t leave her alone to wither away. I was all that she had left in the world, and she was the same for me. The Piccolo could be decommissioned and gutted for all I cared if it meant being there for her.
“Kale,” Dexter repeated, drawing me back to the present.
“No,” I said, shaking the memories out of my head. “I knew the risks of what I was doing. I just don’t have a lot of time.”
“Got an appointment with that Earther captain of yours? I bet he loved you.” He made a lewd gesture with his hand in the direction of one of his henchmen. They all laughed.
“I—” I stopped myself. I’d stolen my first ration bar when I was seven, and if all those years working the shadows of the Lowers had taught me anything, it was never to let a fence know how desperate you really were.
I decided to move things along myself. I took out John’s hand-terminal and slapped it on the counter. Dexter’s eyes went wide. “Pervenio V3X model hand-terminal,” I said. “Brand-new.”
He wheeled over, snagged it, and spun it in his hands. He looked like he was about to start drooling; it glistened as brightly as his false teeth. “How in t
he name of Trass did you get your hands on this?” he asked.
“I still know a few people,” I said.
“Anybody else know about this?” He tapped the screen a couple of times and then checked the missing battery port.
“Only you.”
“Now, now, Kale. I thought we were beyond lying. I’ve heard talk you were back, asking around, trying to wriggle back into our life. I may not be able to walk, but I have ears everywhere.”
The two henchmen by the counter edged closer. I took a deep breath. “Nobody else would open their hatch for me but you,” I said.
“The people you knew, you’re lucky nobody had you removed after you decided to go up,” he said.
I was well aware of that. For a while, people from my old life and kids from schooling gave me crap. They’d write EARTHER LOVER on the hatch of my mom’s hollow when I wasn’t there, or threaten to gut me if they ever caught me conversing with certain people. Eventually, it died down, and I knew if anyone really thought I needed to be removed, it’d happen with my back turned. A shot to the head seemed preferable to breaking the deal my mom had secured with Tanner Saunders and winding up a Pervenio prisoner.
“Look, Dex, if you aren’t interested—” I said before he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“Let’s not say that,” he said. “I’m just hurt you didn’t come to me first. You know who always offered you the best jobs.”
“Best jobs to get caught, you mean?”
His glare hardened. “It’s all part of the trade, Kale. You know that.”
“I know.” I sighed. “So do you want it or not?”
He wove his fingers through his mess of facial hair as he ogled the shiny device. His eyes betrayed him. I knew he wanted it. Other fences were willing to pick and choose, but Dexter Howser couldn’t keep his paws away from anything worth more than a handful of credits.
“Terms?” he asked.
“We split the revenue fifty-fifty,” I said, the words coming out more softly than I’d hoped. Negotiation was a muscle I hadn’t flexed in a long time.
Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set) Page 26