She took my hands. “Then let me come with you.”
“No. I need you here. Every colony block belongs to us, and I need you to help our people see that.” She opened her mouth to reply, but I hushed her. “We can’t stay in the Lowers’ tunnels forever. After the celebration dies down, I want you working with Rylah on transitioning all daily food distribution periods to the Uppers to draw people up for good. Offer increased rations to those willing to take up residence in the Uppers of every colony block throughout Titan as well.”
She considered saying something, then exhaled. “All right. I don’t want another fight with you. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Sometimes, I see this look in your eyes like you want them to kill you. It worries me, Kale.”
“Your son will be fine, Katrina,” Rin said as she approached from our side with a half-full glass of bright purple synthahol in hand. She wore a ratty white tunic, an orange circle of the Children of Titan painted proudly across her chest. Her sanitary mask wilted a bit to reveal the top half of the gruesome scars marring the right side of her face. She hadn’t cracked a real smile since our crew mate Hayes gave his life to destroy the Darien Q-zone under my orders. We had that in common, I think.
“This is between my son and me,” Mom grumbled.
“I think your son has proven he can handle himself.” Rin leveled her glare at my mom and held it there as she scratched her wound a few times. Then she regarded me. “Come, Kale. You need to make some sort of appearance.”
I nodded halfheartedly. “I have to go, Mom.” I pulled her close to my chest and planted a kiss on her forehead. She forced a smile and replied with her usual, “I love you, Kale,” but I was already turning halfway toward Rin and missed my opportunity to respond.
Rin took my arm and walked at a brisk pace. She was always eager to pry me away from my mom before she could drill my weary ears with criticism. They’d never been close. Rin blamed my mother for keeping me in the dark about who my father really was for most of my life. About who I was. A Trass.
“You did well out there, Kale,” she said, surprising me with a compliment.
“Says the woman who didn’t even want me coming along,” I replied.
“I didn’t want to send Hayes out to die either, but here we are. Doesn’t mean he didn’t do a hell of a job.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. After a few drinks, Rin tended to harp on what had happened after we snuck onto Pervenio Station. Like Darien Trass, our late pilot Hayes gave his life to give us the Ring. It was a sacrifice nobody would ever forget, and the new colony Block Pervenio had begun building in the southern hemisphere now bore his name. He was a sharp pilot with an even sharper tongue. And no matter how often he teased Rin about meeting her sister, everyone knew it was an act and how he and Rin really felt about each other.
“Without Kale, we would have never had the chance to spring another one of Pervenio’s traps,” Gareth signed, rescuing me from a deepening silence.
Rin grunted in agreement. “The bastard must really be squirming now.”
“Not enough,” I added.
Rin raised her drink. “Fuck Pervenio!” she shouted. We neared the heart of the festivity now, and every one of my people within earshot elevated their drinks with her and chanted whatever came to their minds first. A few nearby then noticed I was with her and bowed their heads in reverence. Murmurs of “Lord Trass” filled the Uppers.
I tried to issue all of them an obligatory nod. It continued to be a bizarre sight to see tall, pallid Titanborn spread throughout a place meant for Earther commerce. Fighters and citizens alike. Militant members of the Children of Titan wore the orange circle, our swelling army who fought tirelessly to reclaim the Ring as well as maintain martial order during this tumultuous transition of power and economic standards.
Armor and pulse rifles were strewn all about, filling smashed market stands and counters. The coffee shop where I once convened with the Earther captain of the Piccolo to beg for my pathetic gas-harvesting job back was littered with bottles of synthahol. Advertisement viewscreens were set to flames at the base of the towering statue of my forebearer, Darien Trass, all while people danced around the vast atrium surrounding him.
It was a beautiful sight, but one I doubted I’d ever get used to.
Someone ran over and shoved a drink in my hand. “For you, Lord Trass,” he slurred. Gareth promptly took him by the collar and tossed him back into the crowd. He then grabbed my arm and went to remove the drink, but I stopped him.
“Don’t worry; I don’t plan on drinking it,” I said. Gareth nodded that he understood my meaning. When one of my people offered a gift, I was happy to accept it, but I didn’t imbibe. There was too much to think about… too much to potentially forget.
Rin headed toward a group of combatants playing cards on top of an empty set of Pervenio armor.
“From ice to ashes, brothers,” she said. They repeated the words in as exuberant a manner as they could force before nervously parting to allow her in. Not even synthahol could dull the edge she put others on, especially with her sanitary mask now hanging even further down so that the gruesome hole in her cheek was plainly visible.
She took my arm and pointed to a viewscreen hanging sideways from the wall. It was tuned to an Earther newsfeed.
“The fruits of our labor,” she sneered.
The featured reporter on the screen said, “Terror at the Ring. After a violent raid on the former Pervenio Corp Interplanetary Ship Factory on Phoebe at the hands of the Children of Titan, joint relief efforts on Enceladus are struggling to care for the new influx of displaced citizens. Many of the survivors fled the scene on the luxury cruiser Ring Skipper but lost their lives in what sources are calling an unprecedented massacre of noncombatants. The USF Assembly has refused to comment until all details are received, but CEO of Venta Co. and noted philanthropist Jamaru Venta had some strong words for our governing body as well as the rebels on Titan.”
The entire message was crammed full of stock footage from other battles with Pervenio forces, considering there was nobody on board the Ring Skipper filming. Their word versus ours, and of course, I knew what the majority of Sol would believe. It wouldn’t be that Director Lawrence had hired a freelance collector to capture Rylah, brought her to Phoebe, and put hundreds of civilians hiding out there in danger before they absconded with the Ring Skipper to lay their trap.
The sounds of people hushing each other filled the Uppers as the head of the corporate powerhouse Venta Co. appeared on the screen. Jamaru Venta wore thick, wide-rimmed glasses, something I’d never seen on an Earther before, considering their penchant for corrective surgeries, especially the rich ones. She also didn’t appear to be wearing an ounce of makeup.
“The USF is failing us,” she began. “This is why I have been staunchly behind organizing a summit with the self-proclaimed king of Titan, Kale Trass, to find out how we can amiably remedy this horrible situation. USF interference must be curtailed. It is their restrictions on an armed interplanetary fleet and weaponry that allowed this to escalate—”
“You hear that?” someone yelled, making it impossible to hear the rest of what she said. “They’re calling him king now too.”
“To King-Fucking-Trass!” shouted another. A bottle crashed into the viewscreen and knocked out the feed as cheers resonated throughout the Uppers. They were so loud, anyone caught unaware might’ve thought the enclosure broke.
Hundreds of eyes fell upon me, glittering with reverence and expectation, another thing I’d never grow accustomed to. I lifted my glass, and cheers again rained down from every direction. Their reaction still felt outlandish, but as I watched the jubilation intensify, I couldn’t help the sense of pride swelling in me. If only I could tie Luxarn Pervenio down and have him watch us trash his prized jewel colony, Darien. There would be no greater torture for the man who thought he could make slaves of us all.
“Why don’t you join us, Kale?” Rin said. She snatched up the card
s and began dealing them herself, forcing a game to start. “Even a king needs to take a night off.”
I laid my hand on her shoulder. “Maybe later. Have you seen Aria? I want to make sure everything is prepared.”
Rin groaned. “Leave it to an outsider to make a landing on Mars into brain surgery. I saw her checking on Rylah down at the old Earther Bistro.”
“Thank you.” I turned to my guardian and held out my drink for him to take, low so that nobody would notice. “Why don’t you join them, Gareth?” I asked. “I doubt Pervenio would try anything today.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please. You know Gareth doesn’t drink,” Rin remarked. “Trass knows why.”
I nodded and went to continue on my way, but Rin tapped at my back to stop me. “Kale. You tell that bitch that if she tries anything, if she even looks at you the wrong way, I’ll burn her pretty Earther face off.”
I shook my head. “Sure thing, Rin.”
She muttered something under her breath, then turned away from the others so that she could take a sip of her drink. She had to angle her head so that her unscarred cheek was facing downward and the colorful liquid wouldn’t dribble through the hole on the other side. Everyone in the card game gawked, at least until she lifted her head and they pretended not to have noticed. She only drank or ate publicly on rare occasions. I assumed us departing for Mars in less than twenty-four hours was a huge part of it.
I left her there and followed Gareth. He parted the sea of celebrators for us to pass directly through. Leading was still new to me, but I’d learned early on the importance of making myself seen. Ever since we broadcasted the execution of Director Sodervall and declared my true name, it seemed to boost morale and keep my people focused. Luxarn’s futile attempts at openly assassinating me with dried-up collectors and Cogent agents younger than me was just a part of the job.
“Lord Trass,” a gray-bearded Titanborn in a fine Pervenio-designed tunic addressed me. Gareth leaped forward to pat him down, signed to me that the man was clear, then allowed him to pass. “I was hoping I might have the chance to speak with you while you’re here.”
I nodded for him to proceed.
He bowed his head. “I am Orson Fring. I’ve been assigned to manage the new factory on Phoebe and overseeing the construction of interplanetary ship engines and hulls.”
“I know what it is.”
“My apologies. Of course you do. I’m wondering if I could make a request.”
“Administrator Rylah is back now. You can discuss any issues you have with her.” I went to walk by, but he was persistent. He forced his way in front of us, earning a glower from Gareth.
“I’m afraid this is a matter in which only you can help. Please, Lord Trass.”
I stopped. The trappings of leadership never took a day off, no matter how exhausted I was. Even while we celebrated victories over our Earther overseers, Titanborn from all corners of the Ring approached me with their difficulties. As if a Titan, united in race and purpose, could ever be worse than one where we survived under the constant fear of quarantine or shock batons, in self-made prisons made by the credits Earthers dangled on strings we couldn’t reach.
“What is it?” I grumbled. Usually, I passed them along to Rylah or Rin if they didn’t go through proper channels like everybody else, but the factory we took on Phoebe was now home to the Titanborn who were most experienced in Pervenio tech, engineering, and shipbuilding. They were required to ensure the vessels in our future fleet all went together without a hitch.
“Thank you.” He bowed again. “The workers have expressed concerns that despite being pushed to our limits every day, they won’t be adequately compensated. We understand the need to produce a defensive fleet to ensure our safety, but even under Pervenio, we—”
“Is the promise of increased food rations and shelter not sufficient?”
“It is. It’s just… We were hoping you might be open to discussing something a bit more tangible.”
Gareth rubbed his index finger and thumb together in front of the man’s face.
“Credits,” I spat. “Always credits. Relax, Manager Fring. Your workers have merely been conditioned by Pervenio to expect credits so they can buy their newest hand-terminal or suit, and for what?”
“I know, Lord Trass,” Orson said. “But you have to understand—”
“There is nothing to understand. Tell your workers to be proud they hold such crucial positions in our revolution. As Titan flourishes, so will every Titanborn on the Ring. You have my word.” He attempted to speak, but my glower stopped the words in the back of his throat. “We don’t need credits anymore,” I stated firmly. “We don’t need anything Earth has to offer. Help me get our people to see that.”
I shoved by him, causing him to bump into someone’s drink and spill it all over himself. Gareth left the argument that erupted behind us and quickly caught up with me.
“Don’t like the look of that one,” he signed. “He’s been learning from them for too long, his best workers too. Like one of those Earth dogs begging for a treat before it stops barking.”
“He’s harmless,” I said. “They’re just afraid that eventually things will go back to the way they were, and they’ll be so deep in a hole they won’t be able to climb out.”
“They should be praising you for taking Pervenio Station and wiping away their debts. What I would’ve done to grow up not worrying about rent.”
“Give them time, Gareth. All of this still feels like a dream.”
“Better than a nightmare.”
I turned left through the crowd, toward the Bistro, which once sold delectable pre-Meteorite cuisine. The sign outside was no longer legible. Rylah sat on one of the tables, a half-drained bottle of authentic Earther liquor next to her. She still appeared a bit frazzled, but that was multitudes better than when I last saw her. Upon noticing me, she immediately stood and approached. She had a slight hitch in her step from when a Pervenio collector had apparently shot her in the leg on the eve of our revolution. Being the most infamous information broker in the Ring made her susceptible to encounters of that sort.
“Please sit,” I said.
The rest of her wounds from the Ring Skipper had her wincing with every move, so she gladly took my invitation. She stumbled once and banged her hip before plopping back up on the table.
“Lord Trass himself,” she said, sweeping her arm in an exaggerated motion. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for what happened out there.”
I gestured to her bad leg, where the scar from a collector’s gunshot was the only blemish on her otherwise perfect body—a body which comprised all the best attributes from both pure Earthers and pure Titanborn. It made it easy for her to be in charge. Man or woman, people were nervous around her. I myself found her exceedingly flawless, like she was the product of some mad scientist’s fantasies.
“You would have done the same for us,” I said. “I was hoping to find Aria with you here.”
“Not happy just seeing me?” she teased. My cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, which she seemed to enjoy. She took a swig from the bottle, scrunched her eyes as if the golden liquid burned her throat, and then took another. “You just missed her,” she garbled. “I don’t know what Rin has against that girl. One visit from our former doctor and I feel almost as good as new.”
“Who doesn’t Rin have something against?” Gareth signed.
“Why do you think I’m hiding in here?” Rylah replied.
“She’s not too bad… when she drinks,” I added.
Rylah chuckled. “Or when you do.” She indulged in another sip, covering her mouth as she hiccupped after. The liquor on her breath was so pungent I had to stretch my nostrils. She was usually as composed as anyone I’d ever known, even more so than her sister. I couldn’t imagine how much pain she had to be in to let loose like this in plain sight.
“If you want Aria, she said she was heading over to the Hayes Memorial Hospital to check in
on progress. Getting our people there up to speed.”
“And after?”
“I’m not her babysitter.” I leveled a glare her way, and she exhaled. “Said she planned to stay with the Cora all night and make sure everything was right for departure,” Rylah said. “I’ve never seen anyone but an Earther so eager to get off Titan.”
“Maybe too eager,” Gareth interjected.
“Ignore them, Kale. She’s just nervous. Organizing a meeting with the full USF Assembly is hard enough when you aren’t enemy number one.”
“I’m with Kale until the end, but it’s still far from our home. She isn’t Titanborn,” Gareth signed.
“Slow those fingers down, would you?” Rylah blabbered.
I ignored her. “No, she’s not,” I said to Gareth, “but from what she’s told me about where she grew up on Mars, it isn’t far off from the Lowers.”
“Unless she lied.”
The thought had crossed my mind plenty of times. The Children of Titan had once referred to her as the Doctor before the revolution, when she helped steal medicine Pervenio Corp hoarded from Earth to cure our sick. Aria was the name by which she introduced herself to me, though. She was illegitimate and without a family name—half Earther and half offworlder—so there wasn’t any record of her throughout Sol. Earthers tried to control everything, right down to breeding. For the betterment of the human race, they required all citizens to get approval before having children to ensure there was no risk of defect.
So Aria knew what it was like to be treated like dirt because of how and where she was born. Every day was a fight to survive until she’d found a gig smuggling for Venta Co. It was because of those connections I’d not only allowed her to help transform the unfinished Hayes Quarantine into a new medical facility open to all our people, but named her our ambassador to the USF and all their affiliated corporations. Or was it because her hybrid nature reminded me of Cora... I shook the thought out of my head.
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