“Quiet!” I screamed.
A hush fell upon the Uppers as if all the air had gone out of the room. The Titanborn in front of me noticed I was there, parted, and allowed me to approach the screens. It was a newsfeed being broadcast from Earth on every single one of their channels.
“This footage, never before shown, is graphic,” a reporter said. “We are releasing it to the public now only after the recent Solnet leaks were unable to be controlled. I repeat: this footage is not suitable for children.”
Someone wearing Titanborn armor stood within a conference room of some sort, even though we’d never sent any of our people to do this. Stars shone brightly through a viewport at his back. Men and women in formal attire and with the Red Wing Company logo on their lapels stared in horror, some of them lying on the ground bleeding. Chairman Galora, the woman who had helped us escape Mars, was the closest to the imposter, and a Pervenio Director was beside her.
The imposter waved his or her gun at members of the Red Wing board. Then he or she stomped around the room like a lunatic, smacking his or her own helmet. He or she grabbed the Pervenio Director by the neck, threw him, and proclaimed, “From ice to ashes!” His or her pulse-rifle then aimed toward the viewport, and he or she fired until it shattered. Every person in the conference room was yanked out into space before the feed went to static.
I’d read about what happened back aboard the Cora, but seeing it was another story entirely. More influential Earthers taken out of our way was never a bad thing, but without Red Wing Company, we wouldn’t have escaped Mars.
“Kale, was this you?” I heard my mother whisper in my ear. She might as well have been shouting, the room went so quiet. The parallels to what Rin did aboard the Piccolo were clear enough that I wasn’t surprised she asked.
I shook my head.
“We are sorry you had to see that,” the reporter said, clearly rattled. “It is now coming through that this horrible tragedy was perpetrated by this man, Gareth Hale, proving, without doubt, it was indeed an act of terror perpetrated by the Children of Titan. A former gas harvester from Ziona, Titan, Gareth was thought to have died in the Sunfire incident more than three years ago. Clearly, that is not the case.”
A picture of none other than Gareth popped up on screen. It felt like someone had tied a belt around my heart and squeezed it, seeing him. The Red Wing board used a ship that orbited Mars. I wasn’t sure if Gareth had the time to get from New Beijing to it and back without me knowing, but there was no doubt the picture was of him from a mug-shot before he wound up on the Sunfire. Back when he still had his tongue.
“Titan has continued to deny comment on this malicious attack. Rumblings out of the USF Assembly indicate that they believe this was a direct reaction to the recent news of a formal merger between Venta Co. and Pervenio Corp, but one thing is for sure, Kale Trass’ visit to Mars was not without ulterior motives. New reports out of Europa indicate that the Kale’s personal ship was also spotted assaulting Martelle Station, where Venta Chief Engineer Basaam Venta was captured and taken into Titan’s custody, joining thousands of other captives from their illegal seizure of the Ring.
“We went live to Jumara Venta shortly after showing her this footage to get her reaction to these shocking developments.”
The screen transitioned to grainier footage, where Madame Venta’s officers were busy pushing through a mob of reporters. They were on Martelle Station, cleaning up Malcolm’s mess while she lied about where we took Basaam because, to a corporation like Venta Co., taking a man’s life was worth a lot less than his valuable tech being compromised.
“Madame Venta!” a news reporter shouted. “Madame Venta! Do you have any comment on the attack on Basaam Venta and its supposed connection to the Red Wing Massacre?” One of her men pushed the camera away, but the reporter was persistent. He weaseled his way right into her face and repeated the question.
“Any comment?” she snapped finally. “It’s time we stop taking these Ringer rebels lightly! The USF has spent the last month looking into an incident here at this very spaceport where my children were slaughtered by Kale Trass. I proposed a solution to the USF then in the form of an armed defensive fleet, and they denied me. Then he has Red Wing Company destroyed so handily, their assets are being sold off to the highest bidder. Still, the USF ignored me. Now he’s stolen my friend and colleague Basaam off Martelle Station. This cannot go on.
“Do you think I’m partnering with Luxarn Pervenio to benefit my company? I’m done waiting for them to bicker over the methods of our expansion and ignore our safety in the present. It is time we take control of this situation before Kale targets another boardroom full of innocents or stuffs more people into cells. PerVenta Corp is in the process of buying all assets of Red Wing, and together, we will develop a militarized force to take back the Ring at all costs. We will not allow them to use the lives of captives to bully us any longer. If the USF has anything to say about it, they can try to stop us. It’s time for Kale Trass’s bloody reign to come to an end.”
The feed cut back to the production studio and a few reporters seated at a table. “Harsh words,” one of them said. “Luxarn Pervenio echoed her statements in a written statement just last month. We reached out to the USF Assembly for comment, but up to this point, there has been no response. This is John Standard of SolWide News Net. We’ll be back after this short break.”
The screen transitioned to a shiny vessel flying through the upper atmosphere of Jupiter. “Have you ever dreamed of sailing over the eye of Jupiter?” a soothing matronly voice asked. “Zeus Luxury Cruise Lines invites you—”
The rest of the out-of-place Earther ad was cut off by the Uppers erupting in applause for the elimination of a powerful Earther corporation. They chanted Gareth’s name and proclaimed death to Madame Venta and Luxarn Pervenio’s Fleet.
I grabbed Rin’s arm, pulled her into an abandoned shop, and slammed the door. Rylah and my mother followed shortly after, struggling to squeeze through my people as they once again turned the Uppers into their own personal nightclub.
“I swear, this wasn’t me,” Rin said before anybody could ask. “And whoever it was, that wasn’t Gareth in that suit. He’s taller, and he was with me.”
“And what about kidnapping an engineer off Martelle Station?” my mother questioned, her glower boring into my soul.
“He’s crucial to our cause, Katrina. We had to improvise.”
“Stop it, you two,” Rylah said.
“Do you think any of our people could have been capable of pulling that off?” Rin shook her head. “Rylah, maybe someone took a ship and snuck away to Mars?”
“I could pull dispatch logs, but I doubt it. Red Wing’s headquarters is a cruiser; it isn’t easy to break into, let alone find in orbit.”
“And now, Venta and Pervenio are joining forces to buy them out,” I said. “Did you know about the merger?”
“I keep the newsfeeds on all day, and it’s the first I’m hearing about it.”
“Am I only one realizing who benefits from slaughtering the only Earther company that has ever helped us?” Rin remarked.
“You think they were behind it?” my mother said. “That’s low, even for them.”
“Would you have said that while you were wasting away in quarantine?” Rin asked. My mother sank back, her eyes glazing over.
“Rin,” I said sternly.
“I’m just saying.”
“Luxarn is finally coming out of his shell, and he’s using Venta as a hammer,” I said. I pressed my hands against the glass door. It vibrated from the festivity outside. “Listen to them. They have no idea what’s coming.”
“The USF won’t be able to stop them, hostages or not,” Rin said. “I don’t know if we can either.”
“Like I said, why do you think they’re making this move?” Rin said. “Destroy Red Wing, unite to buy their assets quickly, so no Earthers lose their jobs, and make the USF even less powerful.”
“So w
e deny it publicly,” my mother said. “At the very least, it will slow down the USF’s decision-making.”
“Don’t you see? Nothing we say matters anymore,” I said. “They’ve been waiting for an excuse all this time. Waiting for us to show that we’re the monsters they think we are. Nobody looked further in that video than the orange circle to see if it was us. Nobody ever will. And by raiding Martelle Station, we proved that a fleet could benefit them. Damnit!” I punched the wall as hard as I could. Cuts along my knuckles split open, and my mother grabbed my hand to make sure I was okay.
“We did what we had to,” Rin said. “They’d have made this happen some other way. All we can do now is prepare. We should send everyone we’ve got who’s ever worked in a dock to Phoebe to speed up the construction of our fleet. We can transition other factories as well. It won’t take long to outfit gas harvesters and transports with weapons, and we have to be ready to hold.”
“That might be a problem,” Rylah said. She flinched as both Rin and my glares fell upon her.
“Why?” I asked.
“That man, Orson Fring. He’s organized most of the experienced ship workers we’ve got in protest, demanding more compensation. Other industries have joined in too. We’re arming, just...not as quickly as anticipated without them. Now with PerVenta, I—”
“I thought I told you to handle it.”
“What did you want me to do? Lock him away? Kill him? The moment you left, his following multiplied, and it’s clear why. Our people are exhausted after being overworked the last few months. They’re hungry with half the Darien hydro-farms compromised and no trade.”
“That’s all we need,” Rin groaned. “An Earther-lover used to getting their scraps putting everyone on strike. I say we get rid of him.”
“That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?” my mother snapped.
“Well, if it works.”
“Orson and the others are coming around, Kale,” my mother said, taking me by the shoulders. “I’ve been talking with Mr. Fring, trying to come to an agreement for him to call off the protests.”
“By the time you’re done talking, we’ll be dead.”
“Why don’t we stop being so stubborn and offer them credits?” Rylah said. “Nothing’s ever shut a man up quite as quickly, I promise you.”
“It wasn’t the money that kept them quiet, sister,” Rin said, eyeing Rylah from head to toe. “We pay them, then everyone else across the Ring will want the same, and we’ll wind up exactly like the Earthers.”
“Enough, everyone,” I demanded. “You’re giving me a headache. I’ll talk to Mr. Fring as soon as we’re done here. Rin, do you have your hand terminal?” I asked. She nodded. “Good. Record this.”
I opened the door and backed up slowly into the sea of my people’s carousing. Rin followed me and set her hand terminal to record. I remembered when she’d bought the thing so that we could hack Pervenio Station and steal the Piccolo. It seemed like ages ago. Rylah and my mother watched from behind the glass, brows furrowed.
I kept walking until I stood at the feet of Darien Trass’ statue, then I faced the camera and nodded to Rin. “We traveled to Earth to make peace, and you shunned us,” I said after it started recording. “Red Wing Company thought they could buy our loyalty and learned the hard way. Venta Co. went back on their word and learned the same lesson by losing their prized chief engineer.
“The Ring is ours. We will not negotiate. We will not be bribed or prodded. Send all the ships you want. Send a fleet. They’ll return to Earth in ashes. Soon you people will know the fear we lived with every single day under your rule, but we are afraid no longer!” I raised my arms, gesturing to the raucous mob of Titanborn at my back. Then Rin cut the recording.
My mother’s jaw hung open. Rylah closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Rin’s expression didn’t change. Malcolm may have done his best to wedge his way between us, but she understood what it would take to win. All the people behind me begging for war might not have, but she did.
Luxarn and Madame Venta had made their move. They were coming, and all I had to do was sweeten the bait. Feed their rage and their greed so that they would rush things. Our fleet didn’t need to be larger or more advanced. All it needed to do was hold while I pulled the rug out from under the Earthers’ homeworld using Basaam’s invention.
Then, and only then, would they give us everything we wanted.
I breathed in deeply. The smell of salt, soldered metal, and burning gases were staples of the Darien Lowers where I grew up. Industry powering the Earthers’ burgeoning inter-solar civilization, with Titanborn at the helm.
We weren’t in the Lowers or on Titan, but the shipyard on Phoebe Station we stole from Pervenio bore that same stench. Unfinished chassis for ships sat on pedestals throughout the factory, of all shapes and sizes. Ice haulers, gas harvesters, transports, all being outfitted for war. It was the best we could do on short notice and without skilled management. The only problem was that all the construction equipment sat still.
Chants of protest replaced the familiar din of factory labor. Armed Titanborn were posted at every corner making sure things didn’t escalate, but they didn’t know how to handle a situation like this. We were used to being beaten when we got out of line or docked pay. It was all because the old Earther sympathizer Orson Fring got it in everybody’s head that credits were the answer. Not food. Not shelter. Not the promise of freedom once Earth caved to our demands. Credits.
Titan was filled with warriors who lowered their heads as I went by, who fought for our freedom, but these skilled ship workers who’d lived closer to Earthers on stations and smaller moons did their best to remain indifferent. They marched around holding signs with words of protest drawn on sheets of scrap. They stared when I got close and lowered their voices, but that was it.
Back before the revolution, they were the type of Titanborn who got spat on. The type willing to work side by side with the Earthers who treated them like dirt. I knew because I was once one of them—a Ringer desperate for credits scrubbing canisters on an Earther gas harvester. I could barely remember what it felt like to be so obsessed with a transient number, to let it define me like our distant cousins on Earth did.
My mother and Rylah stopped in front of the door into Orson Fring’s foreman office. Mother knocked, and the door slid open with a whoosh almost immediately. A few older Titanborn filed out, speeding up and staring at the floor when they noticed it was me who’d arrived.
“Keep an open mind, Kale,” my mother said before she went in.
“I’ll try,” I replied.
“I don’t understand what reasons you had for taking credit for that massacre, but we need these workers now more than ever. Kale, are you listening to me?”
I grunted a barely audible affirmation. Rin scolding me I could handle. Rylah, tolerable. At least both of them had seen the rotten parts of the world and fought to be free of them. But my mother spent her whole life hiding. She left my father when he went off to initiate the Children of Titan and hid my true name to keep me safe. Always to keep me safe. I loved her, but while we all fought, she lay in bed worrying. She’d never understand what leading a revolution took.
“Even a half-closed mind will do,” Rylah remarked, smirking, then stepped in. My mother stifled a groan and followed.
“Ah, Katrina. Rylah,” Orson said. He sat behind a desk stacked with dozens of datapads and notes. “A pleasure to see you both again.” He leaned forward and cleared off the area in front of him. His snow-white beard nearly matched the tone of his skin, but there was no missing the multitude of fraying hairs. Black bags hung deep beneath his wrinkled eyelids. At least that meant he was as tired of the protest as any of us.
“I hope we can end this now,” Rylah said. “Considering recent events.”
“I heard. The attack on Red Wing—”
“Wasn’t us,” I interrupted. I stepped in, and what little color filled Orson’s cheeks drained entirely.
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“L… Lord Trass,” he stammered. “I wasn’t aware you were coming.”
“I wanted to see what was going on here before it was cleaned up for my sake.”
“Yes, of course. Lord Trass, please, come sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
Orson nodded nervously. His eyes darted from one of us to the next, and a brief period of silence had him shifting in his seat.
“There are a lot of empty chassis out there, Fring,” Rylah said finally. “I thought last time we spoke you said you’d maintain standard production rates.”
“These were standard rates.”
“Under Earther supervision,” I said. I strolled across the room and lifted a datapad off his desk. On it was altered schematics for transforming a standard Pervenio automated gas harvester into a war machine. I then picked up another. He cleared his throat but said nothing.
“Mr. Fring, do you know why I claimed responsibility for the Red Wing Massacre?” I asked.
He held his tongue, but I could tell by his eyes he wanted to scold me like my mother did. The older generation was too ingrained in their ways to understand change. Too stubborn.
“Because they would have blamed us anyway,” I answered for him. “Even if that killer was wearing a Pervenio uniform, they would have found a way to blame us.”
“I understand,” Orson replied. “I’ve been around long enough to know their kind. My family has been building ships since the days of Trass’s first settlers, and we continued doing it under their supervision after the Great Reunion.”
“The Fring family was part of the crew who worked on Trass’s first Ark way back on Earth,” Rylah added.
“Is that true?” I said.
Orson smiled and nodded. “That’s what my parents told me, and theirs told them.”
“Incredible.” I studied the datapad in my grip for a few seconds, then flung it against the wall. “Then explain why you are purposely undermining your own people!”
Children of Titan Series: Books 1-4: (A Space Opera Thriller Box Set) Page 90