Titanborn (18 page)

There was life everywhere. Thousands of people, of both Ringer and Earther descent, were returning from work shifts. It was easy to tell them all apart. Besides their pinkish faces, many Earthers had the credits to afford at least a decent weighted suit. Ringers, on the other hand, wore sanitary masks and gloves, and moved with the hitched hop-step typical of walking in low gravity. I always found it kind of comedic looking when placed beside a normal stride.

My eyes were besieged by countless colorful ads lining the sleek walls above every stand as we left the docks and plunged into a marketplace that stretched among four of the tremendous columns. Zhaff even had to pause for a minute to allow his exposed eye to adjust. The ones closest to the docks advertised for a burgeoning market of luxury cruisers that apparently sailed around within the inner atmosphere of Saturn, where the gravitational pull was remarkably similar to Earth's. Such extravagant vacations made it easy to understand why Ringers resented my kind.

The farther in we got, the more dizzying it was, with all the promotional announcements struggling to broadcast above both the din of the crowd and the shouting shopkeepers.

“Blankets! Warm enough to keep you alive on the surface!” one hollered.

“Missing your family back home on Earth? Connect with them over Solnet through a brand-new hand-terminal!” yelled another.

“Weighted suits! Thin as a leaf!”

After ten minutes of walking, the end-of-shift crowd began to dissipate. There were mostly only Pervenio officers and Earthers left behind. The latter were busy either shopping for the latest in high fashion or searching for the perfect entertainment venue to start off their nights. The only Ringers I could spot by then wore worker's clothing and were doing whatever it took to keep the upper ward looking like a sterling testament to human ingenuity. From sweeping the floors of all the restaurants, bars, and shops to scrubbing the glass and walls throughout the block until everything sparkled, they did all the things Earthers didn't want to.

In my experience, most Ringers strayed from the upper ward as much as they could. They preferred staying down in the parts of Darien that were buried beneath the surface of Titan, where the lights were dimmer, the stench fouler, and the dangers to their health less pronounced. They never got to see any sunlight, in contrast with the upper ward where areas were cut with long translucencies revealing the copper glow of Titan's sky.

It'd been years so nothing looked overly familiar until I spotted the towering statue of Darien Trass—the man who'd first sent ships to the Ring before the Meteorite hit Earth—rising through the upper ward's central atrium. The walkways wrapping him were lined with generous planters displaying all sorts of colorful flora that apparently once thrived outside on pre-Meteorite Earth.

With all the mentions of him lately, I couldn't help but stare at the monument. It had to have been retouched since the Ringers first erected it back when the upper ward belonged to them, because the face looked remarkably similar to Luxarn Pervenio's. I never noticed it until I saw him up close.

A short walk from there and we were nearing the main lift, which sank through the crust of Titan to the levels of the lower ward where Ringers lived. A pair of Pervenio officers rushed past us and almost bowled me and Zhaff over.

“You, halt!” one of them demanded and raised his pulse-rifle.

A group of children nearby scattered as fast as they could, threading their way into the marketplace's crowd. They were definitely Ringers, and as I watched the officers pursue them, I wasn't completely sure whether or not they would've opened fire had there not been other Earther pedestrians in the way.

I looked back to what the children were fleeing from. Three-quarters of an orange circle was painted over an advertisement for a tanning salon that would help immigrants retain their skin color. They hadn't been able to finish the circle before they were seen. A mob of Earther civilians had formed around it. They all looked frightened.

“They've even got children doing their work,” I said to Zhaff.

Zhaff didn't respond, but his single eye was fixed on the scene as we passed. In return he was being barraged by suspicious stares from the Earthers gathered by the symbol. I may've been used to his appearance, but I could understand their concern considering he had the build of an offworlder, among other peculiarities. I decided to grab his arm and pick up our pace. It appeared we weren't destined to feel comfortable on any level of Darien.

We were able to reach the main lift without further complications, but once there we found a very small percentage of Earthers to be taking the plunge with us. I'd been to Darien before, so I knew the upper ward was fine for my kind if you were simply looking to wade through crowds shopping, eating food, and having a drink. But the lower ward was the place to go if you really wanted to unwind—for anyone as long you weren't wearing a Pervenio badge and you had credits to spend. At least, it was the last time I'd been there.

Director Sodervall was right that things were worse, but I had a feeling Zhaff and I were about to find out how much.

When the doors of the Darien central lift slid open it felt like we'd been transported to a completely different world. The lower wards of most colony blocks on Titan had been around since before the Earthers had made contact with Saturn yet remained untouched. Pervenio Corp was considerably less interested in keeping the nether regions of their Titan settlements shiny and presentable.

While the upper ward was bright and airy, down here the network of squat tunnels branching off from the cavernous node surrounding the lift had a labyrinthine feel. Much of the structures was exposed to rock, but the portions that were lined by panels of serrated metal were rusting. Luckily, the lights on the ceilings were dim enough to make that difficult to notice. The walls were dotted with circular hatches for small, cave-like apartments the locals called hollows.

The change in the air, too, was tangible. The lower wards on Titan were kept around freezing, just how Ringers liked it. I immediately regretted not bringing my duster. Also, in contrast with the fresh air above, the wards reeked of salt from water treatment plants and soldered metal from factories. They were sprinkled all throughout the lowers, at the end of every tunnel—everything Pervenio profited from but preferred to keep buried. Noisy air recyclers too old for their own good didn't help.

As we walked it was easy to notice how the tides had shifted. Pervenio security teams were sparse, all of them posted within guarded booths positioned at the decon-chambers surrounding the lift that we were forced to pass through. Lanky Ringers, with their alabaster skin and sanitary masks, were everywhere. It wasn't as crowded with them as the upper ward was with Earthers, but Darien sank deep into Titan, and the lower ward had many levels. Last I read there were roughly three million people living within Titan's numerous colony blocks, and three-quarters of them were Ringers with ancestry dating back to the first settlers. They may have been weaker physically, had fewer weapons, and been focused on trying to buy their sick relatives medicine, but I understood Luxarn's fear of letting a faction of dissidents spark their animosity. Being stronger doesn't count for much when you have three angry rebels jumping on your back.

Beggars roamed freely. It was hard to tell who was starving and who wasn't since Ringers were all so stringy compared with me. I wagered on most of them. Any job an Earther wanted they got first choice, which left a large portion of lower ward residents without legitimate employment.

Pale, strung-out salt sniffers observed everything from the deep shadows of tunnels, their gazes locked on Zhaff and me. Some of them were snorting foundry salts; most had a crazed look in their eyes, as if they were waiting for an excuse to kill something. They didn't bother us, but as we walked I couldn't shake the suspicion that another, more menacing group was watching from out of sight.

In fact, everyone kept their distance. On Mars it was hard to walk anywhere in the seedy sections of the cities without being hounded by streetwalkers. Doing whatever it took to survive wasn't frowned upon among offworlders as it was back on Earth. But on Titan sex workers had become a scourge; the lowest of the low. They'd helped spread disease more than anything else when my people first arrived. In the present Ringers were aggressive in their pursuit of finding someone they believed to be a life partner. Once they did they'd remain fiercely loyal for the rest of their days. It was their way of trying to stay safe, the way clan-families were ours, which made mine and Mazrah's fling a rare occurrence.

“Watch it, mud stompers!” a young boy yelled as he bumped into Zhaff.

I instinctually grabbed him by the wrist. I squeezed so that his fist came open, and in it I saw Zhaff's false ID. Long fingers made Ringers excellent pickpockets. That was one thing I remembered about the place that clearly hadn't changed.

“Let go!” the kid shouted.

I tore the ID out of his palm and shoved him along. “Watch your pockets, Zhaff,” I said. We were in a place no amount of training could prepare one for. I suppose that's what Luxarn realized when he decided Zhaff needed a partner.

The kid earned us even more attention. Faces peered out through cracked-open hatches, and masks covering everything but their eyes made them appear additionally unwelcoming. I'd have felt much safer with my pistol.

Yet still, people kept their distance. Nobody tried to stop us and ask what we were doing. Or hold us up and take everything we had. I weirdly would've felt more comfortable if they had. Everyone just continued watching us with hateful stares, as if we were marching toward some sort of unsanctified ritual. As a collector I was used to being treated with caution, even fear, but I wasn't used to being looked at with unbridled disdain.

“Remember to let me do the talking,” I said to Zhaff when we arrived at the entrance to the Maw. Two drunks stood to its side, glares piercing us like blades. They didn't say a word.

The Maw was on the far side of level B5's central node, down a set of stairs above which its name was written in cool-colored neon lights. That was where Mazrah had been holed up when I'd last dealt with her, so I hoped it was where she would be based on her message. We made our way down the set of stairs and into a broad tunnel wrapped in bands of pulsing blue light.

“And for heaven's sake, try to act natural,” I said, taking notice of Zhaff's perfect, upright posture. I slapped him on his upper back to coax him into walking like a real person. It didn't work for long.

“IDs,” requested the gruffer of two Ringer bouncers posted at the doors of the Maw as we approached. He held out his palm.

Both of them were armed with batons, though I found them far from threatening despite how much taller they were than me. We did as requested anyway. The bouncer looked over our identifications and when he was satisfied, he put on a wry grin and glanced toward his partner.

“One hundred credits to get in, for each of you,” he snickered. His voice was muffled by a sanitary mask.

“You've got to be joking,” I protested, trying to act the part of a harvester after a hard month's work. That was who our faux IDs said we were after all.

The bouncer tapped his baton a few times. “You must be new around here, mud stomper. Now it's one fifty.”

“You can't—” I sighed and turned to Zhaff. “Pay the man already then. I need a drink.”

Zhaff recognized my act. He handed over his credit chit for the bouncer to swipe. The other one came around behind us and patted us down. Zhaff's fists tightened as he confiscated our personal hand-terminals, but I sneaked him a shake of the head. I had a feeling he would've killed both of them in a heartbeat if I hadn't and brought the entirety of the lower ward upon us.

“Fancy hand-terminals,” the more vocal bouncer admired. Mine was nothing too special, but definitely better than most Ringers could afford on their typically low salaries. “Sorry, can't bring these inside, USF orders.” He grinned as he tucked Zhaff's device into his belt and handed mine to his partner. “Have fun, Earther.”

I let it go, resolving to come back for it later after we met with Mazrah. They wouldn't be able to access our secured information unless they cut off our thumbs anyway.

“It's been a while, but I think I remember where she is in here,” I whispered to Zhaff as we traversed a low tunnel carved into the deep bedrock of Titan and emerged into the Maw. I was rarely ever sober in the club when I used to visit Mazrah, so I had to think hard.

Colorful beams of light flashed throughout the mostly dim space, each one distorted by the layer of steam hanging over the floor. The electronic music was deafening. The Ringers had few, if any, real instruments when they arrived on Titan, so the music they cared for was entirely digitized. If there was a melody, I couldn't find it. All the sweaty Ringers, on the other hand, appeared to be on enough foundry salts to find a song in anything. Alcohol was also limited when they first arrived, so drugs were common on the Ring, made mostly from factory residue. That was fine with me. It helped us stay unnoticed.

I tried to gather my bearings amid the crazed dancers bumping into me. The Maw was a reprogrammed factory, consisting of a network of gaping caverns. Vibrant, pulsating lights refracted through clouds of mist that spilled out through exhaust vents once meant for safety. Bars were built into stacks of machinery, colorful bottles filled with sythahol feeding through reallocated pumps to work the taps. Dancers in skintight plastic outfits lined machine belts that cranked along through the swelling crowds of Ringers. They may as well have been naked, but Ringers were always careful about being touched.

Beyond all that, the far side of the Maw was wrapped in a series of raised suites with broad, tinted translucencies facing the club. Once observation rooms for the factory, they were presently used as private suites for some of the Maw's more distinguished guests.

“That's it,” I said, pointing to one of the farthest suites. Zhaff nodded.

We traversed a sea of carousing that would've put New London to shame. I'll say that about the Ringers. The ones who are healthy enough to move sure make the most out of their nights. All the ways I imagined their ancestors used to stay warm during the early days of settling Titan had become completely ingrained in their culture. A younger version of myself would've found it difficult not to join them.

A single sentry stood at the bottom of the staircase leading up to Mazrah's suite. He was a step up from the bouncers. He wore a white suit of composite armor with a tinted helmet that made his face difficult to see. It had no pale-orange circle inscribed on the chest plate, but he had no business wielding the automatic pulse-rifle he held. It appeared to be the same type as the one the Ringer on the
Piccolo
had. There was no longer a question that we were in the middle of something larger than a smuggling job. Luxarn was right to worry.

I pulled Zhaff over to the nearest bar and ordered a shot of some flavor of blue-colored sythahol. Most Ringers couldn't afford the real shit, so that was the best I could get. The bartender charged me one hundred credits and didn't say another word. While we waited, I leaned over the counter so I could talk to him inconspicuously, but with the sentry still in view.

“You should not be drinking while we—”

I cut him off. “I'm trying to blend in. Check out the guard.”

“He is wearing the same model of armor as the Children of Titan combatant from the harvester, minus the orange circle,” Zhaff determined.

“Same weapon, too,” I added.

“Agreed.”

“Somehow I don't think my girl is selling much information to people like us anymore.”

“I can incapacitate him.” Zhaff's eye shifted from side to side, planning a route of attack. It was nice to at least get an idea of his train of thought from that, as opposed to when he was wearing his eye-lens.

“Not yet. Mazrah and I go back. She invited us to talk, so we'll talk first. But stay on your toes.”

“Why would I stay on my toes?” Zhaff questioned, completely serious.

“Never mind. Let's go.” The bartender slammed down my drink and I tossed it back before I could look down and see the spit that was probably floating in the center. It was unduly sweet, but it did the job. I got up and strode toward the sentry with a bounce in my step.

“Back the other way, Earthers,” he said through the speaker built into his helmet, making no attempt to hide his contempt.

“We're not looking for any trouble,” I responded coolly. “Just information.”

“Lady Mazrah is done talking to your kind! Back the other way or I'll paint the walls with your brains.” He lifted his gun and aimed it at my head.

I raised my empty hands. “Charming. Tell her it's Malcolm Graves. We spoke earlier about a potential deal.”

The guard lowered his rifle and raised his hand to a switch on the side of his helmet. After a brief moment of silence, he responded: “Come with me.”

He stepped to the side so we could go first. Zhaff didn't need to say anything to confirm what we were both thinking: It was too easy.

We moved into the suite where two more heavily armed guards in white searched us. It was a fairly open hollow, with bare rock walls as if we were within an asteroid colony. The far side was entirely covered in a curved array of screens, similar to the surveillance center in New London except more extensive. A few of them displayed images of the club, but the others displayed views of every colony block on Titan, from both the outside and inside. Mazrah was standing in front of them.

“Maz, it's a…” I froze when she turned around. I'd forgotten how stunning she was. Her limbs were long and shapely, and her slender face may have been pale but she had warm, rosy cheeks. If she was born on the Ring, then she couldn't have been more than second generation. “Pleasure.”

She got up and sauntered toward us, her violet dress hugging her lithe figure. I was expecting a hug at least, considering how we'd left things. Instead, she stopped a few paces away.

“Malcolm, it's lovely to see you again,” she said, smiling widely. Zhaff was unfazed. He studied her the way he would anyone else, and as he did, I noticed him turn his body ever so slightly to reposition himself. Something was wrong.

“I told you I'd come back,” I replied, keeping up appearances and returning the smile.

She rolled her eyes. “It took you long enough. How's that daughter of yours?”

“I couldn't tell you. We don't talk much these days. I'm working with someone else now.”

“I can see that. Another lucky partner. I've been watching you two since you arrived at the Ring. I'm glad you decided to turn to me for help. Sorry about the guards, handsome. These are dangerous times.”

“Yet you're still as beautiful as ever. I don't know how you do it.”