Titanborn (6 page)

“You said every passenger was a citizen of Earth, correct?” I questioned.

“According to the scanners,” the security officer said.

“That man is not from Earth,” Zhaff affirmed, without a shred of uncertainty in his voice. The Cogent didn't even need to recognize the Ringer's outfit in order to tell what he was, poor angle and all.

“No, and he's not an old man, either,” I continued. “At least, no older than I am. He's a Ringer. I saw him at a bar before the M-day address, and when I left he had his eyes glued on the newscast like he was waiting for something. I'm guessing he didn't stay there long after. Didn't get a glimpse of anything suspicious on him, but using a false identification right before a bomb goes off seems like a little more than a coincidence to me. Don't you think, Officer?”

The security officer's cheeks went red with embarrassment. He leaned over and squinted at the video feed. “But the retinal and ID scans come up clean,” he protested. “Jack Fletcher, a retired factory worker from the outskirts of New London.”

I glanced back at the recording. The Ringer's non-cane hand was closed into a fist holding something the entire time he was approaching the rail station's retinal scanners. When he bent over to put his eye up to the machine, he used the closed hand to help lift his head, as if he were too old and weak to raise it without aid. Sick as he was, I hadn't found him to be that crippled in the Molten Crater. When the scan was complete he simply limped into the maglev train's passenger car without any trouble and disappeared.

I shot a glance over to Zhaff. He nodded, confirming my unsettling assumption.

“Send a note to USF security to keep a lookout for Mr. Fletcher,” I ordered. “And while you're at it have a patrol sent to his residence. I have a feeling he won't be there, but wherever they find him he'll be missing at least one eye.”

The color drained from the security officer's cheeks. He swallowed hard and then started to draft a message.

I interrupted him. “Before you do that, where was the train headed? Can we have it stopped before it reaches its destination?”

Before the security officer could move, Zhaff reached in front of him and rifled through information on his console. In barely a few seconds he had an answer. “Express to Glazov station, Old Russia,” he said. “It arrived there ten minutes ago.”

“Damn. Looks like we know where we're heading, then.” I placed my hand on Zhaff's shoulder and grinned. His head instantly snapped around. His expression didn't change, but his eye-lens focused on my face as if it was searching for answers.

Once I removed my hand, Zhaff said, “We should wait to hear back about Mr. Fletcher from the patrol first.”

“You're welcome to stay.”

I set off toward the exit without looking back. It wouldn't be long before other collectors saw what Zhaff and I had, so there was no time to waste. After a short moment of hesitation Zhaff followed, which made me feel a little better about the whole partner situation. He couldn't be further from Aria, but as far as I knew Cogents were supposed to dutifully serve their superiors. Zhaff following me, despite his reservations, meant that at least for the moment I was in charge.

With that realization, and a solid lead to follow, I was feeling confident. If I chased down every offworlder who tried to falsify their identity to move freely around Earth I would've been out of a job ages ago, but I'd seen the ire in the Ringer's face when the advertisement for migration to Titan came on. If thirty years as a collector had taught me anything, it was not to believe in coincidences.

I stepped out of the surveillance center with a new bounce to my step, and then my mood came crashing back down when I bumped into someone's back. He was a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a fedora that looked like it belonged in ancient Earth. A few curls of wheat-blond hair wisped across his forehead as if he were perpetually posing for a picture.

“Malcolm Graves,” he said after he turned around, wearing a wry grin. He was Trevor Cross, a collector working for Venta Co. They'd been Pervenio's chief corporate rival in Sol since the Great Reunion with Titan. They were always after a stake in the Ring, but recently had turned their attention to developing the moons of Jupiter in order to compete. He and I had a similar relationship when we happened upon each other. He'd only been a collector for around a decade, but there were very few people I wanted to punch in the face more. It didn't help that he used a pistol identical to mine.

“Didn't think I'd see you here,” Trevor continued. He positioned himself in my way so that I wouldn't be able to pass without shoving him over.

“Venta Co's still got you buying their groceries?” I replied. “Cute.”

“Always with the jokes. Last I heard you were on vacation. Figured you'd be spending it with that Ringer bitch of yours, not here. What was her name? Ma—something?”

“Not for years. Besides, somebody's got to find this bomber.”

“Right, and that's you?” He snickered. “What're you going to use, your compass?”

I was struggling to keep my hands from curling into fists when Zhaff tapped me on the arm. “Malcolm Graves,” he said. “We are wasting time.”

“Who the fuck is this thing?” Trevor asked.

Before I could say anything Zhaff stepped forward, Pervenio badge shining under the lights of the security headquarters. “I am Malcolm Graves's assigned partner.”

Trevor looked like he was going to burst out in laughter. “Wow. Never thought I'd see the day the great Malcolm Graves became a babysitter. They must really be pissed at you.” He leaned in, his crooked smile so close to me I could rip it off his face with one motion. “Or maybe they're just getting tired of watching your wrinkles get deeper.”

My hand hovered over my pistol. I glared straight into his blue eyes, my blood boiling. A younger version of myself might not have been able to show such self-restraint. “Watch it, Trevor, or I'll shove my pistol so far down your throat you'll be shitting bullets.”

He backed away, still smirking. “That how they taught collectors to use them in your day, old man? I wouldn't want you to waste any lessons on me with your new partner right here.”

I took a deep breath and allowed my hand to fall away from my holster. “You're lucky there's work to be done or I'd give you one,” I said as I shoved past him. Zhaff followed me wordlessly.

“I'm all ears, Graves!” he shouted as I walked away. “I'll tell you what: After I find the bomber I'll use the credits to buy you a cane. You can teach your new pet a hell of a lot with that!”

I stopped and started to turn around, but when Zhaff walked by me I decided against it. Causing more issues with Venta Co would only infuriate Director Sodervall more. That was the last thing I needed. I swallowed my pride and continued on. Trevor had a problem with pushing people too far, and I had little doubt he'd get his one day.

“I'll beat you with it,” I grumbled under my breath.

“What was that, Malcolm Graves?” Zhaff asked, completely calm.

“Next time keep your mouth shut,” I said to him. “Let's move.”

Never had I seen the gridded streets of New London so vacant during the daytime. Garbage from the M-day festivities drifted aimlessly across the streets, and most of the outdoor activity came from USF patrols policing the city. Even the homeless were nowhere to be seen. Security hover-cars flitted high across the skyline, their bright spotlights sweeping across the faces of buildings and plunging down dark alleys.

The New London rail station where Zhaff and I were headed was the only place that appeared busy with pedestrian foot traffic. Enhanced security had the inspection line stretching out past the entrance of the station. Citizens living beyond the city limits were desperately trying to get out of New London before anything else went wrong. A portion of the northern platform had of course been knocked out by the explosion, but all the others remained operational.

“I've never seen the streets this empty,” I said to Zhaff. “On M-day no less. What a shame.”

The nightlife in New London usually couldn't hold a torch to that of offworld colonies. True, Earthers, in general, were a conservative bunch. On most nights you could barely spot anyone on the streets after midnight unless they were up to no good. M-day was different. Revelry would rock the city, and lights would be shining until the sun rose the next morning; until citizens' stomachs were turning and their eardrums were ringing. Presently, I could barely hear the soft beat of music emanating from indoor bars and clubs. Security was making sure none of it spread outside.

“It continues inside,” Zhaff responded. “It will be easier to monitor there.”

“It's still strange to see,” I said. I glanced over at Zhaff and noticed how he was staring forward without batting an eye at the abnormal sight. “This is your first time here, isn't it?”

“That information is classified.”

I couldn't help but chuckle, frustrating as his answer was. “Trust me, I can tell. Even
your
face wouldn't be so calm seeing it like this if it weren't.”

Zhaff didn't respond.

When we reached the rail station a group of evangelists were obstructing the entrance ramp. They held up screens displaying only the word
STAY
and were dressed in tattered brown robes with braided ropes for belts. The one in the center held the hefty tome of the Final Testament against his chest.

As we passed he began preaching at us in an incensed whisper. It grew louder with every word, and the emptiness of the city made his voice echo. “The ring of flame will swallow us all! This is our punishment for trespassing in the realm of heaven! Repent, brothers. We must repent!” He didn't get a chance to say much more before a security hover-car positioned itself above.

“Disperse, now!” someone blared through the onboard speaker of the vehicle.

“So long as Earth remains, our feet are secure on her surface!” the evangelist hollered back. Then there was an earsplitting crack as the officer in the hover-car fired a pulse-rifle down at the feet of the protestors. All of them fled right away except for their leader. At least until a second shot came inches from striking his head.

I didn't bother to watch the rest. I heard the pitter-patter of their bare feet slapping against the metal street as they scrambled away. The lead preacher shouted, “You will burn!” over and over again the entire time, until his voice was a hoarse and distant echo.

“Soon as anything on Earth goes wrong the fanatics come out of the metalwork to lay blame,” I said as Zhaff and I continued into the station. “Some people never learn.”

“Judging by their beliefs, it does not appear that they ever will,” Zhaff responded.

“So you don't believe in any gods?” I asked. I knew the answer to that question the moment I met Zhaff, but I was curious to hear how a Cogent might respond. Curiosity…another side effect of my job I could never turn off.

“I have read all five thousand and ninety-two pages of the Final Testament and have seen nothing to justify any of its proclamations. Questions without answers are a waste of time.”

“Amen,” I joked. Zhaff didn't appear to get it.

We reached the platform for trains running to Glazov station. The people who were waiting in line to get onto passenger cars were being scanned and patted down three times over. It would've taken an hour to reach the front if we were civilians, but that was another one of the perks of being a Pervenio collector. We presented our IDs and were led right onto the train bound for Glazov station. They reprogrammed it to dispatch immediately so we wouldn't waste any time. We could've requested a Pervenio airship, but it would've taken a little while for one to scoop us up with the current turmoil. The maglev rail lines threading the surface of Earth were still the fastest way to get around in a pinch.

I slumped down in a window seat as far from any other passengers as I could get and closed my eyes. Zhaff sat beside me.

“Do you, Malcolm Graves?” he asked as the train started up.

I looked at him, confused. “Do I what? And please, for the love of Earth, just Malcolm.”

“Do you believe in any gods, Malcolm?”

For a moment I thought about saying yes purely to push the Cogent, but I had plans to sleep through the hour-and-a-half trip to Glazov.

“No,” I answered firmly.

I'd been to too many places beyond Earth, and seen too many horrible things in my life, to have faith in some form of higher power watching over me. Plus, any god willing to drop a meteorite on Earth didn't seem to me like a power worth praying to. The majority of humanity shared my opinion. Surviving the apocalypse compelled most people to forget about faith and cling instead to the tangible things that helped them survive, and to those with enough wealth and power to provide it all in our shattered world.

That was how the USF and its corporations came into being in the first place, but there were still factions of people who believed the Meteorite served as cosmic punishment for our transgressions. The preacher we had passed belonged to the most prevalent of those groups—the Church of the Three Messiahs—which took the texts of what I'm told used to be Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, and blended them into what became known as the Final Testament. Somewhere along the line those ancient teachings became a warning against traveling into space lest God complete the job he started with the Meteorite. It sounded silly to me, but I have to admit I was envious of anybody who could have such unshakable faith in something beyond themselves.

“But I understand the appeal,” I added.

“It is foolish to believe another meteorite that size will strike Earth,” Zhaff stated. “It was a scientific anomaly that will likely not occur again for many millions of years, if it ever does. At the current rate of human expansion, a similar instance in the future would barely dent the population.”

“You know what I believe in? Getting sleep whenever I have the chance. If you're going to be a collector you might want to consider adopting that policy.”

Before Zhaff could reply I turned away, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes. I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep right away since my mind was churning, but I was tired of conversing with the Cogent. I already missed working alone.

Zhaff was right, though. The chances of another sizable meteorite hitting Earth were definitely minuscule, yet the fear of it happening again was all that drove us
.
Everything the people who remained on Earth had done since recovering from the Meteorite was done under the creed that humanity's extinction was being made impossible. The expansion into Sol. The way the Earth's settlements were reconstructed. How Earthers reproduced. Even the train I sat on.

Cities once expanded endlessly in every direction and rose to scrape the clouds, but in my time everyone on Earth lived along strings of conurbation that stretched for hundreds of kilometers but rarely exceeded a kilometer in width. Six tracks of high-speed maglev trains ran down their centers like spines, and along them nodes of residential, commercial, industrial, and agricultural infrastructure alternated. This way the areas remained spread apart, but if one segment of a string were to be cut off from the rest, it, and they, could survive independently. Like an earthworm growing two heads after being sliced in half.

New London was the largest bulge in any string, but even it only spread to nearly two kilometers in width. It also housed the USF Assembly Building, which at fifty stories was actually the tallest building on the planet that wasn't a half-sunken ruin from the last age. The city fell along the Euro-String—the longest of the strings—which ran from the center of the European continent to the heart of Old Russia. Being that the aftereffects from the Meteorite had drowned half of Earth's habitable land, and billions of people with it, settling along the middle ridges of continents was the best way to ensure that it didn't repeat.

Every policy I could think of made perfect sense by that line of thinking. It was the world I'd always known: one of a people locked in constant vigil. Earthers weren't even allowed to reproduce without clearance from doctors that the genes of the parents didn't have any chance of resulting in disease. Most of us grew up in clan-families that numbered into the hundreds, mine being a family centered a few dozen kilometers outside New London. Matching candidates for parenthood would join together to reproduce in phases and stick together so that nobody was ever alone and in danger. Call me a romantic, but I had a hard time with being promised to my clan-sisters, even if it wasn't technically incest. My daughter was born off the grid after I ran away and I was proud of that.

The constant reminders of mass annihilation were the biggest reasons I could never bear to stay on Earth any longer than I had to. It usually took longer for them to wear on me, but the older I got the more I preferred the blackness of Sol and all its mysteries. For if Zhaff was completely accurate about the chances of another colossal meteorite hitting, then almost every policy the USF decreed was as big of a waste as those of the Church of the Three Messiahs…

And we were all just as big of fools.

Longing for a drink to quiet my mind, I peered through my eyelashes to see if the train had gotten anywhere while I was lost in thought. I saw the profile of a factory on the edge of the New London Industrial Node. It sat like an island of steel amid the barren landscape. There wasn't anything green in sight.

Billows of black smoke rose from the stacks poking through the top of the factory the train raced by. They were quickly absorbed by a layer of dark clouds hanging overhead.

Unlike everything else, apparently Earth's sky was already too damaged to worry about.