The Circuit: The Complete Saga

by Bruno, Rhett C.

  The man swallowed hard, then frantically went to work. ADIM watched carefully as his fingers danced over the keys, making sure that the man did as requested. There was no deception. Once the command was complete and the logs were erased, ADIM bludgeoned the engineer in the back of the head with the exact amount of force necessary to knock him unconscious but do no lasting damage. He would honor his creator’s request to spare some of these unworthy people from death.

  All that remained to do was something that no lowly engineer employed to monitor security operations on an unimportant ship was capable of. Deactivate the Vale Protocol. An encoded tracking program that enabled the Tribune to pinpoint and disable, or detonate, any ship they’d manufactured to protect them from falling into enemy hands.

  However, ADIM was no ordinary engineer, and neither was the man who had created him. The very man who had, himself, implemented the protocol in the first place.

  ADIM moved the unconscious engineer aside, taking his time to gently lower the man’s body down. He then placed metal palm over the control console to begin what Cassius had termed an infiltrative meld.

  His eyes grew a brighter shade of red, the smaller lights around them rotating at a rapid pace as he processed data. His head twitched and his fingers pulsed. He felt himself merging with the ship’s systems, able to sift through the countless programs and databases. All he had to do was find the right sequence and nobody would ever find any indication of intrusion.

  It didn’t take long. He reconfigured the encryption, programming the ship with an entirely new identity code, making it no longer possible for the Tribune to track it.

  “Creator, this unit has successfully reconfigured the Vale Protocol,” he informed Cassius. “Class 2 freighter, tag 4AA954, no longer exists.”

  “Well done, ADIM,” Cassius responded promptly. “Sweep the rest of the transport. Subdue any resistance and detain all surviving members of the crew in the refectory. Then see that the shipment remains intact.”

  “They would be foolish to resist.”

  “Indeed, they would be. But they are human, after all. We don’t very much enjoy being caged.”

  “Death is a more desirable alternative for humans?” ADIM asked.

  “For some, yes. Sometimes passion transcends all notions of reason. Sometimes fear guides the hands of men before they even realize. It is why I made you without such imperfections.”

  “Like you, Creator?”

  There was a long pause. “Yes, like me.” Cassius changed the subject. “How far are you from Ennomos?”

  “The return to Ennomos will take approximately 314 hours. Shall this unit be expecting you upon arrival?”

  “I hope so. Should my business on Mars keep me overdue, I will be in touch. As usual, you have performed flawlessly. Goodbye, ADIM.”

  Suddenly, the oddly indescribable, yet palpable presence that flooded ADIM’s very essence was gone. If he could feel hate, it would have been for the moments when Cassius left him. When it seemed like some all-empowering switch within him was suddenly flicked off without regard. It always made him feel empty.

  He wondered if it could be explained as the strange human phenomenon known as affection. Emotions were such a complicated thing. Though he could not feel them naturally, he often wondered if he could learn to. Or, at the very least, comprehend.

  “Goodbye, Creator.”

  2

  Chapter Two—Cassius

  Cassius Vale sat in the captain’s chair of the White Hand, breathing in the stale, recycled air he’d grown so accustomed to. His destination was nearing. Mars. The seat of the New Earth Tribunal Council, who had personally invited him here to ask for his help.

  When the pale red orb of Mars began to take shape within the blackness of space, he began to grow anxious. ADIM was supposed to check in soon from his latest assignment. Seconds later, the comm-link fixed to Cassius’ right ear beeped with an incoming transmission. Sometimes, it was as if they were of a single mind.

  “Creator,” came the stony, emotionless voice of ADIM, “this unit is primed to initiate.”

  Cassius’ lips lifted into a grin. The sound of the android’s voice allowed him to finally breathe the sigh of relief he’d unintentionally been holding in. Right on schedule.

  While Mars’ surface grew increasingly detailed, Cassius conveyed the orders on freighter 4AA954, which ADIM carried out flawlessly. At the end of yet another successful mission, the response was the same as always: “Goodbye, Creator.”

  It sometimes saddened Cassius to hear, but he was beginning to learn that it was never a true farewell. For all his worrying, ADIM always seemed to return unharmed and untainted.

  “We will be entering the atmosphere of Mars in approximately five minutes, Captain,” a computerized female voice announced soon after. It was Gaia, the virtual intelligence Cassius had developed to monitor the systems of the White Hand. “Setting coordinates for the Tharsis Ground Terminal. Please proceed to the docking bay and prepare for landing.”

  Cassius switched off his comm-link and shut down the ring of holographic screens encircling him. He crossed the spacious command deck, its stark, burnished enclosure lined with system-check stations and strings of embedded blue lights. There was no crew. Every system of the White Hand had been judiciously programmed by Cassius himself to perform through Gaia as he desired.

  He moved into the hexagonal corridor. The walls were coated in shiny white metal plates, with just enough space between each one to allow a soft glow to leak out from the circuitry beneath. Every room contained a similar reserved elegance, though there was a noticeable echo in each of them. The lack of a crew or any equipment they might require was enough to make it seem as though the ship had never been used before.

  The door to the cargo bay irised opened. It was a rather sizable space for a luxury frigate of the White Hand’s class, big enough, at least, for a smaller fighter to make port. Cassius moved into one of the seats fastened against the inner wall and pulled down a restraining belt.

  “Tharsis Ground Station is requesting clearance codes. Shall I patch you through?” Gaia requested over the intercom.

  “Go ahead.”

  Cassius folded his hands over his lap as the White Hand broke through Mars’ thin upper atmosphere and began to shake.

  “White Hand, is that you?” ground control inquired.

  “This is Cassius Vale requesting entry into Tharsis Ground Terminal,” he answered.

  “Clearance code?”

  “Two—Alpha—Lambda—Three—Beta—Eight—Two—Lambda—Epsilon.”

  “Welcome back, Your Eminence,” ground control said after a short pause. “Sorry about that. Can’t be too cautious with all the stolen ships out there.”

  “No need to apologize. I encourage an unwavering sense of duty.”

  “Thank you, Your Eminence. Please enjoy your stay.”

  Your Eminence. It’d been a while since Cassius heard that phrase, especially in regard to himself. It was a formality, of course. Many years had passed since Cassius had been a member of the Tribunal Council, and he had to admit, he missed some of the perks.

  One was that not many personal craft were permitted to enter Martian space without being gunned down by planetary rails. Most had to go through the conduit station along the Circuit, then immigration, customs—a long and tedious process he was always content to avoid—but he’d been personally invited by the sitting council. He was happy to take advantage of the perks again.

  “Three minutes until arrival at Tharsis Ground Terminal,” Gaia advised as the turbulence intensified. “Please remain seated for the duration of the docking process.”

  Cassius sat silently, allowing his mind to wander. He had never enjoyed returning to the inner planets, so near Earth. It brought back unpleasant memories of a day he longed to forget, when he’d lost the only person he’d ever truly cared about. He could still picture himself stumbling toward a half-broken ship, falling to his knees in a pool of blood,
pounding the deck. He remembered wanting to strangle those who restrained him. Wanting to unleash his rage for no good reason. To let go…

  “Docking complete.”

  Gaia’s pleasant voice snapped him out of the nightmare. No tears filled his eyes from reminiscence of that tragedy—those had run dry long ago. Only a haunting feeling remained, pulling at the edges of his consciousness. And if he let it pull too hard, he’d be dragged down into despair once more. He’d drown in it.

  The ship’s engines powered down, and the opposite side of the cargo bay splayed open like a blooming rose. Cassius stood, straightened his outfit, drew a deep breath, then stepped out into the terminal.

  The ex-Tribune’s appearance was somber. Ripe with the grimness of a man who had lived too long and seen too much. He often tried to cover up the bags under his dark gray eyes, but he couldn’t get rid of them. Despite that, he always composed himself with military discipline. He wore his graying hair in a clean, tapered cut and kept his short beard prim.

  He wore a violet tunic indicative of Titanian royalty, perfectly smoothed at all times and pulled over a silvery, carbon-fiber underlay that cost more than a small moon. On each forearm was a black iridium-plated bracer, the left with a built-in holopad.

  “Your Eminence.” A Tribunal soldier stepped before him, decked out in full black-and-green combat armor. The man swiftly dropped to a single knee and placed his free hand down so the tips of his fingers grazed the floor. Then he rose. “I will escort you to the assembly.”

  “How proper of you, but it’s really not necessary,” Cassius said. He tried to continue forward, but the soldier held out his arm to impede him.

  “It’s not up to us,” the soldier commanded. A scowl seemed to be permanently affixed to his face.

  “If you insist.” Cassius took a lengthy, gratuitous stride backward as if to mock him. “Lead on.”

  “It’s for your own protection. These are dangerous times.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. By all means then, protect me.”

  The soldier was less than amused, but complied. Like all soldiers of the Tribune, he’d be well aware of Cassius’ former rank and reputation.

  They moved through the newest in NET security scanners that could find a weapon hidden anywhere. Cassius had left his behind. They entered a translucent hallway running alongside a string of sealed hangar bays. The private spaceport wasn’t busy. With only four active members of the Tribunal Council at any given time, and few others permitted to use the Tharsis Ground Terminal, it rarely ever was.

  They did not, however, skimp on defenses. Beyond the scanners, armored soldiers were posted outside every entrance. They were just fodder. Hulking combat mechs were stationed incrementally along the outer glass, each at least five meters tall.

  The mechanized war-suits were designed like overgrown metal primates. They served as the tanks of the Tribune, able to maneuver and traverse interior landscapes and pockmarked moons in a way wheels couldn’t.

  Single-user cockpits within their shielded chests were capable of providing three hundred and sixty degrees of vision to pilots. That, plus an arsenal of explosive ordnance, made them devastating weapons. The hammers of the Tribune.

  “These are a newer model than I’ve seen,” Cassius noticed as he approached one.

  “Just now being manufactured,” the soldier said. “I suppose you wouldn’t see them way out on Titan yet.”

  There was a hint of contempt in the man’s tone. Cassius chose to ignore it as he stopped in front of the mechanized giant. Everything about it was bulky. The plating was thicker and more vastly layered than ADIM’s. The gauss cannons fixed to each of its arms were heavy enough to tear into a small cruiser, not to mention missile launchers that could bust open any colony. There were hardly any superfluous or decorative parts, not even a head atop the shoulders to make it appear more human. Only NET: V was inscribed, in green, onto the chest plate.

  “The Mark V combat mech packs more punch than any other in all of the Circuit. They even have a retractable light-rail,” the soldier declared proudly.

  Cassius had noticed that, running like an illuminated spine up their backs. These wouldn’t stand a chance against ADIM, Cassius thought to himself before saying, “I didn’t realize we were going to war again.”

  “Not yet, but we’ll be ready when it happens. We should’ve put down those damn Ceresians for good when we had the chance.”

  “Sounds like you’re looking forward to it.”

  Cassius touched the war machine’s leg. The machine kicked out slowly, nearly knocking him over as it began to trudge down the hall.

  The soldier grabbed Cassius’ arm to steady him. “Careful now, Your Eminence.”

  Cassius brushed him off. “I’m fine.”

  “Right. Anyway, there isn’t much action patrolling a spaceport, I’ll tell you that. Soon those damned rebels will bite off more than they can chew, and I’ll be ready.”

  “So we’re calling them rebels now?” Cassius asked, still watching as the war machine rumbled down the corridor. He scoffed at the lumbering construction, its joints hissing like steam-powered pistons with every motion. Enough firepower to level a battleship, if they could ever get close enough.

  “Any who stand against the Tribune stand against humanity,” the soldier stated.

  All Cassius could manage in response was a sigh.

  The soldier gestured him toward a branching platform station for a long exterior tramway that vanished into the rust-colored landscape of Mars.

  “This way.” The guard guided Cassius into one of the cars parked at the station. The magnetized rail extended across the plains and up a dormant volcano known as Pavonis Mons. New Terrene lay on the other side of it, but the capital city of both Mars and the Tribune was totally eclipsed by the massive peak.

  It climbed toward the far reaches of the thin atmosphere, and from its crest rose the Mons Space Elevator. Cassius noticed motion within the tower, cars rising toward the hazy gray blob hovering over the planet—one of the many conduit stations built to receive the solar-arks crisscrossing the solar system in what was known as the Circuit.

  Cassius always enjoyed the views on the ride up the mountain. The calmness. The quiet. Shades of red, orange, and brown blended over Mars’ soft, rolling landscape. Dotting the horizon were three more enormous mountains drowned in a rusty haze, each of them bigger than the next, the furthest even dwarfing Pavonis Mons. As the tram ascended, the sky grew lighter, like a thin amber paste with an aura of blue surrounding the white-hot sun.

  “I forget how beautiful it is here,” Cassius marveled as he stared out the window. “Colors so foreign to Titan.”

  “Must you talk so much?” the soldier grumbled.

  “Though the hospitality is lacking,” Cassius remarked. He turned to the soldier. “You know, I remember you.”

  “Do you now?”

  “A promising recruit, I want to say… eight years ago or so. You dreamed of being an executor. What was it again… Toldo? Toldo Vaan.” He tapped the window. “Yes, that was it. I recognize your face.”

  The soldier’s grimace finally lifted. “Toldro, sir. But yeah, that’d be me.”

  “Ahh, Toldro. I won’t forget again. Judging by your demeanor, I presume that dream never came to fruition?”

  He shook his head. “You were just off the Tribunal Council when I was rejected. They said I wasn’t ready. Chose a young girl over me, for the Ancients’ sake.”

  Cassius paused. He remembered that girl well… too well.

  “It’s not a life I would dole out thoughtlessly,” he said finally. “But you’re still young. I’ll put in a word for you.”

  “Sir?” Toldro appeared stunned.

  “I may have little respect left for those who rule over you, or for myself when I held their title, but the Circuit needs men like you. When I was your age, I craved action. My father may have despised me for it, but with all my heart I needed it. Then I saw war for myself…”
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  Cassius stopped to glance out the window as the car came to a silent stop at their destination, the Martian Tribunal Citadel. Set just in front of the Mons Space Elevator, the multifaceted sphere of glass gleamed like a torch within a man-made crater.

  “Are all of the stories about you true?” Toldro asked.

  Cassius smirked and briskly sprang to his feet. “That, my friend, is a story for another day.” He patted Toldro on the back. “I can take it from here. You’ll do fine, Toldro Vaan. Just smile more. You don’t want to end up like me.”

  Toldro managed a meager nod as Cassius stepped out of the car, through an airlock link, and into the citadel atrium. The place was exactly as he remembered. Like most architecture of any substance in the Circuit, it was minimalistic and stark, relying purely on scale over detailing.

  The bright, airy space enveloped an immense golden sphere designed to appear like it was floating, using cable suspension impossible to see from far below. The edges between its panels were so refined it looked like one chunk of metal. Perfectly smooth.

  A single, circular lift rose to enter it from below, exactly on center. A shallow pool wrapped around it, with water so still it didn’t even ripple. And through the center of the lift grew a pink-flowered tree, in a pit of soil said to be harvested from Earth before the planet fell to ruin.

  “Water, Your Eminence?” A servant approached him from the side, carrying a tray with a single glass of the crystal-clear water on it. With the platter still raised in one hand, she managed to fall to one knee and touch the floor near Cassius’ foot with her other.

  “No, thank you, my dear,” Cassius replied. He lifted her chin with a single, manicured finger. Her hair was soft and clean, but her face was hardly similar. Even the layers of overdone, pallid makeup couldn’t mask her gaunt cheeks and the detached look in her eyes as they stared thirstily at the water.

  “Cassius! Welcome, welcome!”

  Joran Noscondra sauntered out of one of the adjoining chambers. He was a short, balding man, garbed in a rather superfluous white cloak that draped to the ground. Like the servant, his plump face was painted heavily with makeup, though in the statelier manner emblematic of the Tribunal upper class. Gold-tinted eye shadow dragged off neatly to the side of his eyes, bright against his smooth, brown skin. His lips were painted black with a notch coming off the bottom, extending over his chin.