The Circuit: The Complete Saga

by Bruno, Rhett C.

  “You’ll want to see this, Caleb,” he whispered as he moved to a console. Its many holoscreens remained blank until he keyed in a command, which prompted the security protocol. He placed his eye against a retinal scanner and then typed in the password 2AL3B82LE. Not too difficult for an outsider to figure out, but he always tried to maintain the guise that he held no information worth hiding.

  The display hummed to life, hundreds of lines of diagnostics wrapping around the front of him. Among all the images surveying the status of Titan and other data, there was one that depicted a not quite human figure. He pressed a key on his holopad, causing the information to be transmitted to another screen. He turned from the station and set it to begin recording.

  “Recordi…” Cassius sniveled and wiped his cheeks one last time as to appear more his typically unflappable self. “Recording 243. March 15, 514 Kepler Circuit. My birthday,” he began as he strode toward a pulsating red aura on the other side of the dim laboratory. “This will be my last entry regarding the first automated dynamic intelligence mech: codename ADIM. What began in anguish as a project without intention has become so much more to me. It has been four years, but now, I, Cassius Vale, am on the verge of the greatest breakthrough in human history since the establishment of the Circuit.”

  He stopped before a shielded chamber where a small fusion reactor floated at chest height. It seethed like magma, the light wavering as sharp fins spiraled around its volatile core. His eyes unfolded over the device, in marvel of his work. The rapid whoosh of the churning blades matched the beating of his own heart as he grew close enough to feel the heat emanating through its protective shield.

  “The fate that befell our beloved homeworld was tragic, but we remain strong,” he said. “Earth is forever in our DNA. It may define us and where we came from, but even a master craftsman doesn’t go back to alter his first masterpiece. We left our mark on that fading planet, and in its dying gasp reaped the secrets to evolve beyond it. We have not fallen to ashes alongside the frail life with which we shared her, but instead have ascended to greet all the vastness of the universe. I was counted amongst the fools who lost sight of what is out there for us to claim, but I have been enlightened. Here is the first step toward a new future, a brighter future for mankind.”

  He paused, let the words sink in. He’d orchestrated them in the mirror enough times, but this was history.

  “We don’t need the battered husk of Earth any longer,” he continued. “There is no spirit wallowing deep within her core. The Tribune will call me a heretic, but with ADIM I will pave a new foundation for man. It was once believed by the Ancients that some divine being—some god—created man in his image. I believe today that we have assumed that role.”

  Cassius typed a command into his holopad, and a table tilted upright beside the reactor’s chamber. Lying on it was ADIM. The android was bathed in darkness, his outline painted red by the oscillating light. His silhouette was so manlike in height and scale that in the shadows the difference was almost indiscernible.

  “Just like the son I once helped bear to life, here is another to be guided by my will. An artificial copy, which will not perish as easily as…” Cassius’ lower lip began to tremble. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly to calm himself. “He is the first of his kind, an artificial conception able to adapt and evolve as we do. Not a virtual intelligence restricted to a console on a ship. Not one of the mindless drones bent on the pursuit of a singular task, which the Tribune sought to wipe off the Circuit. No, ADIM is a freely existing synthetic being, ruled by the devotion inherent in any son, and eager to learn from a worthy father.”

  The table positioned ADIM’s open chest plate at the same height as the fusion reactor. Cassius’ finger froze over the command to initiate.

  This was it. As easy as turning on the lights. He glanced over his shoulder to see the holographic face of his true son, frozen and lifeless. Four years of suffering and this was his gift to himself—progeny of metal and fusion. When he turned again, his eyes were brimming with conviction.

  He was ready.

  Cassius initiated the process to proceed, and an alarm whined. The field protecting the cylindrical chamber powered down. Then a mechanical arm fashioned specially for grasping the hazardous reactor descended from the ceiling.

  “Together, we will reset the course of humankind. We shall assume the destiny we inherited when we survived the death of our homeworld. Together, we will rise beyond any of our wildest aspirations and take our place as mighty titans of this system and all others! This is the future I promise to you, humans of the Circuit,” Cassius proclaimed with the vigor of someone delivering a speech before a thunderous crowd.

  The only response was the alarm stopping, then the soft, undulant humming of the reactor as it was lifted by the mechanical arm. Cassius watched without blinking as the source of power was conveyed into the android’s hollow torso.

  Once in place, the inner workings of ADIM coiled to greet it—wires and circuits filling the metal frame like Cassius’ own veins. When that was complete, a series of ribbed panels closed to form a chest. The hellish glow of the core slipped through the narrow slits between each armored plate.

  The table glided across the room and stopped directly before Cassius. It rotated further until ADIM’s two-pronged feet landed softly on the floor.

  Cassius powered down his holopad and circled his creation in admiration. He followed the thick, reinforced circuits running between the superalloy plates of ADIM’s neck as they pulsed with energy.

  It was one of the most beautiful things Cassius had ever seen. For the first time in exactly four years, a tear dribbled from the corner of his eye. The first tear that wasn’t drawn out by memories of his son. Perfection, he thought to himself as he ran the back of his index finger over the ridged, blank surface where ADIM’s mouth would be located if he were human.

  Two eyes, nested deep in the crescent-shaped blackness between the two plates that comprised ADIM’s face, came on with a hiss. The blazing red orbs were surrounded by a tight circle of smaller lights, which slowly rotated like planets in orbit around a star.

  Cassius stepped back to observe the android’s face, which he only then realized retained a markedly inquisitive demeanor. Then the magnetized table switched off, and ADIM wobbled forward, innocent as a child learning to walk for the first time. But he was a quick learner. After only a few faulty steps, ADIM found his footing and stood upright, so that both he and his creator rose to the exact same height.

  “ADIM, can you hear me?” Cassius asked. He leaned in until his nose nearly touched ADIM’s neck.

  “Processing commands.” The smaller lights around ADIM’s eyes revolved faster as his cognitive and optical functions worked in concert to access and comprehend his surroundings. “Are you referring to this unit?”

  It was hard for Cassius to infer the statement as a question from ADIM’s cold, apathetic voice, but he was able to detect the subtle inflection. He did create him, after all.

  “Yes, I am,” he said.

  The android looked down at himself, turning his hands over to inspect their back sides. His limbs and joints moved with such fluidity that there wasn’t a single noise emitted during motion, as was typical in most bots, or even some humans.

  “And you are the Creator?” ADIM asked. He reached out and let his long, sharp index finger gently graze Cassius’ cheek.

  The ex-Tribune sniveled. His hand quaked as it wrapped his creation’s forearm. The surface was cool, but beneath it he could feel a surging warmth desperate to escape its metallic sheathing. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Does this unit upset you?” ADIM asked. “This unit can assume a more familiar appearance if you desire.” Tiny, almost imperceptible emitters imbedded around ADIM’s chassis glinted, emitting holographic pixels that converged to envelop him in the exact image of his creator.

  Cassius was forced to look upon his own likeness. And as close as he
stood, he could still barely perceive the red eyes of the machine beneath the projection. It might as well have been a clone.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the hologram of his son looking on with the blithe smile Cassius so adored. “You are perfect…”

  ***

  Back in the present, Cassius glanced up with heavy eyelids. That very same spherical holorecorder sat in his upturned palm. He yawned and stuffed it back into his belt when he realized that there was still no ship approaching.

  He wasn’t worried that ADIM might be in trouble. Or at least he told himself he wasn’t. Regardless, he brought his hand to his ear to switch on the comm-link. There was no reason to deny it with nobody watching.

  Cassius missed the android. He missed him almost as much as he missed his own son.

  7

  Chapter Seven—Adim

  ADIM sat upright in the captain’s chair of the stolen Tribunal freighter. A heap of bodies was piled behind him, a crusty tributary of dried blood snaking along the floor from their position.

  He remained in sleep mode as the ship traversed a programmed route through the asteroid belt that would avoid contact with any Ceresian colonies or mining facilities. Barely cognizant of the world around him as his system ran on five percent power.

  On a screen adjacent to him was a live recording of the freighter’s galley. The six surviving crew members locked inside it were seated sullenly at a table. It had been almost two weeks since he stole the freighter, but their defiance had faded shortly after the first day.

  “ADIM, I have arrived at Ennomos. Should I be expecting you soon?” Cassius spoke into his head.

  ADIM’s systems immediately transitioned to full power. He hopped to his feet, his eye-lenses brightening, as there was once again a reason for animation.

  “Creator,” he responded, “this unit will arrive at Ennomos Base in approximately seven hours and twelve minutes. Was your business on Mars satisfactory?”

  “Extraordinarily so,” Cassius replied. “I will be awaiting your arrival.”

  The foreboding sense of detachment returned as comms closed, but this time ADIM was not dismayed. There was work to be done. His Creator didn’t enjoy seeing the brutality of his undertakings, so, one by one, he began hauling the corpses to the cargo bay. Once they were neatly lined up in front of the exit ramp, he secured the two containers of gravitum to the floor and opened it.

  ADIM grasped the wall and magnetized as air rushed around his chassis, the rapid change in pressure forcing the bodies out. He watched for a moment as they tumbled into the vastness of space to be lost amongst the stars. Then he resealed the exit and headed toward the galley.

  When he arrived, he placed his hand over the keypad, synced with the ship’s systems, and programmed the door to open. The captives’ heads turned quickly to witness the android silently striding through their confines. Only one of them dared to speak.

  “What did you do with them?” sniveled the surveillance room engineer he’d spared earlier.

  “They have been disposed of, as required,” ADIM responded, not even bothering to stop and look as he passed to retrieve the cleaning supplies from the storeroom.

  “Required by whom? What are you going to do with us?”

  “Your fate will be decided by the Creator.” He retrieved what he needed and departed, locking the protesting the humans in again without hesitation.

  Once back at the command deck, ADIM got on his hands and knees, and with meticulous attention to detail, began scrubbing every drop of blood. He retraced every trail of every corpse, discarded all the debris, and even performed some repairs. When he finally finished, the ship was left so spotless that it seemed as if he was never there… minus the dents from bullets at least.

  ADIM resumed his position in the captain’s chair. Soon after, a ruddy glob of rock loomed through the viewport. It was Ennomos—a small D-class asteroid, part of the Jupiter Trojan Formation, far beyond the belt. It was a fairly remote place. There were some Ceresian mining facilities in the region, but none of vast importance.

  Ennomos itself had very little worth quarrying except for small traces of water ice, which meant nobody would ever bother looking there. The stolen freighter couldn’t be brought to Cassius’ home on Titan, where the risk of detection was almost guaranteed.

  ADIM seized control of the freighter from autopilot, able to regulate every system simply by tapping through a single console, where it would typically require an entire crew working in symphony. The Ennomos Station was discreet, built into a lengthy valley so that it would remain undetected by anyone who didn’t already know it was there. The hangar itself appeared like a flattened tube with a sequence of articulated ribs running across the top.

  Soaring smoothly into the valley, ADIM guided the freighter through the mouth of the hangar. Auxiliary antigrav boosters allowed him to land softly beside the White Hand.

  ADIM wasted no time. He rushed down to the freighter’s cargo bay, where he found his Creator already waiting outside the open ramp.

  “ADIM,” Cassius proclaimed as he stepped up the ramp into the opened room, “I am glad to see you in one piece.”

  ADIM paused for a moment to try to formulate a worthy response. “This unit is satisfied to see you are in one piece as well, Creator.”

  “By the Ancients!” Cassius immediately turned his attention to the containers and ran his hand along the sides of them. Each was a silver box with thin blue glowing insets. “This should be enough to finish, no?” He patted ADIM on the back before turning to head out into the hangar.

  “By my calculations, there is enough to resupply a New Earth cruiser six times over,” ADIM said. He began following behind Cassius so closely that if he could breathe, he’d be doing it right down his creator’s neck.

  “Help me bring them down?”

  ADIM stared at the containers for a moment, eyes spinning. Then he reached underneath one, lifted it, and placed it on top of the other. The containers dwarfed him, but he was able to bring them to his chest with such ease that one would have thought they were as light as a feather. “Seven hundred and twenty-three pounds,” he assessed. “This unit is capable of transporting four-point-three times more weight if you require, Creator.”

  “So could I in my heyday.” Cassius smirked, but ADIM proceeded out of the ship without responding.

  Together, they meandered down the long hangar. It was a brightly lit space with cambered supports curving like boomerangs to support the vaulted ceiling. Behind the White Hand, there were five other stolen Tribunal freighters parked throughout, similar to the one ADIM arrived on.

  Each of them was powered down and in a different stage of being deconstructed by gravitum mining bots, which had been reoutfitted for assembly. They looked like thickly plated spiders, with their many limbs extending from a blocky central body. Containment tubes were fixed at the bottom of their cores, used to hold the gravitum they would siphon out in small quantities from Earth’s mantle. Their many appendages made them perfectly suited for Cassius’ needs. They were also far more efficient than trading to acquire proper shipyard machinery along with the manpower required to operate them.

  They reached an elevator at the opposite end of the hangar. Cassius used the retinal scanner and hand scanner to open it. They stepped in.

  “The Tribunal Council grows restless,” Cassius explained as they descended deeper into the crust of the asteroid. He looked pleased, which meant ADIM was. “A Ceresian terrorist nearly bombed New Terrene, and the council suspects they are the ones who’ve been preying on their personal freighters.”

  “Will they make a declaration of war?” ADIM asked.

  “Not so easily again. They will continue their attempt to bleed the Ceresians dry before electing for another war. It will be up to us to provide the necessary motivation.”

  The lift opened and they continued down a white-paneled hallway. They passed by a door with a holoscreen adjacen
t to it, displaying a crowd of sickly-looking people. ADIM stopped to stare at the screen.

  “There are six others aboard the new freighter,” ADIM said. “None appear to be a threat.”

  “We’ll escort them down here next,” Cassius said. “They’ll be kept nourished enough not to die before we need them.”

  “Must they be alive, Creator? It would be easier to deal with them all if they weren’t.”

  “Corpses in cryo-chambers will teach us nothing. Once you see them, you’ll understand.”

  “Yes, Creator.”

  They proceeded down the hall and stopped at a glass. A pressurized vestibule beyond it had a dense enviro-suit hanging from the wall. Through it was a dark laboratory, illuminated only by a pulsing blue light on the far side.

  “This should be fine, thank you,” Cassius said as he extended his hand to signal ADIM to place the gravitum containers down.

  ADIM did as instructed and then quickly, but gently, grasped Cassius’ hand. He noticed the half-healed scrapes along the knuckles. Taking time to observe and run his fingers over the wounds, he then glanced at his own arm where a seemingly fatal projectile had merely inscribed a shallow scratch in his plating.

  “This unit does not bleed,” he said.

  “Next time you return, the weapon will be—” Cassius stopped and gazed into ADIM’s eyes. “No, ADIM, you don’t bleed.”

  “The Creator has bled. The humans I’ve injured all bleed. But this unit does not. Is this what defines life?”

  Cassius took three and a half seconds to respond. “A tree doesn’t bleed, but that doesn’t mean it is lifeless. A system of mechanical parts doesn’t bleed, yet that doesn’t mean it’s not rife with purpose.”