The Circuit, Book 1

by Rhett C. Bruno

  She may not have craved death any longer, but Ceres Prime wasn’t going to be a vacation. She had to focus. There was no greater haven in the Circuit for the base and corrupt. The Tribune needed her service and she would provide it as she always had, without reservation or doubt.

  She glanced at the reflection in the window staring back at her. She hardly recognized the woman in it, probably because her hair was arranged differently in order to help disguise herself. Instead of wavy, auburn locks draping over her slender shoulders, she wore it in a short, straight style, temporarily dyed dark brown. But her pale, green eyes also seemed different, like they were sapped of their former luster.

  She tried to force her lips into a grin. It hardly looked natural. From her hair, to the metal arm hanging from the stump of her shoulder, which was still throbbing with pain, she hated everything she saw. All she wanted at that moment was to smile one day again and mean it, but after so many years it seemed that day would never come.

  “Miss…Miss…Miss!”

  Sage snapped out of her trance. “What?”

  “We’ve arrived at Midway Terminal. You gettin’ off?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” She rose to her feet and stumbled slightly. The sudden movement made her so woozy that she felt as if she were going to faint.

  “You alright?” He tried to help her but she dodged him and caught herself on a seat.

  Must still be from the blast, she thought as she shook her head back and forth a few times. Not only was it making her more prone to emotional thinking, but it was still affecting her physically.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped as she shoved past him toward the exit.

  Sage stepped out of the tram with her pistol hanging in a holster at her belt, alongside anything else she could possibly need…personal HOLO-pad, some rations, CP card, and of course the armor she wore. It was a nano-armor suit with composite plating fitted smoothly over her muscles. A set of double-layered pauldrons hung over her shoulders, with armored sleeves extending from them all the way down to her hands one of which covering her synthetic right arm. The suit was custom-made, and remained unmarked as was typical of her order. Countless dents and scratches mottled what was once a stunning, white and amber ensemble.

  She couldn’t, however, go traipsing into Ceres in a suit of nano-armor without raising suspicion. Her masters took care of that. This time Agatha Lavos was the name prescribed to her—the orphaned daughter of a wealthy smuggler family operating out of the Vergent Cell during the Earth Reclaimer Wars. In the attack that claimed their lives she apparently lost her arm. A merchant uncle took her in and Agatha had spent a great deal of her invented life working with him throughout the Conduit Stations. He used the wealth left to her by her parents to build her a new arm, and when he passed away she’d finally decided to leave it all behind in order to start a life on Ceres Prime.

  All the history was there, lovingly fabricated by the Tribune to make her identity as real as any other. Sprinkle in some facts about how her parents died and why she was drawn to Ceres of all places, and the character was complete. Some of it was based on truth. Her arm had been built for her by a man, and she could never forget him. She also never knew her birthparents. Only that they died toward the end of the Earth Reclaimer Wars when she was a young child. But they weren’t rich, and neither the armor nor the pistol were actual heirlooms. They were designed for her when she was named an Executor.

  This was the life she had chosen. It didn’t matter why she initially wanted to be an Executor, because it was the only thing she was truly good at. She enjoyed being as amorphous as a shadow, guarded by her anonymity. As far as the outside world knew, Sage Volus never existed, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Serena and Paulus Lavos. Killed in 494 K.C. by Tribunal forces outside New Terrene. She recited the story of her false identity over and over in her head as she navigated the landing platform of Midway Terminal. Agatha hates…I hate the Tribune and want vengeance for my family. The Ceresian Pact can help me. It was a simple story, but sometimes that was better. There was less room to make mistakes. Although nobody in Ceres would probably care where she came from as long she could prove her worth with a gun.

  She stopped to take a deep breath. The air of the terminal was fresher than she was used to in the depths of New Terrene. It made her feel a little bit better. She couldn’t tell whether or not her head was pounding from thinking too much or from the accident, but she knew she had to relax. There was nothing to be afraid of. Expertly trained in the arts of combat and subterfuge, if she couldn’t convince a few Ceresian grunts that she was worthy of their cause then she didn’t deserve to be an Executor anyway.

  A huge projection of Tribune Benjar Vakari suddenly rose through the tall atrium of Midway Terminal’s northern spire. The bluish, semi-translucent figure and began speaking. “People of Mars,” it said. “This is Tribune Benjar Vakari speaking on behalf of your Tribunal.” Benjar’s image spread its arms and the rest of the Tribunal Council appeared behind him in a straight line.

  Sage began riding up the escalators weaving throughout the massive terminal. Hundreds of people were strewn throughout, some of them waiting for the next Solar-Ark, many of them homeless. Guards were everywhere, most densely stationed near the mobile merchant stands set up at every level.

  “Trust in the spirit which binds us, the Spirit of Earth dwelling deep in your soul,” Benjar’s hologram continued. “Together, we will deliver mankind to a new golden age, one of green pastures; of life outside these walls.”

  Wares from all corners of the Circuit were presented. People could come and barter with traders who tried their best to remain unaffiliated with any particular faction. They accepted almost anything, from food to possessions, but were mostly interested in acquiring what was known as Pico.

  It was a currency which only remained in existence amongst the Ceresian Pact and the fringe settlements lining the Vergent Cell. Since generating gravity was crucial for humans to be able to colonize the Circuit without being adversely affected, it was a credit system backed in a certain volume of Gravitum. One Pico could very literally be converted to one pico-unit of the element. It was a system generally eradicated throughout the colonies of the New Earth Tribunal, reserved for only the wealthiest citizens who affiliated themselves with outside parties. It was, however, necessary to negotiate personal passage on one of the Solar-Arks, making it almost impossible for most people under rule of the New Earth Tribunal to ever leave the settlement of their birth. Sage had a small amount of it wired into a counterfeited CP Card she was provided.

  The Hologram of Joran handed Benjar a glass tube containing a wiry plant suspended in the water within. Benjar presented it proudly. “There is hope,” he said. “One day we will all return home. But we must remain faithful.”

  Sage’s heart skipped a beat as she saw what was in the Tribune’s hands. She nearly bumped into the back of the line outside of the shuttle platform she was headed to. Just seeing the plant made her short of breath. The memory was a haze to her, but she had been there the day it was found. That tiny, pathetic piece of life was more than just a symbol of the Tribunal’s faith to her, it was a piece of her that she could never reclaim.

  Silence, she thought, in an attempt to force the memory out of her head.

  The hologram of Benjar placed the plant aside. “The cowardly dissidents of the Ceresian Pact will try to strip us of that faith,” he said sternly. “But I urge you to ignore their heretical rambling!” The face of the projection was currently at her level. Its eyes pierced through her as if speaking to her directly.

  I am a knight in the darkness, a vessel of their wisdom. I am the silent hand of the Tribune. I will not lose faith amongst the faithless. She repeated those words over and over in her head. It soothed her, made her forget that she had ever seen the image of that wiry plant.

  “They raid and pillage our unarmed ships! They attempt to strike us on our very heart! But we will not be dismayed!” The w
alls vibrated as Benjar’s authoritative voice rose to fill the entire atrium. “The New Earth Tribunal is here for you.” It quieted to a passionate whisper. “Here for Humanity.”

  The shuttle up to the Conduit Station arrived and the line began to file through doors. Sage almost missed it as she listened to Benjar’s enthused message, hearing the last words before she fell into line.

  “Together. We. Can. Not. Fail.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN—TALON RAYNE

  An Honest Living

  22-Kalliope was one of the latest M-Type Asteroids in the Circuit to begin being mined extensively. The craggy exterior was dappled with deep channels and voids. Holes cut so deep that they were like the eye sockets of a polished skull. After years of exploitation it appeared on the outside to have no more metal left to surrender, but the asteroid belt of the Ignescent Cell was fertile. In truth the surface had only barely been scratched.

  “Let’s tear this son of a bitch down, Julius,” Talon Rayne, a Ceresian miner employed by the Morastus Clan, said over his com-link. He lifted his head up from a pile of explosives at the base of a gnarled pillar of rock. He wore a clunky Enviro-suit with a bulbous helmet that was so filthy it made his cobalt eyes difficult to see. It was an older model, but it got the job done, providing oxygen and protection in the inhospitable tunnels within the asteroid. It was weighted sufficiently as well. Very little artificial gravity was reaching his position from the generators since he was so far from the residential block of the mining facility.

  “Roger that, Tal,” Julius responded from the cockpit of a Mark II Quarrying Mech. There was static on the channel, typical considering how far underground they were.

  Talon gave the explosives another look over before retreating around the narrow mouth of the cavern. A group of men in similar suits awaited him. Julius’ Mech positioned itself in front of them.

  “Blow it.”

  A small blast lit up the area around the rock pillar and caused the whole space to shudder. Fragments spewed out, harmlessly peppering the armored front of the Mech. Then the sound of expanding cracks greeted Talon’s ears like rumbling thunder. The far ceiling came crashing down. H stumbled back a bit, wincing as even his suits couldn’t drown out the thunderous clamor.

  “You girls havin’ fun listenin’ from back there?” Julius quipped as his Mech slogged forward over the debris. The cloud of dust quickly began to vanish into the vents of a vacuum on either side of the vehicle’s midriff.

  “Gets louder and louder every time,” Talon remarked. He smirked as he wiped the grime from his visor.

  “Never get tired of watchin’.”

  “How’s it look?”

  “Scanners goin’ wild. Looks like we knocked the vein down right on top of us.”

  “Well boys, let’s get to it.”

  It was all in a day’s work. A hauler drove up from the back loaded with machinery and smaller carts. The Mech would do most of the heavy lifting, utilizing the two powerful drills built into its arms. The rest of the crew of six operated the smaller pieces of equipment, which served to further break up pieces, sift out undesired materials and transport the extracted metals. That was pretty much all there was to it. It was arduous work, but it was an honest living.

  Talon had gotten used to the clamor of churning drills echoing throughout the yawning caverns by then. He approached the blast site where there remained a constant drizzle of dust. Crouching down, he began loading up one of the pushcarts no differently than he had done a hundred times before.

  “Nice and steady now,” Bavor, the miner balancing the pushcart, shouted over the racket. He was a tall, impressive specimen of a man. What he lacked in intelligence he made up for with a hulking frame fit to labor for hours at a time without tiring. Talon noticed how he eyed him with an irritated glare because he was moving so sluggishly. It was no secret that there was bad blood between them.

  “I got it,” Talon panted. He may have hoped nobody could notice, but his arms were trembling so intensely that it was fairly visible, even through the hefty sleeves of his suit. The muscles up the length of his limbs began to burning as they hadn’t since his first day working the mines.

  A thousand times before he’d lifted similar chunks of cold rock, most of them heavier than the one resting on his forearms at that moment. It’s happening, he thought just before the rock suddenly tumbled out of his grip, slicing across the side of the cart and tipping it over.

  Bavor fell backward, cursing. When he was able to get to his feet he charged over the spilled rubble, hoisting Talon up by the chest-plate until their eyes were level. Beneath his dusty visor his face was boiling. “You fuckin’…” He strained to think of an insult before tossing Talon aside like a doll out of frustration. “We don’ get paid by the hour!”

  Talon growled. After almost a three month shift he was growing tired of Bavor’s brazen nature. His legs were quaking, but they had just enough energy to spring him to his feet. Right before he made his move a massive metal arm came between them.

  “Enough out of you, Bavor!” Julius threatened over the com-link, his baritone voice immediately commanding respect. “Tal, you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just slipped,” Talon said. He grasped the metal arm and allowed it to lift him.

  “Man’s too weak to be liftin’!” Bavor laughed. He began tossing the spilled rocks back into the cart to show how easily he could do it alone.

  “Shut it,” Julius said. He urged his Mech toward Bavor with a few colossal footsteps until the muscle-bound man stormed away in a huff. Then he turned so that the narrow cockpit viewport was visible. Talon looked through the murky glass to see the dark skinned face of his oldest friend. They couldn’t speak it on an open channel, but his tightened expression seemed to be asking, “It’s happening again isn’t it?”

  “Son of a…” Julius murmured under his breath as Talon nodded meekly in response to the look. “Take over the hauler from Vellish.”

  Talon didn’t say anything. He stood in place, wearing a blank stare and trying to ignore the throbbing sensation running up over his shoulders.

  “That’s an order.”

  He wanted to protest, but Julius was right. He’d be of little help doing the manual labor, especially with Bavor on his ass. He headed toward the hauler waiting at the mouth of the cavern, kicking a bit of rock on his way.

  “Lil’ girl can’t handle a day’s work.” Bavor nudged him in the chest as he passed.

  Talon clenched his fists, but he didn’t bother looking back. The two of them had shared many scraps before, but with his muscles failing him he knew it wasn’t the right time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN—CASSIUS VALE

  More Than a Face of Stone

  It had been weeks since Cassius dispatched ADIM to Earth in order to acquire plans for a Plasmatic Drill. Presently, he stood on the glass-enclosed terrace of his compound on Titan, looking out upon the landscape of the moon. It was said by scientists that the world resembled how Earth may have appeared long before life walked its plains. Cassius didn’t see it. On the surface it was fatally cold and dim, and dead as the Ancients had left their homeworld. A dense, bluish-brown haze hung perpetually overhead, with the shadowy profile of Saturn and its ring darkening half the sky. The sun was barely visible during the day, and at night the stars were obscured by the shadowy bodies of half-a-hundred small moons.

  His compound was built into the shallow ridge wrapping around the rim of a relatively small impact crater known as Ksa. The floor of the rounded basin was a darkly colored plane of frozen dirt littered with small ice rocks. A strong wind churned around the edges of the bowlish clearing, stirring up the precipitation falling from a thick, greyish cloud and making it hazy. In the center of the crater he could just barely make out the low peak from which a manmade tower rose. It tapered up to a silvery point hundreds of feet in the air. It was the Hub of Edeoria, the first colony settled in the Nascent Cell by Cassius’ ancestors. Beyond it a Conduit Station floated out
of view, servicing all of the moons of Saturn.

  Unlike New Terrene, the rest of Edeoria was not comprised of glassy spires which scraped the sky. There was an inadequate amount of sunlight on Titan to make such a strategy beneficial. Instead the Ksa crater was dotted with dozens of earthscrapers. They sunk into the ground like reverse towers, creating hollowed out atriums wrapped by programmed spaces that were dug into the sides. At the top of each of them was a sequence of metal jaws, which sealed them from the frigid environment. The lights glittering around their rims were all that Cassius could see of them through the murk.

  He took a deep breath as he stared out upon all which was left to him by his disgraced family. He had run from it for so long, but in the end he wound up in the same exact spot as his father before him. Unwrapping his fingers from the rail, he stared for a long moment at the spot beneath them where the metal had been slightly tarnished over the course of centuries. Millions of souls may have resided in Edeoria’s underground shafts, but he never considered it a home.

  He remembered what his father used to tell him when he was a boy; how in the early days of the Circuit, when humanity’s continued existence hung by a thread, settlers arrived to colonize the satellites of Saturn. It was an exciting time for them, when worlds such as Titan and Enceladus with known regions of water were to be viewed under closer scrutiny. There was hope that perhaps humans could one day live in such places without enclosure, or even that life itself might have lain dormant beneath the surface. But like most discoveries throughout the age of the Kepler Circuit, good news was an unwelcome guest. From Venus to Pluto, no worlds were suitable for men to walk. There was not even the smallest microbial organism to be found.