The Circuit: The Complete Saga

by Bruno, Rhett C.

  The Earth Whisperer fell to his knees and placed his hands down so that only the tips of his fingers grazed the floor. Sage and the rest of the flock followed him, sliding to their knees in front of the rows of benches spaced far enough apart to fit their prostrate bodies.

  “We are blessed with ground beneath us,” the Earth Whisperer said, beginning the communal prayer. “We are blessed to walk this plane under the pull of the Earth, never deviating from Her forces and how they’ve shaped us.”

  After every sentence, the congregation repeated after him. Sage knew the words by heart, but she only mouthed them softly. She was listening for someone who didn’t know what to say, scanning with her peripherals as she kept her head bowed.

  She didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and after a while, she couldn’t help but concentrate on praying. She let the words fill her heart with hope and started reciting them with all the fervor she could muster.

  “Our Homeworld has been blighted by darkness, but we are the light,” the Earth Whisperer said. “Those beside me, those beneath me, and above me—ours is a collective unconscious, bound to each other and to the soul of the Earth. We are, all of us, shards of that Spirit—never alone as the dark void closes in. This day is yet another test of my conviction, though the Earth may be wreathed in flame and shadow, she remains within me. May those who have left to join this essence guide my daily endeavors. Redemption is near. May my faith be eternal and unwavering, so that I may one day walk the Earth’s untainted surface with those deserving at my side.”

  After he finished speaking, the Earth Whisperer slid his hands until he was in full kowtow, and then gently pressed his lips against the floor. Sage and the others did the same. Then the congregation was invited, row by row, to approach the altar and stroke the bark of the tree.

  Sage didn’t bother getting in line. She waited in silence until all the rest had finished at the altar and left the chapel entirely. Still, nobody appeared suspicious. Once the room was empty aside from the Earth Whisperer, she allowed herself to be certain that the terrorist she was after wasn’t targeting the chapel like her informant had warned.

  “Are you unable to walk, my child?” the Earth Whisperer asked as he placed his wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “I will accompany you to the Earth Tree if you need assistance.”

  “I am very able, holiness.” Sage stood and shuffled past him toward the altar. “I didn’t want to disturb the others.”

  “I see. Something to hide, I presume?”

  Sage stopped. She looked down at her hands, the right one made of cold metallic polymer and circuitry. Artificial. She squeezed it into a fist.

  “You need not hide anything from me, my dear. My gaze pierces flesh.” He caught up to her again and put his arm over her shoulder.

  She shrugged him off and stepped up onto the altar.

  “A lost soul perhaps?” he asked. “Broken of her faith.”

  “Never.” Sage gently pressed her lips against the coarse bark. It was still moist from the kisses of all the others.

  “Then I know what you are, and I hope with all my heart that the Spirit is with you. There is another creed to which you owe your true allegiance.” He began reciting, “‘I am a knight in the darkness, a vessel of their wisdom. I am the silent hand of the Tribune.’”

  Sage’s hand instinctually fell to her pistol. She whipped her body around so quickly that the man would have been dead before the beginnings of another word slipped through his lips. But as her arm came around, she found his hand resting calmly atop her artificial wrist.

  “My dear, you are not as alone as you think,” he said. He tilted his head and pulled away strands of messy hair to reveal a thin, barely noticeable scar running up the back of his scalp. The same scar she bore. The mark of a Tribunal executor.

  Her artificial hand didn’t relinquish its grip on the handle of her pistol, but she froze completely. She looked into the gory, empty sockets in the Earth Whisperer’s skull. Her stare didn’t budge until the chapel filled with the sound of a shrill klaxon signaling mealtime.

  “Feeding will begin soon. You shouldn’t go hungry.” The Earth Whisperer turned and began to walk away from the altar, his unexpected grace explained by Sage’s new discovery that he too had once been an executor. One of the Tribune’s elite shadow agents, helping to preserve peace and order throughout the solar system.

  “I’ve never met another,” she said to him softly.

  “Another what?” The Earth Whisperer turned back to her and smiled playfully. “The Spirit of the Earth is truly marvelous. May it guide you always.” He clasped his hands over his heart and bowed.

  * * *

  Sage threaded through the crowd outside the chapel, a cloak draped over her shoulders. She was alone, submerged in the shadows of lower New Terrene, where it was time for a feeding—when citizens were herded to provisional outposts allocating food and water.

  People were given a single bowl filled with mushy soup comprised of mostly vegetables and a few small supplemental pills bearing all the other nutrients necessary for survival. They’d also get a cup of lukewarm water purified in the northern polar region of the planet. NET soldiers in black-and-green light-composite armor kept the bedlam to a minimum.

  A soldier at the edge of the serving stand looked her face over and then presented a retinal scanner. Sage moved toward it, placing her eye near the opening… B276584 ran across the top. A similar code was provided by the Tribune for every new resident of New Terrene. Hers was more a disguise than an identity. A name, Talia Bristol, popped up along with all the required information of birth, housing block, and years of citizenship.

  The gadget beeped, a signal that she’d been cleared, and she received her first and only meal of the day. Food wasn’t a luxury among the settlements throughout the Circuit, and the Tribune was never afraid to impose regulations on its growing populace.

  “Here you go, beautiful,” the portly man behind the stand said as he handed her a bowl. She didn’t even bother to look up. She only wished that her cloak had a hood so she would be spared the daily, gluttonous stares.

  Sage watched chunks roll over the rim of the bowl as she dipped her utensil into the chunky soup locals affectionately nicknamed crud, providing all the nutrition an adult body needs. She remembered being nauseated by the stuff as a child, but that was a long time ago. Eventually, she had come to look forward to crud just like everybody else here. Only, she was nothing like everybody else here.

  As the pasty goop tumbled down her throat, she took in lower New Terrene, descending into the depths of an extensive natural canyon called the Labyrinth of the Night.

  Running between its wrinkled crags were the towers that rose all the way up behind the surface to the newer portions of the city. Tramways lined the void between the two sides, rising and falling beneath bridges arching between structures. So far below the beautified avenues and containment of the glistening upper city, it was darker here. She liked it. The lights from windows switching on and off made it appear like an abstract night sky.

  She moved slowly along the packed walkway, scanning the crowd for the man she’d been hunting for days. She stopped by a towering hologram set within a ring of gardens. It rendered her as a silhouette while she continued eating and trying to appear inconspicuous in her search.

  “Citizens of New Terrene.” A deep, authoritative voice emanated from a projection displaying the symbol of the Tribune—a grasping black hand with its fingers curled around the green silhouette of Earth. “The Spirit of Earth is within us all. Together, through devotion and restraint, we will redeem ourselves. Your Tribune looks after you, as it does all of humanity. Faith will guide us, men and women of Earth.”

  Sage had heard the recording countless times. Dozens of similar projections spanned the city like scintillating blue banners. When no urgent news or discord was being reported, the message would be replayed as a continuous reminder. She could recite the words without listening if she wan
ted, same as everyone else. It was drilled into their minds, day after day, over and over again. It eased their suffering to think that Earth could be saved, even though after so many centuries few even knew what their homeworld used to look like. She always imagined it was once a paradise of flowing water and sprawling green landscapes as far as the eye could see.

  A tram shaped like an elongated bullet stopped across the way. Her eyes locked on a tall man skirting around it. Dozens waited to get on board, on their way to work in factories and vertical farms or, if they were lucky, servicing the whims of a council household. Most were middle-aged since younger citizens were required to serve in the military.

  The man she watched looked like any of them at first glance—wearing a fitted tunic with a supply bag slung over his shoulder—but her well-trained eye could spot the difference. He was paler than most, younger, and with a slightly leaner build. Beads of sweat dripped down the back of his neck despite the lower city being markedly cool, and eye-shadow tracks leaked down his cheeks as he attempted to copy the local fashion. But he didn’t look comfortable in his clothing, like it itched him.

  All of it together was enough for Sage to worry he might be the suspected Ceresian she’d been tracking.

  There wasn’t much time. She let her bowl roll inconspicuously out of her hand and over the railing before wiping her lips and hurrying toward the tram.

  The car had begun to move by the time she reached it. Making sure no guards were watching, she grabbed the bottom with her artificial right arm, the metal fingers digging into the smooth surface. She hoisted her legs up to wrap around the base as it jolted forward along a suspended track.

  Hanging in the shadow, Sage watched as the cluttered housing units sped by. She was en route to the Nether—the sacred core where the three ravines of the Labyrinth of the Night intersected. Rings of suspended walkways wrapped a cylindrical cavity, with holographic effigies lining each level, projections meant to honor all the fallen Tribunes and heroes of the New Earth Tribunal.

  Around the outside walls were chapels and convents dedicated to the Spirit of Earth, each with a small garden. Guard stations here and there. Community centers. And rising through the center of the entire hollow was an illuminated shaft packed with a system of lifts that ascended to the upper city. It also served as a sort of mega-pile supporting the transportation hub of New Terrene on the surface.

  Located sparsely throughout were storefronts that served water and food during feedings. There was no currency under the New Earth Tribunal, but sometimes secret brothels, shops, and gambling dens sprang up behind the stores, trading in Ceresian credits or bartering services. Sage’s line of work had led her to break up plenty and arrest their faithless proprietors.

  The tram came to a halt and she slipped off as though she’d been a passenger the entire time. Men and women filed off to head for the lifts, most of them chatting or meeting up with others. Her target didn’t pay anyone a passing glance. He rounded the curved walkway with his gaze fixed forward, as if on a mission.

  Sage kept a safe distance and her head down, pulling her cloak tight around her chest.

  He must be the one, she thought.

  Her suspected target turned left toward the central core of lifts. She joined him in line outside the security scanners. Only two people separated them as he stepped through a tight grid of scanning beams. The machine buzzed and the guard posted behind the scanner stepped forward.

  “Let me see your bag,” he said. Her suspected target handed it over without a fuss. The guard shuffled through whatever was inside and found nothing. “Turn around. Legs open.”

  Her suspected target continued following the directions. He raised his left hand, which gleamed beneath the overhead light.

  “How’d you get this thing?” The guard tapped the metal fingers before allowing him to stand upright. Artificial limbs were nowhere near as popular in NET space, where doctors had the supplies and training to heal wounds, and advanced robotics were outlawed. Only in dire cases would a full replacement be advised. Out in the lawless parts of the system, in Ceresian colonies especially, people slapped whatever they could onto their bodies to keep them going.

  Sage looked down at her own right hand, the artificial joints of her fingers folding flawlessly and without sound as she squeezed a fist over and over. It had been over seven years, but she could never get over the strange sensation of sliding her fingers along her palm and feeling nothing. There was only a slight tingle at her shoulder where her natural nervous system meshed with a manufactured one, but even that was hardly noticeable anymore. Her target’s arm was a clunkier construction, probably decades old and nowhere near as advanced.

  “Shipping accident out on Europa. About four years ago, before I immigrated,” her target answered. There was no way the guard would have noticed, but she saw the subtle indications of nervousness: his foot shuffling, the slight twitch of his human thumb against his index finger. But something about his voice was off too, like his throat was too dry, or he was faking an accent.

  “All right, you’re clear,” the guard said.

  Her target exhaled in relief before stepping forward.

  While she waited for her turn, Sage contemplated the possibilities. Not in the bag, she thought. It could be waiting for him up top. When it was her turn to pass through the scanner, the machine permitted her despite her arm. Tribunal security was programmed to allow passage of all acting executors without alerting anybody. She passed the nodding guard without making eye contact.

  Dozens of glowing white elevator shafts shot upward throughout the core. The lobby was congested, but she spotted her target heading toward one lift scheduled to arrive shortly. Trying not to appear rushed, she used her lithe figure to navigate the crowd.

  The doors sealed shut behind her, but she made it. And there he was, the Ceresian wretch standing only a meter or so away from her. The elevator was well lit, no shadows for her to spring from. She counted three pedestrians in her way, a small price to pay in collateral compared to the thousands who would die if she failed. The floor trembled slightly before the lift shot upward.

  The Ceresian stared at the ceiling. He seemed to be muttering something under his breath. She wondered if she was wrong. A shipping accident in a smaller Tribunal colony could lead to a shoddy arm like that. But there was something about him—a look of madness in his eyes, maybe—that reeked of Ceresian filth.

  The bag is empty, and it isn’t strapped to his body. Sage scratched her head, her metallic fingers running through her hair. Then it hit her. His arm!

  4

  Chapter Four—Cassius

  It was dusk over New Terrene. Cassius Vale stood beside Tribune Joran Noscondra at the foot of the Arbiter’s Enclave. It was a daunting building, a fortress of rubicund metal rising without any windows or even a rift in its stark facade. The entrance was an enormous, deep chasm, permitting the steady flow of combat mechs and soldiers.

  “Please forgive Tribune Vakari. He spoke before thinking clearly,” Joran said. He flashed his warmest smile and reached out to rest his hand on Cassius’ shoulder.

  “He must learn to acquire a short memory. As I have,” Cassius responded coldly. He removed the hand, using it to motion to the back of his head, where there was a jagged scar running up from his neck to halfway up to his hairline. “But some scars never heal.”

  Joran’s eyes widened at the sight of the wound. He exhaled. “I hope one day we can put the past behind us, Cassius. I truly do.”

  “So do I, but know that everything I do is for the good of humanity. Always.”

  “Then we serve the same cause.”

  “Do we?” Cassius moved down the processional steps of the Enclave before turning around. “I will finish the rest of the modifications from my home on Titan. Keep me updated, and hopefully, soon, this little issue will be resolved, and we can all move on.”

  “We haven’t always seen eye to—” Joran began, before apparently deciding it wasn’t
worth wasting his breath. He clasped his hands and bowed modestly, looking from Cassius’ eyes to the ground. “May the Spirit of the Earth guide your steps, Cassius Vale. For all our sakes.”

  Cassius answered with a slight nod before he turned and walked away. There was no reason to smile through his teeth at the council any longer; no reason to bow and grovel his way back into their good graces. They needed him, and he relished their continued ignorance.

  Modifications, he thought to himself with a chuckle. Of course, he wasn’t actually going to help them with their problem. The Vale Protocol might have begun with only the best intentions of a man who served the Tribunal, but now he would use it for his own ends.

  There were shorter routes Cassius could’ve taken to the New Terrene transportation hub, but he enjoyed strolling through the upper city from time to time. Everything worked like a well-polished machine. Small craft zipped by overhead within suspended rail tracks while pedestrian traffic flowed throughout the gridded system of avenues below. All flawlessly timed so waiting was minimal and accidents never happened.

  The streets were like plates hanging over the rifts of the Labyrinth of the Night, with narrow gaps along the edges opening to the flickering lights of the old lower city. Flowered trees ran down their centers, a testament to the fact that not all other life in the Circuit was dead. But they were the sole form of beautification. It was a place without much flare, but in its austerity, there was a sublime nature that rivaled the ancient cities of Earth.