The Circuit: The Complete Saga

by Bruno, Rhett C.

  Sage stared up at the sky and watched the glow of the transport’s engines continuing on their way toward the Ascendant, barely visible behind the thick shroud of a brewing storm. It wasn’t turning around, and that meant that Elisha was going to be imprisoned on the New Earth cruiser.

  Sage knew better than most what that entailed.

  There was a reason that Yavortha hadn’t tossed the girl from the transport. He was going to keep Elisha locked up to use her to get the upper hand on Sage if it came to that. She couldn’t fathom what that would entail.

  Whatever it meant for her future, Sage had to get Elisha free of this. It had nothing to do with her.

  16

  Chapter Sixteen—Talon

  The Morastus Clan had the largest personal hollow on all of Ceres Prime. It was buried beneath their port on the Buckle—dozens of tunnels and built-out air pockets sealed off from the public eye.

  The last time Talon was there, he’d been dragged in half-conscious by guards after accidentally killing a miner on Kalliope. Now Kalliope was gone, and they let him walk right in with a two-guard escort. He found it difficult to grasp how much things had changed in so little time. All eyes were focused beyond Ceres for once, not within.

  The Morastus henchmen wielded pulse-rifles, but once Talon was scanned for weapons, they hardly paid any attention to him.

  No reason to worry about a dying man, he suspected.

  He wasn’t nearly as relaxed. He checked down every branch they passed in the low corridor, constantly glancing back over his shoulder. Zaimur’s quarters were at the very end, just like his father’s used to be—safely buried beneath a mile of solid rock. Every mercenary who went by eyed Talon curiously. He didn’t care. All he could think about was how he’d be able to get a gun pointed at Zaimur’s head so that he’d tell him where Julius and Elisha were being held.

  They stopped at a plate-metal hatch sunken into the rocky surface. One of the henchmen stepped to a small screen beside it.

  “Sir, Talon Rayne has arrived,” he said.

  “Finally,” Zaimur responded. “He is welcome.”

  The hatch popped open and Talon was beckoned through. Zaimur sat at a holotable inside, staring at a projected map of the Circuit. He wore one of his usually florid tunics, though there were no women accompanying him this time. The bags under his weary eyes told of a man with no time for leisure. Even his usually feathered hair was uncharacteristically messy, as if he’d just been forcefully woken up.

  It appeared that even he couldn’t find a way to escape the ramifications of what had happened to Kalliope.

  “Talon!” Zaimur pronounced. “What a surprise seeing you back here.” He bounced up from his seat, and his long-legged dog, Magda, quickly emerged from beneath the table to stand at his side. She bared her fangs at Talon.

  “I’m not here for a reunion, Zaimur,” Talon said, storming in. “What the hell did you do with Julius? What did you do with my daughter?”

  Zaimur allowed his beast to edge a little nearer to Talon. “Now, now, Talon, we don’t want a repeat of last time. Sit, I’ll have someone fetch us a drink and we’ll talk. I have a lot I want to ask you about how you found yourself back here. It isn’t every day a man escapes the Tribune.”

  “Where is she?”

  Zaimur shook his head in disappointment and clicked his tongue. “You know, my father always spoke highly of your professionalism. He must have been losing his memory even then.”

  Talon noticed Zaimur shoot a subtle nod toward his henchmen. He knew what it meant. He braced himself and tried to ignore how sore his arm remained from the punch he’d thrown back outside Dome 534.

  He waited until he could feel breath on his neck; then he sprang at the closest man. Grasping the henchman’s rifle, he twisted it around and barred it across the man’s neck. Then, while choking him, he aimed it directly at Zaimur.

  “Tell me!” Talon snarled. The gagging henchman used his hands to beg his comrade not to shoot. Zaimur kept his eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun, calmly stroking the top of his dog’s head.

  “You think I took them?” The signs of a grin touched Zaimur’s lips. “Why would I? You failed your mission, and the shipments of gravitum to the Belt are as low as they have ever been. Shipments of everything, even. What could I possibly have needed from them? Julius already worked in my mine, and your daughter is so young the Tribune may be crawling through this place by the time she’s old enough to be of any real use.”

  “Stop lying! I know you don’t want to die.” Talon glanced down at where the sleeve of his shirt was pulled up enough to reveal his forearm and the visible symptoms of the blue death. He made sure Zaimur noticed it as well. “But I don’t have any choice, as you know. Now tell me where they are, or I’ll paint the walls with your brain without a second thought.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, boy,” said the feeble voice of an old man.

  Talon’s and Zaimur’s heads snapped toward its origin.

  Zargo Morastus came shuffling through the door of an adjacent room. A guard on either shoulder helped him stay upright. The pieces of his wrinkled skin that showed were sagging, but even that wasn’t enough to hide his veins. They were as blue as Tarsis’, maybe even more so, and his face was so emaciated that he looked to be disintegrating.

  An android followed closely behind him. Talon recognized it. Zargo kept many in his employ, but this one had a distinctive dent in its side that had been put there when the gravity generator overloaded on Kalliope and sentenced both him and Talon to death. Presently, it carried a glass of genuine, golden-hued alcohol in its hands and remained quiet.

  The henchman Talon restrained punched the barrel of the rifle up, breaking free of Talon’s grip and elbowing him so hard in the stomach that he keeled forward. Before Talon could do a thing, two guns were pointed at his head. He could hear the footsteps of even more henchmen approaching from down the hall.

  “Zargo,” Talon mouthed.

  Seeing him helped Talon ignore his present situation. Instead, he found himself lowering his head in a show of respect. Few had seen the true head of the Morastus Clan since he’d contracted the blue death, but there he was. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he was the closest thing Talon had to a father. It was difficult to see him so fragile.

  “Lower your weapons,” Zargo ordered, raising a shaking hand.

  Though he’d only had the disease as long as Talon, even speaking seemed to be a strenuous activity for him. His advanced age had the blue death wreaking havoc on his body.

  “Don’t let him out of your sights,” Zaimur said sternly to his henchmen. Then he turned to his dad and sighed. “Go back to sleep, Dad. I’ll handle this.”

  Zargo moved further into the room. “Soon I’ll be sleeping forever, boy. For now, I am the leader of this family. You will lower your weapons. Now.”

  The henchmen took a step back and positioned themselves on either side of the room’s entrance. Zaimur scowled, but he kept quiet as he retook his seat beside Magda.

  “You look well, old friend,” Zargo said.

  “So do you.” Talon grasped the old man’s hand. It felt weak enough to crumple like the paper in books by the Ancients.

  Zargo blurted out in laughter, which quickly transitioned to a cough. “No need to be dishonest with me,” he rasped. “Not you, of all people. I get enough of that.”

  Talon grinned as he got to his feet. “You look like shit, sir.”

  “So do you.”

  “Are you two finished yet?” Zaimur said impatiently. “A fine example of Morastus justice you’re showing here, Father. This man aimed a gun at your son!”

  Zargo shot him an irritated glare. “This man helped put down the Chulen Clan uprising on Pallus Major when you were no taller than your chair. You will show some damn respect.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Zaimur grumbled. “And then he left us. So what does that make him now? Another one of your lost followers?”

  “An old frie
nd, whom I would advise to request speaking with me next time he needs information rather than barging in here.” Zargo took a measured breath.

  “Forgive me, sir,” Talon replied earnestly, flushed with embarrassment. “Sometimes, it’s hard to think clearly with my body like this.”

  “You and me both,” Zargo said.

  “But I believe your son knows where my daughter is. I don’t want any more problems with him. I just want to see her again.”

  “Is that true?” Zargo asked Zaimur.

  Zaimur shrugged without looking up. “Parts of it,” he said. “But I don’t respond well to having guns pointed at me. Or would you enjoy being left without an heir when you finally croak?”

  “Is it true!?” The booming voice of his father forced shades of fear into Zaimur’s face. Even Magda cowered behind him.

  “Fine.” Zaimur shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “If you really want to hear it, Rayne, she was on Kalliope.”

  Talon stormed toward Zaimur. The henchmen standing guard stirred, reaching for their sidearms. Magda pounced out of cover and growled, but Talon got as close as he could manage without getting bitten.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “She was here, with Julius.”

  “She was,” Zaimur said. “Until your friend Julius volunteered for the next shift on Kalliope. Left with her for the asteroid only a few days after the Tribune captured you.”

  “You’re lying!” Talon reached out and grabbed Zaimur by the collar. The henchmen quickly had their rifles aimed at his back. Magda would have dug her fangs into his leg if Zaimur didn’t hold her back.

  “I have the transport charter and recordings to prove it if you’d like to see.”

  “You’re lying…” Talon stumbled backwards. His legs wobbled and he fell to his knees. “You’re lying!”

  “I actually wish that I was,” Zaimur sneered. “That Julius was a good worker, and that was a valuable rock the Tribune desecrated.”

  Talon’s heart raced so fast it felt like it was going to burst through his rib cage. He hunched over on the floor, struggling to draw a breath.

  “Talon,” a voice said.

  He couldn’t respond. His throat was too constricted.

  “Talon,” the voice repeated softly. Then a hand fell on his shoulder, and Talon looked up through wet eyes to see the blurry outline of Zargo Morastus’ face hovering over him. The old man had left his helpers behind and allowed his bony legs to tremble beneath his own weight.

  “The Tribune will pay for what they’ve done,” Zargo said. “The Ceres clans are convening today to discuss our options. The Lakura are already preparing their forces to attack the Tribunal port on 5261 Eureka, against my advice.”

  “Discuss?” Talon replied weakly, finally willing himself to inhale. “What is there left to discuss?”

  “How we can possibly survive this war,” Zaimur remarked.

  “We won’t.”

  Another henchman hurried into the room and whispered something in Zaimur’s ear. His eyes went wide. “I’m afraid I must cut this short,” he said. “I have urgent matters I must attend to before the clan meeting.”

  “Son, this is not the—” Zargo was cut off by Talon managing to lift himself to his feet.

  Talon looked down at the hunched, broken-down lord of the Morastus. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “For everything. Discuss what you need to. There’s nothing more for me here.” He stepped past him toward the exit.

  “Talon, where are you going?” Zargo asked.

  “To say goodbye.” He took another step, and then stopped without looking back. “I know we’ve had our differences, Zaimur, but is it possible for me to see the surveillance recordings at the dock my daughter left from? Please. It’s the last request of a dying man.”

  Zaimur was already rushing out of the room ahead of him, but he slowed down to respond. “I’ll have one of my men upload it to a holopad. Grab it on your way out. Consider it payment for your former service, Talon Rayne.”

  17

  Chapter Seventeen—Cassius

  A host of Morastus ships led the White Hand into the clan’s private hangar on Ceres Prime. ADIM made sure to keep Cassius informed of the missiles locked on their position throughout the entire arrival.

  Cassius didn’t concern himself with it. He knew the risk he was taking by cruising into the den of the people he had battered. But they would need him once the bullets started flying, and he needed them as well.

  “ADIM, Ceres is going to be different than anywhere else we’ve ever been,” Cassius said as the android guided the White Hand down a rocky hewn vertical shaft.

  ADIM turned only his head to face him, but his eyes weren’t spinning. “I understand.”

  “Do you? They are going to curse me. They may even try to kill me.”

  “They have already tried. This unit will ensure your safety.”

  The White Hand touched down gently, and Cassius stood to look directly into his creation’s face. “I have no doubt that you could. But it’s important that you conceal yourself for now. There will be other androids here from the pre-war generation, weaker than the imitations of you that I built. They are capable of little more than menial tasks, and if you cannot hide, this is what you must pretend you are. Blend in however you can.”

  Cassius reached up and removed the comm-links from both his ears. He held them out in an open palm. With his other hand he then reached into the satchel by his belt and pulled out the holorecorder holding Caleb’s last recording.

  “They will strip me of everything. I’m leaving these in your hands for now,” he said.

  ADIM took the three devices and studied them. The tiny lights around his red eye-lenses spun wildly now. “How will this unit be able to contact you?”

  “Track me. Use the gifts I gave you to camouflage. They must not know you exist until I have their support.”

  “Creator, this unit will not let them harm you.”

  “I was an executor,” Cassius proclaimed. “Ceresians don’t concern me. I’ll handle myself.”

  ADIM’s eyes slowed in their rotation. He opened up a plate on his right arm and stored the comm-links and recorder inside the cavity. “This unit will not be found. ‘There is no weapon more valuable than being underestimated,’” he said, reciting words Cassius had spoken on the four hundred and third day of his existence.

  “You never forget anything I say, do you?” Cassius asked, one brow lifted.

  “This unit was designed not to.”

  “Trust me. I know. Now, I also need you to store all the White Hand’s data banks in your memory core. Ennomos, our navigation charts, and especially the last recorded mappings provided by the Vale Protocol. The Ceresians must not be able to see until I permit it.”

  “Yes, Creator,” ADIM responded. He reached down to the control console beside the captain’s chair and spread his fingers over it.

  “Gaia, please transmit all data over to ADIM,” Cassius ordered.

  “Yes, Captain,” she answered. “Shall I also store my own memory banks with him?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “This unit does not require her assistance in order to access the files,” ADIM insisted.

  Cassius looked past him. A mass of Morastus soldiers formed around the ship. “Just trying to speed things—”

  “Finished,” ADIM said. A low-pitched whine sounded as the ship’s power quickly turned off, all the lights with it.

  Cassius snickered. He wasn’t sure why he constantly let himself be surprised by ADIM. “Keep them safe,” he said.

  “Yes, Creator.”

  “And yourself too. Good luck, ADIM, even though I know you don’t require it.”

  “This unit will not be far.”

  “I hope not.” He sighed and headed down to the cargo bay. His ear felt naked without being synced to his creation, and he knew ADIM likely shared that sentiment. But if everything went according to plan, then they wouldn’t be separated for
long.

  “Gaia, lower the ramp,” Cassius said to the dark ceiling. Silence reminded him that he’d just stored her. It’d been a long time since he had to physically hit the commands to open up his ship.

  Once sure nobody was going to storm on, he strolled slowly down the sunken ramp. He knew that the Ceresians were going to be cautious, but it appeared that the Morastus Clan was a little less willing to throw themselves at him than their Lakura kin.

  As he emerged, two long rows of Morastus guards awaited on either side of him, pulse-rifles trained on his every move. A man stood at the end of them, faux feathers affixed to the shoulders of his flamboyant outfit. His hair was long and golden, and his face filled with the hunger of youth.

  “Cassius Vale, I never thought I’d see this day!” the man said loudly from across the hollow. He had a smooth voice. A con man’s voice. Cassius knew the type well.

  “Neither did I, for a time,” Cassius responded. When he got closer, four guards stepped forward. Two of them aimed at him while the others patted down every inch of him. Their visors weren’t tinted, so he could easily see the scowls each of them was wearing. They quickly confiscated his pistol, but there was nothing else to find.

  Never carry nothing when you don’t want something to be found, Cassius told himself, remembering words from an executor instructor whose name he didn’t care to recall.

  When the guards were finished, a four-legged animal came trotting forward. A dog, if his memory served him correctly from Earth studies. It circled him, sniffing him with its long snout. After almost a minute, the golden-haired man snapped his fingers and it returned to him, where it stood baring its fangs at Cassius.

  “An impressive specimen,” Cassius said as he continued forward. He stopped a few feet from the man when two more guards stepped forward to make sure he couldn’t get any further. “Zaimur Morastus, I presume?”

  Zaimur bowed playfully, spreading his arms to embellish as he did. “You presume correctly.”