The Circuit: The Complete Saga

by Bruno, Rhett C.

  A discussion between Vale and Zaimur occurred, but the arena was too loud to hear it. When they were done, Zaimur pulled out his pistol, pressed it against Cassius’ head, and pulled the trigger. There was no spectacle—no sense of showmanship like everything else Zaimur ever did. Just the cold, straightforward execution of a man who deserved it more than most.

  Talon’s jaw dropped. It’s not possible, he thought. But as the blood leaked out of Cassius’ ruptured skull, there was no denying that it was true. Cassius Vale was dead.

  “We’ve been given a gift before the coming storm!” Captain Hadris hollered over the Lutetia’s speakers. “The Tribune’s greatest weapon is lost! Cassius Vale is dead by Ceresian hands!”

  The galley erupted. Lakura soldiers chanted, “Vale is dead,” to some sort of cryptic tune, as if they’d rehearsed. Once the initial shock wore off, all the other Ceresians scooped up in this mad charge cheered as well. Even Tarsis couldn’t fight back a grin.

  Everyone reveled except Talon, who imagined he’d be happier to know that the man responsible for so many Ceresian deaths was gone. Under the present circumstances, however, he’d heard enough about death.

  Members of the Lutetia’s crew wasted no time ordering the service androids behind every service station to pop open iceboxes filled with synthrol. They poured it by the liter, and nobody cared how much spilled or if any got in their hair. While Tarsis was thrilled to join in, likely not having enjoyed a celebration in many years, Talon was happy just to drink and clear his head. Together they guzzled the bitter liquid and joined their new comrades in one last Ceresian celebration before bloodshed.

  Hours later, nearly everybody on the Lutetia was so drunk that they’d fallen asleep on the floor right where they were. Not Talon. No matter how much he put down, he couldn’t seem to get as drunk as he wanted to. There was just too much on his mind.

  So he helped Tarsis back to his bunk, laid him down, and then pulled himself up onto his own. The synthrol in his system was at least enough to help him ignore the soreness in his shoulder from having to hold Tarsis’ exo-suit-encased body up for an hour.

  It didn’t take long for him to realize that he wasn’t going to fall asleep. He went to pick up his rifle to take it apart once again when he noticed his holopad. Drunkenness crippling his resolve, he grabbed it and switched on Elisha and Julius’ recording. And he watched, over and over…

  At some point, Talon finally dozed off, only to be awakened by the clamor of marching boots and wailing alarms. The Lutetia was bearing down on its target, 5261 Eureka, a Tribunal asteroid colony on the edge of Ceresian space, which also happened to house a sizeable shipyard.

  It had once belonged to the united Ceresian Pact, but early on in the Reclaimer War it was captured by the Tribune for use as a major staging point for their campaigns into Ceresian space. Talon wasn’t surprised that it was the first place the Lakura thought to target, fixated on vengeance as they were.

  “Get up, Tarsis,” Talon said after he hopped down from his bunk. The Vergent was still snoring, and Talon said it a few more times before deciding to shake him.

  “We’re going down!” Tarsis shouted as his eyes sprang open. His forehead dripped with sweat.

  “Bad dream this time?” Talon asked.

  “Bad memory more like.” Tarsis took a deep breath and used his arms to pry himself up from the hard mattress. His suit squeaked as he did, and Talon imagined that after sitting around on the Monarch and then the Lutetia, it could use a good greasing.

  “Is it starting?” Tarsis asked.

  A Lakura officer making his way through the bunks provided an answer. “Aye, blue’ins. Hurry up. You’re in the first wave!”

  As soon as they’d boarded the Lutetia back on Ceres, they’d been selected to take part in the initial assault. “You’re dying anyway,” whoever was designating assignments had said. Ceresians didn’t have the same reverence for Keepers as the people of the Verge, although they probably just figured Talon and Tarsis were refugees with the blue death who’d been hiding out.

  Talon didn’t mind the front line though. He didn’t want to miss a chance at any Tribunals.

  “Well, that answers that,” Tarsis said. He grabbed his weapon and allowed Talon to help him to his feet. They’d provided him with a heavy machine gun because his ability to move was so hampered. He had trouble lifting it even with his suit, but once it was at his hip, all he’d have to do was pivot and fire.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Talon blinked and stared at his pulse-rifle—at his reflection in the stock, which he’d spent so much time polishing. At first all he saw were his own tired eyes and the dark circles swooping beneath them. But as he continued to stare, eventually he pictured Elisha looking back, smiling.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I spent a great deal of my life being asked to hurt people,” he said. “I think I’ll actually enjoy it this time. If the Spirit you talk about does exist, Tarsis, I hope it can forgive me for that.”

  “Just worry about yourself,” Tarsis replied. He slapped Talon playfully on the shoulder and they started walking toward the Lutetia’s main hangar, following the direction of all the Lakura officers posted along the route.

  They look too calm, Talon thought. He imagined it had less to do with proper training and more to do with the fact that they didn’t truly comprehend what they were about to do. They and the rest of their clan were used to attacking from the shadows, and now they were about to take the first public swipe against the mighty Tribune since the last war, not even knowing if the other Ceresian clans would ever join in. It was a bold move, and Talon was so focused on vengeance that even he hadn’t grasped exactly how bold until then.

  Ignoring whom they were attacking, clashing over asteroid colonies was a tricky proposition in itself. Especially if both parties wanted to leave the place usable afterwards.

  The colony’s exterior would be mostly solid rock. So in the few areas where the exterior could be easily breached, it was important to maintain seals. The heaviest fighting would take place in interior spaces where there were only inches between an Earthlike environment and vacuum.

  One misfired missile meant both parties would be yanked out into space. Every suit of armor the Lakura provided was supposed to be space-friendly, with small oxygen stores. But many of them were so old that Talon wondered how much they could be trusted if it came to that.

  “Gunner, head to troop transport Z-156.” A Lakura mercenary addressed Tarsis.

  Tarsis stopped and looked at Talon. This was where they were going to have to split up. Talon had the suicidal task of quickly blowing through the asteroid’s hangars with the initial raiding party, gaining control of the airlocks, and disabling the anti-air cannons. All to pave the way for the full invasion force.

  Tarsis was assigned to provide suppressive fire from a transport ship in the first wave. It was a safer position, which made Talon glad. No more of his friends were going to wind up dead on his watch. Tarsis would probably kill more Tribunals that way too.

  But Talon wasn’t jealous. He wanted to be face-to-face with his enemies. He wanted to look them in the eyes before he squeezed the trigger.

  “See you on the other side,” Tarsis said.

  “If I don’t—” Talon was cut off by Tarsis shaking his head.

  “Stop. Just don’t go getting yourself killed too quickly. There’ll be plenty of war to fight.”

  They exchanged a solemn nod, then headed in opposite directions. Talon didn’t speak with anyone on his way to the ship busters. He didn’t know anybody else on the Lutetia except for the Vergent anyway. There were no more words to be said.

  He had to climb down a tall ladder into a narrow space nestled into the side of a hangar. A line of at least fifty ship-buster chambers were embedded into the wall, their lids popped open and waiting to be filled. A few of the other raiding party members were being instructed on how to load into them properly as well as what would happen
once it was launched.

  Amateurs.

  Asteroid defenses were usually denser than a ship’s, so these chambers were a little more sizeable than what Talon was used to. They’d slice through the port airlocks like knives and then expand to preserve the pressure seal before peeling open enough of a hole for him to be launched through.

  In the old war it was easier. His people would send androids in first to absorb the brunt of the first defense, but there were too few of them left for that to be useful. Now, that task would be left up to expendable humans.

  Talon shrugged off the instructor, put on his helmet, and lay within the gelatinous interior. It quickly formed to his body, designed to help reduce shock to the body. Not as advanced as what the Morastus ship Zaimur had provided used, but still effective.

  Talon knew what he was doing. He knew the risks. They were being launched in bulk, and many of them would be shot down before they ever even reached Eureka.

  But he would. He had to. And he’d see Tarsis afterwards so they could move on to the next battle and take out more Tribunals—together.

  26

  Chapter Twenty-Six—Cassius

  Zargo Morastus’ face watched the display of a large holoscreen as his henchman stripped Cassius of everything he had. They made no attempt to be gentle. On occasion, Cassius could feel nails digging into his skin or them spitting on his back. It took all his discipline to keep quiet. The cuffs on his wrists didn’t help in that regard.

  Zaimur was in person observing, biting his finger as he held back a snicker. Ally or not, Cassius would remember his expression. He would pay for it.

  Zargo coughed and then his lips creased into a frail smile. “Bot, fetch me something to drink. I’m empty. Wouldn’t want to watch this without something to celebrate with.” He raised an empty glass at the screen and said, “May the Circuit rejoice in your death, Cassius Vale.”

  The feed cut out and then the same henchman took a punch at Cassius’ stomach. This time at least he was able to brace for it, though his old muscles weren’t as sturdy as they once were. He folded over, gasping, before being quickly yanked back straight. Then a group of men dragged him down a long tunnel. Zaimur shot him a subtle nod of understanding as he passed.

  If only they knew how lucky they are, Cassius thought as he was pulled along.

  He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d experienced the coldness of rock against his bare feet. Without his clothing, bracers, pistol, and the comm-link in his ear, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of release. As an executor, he’d never needed anything but his hands and his brain. It’d been almost a lifetime since he could return to his roots.

  The muddled chants of a crowd grew louder the further they progressed into the tunnel. Dust swirled down from the ceiling, stirred by the feet pounding though fifty feet of solid rock above. The Tribune was happy to just eject their enemies out into space and erase them forever, but the Ceresians liked to make a show of their executions.

  Cassius planned on giving them one.

  Even if Zaimur Morastus wasn’t able to uphold his promise, Cassius had no intention of dying in some depraved arena on Ceres Prime.

  A hatch opened and the henchmen shoved Cassius out so hard that he almost tripped on the frame. It took a few steps for his vision to adjust to the blaring lights so that he could see the roaring mob encircling the sunken arena.

  He’d never seen a place so bright in any Ceresian settlement. Globs of spit and other liquids rained down on him. Luckily, solid foods were scarce in these parts; otherwise he might’ve been knocked unconscious before the battle even started.

  He looked around at all the pale, grimy faces hollering for him to meet his end. A part of him was envious of them. Under the fist of the Tribune, people were forbidden from such festivities. They were taught to merely survive, whereas Ceresians were given the chance to really live.

  Fighting arenas, gambling dens, brothels—these things were all commonplace in a Ceresian colony. These people would be far more difficult to rule than others, but the years had taught him that it’s better to lead jackals than sheep.

  Presently, they would get what they wanted. They would watch him die. And when they learned that it was all a ruse, his legend would be further cemented. Zaimur hadn’t looked far enough ahead to see that.

  The hatch across the arena opened, and ten fighters in crude suits of metal armor came walking out. They raised their arms like triumphant heroes, all of them wielding batons. Cassius wasn’t sure if they were criminals set loose or professional fighters, though judging by the definition of their muscles, he assumed the latter. The floor beneath him shook as the crowd erupted.

  Cassius closed his eyes and sank to his knees. Then he held his palms open and steadied his breathing. It had been a long time since he’d had to fight against overwhelming odds without ADIM at his side, but he could never forget his executor training. Even if Zaimur had come through, it was doubtful he could’ve bribed the lot of them to go easy. Cassius wouldn’t take any chances.

  He exhaled slowly as he waited until their footsteps were near enough for him to identify over the cheering. Then his eyes snapped open, focused entirely on his enemies. The crowd became white noise and a blur of color as he listened for the very heartbeats of his opponents.

  “You gonna stand up, old man?” one of the fighters sneered.

  Cassius didn’t respond, instead putting on his most genuine smile while he rose to his feet. He didn’t even bother to drop into a battle stance. Instead, he spread his arms open and invited them in.

  The first fighter didn’t hesitate to oblige. He charged and took a wild swing at Cassius, who easily evaded the attack, causing the man to stumble over an outcrop of rock. When he turned around, his cheeks were blazing red.

  “Come on!” he barked and again closed in.

  This time another one of the fighters tried to simultaneously flank Cassius. He ducked out of the way and used one of his hands to redirect the blows so that they would strike each other. Afterwards, more Ceresians came running at him, their batons whistling through the air.

  Too easy, Cassius thought as he easily eluded the flurry of incoming attacks. Sending so many fighters at him all at once was a foolish mistake. Not only did they have to worry about hitting each other, but there was also the fraction of them taking it easy for Zaimur. Cassius weaved his way through them, landing a few well-placed blows on pressure points as he did.

  A baton slashed toward his head and he spun out of the way. As he did, another swiped at his knees and forced him to jump and tuck into a roll. Muscles he thought he’d never use again stretched and tightened. After so many years it felt like the rust was crumbling off his body and he was returning to life. Having fun, even.

  Then his foot caught a piece of loose rock and he lost his balance. A baton smashed against his ribs. In that instant, the crowd grew as loud as standing directly beside a ship’s ion drives powering on. Cassius howled just before another metal bar cracked across his shoulder, the blow sending him sprawling onto his hands and knees.

  He stayed there, panting. He’d already incapacitated three of the fighters, but the others were bearing down on him. C’mon, you old man, he thought. On your feet!

  The words of all his executor trainers echoed through his head. His fists tightened. Rage dulled the pain pulling at his side.

  A baton rushed toward him and he grunted as he caught the arm guiding it. With one smooth motion he tore the weapon from the man’s grasp and then smashed him in the head with it, splitting the man’s face from his upper lip to his nose.

  That caused the others to move into full assault mode. They charged Cassius, who now, with a weapon in his hand, was even more eager to let them attack first. Parrying had always been his greatest ally, for growing up amongst Titan’s wealthy elite had left him physically weak when he was young.

  Cassius deflected blow after blow, using each of the fighters’ strength against them. He was able to
take out two more of them before a shooting pain in his side caused him to seize halfway through a move.

  He was struck in the leg hard enough to knock him off his feet, and he had to roll out of the way of another baton before it smashed his head against the rock. He tumbled and moved into a crouch, where he blocked another swing, but as he did, he noticed another baton in his peripherals about to crack him in the jaw.

  Right before the attack hit home, the fighter pulled back and missed on purpose. Air blew across Cassius’ nose, and he was in such shock that he paused for a fraction of a second. The other fighters must’ve thought he was about to be put down as well because they all stopped moving.

  Cassius snapped out of it first and was quickly able to leave two more gasping for air with rapid jabs to their throats before the others reacted.

  He didn’t have a chance to see which of the fighters had held back, but he knew he had Zaimur to thank. And seeing Cassius escape death seemed to take the air out of his opponents.

  They never came close to hitting him again.

  After a few brief minutes of heavy fighting, he stood alone amongst ten Ceresians who were either writhing on the ground groaning in pain or completely unconscious.

  The crowd was drowned in silence.

  If Cassius’ vision wasn’t blurred from exertion and dripping sweat, he imagined he would’ve seen thousands of mouths hanging open. He took a single step and nearly fell. With his adrenaline no longer pumping, he couldn’t ignore the stinging sensation in his ribs. He hadn’t felt anything so painful in years.

  Cassius kept his footing. All the years wearing his executor implant helped him tolerate it. Its numbing effects had never left him entirely, having altered his brain chemistry.