Legacy of Vale: A Space Opera Series (The Circuit Saga Book 2) Page 3

  “You said you were mostly traders and merchants,” Sage said. “Did you even have an armed fleet? Artillery? What did you expect him to do?”

  “To fight with what little we had!” Cassius bristled. “Or at least negotiate something resembling terms. Anything! Instead, the entire history of my family’s rule was wiped away. I can’t even remember it. Our markets were jammed with temples and Earth Whisperers, our ears filled with promises of the Spirit’s guidance. An entire culture, gone… like words to space.”

  “So it was peaceful, then?” Sage countered. “They didn’t fire on your people at all.”

  “Peaceful, sure,” Cassius replied bitterly. “Not a single shot. And it broke my heart. I decided I couldn’t bear the shame of it. If my father was willing to surrender all that our ancestors had built for nothing, then what was the point of me staying? I could either remain and become the future prefect of Titan in title only, or find my place amongst the Tribune as the warrior I’d always dreamed of being.

  “It was an easy choice for my angry, impetuous younger self. I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. I hid my identity, for good this time, and smuggled myself onto a warship bound for Jupiter, vowing that I would never be weak again.”

  “Jupiter?” she asked, surprised. “You fought there?”

  Cassius grinned. “I grew up there. By the time the Battle of Ganymede ended, everyone knew the bastard child from Titan. The Hand leading the battle saw my potential and had me trained as an executor. He was a young, voracious man as well, who soon was named a Tribune when his master fell in a convenient ambush over Europa. Benjar Vakari.”

  Just saying the man’s name out loud made a bad taste swirl around his gums.

  “And the rest is history,” he said. “I wasn’t truly a Vale again until Benjar and the rest of the Tribunal Council required a member hailing from Saturn-orbit in order to prevent any discord in the region, and added a fourth seat. Who better to serve than a war hero who just so happened to be the long-lost Vale descendent?”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” Sage asked.

  “Because I didn’t care who I served. Ceresian Pact, New Earth Tribune—it was all the same to me. I just chose the side of the first faction at war that arrived at my doorstep. All I wanted was to prove that I was worth more than my gutless father, yet all I allowed myself to become was a tool. Like you, it was partially the executor implant keeping me focused, making me care for nothing except for fighting, but I don’t blame it. Not having it wouldn’t have changed a single thing I did until the war was long over.

  “I was so consumed by my father’s shame that I didn’t stop until I became the greatest weapon the Circuit had ever known. And then, after the battle of Lutetia, when I forced the Ceresians to surrender and the armistice was signed, I was nothing again—a figurehead to be used while we slowly bled out what remained of our enemies. I realized then that I could have remained on Titan with my father and earned the same fate.”

  Sage wrapped her artificial hand around Cassius’ tightened fist. “That’s not true,” she whispered forcefully. “You were a hero.”

  “And a murderer,” Cassius said. “All depends on who you ask. It took the unexpected birth of my son for me to stop trying to prove how great I was, and after removing my implant, Caleb was the only thing I could care about. It didn’t matter that I was a Tribune; I just did what I had to. The rest of the council knew it. They used his existence to control me, and as long as Caleb was alive, I was happy to oblige—to turn a blind eye to everything about them that had begun driving me mad once the war ended.” Cassius swallowed back a dry throat. “And then he was taken from me… and, like you, clarity was thrust upon me.”

  “I loved him too, Cassius,” Sage whispered. “I tried my best to move on back then. Why can’t you?”

  “You did your best to forget,” he spat.

  Sage looked like she’d just been punched in the gut. Cassius knew that she knew he was right. It was the sole reason he believed she’d decided to take her newly installed arm and become an executor. To have the pain almost literally programmed out of her.

  “Maybe I have,” she finally replied, “but do you really think any of this will honor his sacrifice?”

  “Sacrifice?” Cassius asked. “As I said on Titan, humanity has become a species of shackles. Fear of the vacuum all around our tiny contained environments. A need for gravitum we could live without with but a little ingenuity. The solar-arks. And worst of all, Earth. My son gave everything trying to heal that wretched homeworld of ours, and all he got for it was a pathetic plant that the Tribune presents as if it was their faith that made it grow.”

  “The Spirit may have rejected his methods, but that plant shows us that our time is coming,” Sage said. “We just weren’t ready.”

  “We’ll never be ready!” he hissed. “That’s the truth I want the Circuit to realize. That plant grew because my son shared my resolve, not because the Spirit wanted to allow some glimmer of hope to the faithful. He died because Earth is broken, that’s all. It’s just another shackle, just like the Tribune is. And because of my greed, I handed them the entire Circuit on a silver platter. Now I’m going to take it away. I’m going to rectify what I’ve done.”

  Cassius could feel Sage’s legs instinctually wriggling away from him under the sheets. A hint of dread crept into her voice as she responded, “What are you planning, Cassius?”

  “To remove shackles.”

  A bout of silence passed between them; then he stood. “We’re going to arrive soon. You’ll need your rest if you hope to recover.”

  Then, before she could respond, he took a few long strides out of the room and locked the door behind him.

  3

  Chapter Three—Adim

  ADIM stood in the hangar of Cassius’ secret base on Ennomos. His hands gripped the bladelike edge of the Shadow Chariot’s wing as he leaned over it, staring through the cockpit’s translucency where the human child he’d taken from Kalliope to serve as a gift for Cassius had finally awoken. She sat silently, her blue eyes bulging.

  ADIM jumped up onto the chassis of his ship. It dipped under his weight. He crouched and pressed his hands against the translucency to look closer. She remained still, gawking. ADIM tilted his head slightly to the side as he analyzed her to try to get a reading on what her expression indicated. He had never seen a human child up close before, and in his experience, all humans other than his Creator looked upon him with trepidation.

  She didn’t look afraid. Her thin lips were drawn into a tight line and her eyebrows were raised. ADIM signaled the Shadow Chariot’s cockpit to open, and the viewport slid out beneath his fingers with a whoosh. The sound seemed to startle the child, but only for a moment.

  “Are you from Ceres Prime, android?” she asked, her tiny soprano voice teeming with curiosity.

  ADIM crept backward, surprised by the smoothness with which her words came out. Every other human besides his Creator whom he’d spoken with was only able to manage a stutter. They had all also been servants of the Tribune.

  She may truly be worthy, he thought to himself.

  “This unit was forged on the moon Titan,” ADIM responded. His voice was the perfect opposite of hers—cold and metallic. She didn’t back away when she heard it; she leaned closer.

  “Titan? I’ve never been there.” She climbed up out of the seat and let her short legs drape over the side of the Shadow Chariot, swinging them back and forth. He wasn’t sure why.

  “Do you have an identity, android?” she asked.

  “This…” ADIM paused, feeling stumped for the first time in his short span of existence. Of all the millions of questions he’d ever considered, that was never one of them. Cassius had always designated him ADIM—an acronym for what he was. He had never questioned it. It simply was.

  “To the Creator, this unit is known as ADIM,” he answered, the tiny red dots surrounding his eyes rotating rapidly as his processors whirred.

  The girl pointed to herself. “To humans, this girl is known as Elisha,” she said proudly.

  “This unit is ADIM,” he repeated, his eyes beginning to slow down. “ADIM.”

  Elisha held back a giggle. “Hello, ADIM. Where are we?”

  ADIM didn’t answer. He wasn’t used to being addressed by anyone but his Creator. However, he recalled Cassius recently saying, “It is time for you to reveal your existence to the Circuit.” As long as he didn’t reveal their location to her, he knew he was fulfilling Cassius’ will.

  Elisha suddenly decided to slide down the hull of the ship. When she came to the edge, she shot off the slick surface. ADIM calculated her trajectory and, deciding that the potential for injury was too great, snatched her out of midair by the collar.

  “You must not be damaged before the Creator returns.” He placed her down gently.

  “You didn’t need to—” Elisha began disgruntledly, but the rest of her words died on her lips when she noticed the row of Tribunal freighters running down the center of the massive hangar behind ADIM.

  “So many ships!” she shouted.

  “Six,” ADIM said.

  He started off toward the nearest one and she followed. They were different than when he’d first stolen them. New ablative metal plating gave the once bulky bodies of the ships a tapering shape. They looked like they were made to absorb damage and ram stations.

  Each one was outfitted with new missile-launching ordnance and flak cannons beneath their command deck viewports. Most importantly, all the markings that would’ve signified them as Tribunal vessels were nowhere to be found.

  “What are they for?” Elisha asked.

  “They have already served their initial purpose,” ADIM said. “They will now serve as the Creator
sees fit.”

  The nearest freighter was raised on its landing gear, and Elisha’s small stature enabled her to sprint underneath it ahead of ADIM. She ran her hands over the smooth metal, marveling at all of its innumerable pieces—the burnished plates of metal, the reveals of wires and ducts over bright, blinking lights. Then she grabbed onto the rim of one of the ion drives poking out from beneath the back of the hull and tried to pull herself up to look inside.

  ADIM plucked her off with one hand and placed her back on the ground. “Not in there,” he advised. “The ship is on standby.”

  “Are we going to fly it?” she asked, looking up at him with big eyes and swaying back and forth excitedly.

  Before he could respond, a familiar voice transmitted directly into ADIM’s head. He had been eagerly awaiting word from Cassius since he arrived on Ennomos.

  “ADIM, I am close,” his Creator said, the exhaustion of a long trek through space evident in his tone. “I need you to clean out the hangar. Move the freighters to the aux wing.”

  “It will be done, Creator,” ADIM replied, his thoughts conveyed directly to Cassius’ comm-link, wherever he was.

  Elisha poked him in the leg. “Hello?”

  “The Creator has informed this unit that each ship must be relocated from the main hangar.” ADIM ascended the ramp into the freighter.

  “So we are flying?” She hopped along excitedly in his wake.

  ADIM’s head twisted around far enough to accentuate his artificiality, but it didn’t seem to affect her. He glanced toward the ships’ engines. Exposure to them while powered on inside a contained environment could be hazardous. Then he turned his attention back down at her.

  “Yes,” he said. “You must join this unit on the freighter for your safety.”

  Elisha shrieked eagerly. She hurried up the ramp ahead of him, then waved him on. Her eyes pored enthusiastically over every little detail as she ran back and forth through the cargo hold. Unlike the exterior of the freighter, its insides remained in its banal, original state. Elisha followed the exposed circuitry running under the grated flooring as if she’d discovered new life or a new world.

  From what ADIM had gathered about human sentiment, these freighters wouldn’t fall into the category of what could be deemed appealing. He’d watched Cassius admire the far superior White Hand in the same manner that Elisha was the freighter. He’d heard him call it beautiful.

  The White Hand is a much more efficient vessel, worthy of the Creator, ADIM thought to himself. She will have to learn.

  “This way, human child Elisha,” ADIM directed, stepping by her.

  When they reached the command deck, Elisha bolted in, even more thrilled than she’d been earlier. Consoles in every direction glowed from holoscreens. The sweeping viewport wrapped overhead like an eyeglass, providing a clear view across the hangar and of the other ships.

  Elisha raced to the captain’s chair, where the main command console was built into the armrest, and hopped up. The seat was discolored in a few patches from washing out blood.

  “How do I help?” She glanced back at ADIM.

  “This unit does not require assistance.” ADIM lifted her off the seat before taking it himself. He spread his long metal fingers over the command console and assumed control, manipulating the systems with his mind. The screen flickered. In no time, the ship’s engines flared to life.

  “Where are we going?”

  ADIM didn’t answer. He guided the ship up toward the ribbed ceiling of the hangar. Elisha stared up in awe, walking toward the viewport as the freighter slowly rose. It then shot forward and she grabbed onto the rail as tightly as she could. ADIM watched her head turning back and forth to catch glimpses of everything she could as they crossed the massive hangar.

  Halfway through, something seemed to upset her. She faced ADIM, her face going as pale as a slate of marble. “Where are we?”

  It took very little of his processing power for ADIM to pilot a ship as simple as a class 2 Tribunal freighter, so he was able to consider his response carefully.

  “The purpose of Ennomos must remain a secret,” he remembered Cassius saying. Nobody, not even his gift, can know.

  “That is classified,” ADIM said out loud.

  Elisha stared at him blankly. “This isn’t Kalliope, is it?”

  “Kalliope has been destroyed by—” ADIM paused. This was his first time ever being dishonest with anybody. Cassius had also been adamant that the Tribune had to be blamed for what had happened on Kalliope. “—by the New Earth Tribunal,” he finished. “This unit was sent to prevent the attack, but it was too late. My vessel could only fit a human of your proportions.” The last point, at least, was true.

  Tears welled in the corner of Elisha’s eyes. She wrinkled her nose, trying, it seemed, to remember what had happened on Kalliope. “Is Julius okay? He was showing me the mines in his mech, and then something happened. But… nothing could hurt him!”

  “This unit is positive that you are the only survivor of Kalliope,” he said. “If Julius is the name of another human living there, then he is deceased.”

  ADIM switched to the freighter’s antigrav thrusters to bring it down for a gentle landing. He lifted his hand off the console, but as he did, he noticed Elisha hugging his leg, weeping.

  These are tears of sorrow, ADIM recognized. He recalled how Cassius would look occasionally when reminiscing about his human son.

  ADIM wasn’t sure what to do, but he had noticed some of the humans imprisoned within Ennomos wipe away each other’s tears elicited by similar emotions.

  He reached down slowly, not sure if he was doing it right. Then his metallic thumb grazed Elisha’s cheek, smearing away some of the moisture.

  His touch seemed to catch her by surprise. Her gaze shot up in his direction, causing him to quickly yank his hand away. As soon as he did, however, she pulled it back and nestled against him.

  4

  Chapter Four—Talon

  Talon felt as though he was about to be swallowed by the black curtain of space. He stared out the small circular viewport at the back of the escape pod he and the Keeper named Tarsis had used to escape the solar-ark Amerigo.

  There was something truly harrowing about drifting through the great vacuum with no engines or destination. It was much like drowning, only Talon had to wait painlessly for the air to simply run out.

  It had only been about a week, but he wondered if he would’ve been better off staying aboard the solar-ark. Sure, he and Tarsis had enough ration bars and water stores to survive for an additional week or so, but if nobody knew about what had happened to the Amerigo, then the odds of somebody stumbling upon them were slim. The odds were slim either way. The pod broadcast a Mayday signal on a frequency so outdated it might never get picked up.

  It didn’t help that Tarsis slept most of the time, advanced stages of the blue death sapping his strength. It left Talon completely alone. A bad place to be when hope seemed so fleeting.

  Damn this ancient pod. The Ancients were smart enough to build that ship, but not to put engines on the only way to escape it?

  Talon imagined they were originally installed only to provide a false sense of security, being that the arks were constructed before the solar system had been filled with settlements. There would’ve been nowhere to escape to. Even still, all he could think about was he had merely delayed the inevitable. It pained him to know that he’d dragged Tarsis along with him, forcing the man to forsake his sacred duties.

  Another friend I’ll lead to certain death, he thought, gritting his teeth as the faces of Ulson and Vellish flashed through his memory.

  “You can stare all you want,” Tarsis grumbled, still half-asleep. “Nothing out there but stars and floating shit.”

  “Pleasant.” Talon sighed.

  He pressed his palm against the inner surface of the viewport. That thin, transparent layer was all that stood between them and the air being sucked out of their lungs.