The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)

by John K. Irvine

  “Yeah, right. The Smith dynasty’s secret fortune.”

  Polo laughed. “Yep, you’re right. No chance of that.”

  There was a short pause, as the 16 year-old looked across the table at her cousin. “You look nice, Miki.”

  “Um, right… Thanks, cuz’,” she replied, sarcastically.

  “No, really. And I like your hair like that, too.”

  “My hair’s always been like this, idiot.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’m just saying ‘I like it’, that’s all.”

  “Oh, OK. Likewise,” said Mikita, but was really thinking how random Polo was today. “So, what about the Codes, eh?” she asked, changing the topic.

  “Fizz thinks that they’re really spies from Quadrant 2,” replied Polo. “That they’ve been put onto Baal-500 to spy on TAPCON.”

  “Yeah, and Aunt Fizz get’s all her news from The Zip. Not exactly the best source is it?” said Mikita.

  “Yeah, not like the Yu-Web?”

  “I take your point, geeky. But there is definitely something funny going on up there. Like it’s all part of some big plan. Like it’s a set-up, or something. Don’t you think?”

  “I think you’ve been hanging out with Janeee too long.”

  Mikita’s brow furrowed. “I don’t ‘hang out’ with Janeee, Polo. She likes to think I’m her friend. But, to me, she’s more like a -” Mother? No. “More like a teacher. Like Tamashito, you know?”

  “And me, Mikita? What am I too you?” said Polo, somewhat over-dramatically.

  “A crazy mutant with a systems malfunction, that’s what you are!” Mikita jibed, taking her straw out of her drink and blowing Contral at Polo.

  Her boiler suit was splattered with coffee-flavoured goo.

  “Mikita!” squealed Polo, and blew a stream of the brown liquid back at her.

  “Argh, Polo! You Earth-based cow!” shouted Mikita.

  A few of the trendies sitting at the Gretchi’s bar gave them a look. Mikita made a face and thumbed her nose like a boxer wanting a fight.

  “Nosey gimps,” grumped Mikita.

  Polo started up again. “Mikita, if I was a boy, would you like me? I mean, ‘like me’ like me?”

  “You need to get your head examined, you know that?”

  Her cousin looked crestfallen.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. You’d make a lovely little boy, definitely,” Mikita said, just to shut her up. She is acting strange today, no doubt about it.

  “Thanks, Mikita,” beamed Polo. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Polo continued. “Well, I think it’s good that you dumped him - Hanoi. You’re not meant to be with a guy, neither of us is.”

  “Yeah, I know. I really don’t think we have the ability to be in any kind of healthy, stable relationship. Not with our crazy genes.”

  “Yeah, just look at your draining brother.”

  “Kané… is out of my life,” she said, dismissively. He’s dead, as far as I’m concerned.

  “But Miki, you do miss your mother and father, don’t you?”

  Mikita rounded on her. “It’s been six years since they died, Polo. I really don’t like to revisit all that negative stuff, OK?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I won’t ask again,” said Polo, looking upset. “Sorry, Miki.”

  Mikita softened. “Of course, I do. Of course, I miss them, Po. Every day. Every single day of my rotten, little life. My mother was always there for me. Always. Well, until…” Polo’s eyes were welling up. “Polo, stop it. Please. It’s not that bad. Really.”

  Polo looked down into her glass and slurped the remnants of her Contral with her straw, making a noise that attracted more stares from the Gretchi’s contingent.

  “But we’ll always have each other, won’t we, Miki?” asked Polo.

  She’s family. She knows I’ll look after her, the stupid moo. “Yes, Polo. Always.”

  “Even if something bad happens between us, we’ll always be there for each other, right?”

  “Polo, you know that I’ll -”

  “I’ll miss you, Miki. When I’m gone.”

  Mikita looked to the ceiling in exasperation. “Gone? Gone where? Oh Herra, you’re such a drama queen today. Stop acting nuts.” Mikita had had enough. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Anymore looks from the stuck-ups in here and I’m going to thump someone - and it might just be you if you don’t cheer up!”

  Polo managed a smile.

  “Good, get your coat. Let’s go back to mine and have Earth-based ice-cream - I’ve got Baz & Jeremy’s!”

  Her cousin grinned from ear to ear.

  Muhaze city centre was beginning to get busy. Saturday morning shoppers were creating a throng of noise and movement that, when combined with the ongoing repair works from the latest Froome Skirmish (No. 2.3), made a veritable cacophony of noise. Shouts and cries merged with the metal clip and thrash of the mutant-labourer’s hammer and drill. Vehicle engine stutter and spit followed the screech of tires upwards into the Muhazian skyscrapers, only to be lost on the disinterested universe, as it heedlessly sped away towards infinity. Such industry. Such desire to create and build. Such a feverish race against the discordant metronome of time.

  Polo slipped her hand into Mikita’s pocket. Mikita held it and looked at her. She’d be a very feminine boy, if she were one, she thought. The oval face, the long lashes, the dimples...

  Polo was about the same height as Mikita, although slimmer and flatter up front. Not that Mikita was curvy by any stretch, but she was more womanly in body type. Then again, she didn't dress in boiler suits or androgynous, baggy clothes.

  Mikita wore quirky, unusual items: odd jewellery, bullet belts, clothes personalised with appliquéd political slogans, leather boots with studs and shiny metallic detail - items that said: ‘I’m different, leave me the shizz alone.” Polo’s attire self-consciously screamed: ‘Look! I’m wacky, I’m fun!’ which she was, most of the time.

  Today, though, she was a complete nut-job.

  Arriving back at her flat, Mikita and Polo paused as they approached her front door.

  It was open.

  Mikita gave Polo a look, shushing her with a finger to her lips.

  Quietly, they entered the flat together.

  Once inside, Mikita could hear light tapping noises coming from the kitchen. She motioned to Polo to keep still as she made her way down the hall.

  The noises continued. Fingers on keys, thought Mikita.

  As she approached the kitchen door, she realised that whoever was in her house was on her Serene. Then she remembered she’d left it out on the tabletop before she’d gone to Gretchi’s.

  The tapping stopped.

  Mikita could hear footsteps. The intruder was getting up and walking to the kitchen door. She slammed her back hard up against the wall, but it was too late.

  “Mikita! You’re back?”

  It was Hanoi!

  “Hanoi? “But how did you -? What are you doing in my flat?”

  “Oh, I was just passing and thought I’d drop by,” he replied, smiling that smile. “Your door was open and… well, I just came right on in.”

  “But how could my door be open?” I’m sure I locked it.

  “I don’t know, don’t ask me… Oh, hi, Polo, didn’t see you there.”

  It was like the argument had never happened. Him giving her the key - her leaving it behind – the message. Mikita looked to Polo for help, but her cousin simply looked back blankly, saying nothing.

  “Well, OK, whatever,” said Mikita. “But what were you doing in the kitchen, with my Serene?”

  Hanoi looked irreproachable. “In there? Nothing. I was just putting it away for you. I saw it out on the table and, well, the kitchen was in quite a state too, so I tidied everything up. Here. Take a look.”

  Mikita put her head round the kitchen door.

  The kitchen was spotless.

  “Oh! Right.” She looked at Polo and shrugged her shoulders. Polo gave
her a withering stare. “That was very kind of you, Hanoi, thanks. But, didn’t you get the -”

  “It was no problem, Miki. My pleasure,” said Hanoi, with a servile nod of his head. “Well, look, ladies. I can see you’ve got something planned, so I’ll head down to the Balmaha Centre and get some nice things in for tonight, Mikita, yeah? I’ll see you around 6-ish, at mine, OK?”

  Mikita could see he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Yeah, OK, Hanoi. I’ll see you then.”

  He picked up his coat, blew Mikita a kiss, smiled at Polo, and left.

  As the door clicked shut, Polo started up. “What the fire are you playing at?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What was he doing here, Mikita?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” she replied, defensively. “Maybe he’s not been back to his flat yet? Maybe he’s not got the key - and the message?”

  “The message? Right, so, you left him a message? And what exactly did it say in this ‘message’?”

  “It said - ‘Sorry, I can’t do this’ - on an envelope, with the key inside.”

  “‘Sorry, I can’t do this’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And from that, he’s supposed to think that you’ve split up with him?”

  “Well, perhaps it was a bit vague…”

  Polo looked at her, incredulously. “A BIT? Herra, Mikita! But even if he didn’t get your ‘message’, he’s just let himself into your house! And it wasn’t to do the dishes!”

  “Yeah, well. I guess you’re right.”

  “And what was he doing on your Serene? Answer me that?”

  Mikita had no reply.

  “I’ll bet he was looking for something,” said Polo.

  “What? Why would he be -”

  “Check the search history on your Serene. Go on, check it. Whatever he was looking for, the Serene will tell you the last files that were accessed. Go on. Do it!”

  Mikita didn’t move.

  “Do it, Mikita! Now!”

  Reluctantly, Mikita went into the kitchen and turned on the device. The annoying message came on as usual. “Welcome to Yu-Web, a TAPCON comp -”

  “Oh, drain you TAPCON!” she shouted, picking up the machine and aiming it at the shiny, newly-scoured sink.

  Mikita was riled. She was nervous. What if Polo was right? What if Hanoi had been going through her files? She put the Serene back down. Her heart thumped inside her chest as she moved the cursor to ‘File Access History’.

  It was empty.

  Chapter 4

  15:48 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Aarmaten Border Station, Baal-500)

  It was beginning to get dark on Baal-500, the sun would be gone in another hour or so, and the lights were out across the whole of the Aarmaten District. In fact, despite the occasional sparks and fissures lighting up the power lines and overhead wires, all systems appeared to be down throughout the entire area. It was as if the moon, and everything on it, had suddenly decided to say so long to its own existence; to shuffle off to Nufanot and not leave a meta-file text for the goods-mutant.

  “This place looks like all the others,” McGilvary remarked, peering out through the Argon’s main viewing-screen. “Not a Code in sight,” she added.

  Standing next her, Phil Jameson had a feeling about this one; a Captain’s sixth sense. There was something about this situation on Baal-500 that wasn't quite right. Something unnatural, evil almost. Something in the air that he could feel, but couldn’t for the life of him express. He needed to take a closer look.

  “Officer Cox, magnify the entrance to the compound, please.”

  “Yes sir,” replied Cox, pressing ‘30x-mag’ on the touchscreen and zooming in on the Border Station gates.

  No, nothing there, thought Jameson. “Thank you, Cox. Now, go to the rear of the precinct, please.”

  Using the location remote, Cox swung the camera aspect towards the back of the station. Jameson checked the area carefully, looking out for any kind of motion, alien, animal, any subtle shift of colour or light. His gut instinct was telling him: There’s trouble in there. Keep looking. Keep looking…

  Then, he saw something.

  “Movement!” he exclaimed.

  An animal’s bloodied face suddenly appeared on screen, all razor-sharp canines and salivating jaws. Cox pulled back on the viewer to reveal a lone muidog barking up at the ship, then chasing its tail, round and round as if in the throes of madness. In the gloom, Jameson could see the red light shining out from behind its eyes. It was infected, like all the other poor creatures they’d come across, abandoned, every last one them, by their Codes.

  Why are the animals being left? Jameson asked himself. And why are the Codes leaving in such a hurry?

  He took a moment and thought back to his interview with Kendall Crisp the previous night. “Always by the book,” Crisp had said. Jameson had resented hearing those words and they’d been rumbling through his mind ever since. Is that what people think of me? Is that how I’ll be remembered? He’d never thought of himself like that before. A hero, yes. A figure of admiration, that too. But a ‘by the book’ kind of leader? No. Not that. He’d never considered himself to be like that. He decided it was time for a change. Time he showed everybody what Captain Philip Jameson was really made of.

  “Cox, McGilvary. We’re going in,” he pronounced, taking his crew by surprise. “Get a small reconnaissance unit ready. We leave in an hour.”

  “But, sir…?” It was McGilvary.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “TAPCON has clearly expressed that under no circumstances should we land on the moon. It’s against our orders, sir.”

  Jameson immediately became impatient. “Flight Lieutenant McGilvary, how long have you served with me, now? Two, three years?”

  “Three years, four months and twelve days, sir.”

  Jameson was irritated by her attention to detail. “And in that time, Lieutenant, have we always done things ‘by the book’?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Yes, indeed we have, sir,” she replied, delighted with herself in saying the right thing at the right time - she was wrong, of course.

  “Well, it’s time that all changed,” said Jameson, squarely.

  A shocked look appeared on McGilvary’s face. “But, Captain Jameson? I’m not sure I understand -”

  “You heard me, Lieutenant!” Jameson bristled.

  “Yes, sir. I did, sir,” managed McGilvary, still reeling from her world being turned upside down.

  Cox, however, was keen to get on the body armour and get out into the wilds of Baal-500. “Captain? A question, if I may, sir?”

  “Yes, Cox?”

  “Are we going in armed, sir?”

  “Yes, soldier. Armed for low-intensity conflict. Organise that, now, would you? Medium artillery, plus one Pro-Cannon - give it to Crim.”

  “Right away, sir,” replied Cox.

  Jameson turned to Ω.

  “Take us down to the surface, 2nd Lieutenant. 1km from the Border Station entrance. And be careful not to scare that hound. I’d like to get it onboard with a piece of its mind still functioning.”

  “Roger-Wilko, sir. Will do,” replied Ω, with his customary breeziness.

  Jameson got on the C-System and pressed ‘Loading Bay’. “Corporal Lead-Out, Private Sawchuck? Ready the Argon Rover for embarkation.”

  “But, sir,” replied Lead-Out. “The Rover, it’s not commissioned for action on this -”

  “Well, draining well commission it then, Corporal!” Jameson bellowed.

  “Um… Right away, sir,” came Lead-Out’s nervy response.

  “Sergeant Hellius, Sergeant Crim, get down to LB and suit up.”

  “Yes, Sir! Aye, Sir!”

  “Ω, you’re in charge up here.”

  “Thanking you kindly, sir,” half-sung Ω.

  By the book, in-firing-deed! Jameson thought to himself.

  He left the Bridge and made his way down to Medical.

  For the past five
or six hours the Argon had seen no sign of the Codes, yet hundreds of their animals had been spotted by Jameson and the crew. All of them either dead or dying, half-crazed or completely insane. Each one had a ghostly, red light behind the eyes, a foamed mouth and a desire to either chew themselves to death or kill whatever came near. The Captain had only viewed the poor devils from the safety of the Argon, but now he wanted to bring one onboard and let Tina open it up. He wanted to show that he could wing it when he needed to; that he was more than the ‘yes-man’ Kendall Crisp would have everyone believe.

  “Nurse Ng,” gruffed Jameson, arriving at the lab. “Is Dr. Gössner free? It’s urgent.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied a startled Billy Ng, nervously standing to attention and knocking over his desk-tidy in the process. He attempted to upright his pencils and pens as the Captain looked around the Med Lab.

  “Got some new toys in here, eh, Nurse?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Billy replied, rearranging his erasers. “We just need to plug it all in.”

  Jameson recognised his reference to Gadget’s joke from last night’s broadcast. “Oh yes, Ng. Very good. Ha, ha, got it.”

  “No, sir,” explained Billy, leaving the lab for the offices in the back. “We do need to plug everything in. TAPCON authorised it all without finishing the job.”

  That kind of sloppiness made Jameson uneasy – details unchecked, boxes not ticked. But he’d made his call, he was improvising now, and there was no going back.

  Tina Gössner, entered the Lab. “Nurse Ng tells me there’s something urgent, Phil?”

  “Tina. Yeah, I’m going down to the surface. There’s an infected muidog that I want to get onboard for examination.”

  She gave him a look.

  “Yeah, I know, I know. Listen, there’s something going on down there. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I need you to run some tests on this mutt after we bring it in. Can you do that?”

  “And you’ve put this idea to TAPCON?” Tina asked.

  “Not in so many words… Look, I want to get to the root of this. Too many strange things are going here. It doesn’t make sense, any of this. Sempre is up to something, I’m sure of it.”