The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)

by John K. Irvine

  Nevertheless, Muhaze was evolving into a breathtaking city. It was still only a New Frontier development, but Muhaze was already awe-inspiring in its sheer scale of ambition. Despite being modelled on a simplistic, Earth-based grid plan and then separated into sixty symmetrical Arrondissement, its architecture was astounding. Huge, hi-tech constructions thrusting assuredly upwards into the clouds, while, everywhere, sleek connecting walkways and transport lines (made powerful with curved forms of glass and stone) criss-crossed over the teeming streets below. Spiralling towers and metallic, paraboloidal structures shone in the light like part of some enormous, alien treasure chest.

  It was stunning.

  It was visionary.

  Just like me, thought Sempre.

  TAPCON Towers had been built on a specially chosen site, enabling it to survey the city from the best vantage point available and, more importantly, to make sure that the people of Muhaze saw the TAPCON building at all times. Sempre wanted them to know TAPCON was there, watching them, observing them, and to never forget who was in charge around here.

  Sempre ran his conglomerate like an iron fist in a velvet glove. All amiability and pleasantries on the surface, whilst underneath lurked a vicious, murdering tyrant capable of the utmost depravity; able and willing to go to any lengths in order to succeed in his obscene objectives.

  For example, when somebody joined TAPCON, they needed to submit to a lengthy commissioning procedure: a 6hr ‘interview’ during which they were connected to lie detectors and brain scanners, then asked questions about their innermost secrets. Everything about their past was revealed to Sempre and filed away in triplicate at various strongholds on the TAPCON premises.

  Only Sempre himself was allowed access to this information. So, in effect, he enjoyed complete control over his employees, and they knew it. If anyone stepped out of line, Sempre only had to remind them of the agreement they’d made at the beginning of their employ.

  It worked like a charm.

  But he also operated a further, more sinister, system of control.

  Sempre wanted the best scientists, the best engineers, the best architects, the best doctors, lawyers, teachers et al that lived on Tapi-36 (or elsewhere in the Michael 6 Quadrant) to work for him. Though not all of these talented individuals wanted to punch-the-clock for a man like Sempre. They saw through the lies and deceit, unlike the general public, who were hoodwinked on a daily basis. So, as a result, he had to develop a technique, a method to make sure he got his man, woman - or alien.

  Once Sempre had headhunted a worker he would first offer them a position at TAPCON. If they refused, he would then try some gentle persuasion from the Specialists (i.e. electro-shock torture). This usually did the trick. And if it didn’t, then their children, their wives, husbands, fathers and mothers, whatever living relations they had, would all be kidnapped and held prisoner in mutant-guarded camps on Reis-91.

  There was no atmosphere suitable for humans on the first moon, and it was perfectly feasible that your family members could find themselves on the outside of the prison’s oxygenated environment, should you not kow-tow to Sempre’s wishes. This method was full proof; 100% effective. It was a well-known fact that, eventually, Sempre got his way.

  Always.

  But, in truth, there was one moment in his execrable life when this had not happened. But it had occurred before he was even born; when he’d no say in the matter, so it was hardly his fault that he was born on the 2nd percentile for height.

  This unfortunate incident was important to understanding David Sempre and his many ‘personal issues’. At only 4’ 9”, Sempre was in the possession of a disorder that was commonly known on Earth as a ‘Napoleon complex’. It made him dislike and feel inferior to (in an extremely aggressive way) everybody taller than him - and that was quite a lot of people.

  The radiant city shone softly in the haze of the early evening light - but TAPCON’s kingpin wasn’t in the mood for sublime views or for enjoying his architectural achievements. He’d just received word from the airbase that Jameson had captured a young Code male on Baal-500 - and a sick muidog. Both were now onboard the Argon. He was not pleased, and now his fists were clenched up tight like two tiny, pink seashells.

  “Flugg?” spluttered Sempre, down the inter-vox. “Get me a link to the Argon, I want to talk to Jameson… Immediately!”

  “Yes, Mr. Sempre. Right away, sir,” smarmed Ulysses Flugg, Sempre’s rodent-faced secretary. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Sempre, sir?”

  “No, Flugg. No. Just do it. Now!”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” he replied, in a flurry of squirrel-like panic.

  In his office, Sempre began to talk out loud to himself: “He was explicitly told not to go down to the planet surface. Not under any circumstances! This was to be a neutral mission!”

  This talking to himself business was not unusual. He talked to himself quite a lot. He’d always done it. Ever since he was a child living away from home in Nufanot. He liked to pace up and down, as well - that and continually rock backwards and forwards.

  Sempre got up out of his chair and began to strut back and forth across the white pile rug of his office. “Damn that Jameson!” he blustered. “Why did I let him back into the programme?” It was unlike Sempre to chastise himself. However, this was fast becoming an exceptional case.

  There was a knock at the door.

  It was Flugg. He opened the door and poked his snout around the side. He was even shorter than Sempre. “Mr. Sempre, sir?” said Flugg, in his squeaky voice. “We have the link ready for you now, if you please, sir?” He should have used the inter-vox, but he liked to be as nosey as possible.

  “Thank you, Flugg, send it through to my screen,” said Sempre, calming himself.

  “Yes, sir,” said Flugg, closing the door, silently.

  Sempre pressed the button on his armchair.

  The doors slid open again and the plasma screen came out. Sempre waited for it to turn on, drumming his fingers on his desk, looking up at the clock, repeatedly pressing the click mechanism of his favourite pen – in, out, in, out. That Flugg, so slow. And why didn’t he use the inter-vox? Good thing for him that he’s shorter than me, thought Sempre. Presently, the screen faded up with the image of Jameson on the bridge of the Argon.

  “Ah, Captain Jameson,” he began, lengthening to his full sitting-down height. “Wonderful to see you again. How are you this evening, O Captain, my Captain?” he schmoozed.

  “I’ve been better,” muttered Jameson. “What do you want, Sempre?” he said, knowing full well what the TAPCON boss was going to say.

  “Now, now, there’s no need to be so impatient, Jameson. I’m sure you know why I’ve requested this communication. But very well, as you wish… I’ve heard from the airbase that you have detained a Code and his ‘pet’ onboard your… sorry, my ship? Is this true?”

  “It might be,” replied Jameson, flatly.

  “And, if you recall, I ordered this to be a neutral mission, am I correct?”

  “Cut to the chase. What’s your point, Sempre?”

  “Jameson, my dear fellow, come, come. You know, as well as I do, that what we have before us is a serious situation. You and your crew could be held in detention over an issue such as this. Imprisoned. Court-martialed, even. And that Code youth, he shot Lieutenant Cox, did he not? Badly injuring him, I gather. Attempted murder is a very grave interplanetary crime.”

  Jameson went silent. Sempre had him cornered.

  “I want the Code brought to Tapi-36, he’ll need to stand trial for his sins,” demanded the CEO.

  “But, Mr. Sempre, Cox is responding very well to his treatment and Dr. Gössner informs me he’ll be back to work in a matter of weeks. There should be no need for the Code -”

  “Ah, the lovely Dr. Gössner,” interrupted Sempre. “She is a terrific woman, isn’t she? Beautiful, intelligent, not too tall. And, I hear she’s a favourite of yours as well, Jameson?”

  Jameso
n pretended not to understand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about -”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” tittered Sempre. “I’m sure you do, Captain. But that is by the by. No, the Code youth will be brought to Muhaze for his day in court.”

  “But surely, given the circumstances, he can’t be tried for attempted -”

  “Oh, he can, Jameson. And he will!”

  “No! I must protest!”

  “You will do nothing of the sort! There will be no more protesting around here!” blazed Sempre.

  Jameson’s face was impassive.

  “You seem to have forgotten your place in all of this, Captain. It is I who will tell you what to do.”

  Jameson held his tongue, still fronting it out, yet inside he was fizzing.

  “Well, Captain, if you are not going to cooperate, I will have to command you to bring the Argon back to Muhaze. Therefore, I am cancelling your mission, with immediate effect. I expect you and your crew back in Muhaze by 12:00 hrs tomorrow - with the Code and his mongrel. A small fleet of V-wings will meet you at the perimeter to escort you back to the airbase.”

  “There’s no need, I am sure we can manage to -”

  “There is every need, Jameson! Every need! And you will tell that dreadful Zip reporter, when you get here, that the Codes’ abuse of animal life is indeed fact - that you were sickened by what you saw on Baal-500. That is an order, Captain Jameson!”

  Sempre flicked off his screen.

  A few months of detention would soon sort Jameson out. He always came back for more, tail between his legs, desperate to fly starships again. The Code youth, however, that was a different story. Sempre needed to be careful. Things could get very difficult once The Zip got hold of this. They were a necessary evil if he was going to succeed with his plans, but he needed to keep those he trusted at his side, and those he didn't, in full view. He was confident he would be able to turn the situation to his advantage. He’d always been able to do that in the past…

  Sempre pressed his inter-vox.

  “Flugg, send a message to Jon-7. Give him the current details concerning the Argon. Tell him it’s business as usual on The Zip tonight.” Then he sat down at his desk and looked satisfied with himself.

  Reaching down, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a file.

  He opened it and removed a letter marked To David: On the unfortunate event of my ‘death’. It was the one he liked to look at, every now and again, when things got a tad troublesome. It read:

  My dear David,

  If you have opened this letter then I am now ‘dead’. Ah, well. It comes to everyone, in time. Well… almost everyone.

  But now, to business… This letter is to inform all staff and employees of TAPCON that I have received conformation from the Interplanetary Federation of Systems, that you, David Sempre, are hereby named CEO from this moment forward.

  Until my return, I am,

  Air Marshal Christian Sashan FMSQ, TSAW, LMON.

  Sempre put the letter back into the file and returned everything to the bottom drawer, locking it.

  He smiled wickedly to himself.

  It might be time to wake up the dead, he thought.

  Chapter 6

  18:35 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Weah Mansions, Muhaze, Tapi-36)

  “So, there you have it, Mikita - it was just like I told you, I was cleaning up your things,” said Hanoi, standing in his living room, legs astride, like the alpha-male he was.

  “Oh, Han. Stop it. Please. Look, we need to talk.”

  Hanoi saw his moment and came over, putting his arms around her. “Exactly. We need to talk about how it’s going for you up at the Mu-U.”

  Come on, Mikita! Do it. Tell him. “Well, this is the thing, Hanoi. It’s not a great time for me, just now. I’ve got a big essay due next Wednesday for Tamashito - a 12 o’clock deadline - and it’s got to be a good one. If I flunk it then that’s me out of school. My ‘quota of required utilities will not be fulfilled’,” she mantra’d. “Which is why I’m not going to have the time to hang out with you that much anymore -”

  Hanoi cut in. “Well, then, we’d better get to work, eh? Can’t have you ending up as a Nite-Watch like me, can we?” He kissed Mikita on her forehead.

  Drain me, she thought. Is he ever going to take the hint?

  “What’s it on, anyway?” he asked, letting her go. “The essay, I mean.”

  “21st Century Earth-based Cryonic Theory - that MacPherson’s Law stuff – the Scottish guy. But really, I can manage -”

  “Hey! Hang on, I might have my old paper on that lying around somewhere. On my Serene maybe, I’ll go check.”

  “No, Han, really. There’s no need. I was just going to say that I won’t be able to -”

  “Wait a second, I’ll be right back.” Hanoi left the lounge and down the hall to his bedroom.

  Men. Why don’t they ever listen?

  Mikita’s father, Ichiro, had been like that.

  When he’d not been off flying spacecraft.

  When he’d not been saying: ‘There’s an adult world, and there’s a children’s world.’

  When he’d actually taken an interest in her life…

  “Yep, here it is!” Hanoi exclaimed, coming back into the lounge. “I only got a C-, but it might be good for a start, if you’re stuck, I mean?”

  “It’s OK, Han. I can manage on my own, honestly.”

  Hanoi stepped towards Mikita. “Why are you being so defensive, Miki? Why won’t you let me help?”

  “I’m not ‘defensive’. It’s just that I need to do things on my own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? On. My. Own.”

  Hanoi looked confused. “But we can have a future together, you and I. We’d make a great team. What with this chiseled chin, here, and your -”

  “No, Hanoi. Listen. It’s not that. And anyway, we hardly know each other. Now’s not the time to be talking about our future or being part of any team. It’s far too early for anyone to be making any kind of commitment to each other. Get to the point, Mikita! But, never mind all that, what I’m trying to say is, I think we shouldn’t -”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Hanoi, unexpectedly.

  “Oh. Good. So you agree with me that we should stop seeing… well… not that we were actually ‘seeing’ -”

  “Yes. I agree. It’s too early to talk about getting engaged, or marriage. But, soon, we’ll need to -”

  “Hanoi! Marriage? What in Herra’s name -?”

  “Well, Mikita. Look, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve wanted to say to you for some time now. I think I’m… I’m in love with you. Well, I don’t just think I am, I know I am.”

  Mikita took a breath. What? What did he just say?

  “There. I said it. And, you know what? It feels great! I love you! I love you, Mikita Smith!”

  Oh fire!

  “Look, Mikita,” continued Hanoi. “All this talk about TAPCON and The Zip and what-not. You know, they’re really not so bad. I mean, they employ me to look after their buildings. I make money. I live quietly. I have a good life. I have you. We have each other. And when you’re finished school in September, maybe I can talk to my boss and get you a job. Maybe we can even work together. Maybe I can get you something even better than what I do! You’re bright. Tamashito knows that, and I’m sure the people at TAPCON know it too. You wouldn’t believe what might come your way… if you only bend a little. Just say the right things to the right people, play the game a bit. Listen, let me put in a good word for you, eh? Things will work out. You’ll see.”

  Mikita said nothing. She was stunned. Even though she knew she was a product of the TAPCON system herself, she now resented everything it stood for.

  “Well, what do you think?” Hanoi asked.

  “I think you’ve lost your draining mind! Fire, Hanoi! Do you seriously believe I would ever consider working for TAPCON? Have you gone mad?”

  “Well, you’ve been through the system. I
’d hoped that we could at least talk about it.”

  Makita exploded. “That is the single most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!”

  Hanoi was incensed. “Well, what are you going to do Mikita?” he said, aggressively. “Hang around with your PASIV friends, protesting all day long? Is that what you think? I mean, do you plan on contributing anything to Muhazian society? To this great, new city of ours? All you do is sponge off the state and flounce around ridiculing everything? Well? Answer me?”

  Mikita’s eyes went dark. “At least I won’t be sneaking around other people’s apartments and reading their private thoughts on their Serenes?” she countered. “You know, Polo was right. What are you up to, Hanoi Jones?”

  “Up to? Polo thinks I’m ‘up to’ something, does she?” he said, furiously.

  “Yes! She does! And so do I!”

  Suddenly, Hanoi raised his hand as if to strike her.

  Mikita reeled. “Ooooh. Ooooh. Who’s a big man, then? Who’s a big, strong man? Go on, hit me. Hit me, Hanoi. Hard as you like. I won’t feel a thing. Not a draining thing. Because I’ve had so much pain in my life a little bit more won’t make the blindest bit of difference!”

  Hanoi’s face became twisted in anger…

  “Go on! Do it!” Mikita taunted.

  It burned with hate…

  “Do it, Hanoi!” Mikita squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow to land.

  …

  But nothing came.

  …

  She opened her eyes again, slowly, one at a time.

  Hanoi had lowered his arm. His face was full of remorse.

  “Mikita, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I wasn’t going to hit… I … I love you, Mikita.”

  “No. No, Hanoi. You don’t love me,” she said, backing away.

  He moved towards her, his arms outstretched. “Yes, Mikita. Yes, I do. I do love you.” He came closer. His eyes troubled and distraught.