The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)
Page 7
Chapter 8
20:52 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Weah Mansions, Muhaze, Tapi-36)
Mikita felt her body crashing heavily to the ground. She’d fallen over 20ft and, miraculously, she was still alive.
Then she noticed she was lying on top of something.
No… Wait… she thought. I’m on top of someone!
“Good evening, Mikita Smith,” said a familiar, though slightly winded voice.
She looked over her shoulder at the body beneath her. Drain me, it’s Gompi. I’ve landed on Gompi!
“Sorry, Mikita Smith. I try catch you. You too heavy for me,” apologised the mutant.
“No, no, it’s OK, Gompi,” she said. “Thank you. You’ve saved my life.” Mikita rolled off him and stood up. She felt around herself for any damage.
She was sore, but no bones were broken. However, her arm was very painful - it looked like a serious flesh wound.
“Are you OK, Gompi?” asked Mikita, looking up towards Hanoi’s flat for signs of the TAPCON agents.
“Yes, I fine,” he replied. “You not worry, Mikita Smith.”
As luck would have it, Mikita found that her view was completely obscured by the fire escape. She was directly underneath it. They wouldn’t be able to fire on her from that vantage point. Now she had to get out of there, without any more delay.
“You have blood on hands, Mikita Smith,” pointed out Gompi, getting to his feet.
She looked down at her palms, they were red with Hanoi’s blood.
“And arm. You are hurt, Mikita Smith? Gompi help?”
“Yes… um, no, it’s not what you think, I… Oh, I’m sorry Gompi. Look, I have to go. But thank you for saving me.”
She made to leave, but Gompi had already taken off his cravat and was tying it around the top of Mikita’s arm. She winced as he tied a knot in the bandage. “Thank you, Gompi. Now really, I must go… I must.”
“It is good. I can finish with garbage. Good-bye, Mikita Smith.” Gompi had been putting out the rubbish. The bins were located under the fire escape.
Mikita smiled, weakly. “Bye, Gompi, and thank you again,” she said, and started to run down the backstreet and off into the night.
Upstairs, in Hanoi’s flat, the agents were arguing.
“Shizz and fire! How many times did you draining well miss, Zeus? Was it four, or was it five?” teased one of them.
“I definitely got her with that last shot, Fitz, definitely,” replied Zeus, the sniper, but his partner wasn’t convinced. “It was dark, Fitz! I couldn’t get a good look!”
“Oh, that’s great! Sempre will be delighted with that, won’t he? He’ll take that as a perfectly acceptable excuse!”
“Right men, cut it out,” interrupted Wenceslaus, their moustachioed senior. “We need to get onto her trail, pronto. Fitz, contact surveillance. Let’s find out where she’s going.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“Sir? I’ve found her Serene,” said Ryptal, a keen junior agent on his first mission.
“Good, take it down to control, Ryptal. There’ll be something on it we can use. Green? Timmons? Get this mess sorted out here. No evidence is to be left. Nothing. The rest of you men, get yourselves down to the vehicles and start searching the streets. We can’t afford to lose the suspect. Mikita Smith is one dangerous young woman.”
Chapter 9
20:57 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Aarmaten District, Baal-500)
“It looks like some sort of neurological invasion technology, sir. ‘NITs’ they’re usually called. Oh, man, this is one impressive piece of kit,” effused Corporal Gadget. “You’ll note that its appearance is exactly like that of the Earth-based culicidae family; midges, mosquitoes etc. You couldn’t tell them apart if you tried; except for the body armour. Truly amazing. It has all the right bits in all the right places: wings, legs, antennae and a proboscis, right here - that’s the bit that’ll do you the damage.”
Gadget was in the large operating theatre next to the lab. He had a close-up image of the wriggling beast on a large video screen and was pointing to the insect’s lengthy, exploratory appendage that when extended (as it was constantly trying to do under its electro-magnetic duress) was about 20 times the size of its entire body.
“If I can just dismantle the power supply,” he said, as he began disconnecting some miniscule wires from the bug’s insides. “If I can just get to the… yep, that’s done it.”
The creature stopped moving.
“Fascinating… and fully programmable, too,” said Gadget.
“Can ye tell us how it daes its dirty work, Corporal? How it attacks its prey?” asked Crim, her Scots accent strong enough to deep-fry a Mars bar at twenty paces.
“Well, Sergeant, I would hazard that our little booger here is programmed to invade an animal’s ear canal, latch itself on in there, with these hooks, here.” He pointed to the sharp barbs on the legs of the terrible tick. “And, then, it rams its sneezer straight into the brain of the host. In this case, Zanthu’s muidog. Then does whatever it has to do, its victim goes nuts, and we’re left with a completely deserted planet, except for a few thousand psychotic animals. Quite clever, really,” he said, again with a somewhat misplaced respect.
“But who’s responsible for all this?” asked McGilvary.
“Yeah, looks like the work of the Specialists, I would say, ma’am,” Gadget replied. “Betcha’ a Muhazian wooden nickel on it.”
“Sempre,” said Jameson, flatly, to himself.
“Sorry, Captain?” said McGilvary.
“It’s Sempre, it has to be. Gadget’s right. It’s why TAPCON are in such a panic about us having gone down to the surface; why the Argon Rover had been ‘de-commissioned’ before we left Muhaze. It all makes sense. The mission was classified as neutral so we would never find anything; never even have the chance to find anything! Our little excursion here, it’s all been done for public display. We’re a draining circus, that’s what we are! Oh, that Sempre. He’s good. He’s very good.”
“But surely, sir,” offered New-Boy. “I mean, we know that Sempre’s obviously not the greatest. But this is on a different level of heartlessness, even for him, sir.”
“Nothing, Private, nothing is beyond David Sempre. I’m convinced of that more and more, every single day,” said Jameson, emphatically. “He wants the Codes off Baal-500, I’m certain of it.”
“But why, Captain Jameson?” asked Lead-Out. “Is it land, perhaps - for more hostages?”
“No, Corporal. Like Reis-91 this moon is small and uninhabitable to humans,” replied Jameson. “No, it must go deeper than that - and we need to find out exactly what he’s up to. In fifteen hours time we’ll be back in Muhaze. TAPCON don’t know that we’ve found the ‘NIT’, as Gadget calls it, so, for now, we keep schtum about all this. I think our best option is to prepare our evidence and go straight to The Zip during press call - maximum exposure. And not a word of this finds its way to Zanthu, OK?”
The Code was still in the lab with Spoolu. He’d not been party to the discussion.
“But, sir, The Zip is in cahoots with TAPCON,” said McGilvary. “They’ll never believe a word we say. And after our performance last night, neither will the general public. We wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d be called traitors. They’d want our blood!”
“BLAST THE CREW! BLAST THE CREW!” started up Ω, to tense laughter.
Jameson’s unsmiling face told them he was not amused: “Then what would you propose, Lieutenant?” he said, testing his second-in-command.
“I’m… I’m not sure, sir,” replied McGilvary - she still had much to learn before she could be in charge of her own ship.
“Anyone else have a better idea?”
The crew were silent.
“OK, I think we take our chances,” Jameson announced, with some finality. “They may be in league with TAPCON, but they are one step removed from Sempre and his cronies. It’s our best shot. Hellius, Crim, I need you to examine the Rover and lo
ok for anything that denotes sabotage. Check the entire vehicle - we’re going to require some hard evidence to support our claims. McGilvary, Gadget, I want you to go through all of the electronic documents and hard-copy paperwork that TAPCON issued before the launch. We need the names of the staff that were assigned to the Loading Bay equipment, the name of the person who authorised the Rover’s signing-off from operation, and I want to know where the order came from in the first place. Get down to Loading and see what you can come up with.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Gadget and McGilvary, following the two Sergeants.
“Dr. Gössner? If you and Nurse Ng would take care of our pet earworm here? We’ll need images, video - anything you can get. I presume that this Earth-based microscope will do all that?”
“Yes, sir, it will. We’ll get on to that straight away, sir,” said Tina.
“Thank you, Ti -, um, Dr. Gössner.”
Tina smirked at his error.
Ω had already gone back to the flight deck - Lead-Out was the only member of the crew remaining.
“Corporal, take Zanthu back to his room now, will you? I don’t need him hanging around here while Dr. Gössner is getting things prepared.”
“Yes, sir. No problem,” she replied. Lead-Out went through to the lab where she found Zanthu dozing off in his chair. His bedside vigil was admirable, but he also needed some proper rest given what he'd been through. He woke with a start as Lead-Out approached the table system.
“I’m sure Dr. Gössner will be able to make Spoolu better, Zanthu, don’t worry.”
“Spoolu is a strong dog. She is like us Codes,” said Zanthu, trying to convince himself. “Though I too hope the doctor can save her.”
“She’s a beautiful animal. I bet she is a good friend to you,” said Lead-Out.
“Yes, she is,” replied Zanthu. “She is my best friend.”
A teardrop fell down his cheek. It surprised the young Code and he quickly wiped it away with his forefinger. He didn't want anyone to see him crying. He was a man now. It wasn’t allowed. Code menfolk do not cry, he told himself.
“You are a kind person, Corporal Lead-Out,” said Zanthu, disarming her slightly.
“Oh, not really,” she replied. “It’s all part of the service.”
“I am better now,” said Zanthu, “You must take me to my room, yes?”
“Yes, Zanthu,” replied Lead-Out, back to her formal self. “If you would follow me, please?”
Corporal Kimberly Lee: hard as nails on the outside, soft as a lamb on the inside - she was the heart and soul of any mission she was assigned to.
She was nicknamed Lead-Out because of her abilities as the front-runner in the advance party, the ‘lead-out’ man. Also it work with her last name ‘Lee’. She did her best to hide her natural beauty behind overalls, oil and dirt, not knowing that it really only added to the charm, while her shortly cropped dark hair gave her an edgy, boyish look that she was comfortable with - Lead-Out was a bona-fide tomboy.
She'd nearly been blown to pieces on a mission two years ago, and this required her to have a prosthetic electro-limb attached to where her lower left leg used to be. Since then, she'd been mainly working in Technical - most of the time with Gadget - and she'd become highly skilled at her job.
That said, the bomb incident had not dented the 23 year-old’s passion for the field and she was desperate to get back out there, where the real action was. She lived for that rush. The Loading Bay had its moments, but nothing compared to the intoxication she felt on the field of duty. Lead-Out knew she was ready for that life again, and she'd a feeling it was going to come about sooner than anyone expected.
Chapter 10
21:02 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (The Zip, Muhaze, Tapi-36)
“My opinion on the Codes? Well, I like them, Ignacio,” began Jon-7. “You see, our moon, Kloq-888, orbits past them every so often and I wave to the little
“Um, thank you, Jon-7,” burbled a shocked Ignacio Phinn.
“My pleasure. Down with TAPCON! Bunch of
Tall and striking, and with an asymmetric hairstyle of cascading blonde hair, Jon-7 was a media-type’s dream. Eyes perpetually hidden behind wraparound sunglasses and dressed in colourful, outlandish clothes with thousands of tiny mirror-like sequins sewn into them, he carried himself like a rock-star. The Zip couldn’t get enough of him and, despite always portraying him as a villain, never failed to give Jon-7 plenty of airtime. He was a bad-guy all right (and one who didn’t mind using violence as his first form of defence) but with a roguish glamour - and great teeth.
The transmission quickly switched back from the Froome leader to The Zip studio, where Phinn was there with David Sempre.
“And our apologies for the language used by Jon-7 in that interview,” said the anchorman, in embarrassment - then turned to Sempre. “Mr. Sempre, sir, thank you for joining us in the studio this evening. I believe you have some exciting news for the people of Tapi-36?”
“Yes, Ignacio. Yes, I do,” began Sempre, oilily. “Today, we received word, from the Starship Argon itself, that Captain Jameson and his crew have managed to -”
“TAPCON lies! All of it, lies! Sempre, you’re full of
“Mr. 7,” patronised Sempre. “Your interview is over. I would thank you to allow me my turn to speak.”
“The Froome will attack Muhaze this week! This week, I tell you!” shouted the terrorist. “Citizens of Tapi-36, this is a warning - the Froome are coming! Coming to blow hot smoke up your
“Um… er…” stammered Phinn. “Once more, The Zip wishes to apologise for Jon-7’s conduct and his use of the ‘vernacular’ in this broadcast. Mr. Sempre, my humble apologies, sir. I’m getting word that we were having problems with the satellite link.”
“Thank you, Ignacio, however there is no harm done. And let me just say this,” Sempre turned in his seat to address the camera head on. “People of Tapi-36, my people. An outburst or threat of this nature is the very reason TAPCON needs the TTF, the airforce, our army and the Specialists doing their groundbreaking work. It is for you that these special forces and wonderful scientists exist. They are here to protect us. They are here to defend this great planet of ours, at this, the New Frontier of space exploration. And so, with that said, you may rest assured that we will deal with Jon-7 with the utmost severity.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sempre,” slimed Phinn. “Wise words, indeed. I’m sure that everyone on Tapi-36 concurs with that sentiment. Now, please, do continue, sir, with the riveting news from the Argon.”
“Yes, of course, Ignacio. As I was saying, yesterday afternoon, Captain Jameson and the crew of the Argon arrested a young Code male on Baal-500. This Code shot, and seriously wounded, our valiant Flying Officer Cox in an act of cowardly violence. Despite this tragedy, our favourite crew has managed to save a wonderful muidog. They risked their lives to rescue this beautiful specimen and now they have it safely onboard the Starship Argon. Thank Herra.”
“Incredible, simply incredible,” gushed Phinn. “What a noble thing to do.” He was almost licking his lips at the thought of the follow-up story on his programme. Then asked, as if on cue: “But, was this not a ‘neutral’ mission, Mr. Sempre?”
“Yes,
it was just that, Ignacio. Yet so moved were they by the plight of the mistreated muidog, our brave team took it upon themselves to liberate it from those despicable, lily-livered Codes. In fact, they are bringing it back to Muhaze for tests as we speak. And I want the people of Tapi-36 to know that I will be contacting the IFS directly to report this cruel abuse of animal life.” Sempre smiled like a fleshy, evil baby.
“Mr. Sempre, on behalf of all of us, not just here in the studio, but all around our beautiful planet, please let me thank you for coming in today to talk to us tonight.” The level of fawning coming from Phinn was extraordinary.
Sempre, seemingly touched, said: “Why thank you, Ignacio. And thank you to everyone here at The Zip. Without you all, where would we be?”
“Too kind, Mr. Sempre, too kind, sir.”
“Credit where credit is due, Ignacio.”
It was a veritable love-in tonight at The Zip.
Phinn turned smugly toward the camera. “And we’ll have all the news from the Starship Argon as it arrives back in Muhaze tomorrow at noon. Kendall Crisp will be there for interviews with the crew and all the gossip - live and exclusive, here on The Zip. And now it’s over to Harriet Honeste for the latest edition of Mutant Makeovers From Hell.”
The show’s beret-sporting producer counted it down: “5-4-3-2-1 and… we’re off the air! Great show, gang! Thank you, Mr. Sempre, sir. And please accept our apologies for Jon-7’s interruption earlier. I will find out who is at fault here and fire them on the spot.”
“No, no. There is no need,” replied Sempre, humbly, as the soundman removed the microphone from his lapel. “It was nothing.”
Flugg was standing behind the camera like a hungry gerbil waiting to be fed crumbs by its owner.
The secretary smiled toothily as Sempre motioned that he wanted to leave quickly.
Sempre, Flugg and four bodyguards made their way through The Zip building to the front steps and out onto Paradi Square. Sempre’s car was waiting for him at the curb.