The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)

by John K. Irvine

Mikita knew that look. She’d seen it often enough over the past 16 years. She figured that Polo must know why she was in trouble; what with The Zip working as it did and the information travelling so quickly.

  As fate would have it, a more recent picture of Mikita flashed up on the screen immediately behind Polo – it was the new short, chromium-haired version.

  Oh, fire, she thought, as she walked slowly towards her cousin.

  It was then that Polo saw her for the first time, recognising her despite her new hair colour. She waved to Mikita. A little, girly wave. Mikita could tell she was terrified.

  Mikita waved back and was about to speak when -

  “Run, Mikita!” screamed Polo, bursting into tears. “It’s a trap! Run, drain you, run!”

  Suddenly, TTF agents were swarming all over the concourse.

  Mikita turned and ran for the sign marked ‘To The Shuttles’.

  “I’ll come for you, Polo! Don’t worry! I’ll come for you!” she shouted. She hoped that Polo had heard her - the station was now so full of noise.

  Mikita was a quick runner, but whether or not she could out-sprint a bunch of angry TAPCON agents, was another matter.

  She saw a guard-mutant over on Platfrom 2 about to blow his whistle signalling that an overland-shuttle was about to depart. Mikita ran like she’d never run before, tearing through the station towards the platform. She looked over her shoulder and saw a fistful of agents running after her - to her dismay, they were gaining on her.

  The whistle went for the train to depart. She was going to miss it!

  Mikita could see the guard waving his green flag for the doors to close. But she was nearly at the last carriage and could almost reach out and grab hold of it. Everything that happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Mikita leapt frantically for the fast-closing door, careering dangerously through the air. She held her breath as the moment seemed to last forever, as if some greater entity had pressed stop and time stood still. Then she felt herself landing with a bone-shattering jolt inside the compartment. The mechanised door slammed closed behind her.

  She’d made it!

  Mikita got up quickly and looked out of the window down the track-line towards the station. She saw the agents slowing up, out of breath, then they began to argue with each other, gesticulating wildly and pushing each other about. Some of them started talking into their phones and walkie-talkies. She knew that they weren’t giving up. The agents never gave up.

  Looking around inside the vestibule, Mikita noticed that a vacant toilet cubicle was directly opposite her. She opened the door, went inside and sat down. She pressed a flashing red button and an automatic-latch flew across. She moved the door handle upwards, locking it in a secure position. She took a long, deep breath and exhaled.

  She was safe.

  For now.

  Chapter 14

  22.48 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Aarmaten District, Baal-500)

  Jameson woke up and looked at his clock. It read 22:48. He’d been taking a quick power nap but found he couldn’t sleep. There was too much to think about, and his brain was repeatedly churning over all the information; the different ifs and buts involved in the problems facing him on the Argon.

  How could he stop being a ‘by-the-book’ style of leader, yet still make a success of things? He’d never done his job this way before - going against the grain, winging it.

  His influence and the levels of respect garnered from his the staff were important things to Jameson. His work made him what he was and he defined himself by his achievements. He put pressure on himself to make sure every decision he made was his best and felt compelled to make the consummate effort every single time. Now that he'd broken all his rules he didn't know what to do; he was out of his depth.

  He got up and made his way down to Loading.

  Despite the fact that the Argon was a small-to-medium sized starship, it was still a 24/7 operation when on a mission. Whether it was maintenance, stock checking or plain old interplanetary warfare, the Argon never stopped - and tonight was no exception.

  When Jameson arrived at LB, Lead-Out, Hellius and Crim had managed to raise the Argon Rover up on hydraulic lifts and were examining the suspension underneath the vehicle.

  “We hae a wee problem, sir,” said Crim. “Seeing as how Corporals Gadget and Lead-Out hae replaced the entire broken baw joint, all evidence of ony foul play cannae be determined directly fae the vehicle as she staunds. However, the guid news is, we hae yon old steering knuckle and joint - here.” Crim was holding up the part in her hand. “Ye can see that it has definitely been worn awa by something; completely jiggered, by-the-way. The Rover would certainly hae crashed haud we no ran a preliminary oorselves.”

  “The only problem now is whether or not The Zip will take our word on it, sir,” said Hellius. “They could easily accuse us of fabrication and we would have no real support for that kind of claim.”

  “None, save our word as soldiers and air personnel, Sergeant,” bridled Jameson, fixing Hellius with some well-practiced pride.

  “Yes, pardon me, sir. We would have that, certainly, sir,” answered the humbled soldier.

  “Well, at least we have some evidence,” said Jameson. “And what about the documentation? Any word from McGilvary and Gadget?”

  “It seems to have been signed off by a mutant, sir,” said McGilvary entering the Loading Bay with Gadget behind her. She'd found the list of equipment and their respective officials on Lead-Out’s tablet. “But, it’s very odd, sir. There are no mutants working at the airbase.”

  “And the order, McGilvary, does it say who the order came from originally?”

  “Yes, sir, it does. It says… Um, you’re not going to like this, Captain.”

  “Who is it, Lieutenant? Tell me.”

  “It’s you, sir. It says ‘Captain Philip Jameson: 28 July, 2187’… I think we’ve been had, sir.”

  Lead-Out’s C-system began to beep, breaking the shocked silence that had enveloped the Bay.

  She took the call.

  “Yes, ma’am… Yes… I will, ma’am… right away…” she signed off and looked up at Jameson. “That was Dr. Gössner, sir. It’s about Spoolu… It appears she is going to be a mother, sir.”

  “Well, we finally managed to get the scanner up and running, Phil,” said Tina. “Ng made the discovery, just now.”

  “And have you told Zanthu?”

  “Yes. And now he’s busy pacing about his room like an expectant father. The interesting thing is that Spoolu is now showing some signs of recovery. Zanthu thought that she was reacting to him sitting with her and thinking his positive thoughts.”

  Jameson raised an eyebrow.

  “Stranger things have happened, Phil. And science will, ultimately, only tell us so much. There is a problem, though. We had considered delivering the offspring early - then we discovered the foeti were only a month old, they would almost certainly die if we went ahead. Muidogs must go full term. Their premature birth mortality rate is very high. We need to keep Spoolu alive. Ideally, we need to get back to Muhaze and get her sorted out, there.”

  “I see, Tina. Thanks.”

  “Any luck with the evidence collation?”

  “Some. Though it’s not looking great. We still have the NIT, but no proof whatsoever that it came from TAPCON, just Gadget’s hypothesis. And then there’s the damaged suspension, but I’m not convinced that will hold up to any real scrutiny. No, I think our best line is what’s lying right in front of us - old Spoolu, here. The amount of sympathy the animals were receiving before we left Muhaze, it was incredible. We tell The Zip that Zanthu risked his life for his dog and, with luck, the general public will lap it up. They might just go for it. If we can play Sempre off with this, he might be forced to cancel Zanthu’s trial. It could also buy us enough time to find out what’s really going on here.”

  “You really think Sempre is behind all of this, don’t you, Phil?”

  “I know he is, Tina. I
just know it.”

  Chapter 15

  22:54 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Lojikaal Parc, Muhaze, Tapi-36)

  Mikita was busy washing the silvery dye out of her hair, when there was a knock on the toilet door.

  “Open up!” exclaimed a voice.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. Oh, fire! They’re here!

  “Open up! Now!”

  The TTF, they’re here, on the shuttle!

  “Open up! I need see you tickets, please!”

  Mikita relaxed… it was a guard-mutant!

  Oh, thank fire! “Um, just a minute please!” she said. “I’m a bit, uh… ‘preoccupied’ at the moment.”

  “Oh, yes. I sorry, Miss. I wait.”

  Mikita knew it was time to get off the shuttle. The mutant would recognise her when she came out of the toilet and the TTF would already be contacting the driver, informing them that she was onboard.

  Mikita needed to know where she was in terms of the city so she could form some kind of escape route when leaving the station. She tried to work it out in her mind. I’ve been on the shuttle for about 10 minutes, heading northwest. This shuttle is the high-speed sort, so that would put us at about -

  Mikita heard the screech and grind of brakes.

  The shuttle slowing down!

  She would have to make a dash for it. She’d have to get off at this station, regardless of where she was in terms of the city.

  The shuttle came to a halt. Mikita could hear the carriage doors letting off their hydraulic phhhhhhhuuut sound as they opened out onto the platform.

  She pressed the green-arrowed button on the wall beside the toilet door, and peeked out into the vestibule. The guard-mutant was helping an elderly passenger out of the shuttle doors and down onto the platform. This was her chance.

  She left the WC and grabbed a small suitcase from across the way on the luggage rack. Mikita held it up to shield her face and walked out of the shuttle door and down the steps. She could see the guard was occupied helping the old human with her luggage, so she scurried past them, heading for the exit.

  Looking up at the station sign, Mikita saw that she'd made it to Lojikaal Parc - a station in the far north of the city, in Arrondissement 44 - where her Aunt Fizz lived in her secure accommodation.

  She cautiously looked around for any trace of the TTF. The platform looked clear, except for a few passengers who had alighted, and Mikita was tempted to think that she’d lost her pursuers. But she knew better than to harbour any false hopes. The TTF were ruthless when hunting down a fugitive, they wouldn’t let up their search that easily - and they still had Polo.

  Drain them! she thought. They used Polo as shizzing bait to catch me!

  She quickly looked at her meta-file status: no messages.

  Polo was definitely in custody.

  Mikita set off down the platform. But where would she go after she came to the end of it? Where could she go to be safe? And what would happen to her after that? Would she be a fugitive forever? She had no plan and there seemed to be no escape from her situation. Everyone was looking for her - TAPCON, the mutants, members of the public - what a disaster it all was.

  “Hey, Mikita,” a voice called. “Over here!”

  Mikita turned around, readying herself for escape. To her surprise she saw it was Vannerman - behind a large advertisement signing near the station cafe.

  “Vannerman? What are you doing here?” Mikita asked, perplexed.

  “Yeah, over here… Quickly!” said Vannerman, waving his hand for her to come over to him.

  Mikita hurried across to Vannerman and saw Taarja beside him, crouching down.

  “Hiya, Mikita,” she cackled.

  “Um, hi, Taarja. Listen, are you two following me, or something?” she said, suspiciously. “Are you with the TTF?”

  “Who, us? Ha, ha! Noooooo. No way. We’re wanted by them. You know, for dealing and stuff,” Vannerman sniffed.

  “Oh, um, right,” replied Mikita, still confused.

  “Yeah, yeah, they’ve been watching us for weeks. Things were getting pretty tense down at Weah Mansions, let me tell you. We reckon Dontai spilled the beans. Anyway, we’re on our way to Grafuulen. Gonna hide low for a while, keep an eye out, until things quieten down a bit, you know what I mean?”

  Mikita nodded, but she wasn’t really taking it all in.

  “So,” Vannerman continued. “What are you doing out here?”

  Mikita was lost for words. How could she explain to them what had just happened? The truth would be unbelievable: Well, funny you should ask, Vannerman. You see, I just killed Hanoi Jones, you know, my so-called boyfriend? But it was an accident, you understand. And now I’m wanted by TAPCON and every single mutant on Tapi-36! Somehow that didn’t sound so great. And anyway, they were druggies, what could they do to help?

  “Me? I’m on my way to see my Aunt Fizz. She lives around here, erm, near here,” said Mikita, watching their reactions.

  “Oh, OK. Hey, have you hurt yourself?” Vannerman was looking at her arm.

  “No, no. I caught my sleeve on the shuttle doors as I -”

  BANG!

  A shot rang out!

  Mikita screamed and started to run down the platform as Vannerman and Taarja dived for cover. Stealing a desperate look over her shoulder, Mikita could see a TTF agent at the far end of the station. The passengers had all either scattered or hit the deck and he now had a clear view of Mikita.

  BANG! BANG!

  She launched himself forward, sliding along the platform as two bullets flew over her head. She crashed into a luggage trolley sending it flying off the side of the platform and onto the tracks. She nearly went with it, but managed to control her forward motion enough to stop, her head hanging over the edge, her hands tightly gripping a slab of jutting paving stone.

  BANG!

  Mikita cowered under her arms in fear.

  Then, suddenly, everything went quiet.

  She looked up.

  There, to her left, was Vannerman holding a Blaster-Gun.

  Mikita turned around. The TTF agent was rolling on the ground in pain, clutching his leg. Vannerman came over to Mikita and helped her up.

  “Hey, close call, lady.”

  “Yeah, but… you… you shot an agent, Vannerman,” she shuddered.

  “Oh, yeah, right. So I did. Well, we’d better get out of here, then. Come on!”

  Chapter 16

  09.09 - Sunday, July 29, 2187 (Froome Headquarters, Kloq-888)

  Jon-7 was not happy. Nobody was paying any attention to him. Well, not as much as he would’ve liked, at least. And, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend, Petunia Booti, had just left him for an android. Now he was unhappy and lonely. He needed an ego boost, so he’d taken to watching himself on The Zip.

  He'd just caught the morning slot (it was the repeat of last night’s interview) when he saw Mikita on the news.

  “Oooooooo… I like her,” he said to Budgie, his raggedly dressed, longhaired, stumpy-legged, side-kick. “And now a silvery-blonde, very nice.”

  “Ooooooo… yes, Mr. 7.”

  Jon-7 smacked Budgie on the back of the head. “Shut it, Budgie! She’s mine!”

  Budgie was rubbing his noggin, looking up at Jon-7, confused.

  “Hmmmm. And wanted for murder,” the Froome leader said, sounding impressed. “That kind of skill could come in handy around here.”

  “Ooooooo… yes, Mr. 7,” Budgie repeated.

  His brain got a bit stuck every so often, and what with Jon-7 constantly whacking him on the bonce, it was even glitchier than usual today.

  “Go and get me a link, Budgie. I want to talk to the The Sempre. Go on, you little nyaff. Go, go… Now!”

  “Ooooooo… yes, Mr. 7,” not moving an inch.

  Jon-7 picked up his empty Mu-tea mug from off his desk and chucked it at his assistant, hitting him squarely in the face.

  “Owwwwwwww!!” screeched Budgie, his brain whirling around inside his miniscule skull and u
njamming itself. “Yes, Mr. 7, right away, sir!” he said, back to his normal grovel.

  Budgie got up from where he’d been reiterating away and went into the Communications Chamber (or Com-Cham, as they liked to call it between the two of them). In reality, it was a small room with an old-fashioned, Earth-based machine in it that had once been called a ‘personal computer’. It still worked, but they were known to be highly unpredictable, even when they were brand new.

  The gizmos at the Froome were not very up to date, to say the least, and the term ‘high-end’ was completely unknown to them. Put simply, their gear was positively archaic. However, it was all they had. Sempre kept them on a tight budget and didn’t allow them any luxuries. ‘It keeps them hungry’, he would say. Hungry, maybe, but the seeds of anarchy were already growing amongst the anarchists.

  There were 42 members of the Froome and virtually all of them wanted Jon-7 to confront Sempre over several gripes they had with TAPCON: their shabby work conditions on Kloq-888, their wages, their health insurance and a few other minor moans and groans. The Froome were a volatile group and prone to moments of gross stupidity and rash judgement - a design flaw that had plagued Jon-7 ever since he'd taken over from Mayette Froome, seven years ago - not that he was anything to message home about on the smarts front.

  Mayette Froome had been the archetypal Iron Lady. She'd run the Froome single-handed, always demanding that her followers obey her every command, that they understood she was the boss. She asked a lot from them and if they delivered they were rewarded, and rewarded well. But if not - there was hell to pay. She was also Air Marshall Sashan’s secret wife.

  “I have Mr. Sempre on the PC, Mr. 7, sir,” said Budgie, his brain now up and running at full speed (i.e. pedestrian).

  “Excellent. And is the monitor working, my little goof-ball?”

  “Yes, I can see Mr. Flugg, sir. It’s a bit crackly, but it’s not bad for a Sunday morning, what with all the Yu-webbers.”

  “Good. Thank you, Budgie,” said Jon-7, swaggering his way into the Com-Cham. “Now, go away, you wretch. Leave me in peace.”