There was a brief, stunned silence.
Before the Froome jumped on Baloney!
Several of them began flicking his ears. Then Lapwing pulled down his trousers and Bardroola pushed him over then farted in his face. It was a typical example of Froome roughhousing.
Jon-7 had had enough: “Right! Stop it! Listen, listen! You’re all getting a bit ahead of yourselves now. Calm down, my duckies. Calm down!”
The Froome slowly settled into a hideous form of repose.
“Good. Thank you. Now look, I have an idea... It’s time for the Froome to take charge.”
“Take charge?” they all said, in unison. “Of what?” The Froome broke off into another hurly-burly of murmuring. ‘No, no, no’, they whispered. ‘He’s lost it’, ‘we can’t possibly’ and ‘what’s for dinner, Turnstile?’ - much to Jon-7’s annoyance.
“SHUT IT!” he bellowed, at the top of his pitch range.
And they did.
Jon-7 adjusted his wrap-arounds and ran a hand through his flowing locks. He wanted to look good for this next bit, even though it was only going to be brief.
“We CAN do it and we WILL do it,” he said, surprising himself with his simplistic eloquence. “Tomorrow, we take out TAPCON, we rob them of all their cash and we set up business on our own. Simple.”
It did the trick.
“Um… OK,” they all said, as one.
It was probably the mention of the word ‘cash’ that swung it.
Chapter 29
18:18 - Monday, July 30, 2187 (Starship Argon, nr. Kloq-888)
Crim buzzed the Stateroom door, and waited for a reply.
“Yes?”
“It’s Crim, sir. I hae yon Agent Smith for ye.”
“Send her right in, please, Sergeant.”
The door slid open and Crim allowed Mikita to walk past her into the room. Jameson was sitting pensively at a triangular-shaped onyx table.
The Stateroom was a further throw back to times gone by, and the old days of classic Earth-based starship design. It was all there: the multi-level open plan layout, the soft, white leather furnishings, the assortment of darkly-coloured glass objects and geometric accessories. The kind of room that, if you were at all perturbed by mankind’s nebulous relationship with the universe, made you want to put on a black roll-neck sweater and some beige slacks, and stare out of the main-viewer saying things like ‘We are like so many grains of sand, floating through the cosmos’. It would have been very ‘now’ back in the 21st Century, but here in the 22nd it just looked… quaint.
Phil Jameson was not dressed in a black polo-neck or beige slacks, he was in his TAPCON uniform. But he did look bothered about something.
“Miss Smith. I regret to have to inform you that we have decided to keep you here, onboard the Argon, for the time being. There has been no response from Kloq-888. The Froome can be somewhat unreliable, to put it mildly.”
“Yes, Captain. Thank you, sir.”
“You are new at TAPCON, I gather. When did you begin working here?” Something in the eyes…
“Oh, you know, recently, sir.”
“How recent, exactly?” That dark green colour…
“This morning,” replied Mikita, owning up.
Jameson nodded. “And were you a Primo?” So familiar…
Mikita was taken aback by Jameson’s abilities. Either he knew all this already and was just testing her, or he was very perceptive.
“Yes, a Primo. That would be correct, sir.”
“And you had a Sourcer, latterly, I mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see. And you have undergone the commissioning process, I would imagine?” She is so like her…
“Yes, sir.”
“And you came willingly to TAPCON?”
“No, I mean, yes, sir. Very willingly, sir.”
Jameson, looked at her, quizzically.
“What exactly is your mission to Kloq-888, Agent Smith?” The resemblance is uncanny…
“To arrange a peace initiative with the Froome. Well, to prevent Jon-7 from attacking Muhaze with the amount of force he has recently threatened. A falling out with Mr. Sempre, I gather, sir.”
Jameson paused for a moment. “Miss Smith, do you think I am a ‘by-the-book’ leader? I mean, from what little you have seen of me?”
She was surprised by the question, but felt she knew the response he wanted. “Oh, yes, sir, definitely.” Mikita smiled, just like McGilvary had done.
“Really?”
“Oh, I’m positive, sir. Yes.” Mikita was still smiling.
“Hmmm. That’s disappointing. But you are quite right, Miss Smith.” Jameson looked forlorn. “Now, tell me about your education... Mu-U, I would guess?”
“Yes, sir. After my parents died. I was taken in by the Airforce Kids programme. I went wild for a few years and then - ”
“Your parents, they died? So, for you to be taken in by Airforce Kids they must have worked for TAPCON, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. My mother was in Psych, my father was a pilot. He was killed in a Froome skirmish, along with my uncle.”
Jameson’s heart almost left his chest. He sat down rather abruptly in his big Captain’s chair.
Mikita looked concerned. “Are you OK, sir.”
“Yes, um, Miss Smith. I’m fine, thank you.”
Mikita nodded.
“Your mother’s name, Miss Smith. Tell me, was it… Kaori?” He'd not said that name out loud for over 10 years.
“Yes, Captain, my mother was called Kaori. But…”
Jameson froze. “Married to a Flight Lieutenant Ichiro Smith?” he said, with trepidation. I’m such a fool…
“Yes.”
It’s her…
“Why, did you know them?”
“I did, yes.” But Jameson said this like he wished he hadn’t known them. Or rather, that it was a source of profound regret that he’d done so. He knew now that his suspicions were correct. Such a fool…
“Are you all right, Captain Jameson,” asked Mikita. “You don’t look very well, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I couldn’t be better, Miss Smith. Really.” Jameson’s head was swimming with memories. Bad memories. Dangerous memories. Memories that could tear people apart.
“So, you knew my parents, then?” Mikita asked, now eager for more.
“Yes, and they were special people, Miss Smith. Very special.”
At those words, Mikita was transported back to the day when that nice man from the airbase came to tell her, and her brother, about their mother’s death. She could still picture the moment as if it were yesterday. The bright morning, the sun through the window, the shadow of the door opening as her teacher, Miss Pauwels, let the tall man into the principal’s office…‘A special person’ - he’d said that about my mother… She looked at Jameson again, then it flashed into her mind. Oh, fire!… It’s him!… He’s the man! “You’re the man that came to my school and told me and Kané about my mother! It was you! Wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. You were very kind. You were nice to us. You gave us sweets.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I,” he replied, then paused. “Miss Smith, there’s something else. Something important that I need to tell you. Something that may sound very strange. Something that you probably don’t want to hear.”
Mikita tensed. “Please don’t tell me I’m really an alien, or an android, or something,” she laughed, nervously.
“By Herra, you look so much like her…”
Jameson looked at Mikita’s dark green eyes. It was as if he were peering into his soul. He picked up a photo lying on his desk and held it out to her.
She looked at the image.
It was a picture of her, aged about 12.
She turned it over.
Written on the back was her name, in her mother’s handwriting.
“But… I don’t understand… This is a picture of me? How did you get -” she looked up at Jame
son, his brow was furrowed.
“Miss Smith… Mikita… your mother and I… we… well, we…”
“What are you trying to say, Captain? What are you trying to tell me?” she said, her heart racing.
“It was such a long time ago…”
“What? What was?”
“Such a very long time ago…”
“Tell me, Captain!”
“Yes, yes. I must, mustn’t I?”
Mikita looked at him imploringly.
Jameson steeled himself, and, finally, told his long kept secret, for the first time, to anyone: “I’m your father, Mikita.”
She shook her head: “No… No! My father’s dead. He was killed in a Froome Skirmish. You must be mistaken, Captain Jameson. I mean how could you be my father -” Then, something struck her. “No… Oh, no! This is another one of Sempre’s games! One of David Sempre’s evil, draining games, isn’t it?”
“Mikita, no. Of course not. No. Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything -”
“Where are they? Where are Mitchell and Quince then, Captain? Are they behind the door? I suppose that horrible loud noise is going to start again and you’ll all just sit there smiling at me, laughing at me?! You’re a liar! A draining, firing LIAR!”
Mikita ran out of the Stateroom in tears, and headed for her cabin.
Jameson held his head in his hands, and regretted his very existence.
Such a fool…
Chapter 30
19:22 - Monday, July 30, 2187 (TAPCON Towers, Muhaze, Tapi-36)
“Yes, father, everything is going to plan. It is such good news.”
David Sempre was delighted with himself. Firstly, the Argon was on its way to rid the universe of the Codes. Secondly, Jon-7 would soon be back where he belonged (i.e. under his thumb). Thirdly, Tamashito was progressing with his work on cryonic regeneration and, lastly, his father’s dream of developing the ultimate NIT was complete. Sempre had met with Quince and Mitchell - the new NIT was ready to go.
“Oh-David-nnmmmnn-This-makes-me-so-happy-my-son-nnmmmnn-How-proud-I-am-to-be-your-father-nnmmmnn-But-maybe-we-need-to-dispose-of-Jon-7-nnmmmnn-give-mother-back-her-old-job-nnmmmnn-It-would-make-things-so-much-easier-nnmmmnn-Keep-it-in-the-family-yes?-nnmmmnn-Like-the-old-days?”
“A good idea, father.” Ugh. Mother, back, so soon? Oh dear, the nagging… the constant nagging…
Sashan’s eyes looked hard at Sempre.
“But-you-do-not-look-pleased-David-nnmmmnn-Is-something-wrong?”
“No, no, father. It is a very good idea, sir. Excellent, in fact. I can hardly wait to see mother again.” Sempre ground his teeth in anguish.
“Ahhh-nnmmmnn-she-would-be-so-happy-nnmmmnn-to-know-how-much-her-son-cared-for-her.”
“Will be, father. Will be happy, don’t you mean?” said Sempre, making a bit more of an effort.
“Oh-yes-David-nnmmmnn-Yes.” Sashan’s face beamed. “And-when-will-Dr-Tamashito-be-here-to-nnmmmnn-oversee-the-nnmmmnn-regeneration-process?”
“He tells me it will be soon. It won’t be long before we have mother up and running, so to speak.”
“Ha!-nnmmmnn-Yes-David!-nnmmmnn-Yes!-nnmmmnn-Ha, ha!-nnmmmnn-Up-and-running!-nnmmmnn-Ha, ha!”
“Mr. Sempre, really!” warned Bigsby, from above. “Please do not excite Air Marshall Sashan. It is not good for his nodes. You should know this by now!”
“Yes, Bigsby. I understand. But I didn’t do it on purpose. It was father who -”
“Arggh!-nnmmmnn-Urgh!-nnmmmnn-Ermgh!-nnmmmnn-Ha, ha!-nnmmmnn-Up-and-runnurgh!-nnmmmnn-Arugagh!”
“Father! What is it?”
“Graphite node malfunction!” shrieked Bigsby. “Graphite node malfunction in Capsule 1! Warning!”
“Graphite what?”
“Graphite node malfunction! Graphite node malfunction! Warning! Warning!”
Sashan appeared to be choking. His head was jiggling about on the plinth in a fit of coughing and gagging.
“Bigsby! Do something!” yelled Sempre.
“Correcting graphite node status! Temporary measures are being taken! Please stand clear! Warning! Please stand clear!”
There was a whirring sound from inside the dome as a pair of electronic arms moved outwards and into position beside Sashan’s head. They rotated in sequence and took out two small parts from the side of his neck, then spun back to their positions and retracted. The nodes were dropped into a receptacle and two further components brought out and put into place.
“Back-up nodes now installed. Head condition, stable.”
“Is he OK, Bigsby? Is father OK?” asked Sempre.
“Yes. Mr. Sempre. But I will have to end your meeting there. It is not advisable to continue discussions with only the replacement nodes in situ. Dr. Tamashito must come to recalibrate a new set as soon as possible. Please message him accordingly.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. I’ll do it straight away, Bigsby. Thank you.”
Sempre looked at Sashan. His eyes were closing and the lights dimming.
“Good-bye, father,” he said, meekly.
There was no reply.
Sempre was confused. He didn't know whether he was happy or sad. Sometimes he thought that he loved his father. Sometimes he thought that he hated him. At this precise moment in time, he was emotionally befuddled.
This was typical of Sempre. In the normal course of things his mind could not stay with feelings of egotistical euphoria or supreme anger for any great length of time. It would flit back and forth between the two, seemingly at random. And there was nothing in between to stop them for a bit. Whatever should have been put in there, in that middle part, never had been.
You could blame the parents. And you’d be right.
Chapter 31
20:20 - Monday, July 30, 2187 (Starship Argon, Althaan, Baal-500)
Mikita sat alone in her room. Her Earth-based rollercoaster existence had finally done a loop-the-loop and she needed to collect her thoughts. But her mind was reeling. She couldn’t believe what had happened. Jameson was her father? That nice man from the Airbase? She was perplexed.
For fire’s sake! What was my mother doing going off with another man! No wonder nobody ever said I looked like my father. I’m not even related to him! And if he had known, it would certainly explain a lot of things. The coldness I felt from him. The distance between us. Oh, Herra, this means that Polo is not my cousin! Not by blood at any rate. And the same goes for Auntie Fizz!
Mikita took out the briefcase given to her by the TAPCON staff before she left. She opened it up. It was foam-lined with shapes cut out of the padding according to the exact sizes of the objects that it contained. Her TAPCON hand-held was in there. A small blaster. A camera. And, inside the lining of the case, a small canister marked ‘In Emergency Only’. Mikita opened the lid and found what she was looking for. A pink-coloured pill encased in plastic.
Who did I think I was kidding? Did I really think the answer was going to fall into my lap - just like that? I’m not the clever person they all think I am. Nowhere near! How did I reckon I could to get away with it? Oh, you idiot, Mikita!
The pink pill was a cyanide tablet, given to all TAPCON agents for use if they got captured by the enemy. Instead of revealing vital information they were to take the tablet. The result, of course, was instant death.
I’ve heard nothing from Dr. Tamashito. I was wrong about him. I knew it! And soon Zanthu and Spoolu will be dead. The androids are going to kill them and there’s nothing I can do. I’m useless! I can’t even control the Golden Circuit without killing somebody!
Mikita began going over in her mind what usually happened when she tapped into the GC.
Towards the end of her experiences she had the sensation of profound poetry, of deep insight, like some immutable truth was about to be revealed to her. And each event stemmed from a similar source, a strong emotion akin to love. The qi-bird, her parents, Hanoi…
Hanoi? But I killed him. That’s not love. I have no idea what love is…
She took the pill out of its casing.
The Argon was positioned directly over Dragonfly Square, in the central area of Althaan, the capital of Baal-500.
Althaan was a startling city, at first sight. The Codes architecture was very radical, ahead of its time, even though it used many artistic ideas from the past. All hued in the same gun-grey, the buildings were similar in idea to Earth-based Egyptian monuments.
The structures were rendered in the shape of Baal-500’s animal life. A fujiwug, a turenoid, a spratuu, any animal’s form was used as the main design of the building, while the decorative filigree incorporated stylised features of other animals and plant-life into the scheme. A gaping maw here, a hooked claw or flapping set of wings there, with the vines and flower motifs connecting all of these various parts. It was constructed as one continuously flowing design. Like a massive mural painting about to come to life. It managed to sublimely depict the ebb and flow, the grace and danger, of the Code’s existence.
A similar feeling of danger was entering Jameson’s thought processes a lot quicker than he would’ve liked it to. He wasn’t used to this feeling. Once again, he was well out of his comfort zone.
“Where the fire are they?!” exclaimed Jameson. “The Codes said we should be here at 20:30!” The Captain was nervously looking out of the main viewing screen on the bridge. “Check those co-ordinates again will you, Ω?”
“Already done it, sir. They are the exact ones Qaanhu X sent,” replied the pilot.
There was no movement over the square. The Codes were nowhere to be seen. Something was wrong.
The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles) Page 18
