The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)

by John K. Irvine

He realised that he was inside Mayette Froome’s capsule!

  “No, not with Mother! Please! No!!!” he wailed. But no one heard him.

  “Irregular procedure!” shouted Bigsby. “Two life forms located in Capsule 2! Irregular procedure!”

  Yet it was about to get worse for old Bigsby.

  “Capsule 1 deceased! Capsule 1 deceased! Emergency! Emergency!”

  After he had knocked out Sempre, Tamashito made a fingerprint of the TAPCON boss’ right index finger on a small piece of forensic plastic. He now held it up to the fingerprint authentication sensor. It worked, of course. He quickly went to the master control area and punched in some code to gain access to the main section of the Cryonics System.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sempre,” said Bigsby in his nice, welcoming voice. “How can I assist you?” Then went back to his shrill ‘irregular procedure’ articulations.

  Tamashito typed: ‘System Shutdown’ into the master control. There was a pause, followed by a loud powering-down sound.

  Tamashito knew that the TTF would be there in approximately ten minutes time. He left the chamber, changed quickly, and went out into Sempre’s office.

  Flugg was there.

  “Dr. Tamashito, is everything OK, sir?” he said, as if nibbling at the words.

  “Yes, all is fine, Flugg. Couldn’t be better actually,” replied Tamashito, coolly. He carried on walking straight through the office and out the door. He turned and locked it with keys taken from Sempre’s pocket a few minutes earlier, then went to Flugg’s inter-vox and phoned down to security.

  “Hello. Yes, this is Dr. Tamashito. I am sorry to report a serious incident here on the top floor… Yes, Ulysses Flugg has locked himself into Mr. Sempre’s office. He has gone completely mad and I fear foul play! Hurry! Mr. Sempre’s life may be at stake!”

  Tamashito got into the lift and went down to the front exit. Leaving the building, he made his way along Tokyo Stratis to Muhaze Parc.

  He sat on a bench and waited.

  He wondered how Janeee and PASIV were proceeding in their takeover bid.

  He wondered what Mikita was achieving on the Argon.

  He wondered if his family would still be alive when all this was over.

  Chapter 37

  11:32 - Tuesday, July 31, 2187 (Sennon Point Transmitter, Tapi-36)

  The main transmitter on Tapi-36 was located on top of Sennon Point, twenty miles outside Muhaze to the southwest. It was the highest landmass in the Muhaze environs and perfectly suited for broadcasting TV and radio signals.

  The Zip was the only media group in operation. So, as a result, the transmitter only required three supervisor-mutants, plus two guard-mutants, to be working there. Their jobs were similarly simple: maintenance, cleaning, and turning the whole thing on and off. But because The Zip broadcast all day, every day, it never got turned off. Today, however, was to be a different story.

  At 11:32 precisely, the mutants observed Franz Welland walking up the hill to Sennon Point, and went out to the gates, warily.

  They watched Welland to the top of the Point and paused, as their schematics relayed signals of caution and danger to the central PCB in their metal skulls. Franz was dressed in a yellow workman’s suit, and was whistling, like all workmen do. It was the song ‘Hit Me With Your Mutant Blaster’ - a mutant favourite - apart from laundry-mutants, of course.

  “What you here for?” asked one of the guard-mutants, pointing a gun at Franz.

  “A good question, my friend. I have come to check the levels of ‘satyagraha’ that are been emitted from your transmitter.”

  With the mere mention of the activator word, the mutants smiled broadly - then one replied: “Oh, yes. We expecting you. Please come. Would like cup of Mu-tea?”

  “Thank you. Two sugars please… oh, and a drop of milk. Thanks, mate.” And with that, Franz walked freely through the gates. “I’ll just phone my crew,” he said. “It’s a big job, this.”

  “Yes, I make more Mu-tea for them, too!” said the other mutant, his face the perfect picture of mutanty happiness. But, suddenly, it turned into a frown. “Oh, no,” he said, thoroughly miffed. “We out of biscuits.”

  Over at The Zip, things were proving slightly more difficult, as there were humans working in the building - though sometimes you do wonder about the journalists...

  At 11:40, Janeee and the rest of the PASIV members arrived at the front gates, all of them pretending to be workers sent by David Sempre to redecorate The Zip offices. Two guard-mutants were there to greet them.

  “Who you?” said guard one.

  “We are the ‘Satyagraha’ Decorators. We have been sent by Mr. Sempre to redecorate The Zip,” said Janeee.

  “Oh, yes. Please come in,” said guard two. “We have been expecting you. My name Gari. Would you like Mu-tea?”

  And so on they went, following the pattern of the other mutants out at the transmitter – except, here, they had biscuits.

  Janeee radioed to the other PASIVs who immediately appeared on foot behind her and walked through the gates carrying suitcases.

  As they marched into The Zip, Janeee called out in a loud voice: “Satyagraha Decorators, at your service!” so that all the mutants would hear the activator word and not be alarmed. However, the human staff were highly agitato about the intrusion.

  Jop Torreador, the Head of Administration, came out of his office in a bluster of faff and annoyance. He was dressed in a too-tight suit with slicked back hair and pointy-shoes. He knew nothing of any decorators arriving today. “What’s going on here, Mutant Gari? Have you checked the paperwork for these people?’

  “They are Satyagraha Decorators, Mr. Torreador. They told me,” said Gari.

  “Yes, yes, I understand that. But they should have documents from TAPCON, about the work they are going to carry out. Did you check?”

  “They are Satyagraha Decorators, Mr. Torreador. They told me,” said Gari, again.

  Torreador turned to address Janeee.

  “I am sorry Miss, do you have your paperwork, please? I have no record of decorators arriving this morning, or, indeed, at any time in the future.”

  “Oh, yes. Just a moment… Colin, the ‘paperwork’?” said Janeee.

  Colin Tanky (Janeee’s boyfriend) brought over his case and held it out in front of Janeee so she could open it with the lid directly in front of Torreador’s face. The admin man couldn’t see that Janeee was removing a pair of handcuffs from the inside.

  “Now!” Janeee shouted.

  Two PASIV members came out from behind their leader and grabbed Torreador. Janeee quickly attached one end of the handcuffs to his left hand. They then carried him bodily over to the railings where she clamped the other end of the handcuffs to the metal tubing.

  “What is going on here? Help! Help!” intoned Torreador, like a granny stuck in the toilets.

  “Oof, what a racket,” exclaimed Colin. “What will we shut him up with? We’d not thought of that.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Janeee, pausing to think. “Hmmm, studios, coffee breaks, techies…” Then she had it. “What do techies always carry around with them, Colin?”

  “Um. A chip on the shoulder?” he replied.

  “No, no. Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m thinking of.”

  “Gaffa tape!” shouted Jop Torreador, enthusiastically.

  He liked a quiz.

  “Correct!” exclaimed Janeee, as Torreador realised he’d consigned himself to a sticky end.

  Colin smiled like a puppy. He loved Janeee when she was like this, all bossy and clever. “Mutant Gari?” he asked his new best friend. “Would you get the Satyagraha Decorators some gaffa tape, please?”

  Gari was slightly confused by the handcuffing of Torreador, but not quite enough for it to overly worry him. “Oh, yes. My pleasure, sir,” said Gari. And off he went.

  “Oh, we’ll need five rolls, I would estimate,” said Colin.

  “I’ll bring you six!” replied Gari.

/>   “Thank you, Gari,” said Colin.

  Of course, Torreador was still ‘pre-gaffa’ and, by now, he had regained his usual fluster. “Now look, I demand an answer. What, in Herra’s name, do you think are you doing?”

  “Oh, just a bit of a make-over - and some slight changes to programming,” said Janeee.

  Torreador looked confused. “Changes? To programming?” he said.

  “Yes. We’re not very impressed with the quality of your reporting, so we’ve come to give you some pointers on how it should be done.”

  Gari came back with the gaffa and handed her a roll of the strong, black tape.

  “Ah, and here’s the first - though it goes completely against my principles, you understand - restricting your freedom of speech!”

  “But -” began Torreador. “How dare you - mm-mngh - argfgh - mm-mmgh-nnn.” Then he stopped talking, realising that the tape was already covering his mouth. He yanked at his handcuff in frustration - it hurt his wrist. “Oummgh!” he grunted. But nobody was listening to him anymore.

  Several more humans passed through the reception area and were all handcuffed to the railings and gaffa’d up. Then Janeee led the charge upstairs to the studio. “If any mutants get in our way don’t forget who we are! Satyagraha Decorators to the rescue!” she shouted, wearing the biggest smile she had ever worn in her life.

  At the transmitter, Franz and the other PASIVs were in the process of finding the generators. They were exactly where Tamashito had described, at the rear of the lower triangular-shaped building. Franz located the power source and checked his watch: 11:58.52. He had just under two minutes to wait, then he would pull the switch…

  Janeee and the PASIVs entered the studio control room and began handcuffing the recording staff. There were a few tape-op-mutant and techie-mutants there, as well, but they were easily placated by the mention of the activator word and were soon helping Janeee with the handcuffing and gaffaing of humans, as required. Happy little mutants, just like normal…

  At Sennon Point, Franz was counting down. He felt a bead of sweat moving down his brow that had begun to itch like a tiny beetle crawling across his forehead. He wiped it off with his free hand and checked the time: 11:59:24…

  In the studio, Ignacio Phinn was looking up from his notes to the tele-prompter and back again to his notes. He was getting confused. The tele-prompter was not prompting…

  The viewing public of Tapi-36 were wondering what was going on with Phinn. He’d obviously got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Though his hair was still stunning…

  At Sennon Point, Franz was counting.

  10, 9, 8, 7…

  In the studio, Janeee was holding her breath.

  6, 5, 4…

  She was watching the monitor as Phinn said: “What, in the name of Herra, is going on here!”

  3, 2, 1…

  Franz pulled the switch.

  0.

  The screen went to snow.

  The Zip was off the air!

  The PASIVs exploded with delight!

  Janeee stood smiling to herself. They had done it! Now, onto the tricky bit, she thought. She stripped off her worker’s suit and took off her hard hat. Underneath, she had her hair perfectly made up and was wearing a sparkly, red dress. She looked exactly like a TV presenter. Again, Colin was highly impressed and he beamed from ear to ear.

  Ignacio Phinn was handcuffed and gaffa’d and had been removed from the studio. Janeee then went through and sat in Phinn’s chair, readying herself for the transmitter to be switched back on. By her watch, she had 1:34 left before Franz would flick the switch back on again. Janeee was given Phinn’s lapel microphone, which she attached to her dress.

  She checked her notes.

  She checked her hair.

  She checked her make-up.

  She checked her pulse rate (120 bpm - but Janeee liked Earth-based disco music).

  The rest of the PASIVs manned the studio.

  Cameras and sound were ready to go.

  The countdown began again…

  10, 9, 8…

  Janeee thought of her parents at home. What a surprise they would get when they saw this!

  7, 6, 5…

  Janeee thought of Mikita. How she was determined to save her comrade. We’re coming for you, Mikita, hang on!

  4, 3…

  Somewhere in Muhaze a man was hitting his television on top of the box. Where’s the draining signal gone? he thought, to himself…

  2, 1…

  He hit the set with an almighty thwack!

  Ah, that’s got it…

  0.

  There was a muted explosion from outside The Zip, like a massive bomb had gone off somewhere in the distance. Janeee wondered what the noise was, but the red light had gone on in the studio and she was going live to Tapi-36! She was on the air! She began to speak, showing no sign of nerves:

  “Good afternoon, Tapi-36. My apologies for the short break in transmission. Janeee Swish here, live from The Zip studios. Today, with a change to the advertised programme, we bring you a special update on the claims made by Captain Philip Jameson on his return from Baal-500. Let me remind you of what he said, and I quote: ‘The crew of the Argon and myself, have found conclusive proof that the source of the slaughter of the animals on Baal-500 is right here, in Muhaze.’ He then went on to add that the individual responsible for this was none other than David Sempre, the CEO of TAPCON. Well… We at The Zip can confirm that this information is… TRUE!”

  Janeee could almost feel the collective gasp of shock experienced by Tapi-36.

  “Yes, comrades, we can reveal that Mr. Sempre and TAPCON are responsible for sending a neural interface technology - or NITs, as they are called - to Baal-500. These brutal devices have subsequently infected and killed so many of the beautiful animals living on our wondrous moon. The Codes were not at fault. I repeat, the Codes were not at fault. We can also confirm the following: 1. Jon-7 and the Froome are paid employees of TAPCON 2. Mayette Froome is David Sempre’s mother and 3. Air Marshall Christian Sashan is none other than David Sempre’s father. They have been working together to oppress you for over 80 years. This means that your loved ones, injured or killed in the Skirmishes, were needlessly so. You have been deceived, tricked by the people you trusted the most. I ask you, citizens of Tapi-36, is there a greater crime?”

  Janeee heard more noises coming from outside, more sounds of destruction. Colin handed Janeee a piece of paper from off screen.

  “Just a moment. We have some breaking news. Yes, it appears that Muhaze is under attack by the aforementioned Froome. Ladies and gentlemen of Muhaze you are, in essence, being assailed by your own leader, David Sempre, and his band of not-so-merry men. I urge you to defend yourselves as best as you can, but by the least aggressive means possible. That being… Down tools, ladies and gentlemen! Stop the country! Stop working for TAPCON! Stop whatever it is you are doing! Resist the forces of evil! Resist, people of Tapi-36, resist! Non-violent protest in the face of forceful aggression! Do it for yourselves, comrades! Do it for your children! Together, we can save this wonderful planet! This is Janeee Swish, at The Zip, signing out!”

  Franz Welland flicked the switch at the transmitter.

  The Zip was off the air.

  And, this time, for good.

  The Froome had arrived in Muhaze and had already destroyed the Airbase. Their little ruse had worked, much to Jon-7’s surprise. They’d then moved on, into the city, bombing the Sports Stadium after stupidly mistaking it for the central TAPCON buildings - due to Budgie mucking up his co-ordinates (i.e. holding the map the wrong way round). Luckily, there was no game on there today, sparing roughly 100,000 Muhazian lives (they liked their sport) and they were now busy bombing the actual TAPCON offices. After a few minutes, they had levelled the buildings and all connecting TAPCON transportation units.

  “Right, Froome!” yelled an over-excited Jon-7 into his radio. “On to the next target!”

  “And what i
s the next target, Mr. 7?” inquired Lapwing.

  “Um… Er…” He hadn’t thought of one yet, typical Jon-7. “Not sure, hang on…”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. 7, we have one already,” said Grisshum. “And it’s in our sites now, sir.”

  “Oh, yes, very good, Grisshum! What is it?”

  “You! It’s you, 7!” he replied, with delight, and began to laugh.

  Then, on his headset, Jon-7 heard yet more laughter.

  After a few seconds, it began to increase in its intensity. And now, everyone was laughing at him! All 40 of the Froome’s members, laughing at him - and at his expense! The worms had turned at last.

  Even Budgie began to join in from the co-pilot seat: “Hur, hur, hur!” he went.

  “Shut it, Budgie, you dunce! Don’t you realise what they’re going to -”

  But Jon-7 never finished the sentence. Instead, his V-wing proceeded to make a beautiful, flaming arc over the city before finally exploding in a massive fireball on the roof of the Balmaha Centre. It served as a wonderful opening spectacle for what happened next: Out from behind the clouds, came the mighty Krashaon… and everything stopped.

  The people of Muhaze looked up at the magnificent craft, and stared in wonder.

  The remaining Froome V-wings stopped their bombing, and stared in wonder.

  David Sempre, had he not been cryogenically frozen, would have stared in wonder. He would have forgotten his many personal issues and stared at the pure, exhilarating beauty in front of his screwed-up, tortured visage, and rejoiced, that, somewhere in the cosmos, there still existed a race of individuals who valued peace, who valued thought, who valued process, who valued the universe and all things that existed within it. Who did not harbour a destructive urge to bomb all and sundry. Who did not want to crush, torture, poke and destroy every last living creature in existence. Who wanted to synchronise itself with life - and live! Live, drain it, live!