The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles) (10 page)

“Yes,
you
! What’s your name?” He peered at her tag. “Tammy? This way, then, Tammy. This way,” he said, with a weary nod in the direction of the changing rooms.

Mikita’s heart started to thump inside her chest and she hoped the man wouldn’t be able to hear the racket it was making as she went past.

But her impersonation
was
working.

He
actually thinks I’m a mutant!

“All mutants needing to change into civvies, this way, please,” the foreman called out. “All used garments in the laundry disposal. Single file, my little cyborgs, single file.”

21:19 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (TAPCON Towers, Muhaze, Tapi-36)

David Sempre pushed a secret button hidden underneath his desktop. A door opened on the right-hand side of his office, moving an entire bookcase with it as it hinged around. It revealed what looked like an old-fashioned, Earth-based bank vault with a large metal door on the front of it. He walked over to it and placed his right hand onto a palm detector attached to the fascia. The device registered his print with a short bleep and the large door slid quietly to the left, revealing a small area that contained nothing except bare, sheet-metal walls, a picture frame and, ahead of him, a panel positioned exactly at his eye height (4’6”).

On entering the anteroom, Sempre looked squarely at the panel. It housed an iris scanner that proceeded to emit a red laser beam that scrolled down Sempre’s forehead to just below his nose. Having made its check, it then cued a cool, disembodied voice that filled the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Sempre
, and welcome, sir,” it said, in a soft, banal tone.

“Why, thank you, Bigsby, and good evening to you, too.”

“Have you come to deliver your report, sir?” the non-descript voice continued.

“Yes, I have, Bigsby. I have, indeed.”

“That is excellent, sir.”

“I trust Air Marshall Sashan is well?” asked Sempre.

“Oh, yes, he is very well indeed, sir. All vital statistics are functioning as normal. Deterioration levels are at a bare minimum. Everything is as it should be, Mr. Sempre.”

“Wonderful
. Now, perhaps you could tell him I have come for our meeting?”

“It will be my pleasure, sir. Please wait here for a moment.”

Sempre waited impatiently, while Bigsby went, and… well, in truth, Bigsby didn't go anywhere. Bigsby was only a voice. It was obviously the enormous data processor that was doing the relaying of information: with peeps, blonks and other generic noises that accompanied the obeyance of programming.

Sempre occupied himself by looking at the framed photograph hanging on the wall to his left. The image was somewhat faded, but
he could still make out the subjects, clearly. It showed a middle-aged man in a spacesuit, smiling happily. At his side, was a very short young woman, with auburn hair. She had a strong-willed look to her, almost a severity. In her arms, wrapped up in a blue blanket, was a baby only a few months old. It brought a rare half-smile to Sempre’s usually perturbed countenance. However, there was a sadness behind this blissful image, and Sempre knew its secret. It was the only picture ever to be taken of this particular family.

“Air Marshall Sashan is ready for you now, Mr. Sempre. Please proceed through the air-lock and put on the protective clothing provided, sir.”

“Thank you, Bigsby. I will,” replied the TAPCON boss.

The chamber door slid open a
nd Sempre walked through. It slid back, locking him in.

He was now in a holding area that housed several work-suits in lockers along the left wall. Along the other wall was a large, indestructible pane of Actionglass that looked into a much larger, dimly-lit room containing electronic equipment
, LCDs, two large containers holding yellowish-brown fluids and an array of other technological apparatus that Sempre didn’t know the names of.

“Please put on suit No. 3, Mr. Sempre,” said Bigsby. “It will fit you perfectly, sir.”

Sempre walked over to the third casing from the end and stood in front of it. He removed his shoes as the front panel of the locker concertina’d inwards and a protective suit began to move out with a low
swchuuuuuuummmm
sound
.

The suit was on a hanger and smelled very much like Earth-based pine scented air-freshener.
Sempre breathed in deeply through his nostrils - he liked the pleasant, man-made, foresty aroma.

He removed the suit and put it on over his own clothes. It was a fine fit, just as Bigsby had said.
Much better than the old ones
, he thought to himself.
Doesn’t nip me between the legs like the last one did.

At the bottom of the receptacle there was a pair of soft booties. Sempre took them out and slipped them snugly over his stockinged feet.

“Now, sir, please move to the main door on you right,” Bigsby instructed.

Sempre did as he was told as
a small, circular lens above the door opened and shut. It was taking a photograph of him - a further security measure.

“The door is opening now, Mr. Sempre.
”

Swizzzshumpf!

“Please go in, sir.”

“Thank you, Bigsby,” he replied, a
s he walked into the semi-darkened space.

Sempre knew where he was going. He’d been there many times before.
And he quickly recognised the ambient space-muzak playing softly in the background, instinctively dropping his shoulders and moving his neck around in a circular motion, loosening the tensed-up muscles. It was a calming, soothing sound of Earth-based waves layered underneath soft synthesizer textures –
I must get a copy of this
, he said, to himself.
I’ll ask Bigsby later, when I’m done in here.

The chamber was perfectly air-conditioned; a constant temperature of 65 degrees was maintained at all times. It was a bit too cold for Sempre in the long term, but refreshing in the short, and made a pleasant change from the summer temperatures of Muhaze.

He was approaching the centre of the room, and there, in front of him, was a dome-shaped structure made of glass, sitting on an imposing marble platform.

Inside the d
ome, was a man’s head.

The head was on its o
wn - that is, there was no body underneath it. It was completely severed from its original owner.

There were hundreds of tiny sen
sors stuck onto the facial area and all around the back and sides of the cranium. Tubes ran through every orifice, carrying the yellow and brown liquids to and fro. LED lights flashed up and down the various pieces of electronic equipment inside the Actionglass casing, as a multitude of readings were being taken simultaneously - numbers were being crunched and then re-set on the displays.

“Air Marshall Sashan? Mr. Sempre is here, sir,” announced Bigsby.

Low-level lights came up slowly inside the dome as the head’s eyes began to flicker and open. They blinked, several times, adjusting themselves to the new light, then looked around, moving from side to side, rolling around a little inside their dark, sunken sockets. The eyes were cold and had an icy appearance that somewhat betrayed their true volcanic quality. They were the kind of eyes that, when looking deeply into yours, were actually gazing at their own reflection.

The head’s mouth opened slowly. Dried saliva had managed to jam it shut, but the strong jaw made short work of it and
, soon, it had managed to separate the hardened strands of spittle holding it closed. It worked its mouth for a few seconds, the tongue running over the gums and remaining teeth, then, at last, the eyes of the two men met and the disembodied head’s face cracked (literally) into a beatific smile.

“Hello, father,” said Sempre.

“Hello-my-dear-David
-nnmmmnn-
I-hope-you-are-well-my-son?”

Sashan’s voice seemed to swirl around in an electronic haze, the decoder humming softly when it was not engaged. It had an aloof, grizzled tone to it - not a friendly voice by any stretch of the imagination, and one he’d hardly even heard as a child.

“Yes, father. I am well, thank you,” replied Sempre.

“That-is-good-David
-nnmmmnn-
Oh-I’m-so-happy-to-see-you
-nnmmmnn-
What-is-the-date-today
?
-nnmmmnn-
Tell-me-boy?”

“It is the 28
th
of July, 2187, father. The evening of.”

“Thank-you-David
-nnmmmnn-
Oh-I-so-look-forward-to-your-reports
-nnmmmnn-
Things-must-be-going-well?”

“Yes, father. They are. Very much so. Let me give you my news, sir.”

“Of-course-of-course
-nnmmmnn-
Let-me-hear-it
-nnmmmnn-
Please-continue
-nnmmmnn-
boy.”

“Well, father,” Sempre began. “You’ll be glad to hear that I have succeeded in getting those annoying Codes off of Baal-500.”

“That’s-wonderful-news-David!
-nnmmmnn-
Oh-you-have-made-me-so-happy!
-nnmmmnn-
So-very-happy!”

Of course, Sashan could be ‘made happy’ 24/7 and he would still be a twisted, wretched warmonger.

“Yes, father, it is good news, isn’t it. However, there is a slight problem. You see, Jameson has taken onboard a Code youth… and an infected muidog.”

“
But-Jameson-works-for-us-David
-nnmmmnn-
Does-he-not?” asked Sashan.

“Yes, father. But he seems to be ‘rebelling’, for want of a better word.”

“Hmmmm
-nnmmmnn-
That-is-a-shame
-nnmmmnn-
He-and-his-nosey-wife-were-always-troublesome
-nnmmmnn-
And-have-the-Codes-responded-to-this-‘hostage-taking’?”

Sashan said this last with a twinkle in his already aqueous eye.

“We have been trying to get a link with them, father, but so far we’ve been unlucky. Their radio-receptors are blocked, or at least, unavailable,” said Sempre, somewhat ruefully.

“Yes-yes-I-see
-nnmmmnn-
But-when-you-do
-nnmmmnn-
tell-them-you-will-send-Jameson-back
-nnmmmnn-
with-the-youth.”

Sempre was surprised at this. “Yes, father, certainly. Although, I
had
wanted the Code to stand trial, in Muhaze; you see he fired on one of our men, wounding him gravely.”

“No-no-David!
-nnmmmnn-
Send-him-back!
-nnmmmnn-
And-when-the-Argon-gets-within-striking-distance
-nnmmmnn-
we-blow-the-Krashaon-out-of-the-galaxy
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Then-blame-Jameson-for-all-the-mess!”

Sashan had the same disturbing laugh as his son - just one ‘ha’ shorter.

Why does he have all the good ideas? It’s not fair!
thought Sempre, like the juvenile he was. He had a love/hate relationship with his father, and at that particular moment he hated him for being such a wickedly brilliant tactician. To add insult to injury, it appeared that his father was on a roll.

Sashan continued with a Plan B to his already grotesque Plan A.

“Or
-nnmmmnn-
even-better
-nnmmmnn-
Put-a-couple-of-androids-onboard
-nnmmmnn-
for-‘security’
-nnmmmnn-
Then-if-anything-goes-wrong-we-blow-up-the
-nnmmmnn-
Codes-and-the-Argon-in-one-big-illumination
-nnmmmnn-
Foolproof!
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Softly-softly-catchy-Codey-Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Oh-I-shouldn’t-make-myself-laugh
-nnmmmnn-
It-hurts-my-face!
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!
-nnmmmnn-
Ooooh-stop-it!
-nnmmmnn-
Don’t!
-nnmmmnn-
Ha-ha!”

Sashan carried on laughing as the electronic meters in his dome went into the red. The machines started bleeping and blonking, and Bigsby’s voice came on from on high.

“Mr. Sempre! Please
do not get Air Marshall Sashan over-excited. It is not good for him. Dr. Tamashito is very busy with his work, we do not wish to disturb the Doctor for unnecessary repairs.”

“Yes, Bigsby, yes, of course
,” said Sempre, hiding his irritation. “I fully understand. My apologies.”
Though it’s father’s own draining fault, not mine!
he whinged, to himself.
He’s the one making all the jokes! And Bigsby is only voice. A draining computer voice! What right does he have to tell me what to do?