The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles) (2 page)

16:47 - Friday, July 27, 2187 (Muhaze, Tapi-36)

About 95% of the population on Tapi-36 was made up of humans - Earth-descended humans, to be exact - while the remaining 5% of its inhabitants were mutants, like Gompi, engineered by the Specialists and their assisting scientists.

The mutants were created solely to perform any task that was deemed unnecessary for a human to undertake. This initially had caused some ructions amongst the general public as a great many of them had to be retrained for new jobs. But as these jobs turned out to have: 1.
Better pay and 2. Better working conditions, they were pleased with the new system. The mutants did the grunt work, the Tapians controlled the mutants, and TAPCON controlled the Tapians.

Perfect.

The planet ran like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew their place. Each cog linked securely to the next, and nobody asked any questions. And if they did decide to raise a voice in protest, they would have to answer to TAPCON for the privilege.

The Tapian Planetary Conglomerate
was the planet’s controlling body, put in place by the Interplanetary Federation of Systems - itself an ‘all-in-one’ think-tank and supreme court set up in order to provide extraterrestrial jurisdiction for all solar systems included in the Earth’s New Frontiers programme. Tapi-36 was located at the perimeter, at the very edge of this fantastical blueprint and TAPCON had been in charge ever since the diaspora from Earth, 82 years ago, in 2105.

Given the all clear from the IFS, the first starships travelled from E
arth to the Michael 6 Quadrant: a planetary grouping within the Milky Way, but still a long, long way from Earth.

There had been ten spacecraft in all, carrying settlers from the main nation powers on Earth at that time: Scotland, Canada, Japan and Belgium. Basecamps were deposited
onto selected planets and moons along the way, serving as safety nets should anything go wrong with the mission as it progressed. This turned out to be a wise decision, as the Starship Pan had to turn back to the Eris base at 96AU when it developed trouble with its reactor engines. It eventually followed on much later, arriving six months after the other starships and was currently mothballed on Reis-91, the smallest, and closest, moon to Tapi-36.

It had taken over three years for those first craft to complete the journey to Michael 6 - travelling out past the seven planets, the Kuiper belt, the scattered disc, past the Termination Shock and on through the Heliopause
into interstellar space - and out of all the old spacecraft, only the Argon remained in commission.

Its current function was as a stationary training vesse
l for TAPCON’s space programme. However, TAPCON would still wheel it out, every now again, for short, non-combative sorties. David Sempre, the Chief Executive Officer of TAPCON, thought that it filled the Tapian people with a certain nostalgia for their ancestral home; that it was good for public morale. And he was right. Tapians loved the Argon. They loved all that ‘glorious heritage of their Earth-based forefathers’ stuff. It also saved Sempre a fortune, as these older, smaller, craft were cheaper to run - and money was in short supply on Tapi-36.

On this particular afternoon, David Sempre was sitting behind his long, glass desk in his office at the top of TAPCON Towers. The sun was streaming through an enormous panoramic window creating a prismatic reflection on the large, white rug covering his mirror-buffed floor. But Sempre didn't see the little rainbow - he was too busy thinking his dark thoughts.

He pressed a red button on his built-in armchair remote and watched as two metallic doors slid open across the
white wall in front of him. From behind the doors a large flatscreen appeared, moving out on an electronic arm into the office space. It was already broadcasting the coverage of the approaching Argon lift-off. Sempre turned up the volume:

“Hello, Tapi-36! This is Kendall Crisp reporting for The Zip from the TAPCON Airbase in beautiful Muhaze, Arrondissement 8! Tonight we will witness the momentous departure of the Starship Argon to Baal-500, our wonderful third moon, where, as you know, the Codes are willfully abandoning their animals, leaving them to die horrific deaths all alone on the planet. The ship leaves in just over 2hrs time and, in a moment, we’ll have exclusive interviews with Captain Jameson and the crew - our heroes – who are about to board this glorious starship.”

Kendall Crisp had wavy, yellow hair that was combed up into a wispy, powdery quiff on top of his head. He wore orange, heavy-rimmed spectacles and a dark, maroon-coloured jacket with an annoying, multi-coloured bow-tie that twirled around every so often, giving off a silly noise that sounded like: ‘sssshhhziiiiiipppp-p-p-p-p--p---p----p’. He was a true media floozy. He loved and craved the attention that his job gave him.

Crisp was standing outside the airbase headquarters near the Argon’s dome-shaped hangar. Behind him, on specially erected bleachers, were over a thousand Muhazians who had come out specially to watch the Argon begin its mission. They were thronging around the reporter, waving at the camera, shouting for the Argon and the crew. They were so vociferous Crisp was having a hard time getting through his pieces to camera.

In front of the crowd was a Megatron screen showing a split image of the Argon on one side (inside its hangar) and Crisp on the other (talking live). The crowd cheered whenever the cameras turned on them. They loved to see themselves up there on the big screen. Muhazians were like that.

“Let’s go meet Captain Jameson and the crew of the Argon!” whooped Crisp, his high
, tenor voice shrilling out from the PA system.

The crowd exploded with cheers!

The cameras panned round and focused on a group of eleven individuals assembled inside the operations building entrance.

This was the crew of the Starship Argon.

About half of them were dressed in the standard dark-blue TAPCON airforce uniforms (the higher officers of rank) while the others wore baggy, blue camouflage trousers and dark-grey tank tops (the lower ranking officers and technicians). Various airbase staff were checking the crew’s radios and communications equipment, making last minute checks, getting them ready for embarkation.

Crisp, smiling and confident, in full ‘show-biz-journo’ mode, made his way over to the entrance. “Look!” he began, en
thusiastically, “There’s Captain Jameson!”

A huge roar from the crowd!

Captain Philip Jameson was in his late 40s. 6’2”, ruggedly handsome, with short peppery hair and a steely gaze. He’d seen a lot of things in his time and took no nonsense. He watched Crisp coming towards him and shut his eyes briefly in resignation, before trying his best to smile at the reporter - it came out more like a grimace.

“Captain Jameson, good evening, sir. How are you feeling tonight?” asked Crisp, his bow-tie whizzing round.

“Good evening, Kendall,” he began, reluctantly. “How am I feeling? Well, I’m feeling good, we’re all feeling good.”

“And are you excited to be getting back onboard the Starship Argon, sir?” probed Crisp. “Special memories for you, I would imagine?”

“Yes. Certainly. Very special - I’m very excited,” replied Jameson, coolly.

“And your feelings about the Codes, if I may, Captain. Are we going to blast them into interstellar space this time, sir?” Crisp was
grinning at this and winking to the camera.

“Blast the Codes?” said Jameson, surprised. “Well, no, Kendall. This mission is purely neutral. We’ll just see what we can do to help, there will be no blasting
. At least, not from us, that’s for sure.”

The crowd sighed.

“But the Codes, Captain Jameson, they need to be shown a lesson, surely? Look what they’re doing to those poor creatures on Baal-500,” protested Crisp.

“No, Kendall, that’s not in our orders. We’ve been told to treat this as a mission of non-aggression.”

“But, sir, even as we speak, they’re committing heinous crimes of negligence on our moon - on our own doorstep - right in front of our very eyes!” exclaimed Crisp, shaking his head.

The crowd murmured in agreement.

Jameson was beginning to get warm under the collar. “Look. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Crisp, and, so it seems, everybody here who has turned out to support us. But, I must point out, that the Interplanetary Federation of Systems has always stated that the Codes have never done anything that could, even remotely, be construed as inappropriate. Their species-linking methods have always been deemed legal. I’m sure there is a good reason for the situation on Baal-500 and it will be our job to see how we can assist.”

Crisp looked downcast. This wasn’t what he’d
wanted to hear. He turned to the crowd. “What do you say, everybody? Shall we blast the Codes?”

The crowd exploded!
“BLAST THE CODES! BLAST THE CODES!” they bayed.

Jameson was now visibly annoyed, his face reddened. “
Now, you listen to me, Crisp! You’ve got no right to -”

“OK
. OK. Thank you, Captain Jameson,” interrupted the reporter. Then he turned to the audience. “Always by the book, isn’t he, folks?”

The crowd jeered at Jameson. “BOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOO!”

“Right. Let’s go talk to the rest of the crew!” shouted the petulant hack.

Leaving Jameson to stew, Crisp huffed his way through the melee of TAPCON assistants, the roving cameraman following closely behind
.

Jameson was relieved to see him go. Although, what had Crisp said at the end of the interview?
‘Always by the book’
. It was already rankling with him, niggling away at his pride:
Am I? Do I?
he pondered.

“Let’s see now, who do we have here?” said
Crisp, his cynical eye scanning the line of crew members for potential loose tongues. “Ah, yes. Corporal Lead-Out. Isn’t she gorgeous, viewers?” (Wolf-whistles from the men in the crowd) “And Flying Officer Cox, dishy, no?” (‘Wooooooooooooooo!’ the ladies cougared) “Ah-ha! Lieutenant Susan McGilvary, second in command. Let’s get a word from her, shall we?”

A muted cheer from the audience
.

McGilvary was dark-haired, medium build and strong jawed. Plain in looks, but confident in her abilities. She’d been serving under Jameson for a few years now, learning the trade from the ‘old dog’
as she called him (in private).

To get to her, Crisp had to push his way past Crim and Hellius - two tall Sergeants built like Earth-based tanks, the brawn of the mission. They sneered
at him as he self-importantly barged his way between the two of them.

“Ex
cuse me, please. The Zip is coming through,” he said, curtly, as he thrust the microphone up into McGilvary’s face. “So, Lieutenant McGilvary, how are you this evening, ma’am?”

“I’m well, Kendall. Very well, indeed. And yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, great,” he replied, dismissively. “So, Lieutenant, you’ll be missing your boyfriend while you’re away on the mission?”

“Yes. I certainly will. Though we’re not gone for long,” said McGilvary, giving nothing away.

Crisp was disappointed. He wanted something vaguely resembling gossip. “Well, do you at least have a message for the good citizens of Tapi-36, Lieutenant? Perhaps some words of encouragement for the nice people here at the airbase, and out there in Zipland?”

“Of course, Kendall,” began McGilvary. “I can promise everyone that we will have their best interests at heart, and that we’ll be doing our utmost to assist the remarkable animals of Baal-500. Rest assured.”

“Wow, great news, ‘doing your utmost’ you said. That would mean you’re looking forward to blasting a few Codes, eh?” encouraged Crisp.

The crowd cheered, though only half-heartedly this time - they weren’t getting their hopes up.

“No, no, Kendall, that isn’t the aim of this mission. As Captain Jameson has already stated, this is purely a neutral exercise -”

“
Right, let’s move on here, thank you, Lieutenant.” Crisp was looking for some intrigue, not perfunctory information.

He sized up the remaining crew members:
Dr. Gössner? Beautiful, yes, but too sardonic. Ng, the male nurse? Please, no!

Then he saw Gadget and
Ω, further down the line.

“Ah, Corporal Gadget, technical wizard, the brains behind the mission - just the man! And next to him, 2
nd
Lieutenant Ω, the pilot, with a symbol for a name! Fantastic to see you both, gentlemen!”

Gadget (Corporal Gary Hatchett) was a tall and slender man with circular silver-rimmed glasses and had a mocking, studious expression, while
Ω (Ohms) sported a pair of dark aviators and maintained a short-cropped, millimeter perfect hairstyle, that had a sharp, single parting razored into it. He was of medium height, slightly overweight, with a look of mischief in his eyes.

Slightly thrown by their collective demeanour, The Zip reporter began hesitantly. “So, um, Corporal Gadget, you’ll have all the latest TAPCON tech onboard the Argon, yes?”

“Yep, Kendall. We sure do - all the new appliances of the sciences - we just need to plug ‘em all in first,” said Gadget, with a twinkle.