The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles) (3 page)

“Ha, ha, very good, very good,” offered Crisp, not sure whether Gadget was being serious or not. He turned to
Ω. “And 2
nd
Lieutenant Ω, the Argon is an old craft, we know that, but is she easy to handle?”

“Oh yeah,
man, just like your mama, Kendall,” said Ω, moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“Um, yes, quite,”
These people are hopeless,
Crisp thought, almost ready to give up and hand back to the studio.

The only member of the crew left was Private Sawchuck - or ‘New-Boy’, as his crew
mates called him. “I may as well,” sighed Crisp to himself as he made his way over to the recruit. “Good evening, Private Sawchuck. You’re the ‘new-boy’ on the Argon, is that correct?”

“That’s my name, dude, don’t wear it out,” replied Sawchuck, reaching up with his index finger and flicking Crisp’s rotating bow-tie. It made its stupid, little sound - ‘sssshhhziiiiiipppp-p-p-p-p--p---p----p’ for the hundredth time that night. “Hey, coooooool,” he added, nodding his head in appreciation.

Oh, no, not another one,
lamented Crisp. He turned to the camera, flummoxed. His face a perfect picture of resignation. “Well viewers, there you have it. This is Kendall Crisp, live at the TAPCON airbase, with the crew of the Starship Argon. Herra protect them all… and us. Now, back to the studio, Ignacio?”

“What the -? Yes, uh, thank you, Kendall,” said Ignacio Phinn, suppressing an embarrassed cough. Crisp had handed back to him far too early, and he was looking through his notes to see what was coming up next. Phinn hated when this happened, live, in front of the nation. He was The Zip’s leading anchorman - beige suit, dyed black hair (to hide the grey) and a self-satisfied air – but without a script he was useless.

“That was, um, Kendall Crisp, there, folks, at the TAPCON airbase, with some great, uh… stories and, um… great words of wisdom from the, um… the gallant airmen, and airwomen, of the Starship Argon. Yes, and now it’s over to Harriet Honeste for, um… Celebrity Celebration. The new show, with all the, erm… lowdown… on your favourite -”

Back in his office, David Sempre switched off his scr
een and pressed the red button.
Where do they get these idiots from?
he wondered, as the screen moved back, silently, into the wall.

He got up from his desk, smoothed over his suit and looked out through
his ceiling-to-floor window. Then he said, to himself, in a cold, hideous
sotto voce
: “I’m watching you, Jameson. Watching your every move.”

Then he
began to laugh.

It was the laugh of a certified lunatic.

The laugh of a certified lunatic escaping the asylum.

The laugh of a certified lunatic escaping the asylum, and running amok.

10:26 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Muhaze, Tapi-36)

Mikita went into her kitchen to brew herself some Mu-tea. There were dirty plates piled high in the sink, and unwashed pots and pans stacked up on her cooker.

Oh fire,
she said to herself, drowsily.
When
will
you get your act together, Mikita?

Her domestic duties had taken a back seat recently
, as any spare time she’d had was devoted to research into the Codes and their animals. Just like everyone else, Mikita had become obsessed with the recent events on Baal-500 and the horrific stories that were being broadcast on The Zip. She switched on her Serene - the dishes could wait.

“Welcome to Yu-Web, a TAPCON company. At TAPCON, we’re here to help you help yourself. Be happy in your search - with Yu-Web, from TAPCON.”

“Oh, drain you, TAPCON!” shouted Mikita, at the screen. That annoying message played every time you turned on your Serene and it made her want to throw the whole thing out of the window. Instead, she wisely chose to enter her password and sign in. She typed ‘Baal-500 animal deaths’ into the search box and pressed the return key.

There wasn’t a lot of
new information on the Yu-Web, and just how much of this had been sifted through and edited (censored) by TAPCON was debatable. But what she had already managed to uncover said that the Codes were a secretive, private race, nomadic in nature, with no one really knowing where they’d originally come from.

It was generally accepted that they’d arrived on Baal-500 around 200 years before the first Earth starships
came to the Michael-6 Quadrant, and that the animals had been there long before them. The theory went that this was the primary reason they’d chosen the moon as a settlement in the first place: the Baal-500 animals were perfect for their new inter-species concept.

They’d developed their ‘Linking’
method over several years, eventually achieving great success in uniting the minds of Code and beast. It was a process that gave every species the ability to communicate with each other. Whatever the genus. Be it muidogs, slipper-eels, furkaats, turenoids, fujiwugs or spratuus, they could all understand what the other was thinking, feeling or saying. It was a remarkable accomplishment. Now, however, something was wrong out there.

PING! PING! PING!

Mikita’s Mu-tea was ready.

As she began to pour the light-green liquid into a tea-vessel, her meta-file vibrated on the
counter-top.

She picked it up.

It was a message from her cousin, Polo:

[Hi
, Miki! Meet me for a Contral at Gretchi’s? Px]

Mikita messaged her back:

[11? M] She was always brief with her meta-file texts and information exchanges. ‘You never know who’s reading this stuff’, she’d say.

Polo
replied, quickly:

[Affirmative, Captain
! Px]

Too much
draining Star Trek,
thought Mikita.

Mikita packed up her things to go out. Her Serene was still on the kitchen counter but she couldn’t be bothered to put it away. She wanted to get outside and breathe some fresh air. It was Saturday and she had no classes. Her essay for Dr. Tamashito needed to be in on the 1
st
, right enough, and she needed to do well on it, but she had plenty of time to complete that.

Mikita locked her front door and went off into the Muhaze morning.

Heading into the city
, Mikita’s street-tram passed through a Red-Zone. The TAPCON Task Force was breaking up a group of protesters deemed to be ‘causing a disturbance to the populace’. It was not unusual to find these demos going on in the city and, in reality, they were mainly peaceful affairs quietly opposing TAPCON and its alleged high-handed methods of government. There was never much trouble from these groups, small as they were, yet the TTF agents were always on hand, letting the good citizens of Muhaze know that no harm would come to them - Oh, no! Not with the blaster-gun toting, itchy trigger-fingered TTF there to protect them!

Mikita was involved with one such protest group: ‘
The People Against Sempre’s Immoral Violence’, or PASIV, as they were known. They gave talks on anti-establishment tactics and critical theory that Mikita had often attended, and it was because of PASIV’s leader, Janeee Swish, that she'd applied for entry to Mu-U in the first place. Janeee was a born motivator. If there was one person able to leap up onto the front of a vehicle with her meta-phone, and galvanize a bunch of strangers into social unrest, it was Janeee Swish.

The street-tram arrived at Unita Stratis, right outside Gretchi’s.

Mikita got off and immediately saw Polo waving at her from the front window of the
cafe. She could hardly miss her, what with the blue hair and that red, all-in-one jump suit. Mikita hadn’t seen Polo for over a week and she'd lots to tell her. She waved back and went inside.

“You’re late,” accused Polo, as Mikita approached the table.

“It’s only 11:03!”

“That’s still late. And your Contral is melting.”

“And it’s good to see you, too!” replied Mikita. Her cousin could be obnoxious and annoying, but Mikita could put up with it. Most of the time. She sat down. “Thanks for the Contral, though. Mmmm.”

“So, how’s your
boyfriend?” snarked Polo, taking a sip of the icy drink through her straw.

“
Oh, I finished it. He tried to give me a key to his flat and, well...”

“Eeew, that’s weird. I mean, I know he’s a total aurora with a perfect body and everything, but giving you his key?
Ugh. I’m not surprised, though, to tell you the truth. I always knew he was a bit of a dark horse, that one. The way he came over to our table, sat right down, chatted like he already knew you. Completely ignored Candee and me. It was almost like he was after something.” Polo’s eyes narrowed. “Hey! Have you got some hidden Muhazian millions stashed away somewhere that you’re not telling me about?”

“Yeah, right. The Smith dynasty’s secret fortune.”

Polo laughed. “Yep, you’re right. No chance of that.”

There was a short pause, as the 16 year-old looked across the table at her cousin. “You look nice, Miki.”

“Um,
right
… Thanks, cuz’,” she replied, sarcastically.

“No, really. And I like your hair like that, too.”

“My hair’s always been like this, idiot.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m just saying ‘I like it’, that’s all.”

“Oh, OK. Likewise,” said Mikita, but was really thinking how random Polo was today. “So, what about the Codes, eh?” she asked, changing the topic.

“Fizz thinks that they’
re really spies from Quadrant 2,” replied Polo. “That they’ve been put onto Baal-500 to spy on TAPCON.”

“Yeah, and Aunt Fizz get’s all her news from The Zip. Not exactly the best source is it?” said Mikita.

“Yeah, not like the Yu-Web?”

“I take your point, geeky.
But there is definitely something funny going on up there. Like it’s all part of some big plan. Like it’s a set-up, or something. Don’t you think?”

“I think you’ve been hanging out with Janeee too
long.”

Mikita’s brow furrowed. “I don’t ‘hang out’ with Janeee, Polo. She likes to think I’m her friend.
But, to me, she’s more like a -”
Mother? No.
“More like a teacher. Like Tamashito, you know?”

“And me, Mikita? What am I too you?” said Polo, somewhat over-dramatically.

“A crazy mutant with a systems malfunction, that’s what you are!” Mikita jibed, taking her straw out of her drink and blowing Contral at Polo.

H
er boiler suit was splattered with coffee-flavoured goo.

“Mikita!” squealed Polo, and blew a stream of the brown liquid back at her.

“Argh, Polo! You Earth-based cow!” shouted Mikita.

A few of the trendies sitting at the Gretchi’s bar gave them a look. Mikita made a face and thumbed her nose like a boxer wanting a fight.

“Nosey gimps,” grumped Mikita.

Polo started up again. “Mikita, if I was a boy, would you like me? I mean, ‘like me’ like me?”

“You need to get your head examined, you know that?”

Her cousin looked crestfallen.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. You’d make a lovely little boy, definitely,” Mikita said, just to shut her up.
She
is
acting strange today, no doubt about it.

“Thanks, Mikita,” beamed Polo. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Polo continued. “Well, I think it’s good that you dumped him - Hanoi. You’re not meant to be with a guy, neither of us is.”

“Yeah, I know. I really don’t think we have the ability to
be in any kind of healthy, stable relationship. Not with our crazy genes.”

“Yeah, just look at your draining brother.”

“Ka
né
… is out of my life,” she said, dismissively.
He’s dead, as far as I’m concerned.

“But Miki, you do miss your mother and father, don’t you?”

Mikita rounded on her. “It’s been six years since they died, Polo. I really don’t like to revisit all that negative stuff, OK?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I won’t ask again,” said Polo, looking upset. “Sorry, Miki.”

Mikita softened. “Of course, I do. Of course, I miss them, Po. Every day. Every single day of my rotten, little life. My mother was always there for me. Always. Well, until…” Polo’s eyes were welling up. “Polo, stop it. Please. It’s not that bad. Really.”

Polo looked down into her glass and slurped the remnants of her Contral with her straw, making a noise that attracted more stares from the Gretchi’s contingent.

“But we’ll always have each other, won’t we, Miki?” asked Polo.

She’s family. She knows I’ll look after her, the stupid moo.
“Yes, Polo. Always.”

“Even if something bad happens between us, we’ll always be there for each other, right?
”

“Polo, you know that I’ll -”

“I’ll miss you, Miki. When I’m gone.”

Mikita looked to the ceiling in exasperation. “Gone? Gone where? Oh Herra, you’re such a drama queen today. Stop acting nuts.” Mikita had had enough. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Anymore looks from the stuck-ups in here and I’m going to thump someone - and it might just be you if you don’t cheer up!”

Polo managed a smile.

“Good, get your coat. Let’s go back to mine and have Earth-based ice-cream - I’ve got Baz & Jeremy’s!”

Her cousin grinned from ear to ear.

Muhaze city centre was beginning to get busy. Saturday morning shoppers were creating a throng of noise and movement that, when combined with the ongoing repair works from the latest Froome Skirmish (No. 2.3), made a veritable cacophony of noise. Shouts and cries merged with the metal clip and thrash of the mutant-labourer’s hammer and drill. Vehicle engine stutter and spit followed the screech of tires upwards into the Muhazian skyscrapers, only to be lost on the disinterested universe, as it heedlessly sped away towards infinity. Such industry. Such desire to create and build. Such a feverish race against the discordant metronome of time.

Polo slipped her hand into Mikita’s pocket. Mikita held it and looked at her.
She’d be a very feminine boy, if she were one,
she thought.
The oval face, the long lashes, the dimples...

Polo was about the same height as Mikita, although slimmer and flatter up front. Not that Mikita was curvy by any stretch, but she was more womanly in body type. Then again, she didn't dress in boiler suits or androgynous
, baggy clothes.

Mikita wore quirky, unusual items: odd jewellery, bullet belts, clothes personalised with appliquéd political slogans, leather boots with studs and shiny metallic detail - items that said: ‘I’m different, leave me the shizz alone.” Polo’s attire self-consciously screamed: ‘Look! I’m wacky, I’m fun!’ w
hich she was, most of the time.

Today, though, she was a complete nut-job.

Arriving back at her flat, Mikita and Polo paused as they approached her front door.

It was open. 

Mikita gave Polo a look, shushing her with a finger to her lips.

Quietly, they entered the flat together.

Once inside, Mikita could hear light tapping noises coming from the kitchen. She motioned to Polo to keep still as she made her way down the hall.

The noises continued.
Fingers on keys,
thought Mikita.

As she approached the kitchen door, she realised that whoever was in her house was on her Serene. Then she remembered she’d left it out on the tabletop before she’d gone to Gretchi’s.