The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles) (7 page)

She looked around the flat for inspiration, for a getaway.

The TAPCON agents were shouting and yelling to each other outside in the corridor.

Then, it hit her.

Fire. Of course! This building is a Brownstone replica, they had fire escapes in the back!

It was her only chance. There was no other way out of the tenement, except the front door, but that wasn’t an option. Not with an entire Task Force squadron out there waiting for her.

But i
t’s so high up! I’m on the 12
th
floor!

“Miss Smith!” warned the agent
, again. “We are now breaking down the door! Please stand clear!”

Mikita hadn’t a second to lose. She rushed over to the window of the lounge and opened it wide. A gust of wind tore into the room. She thrust her head outside and looked down.

12 draining floors!

The fire escape was located about 10ft to the right of the window.

She would need to walk along a thin ledge to get there and it was beginning to get dark outside.

Taking a deep breath Mikita put her right leg out over the sill and felt for a foothold. Her foot slipped a few times, but eventually she found her footing and ducked down under the window and out into the gale. She steadied herself and tried not to look down, keeping her back hard up against the stonework. The wind was gusting so much
now, she could barely maintain her balance, yet, somehow, steeling herself, she started to make her way, inch by inch, towards the fire escape.

There was an almighty crash from inside the apartment. The door had been broken down and she could tell from the men’s angry vociferations that they were in the flat looking for her.

She had to hurry.

And now the wind was
really picking up!

Mikita made her way along the slender precipice until eventually she ran out of ledge. The fire escape was only a few feet away, if she could just reach out and grab the railing…

Then, suddenly, Mikita felt the building lurch towards one side and she was thrown off in the direction of the escape. The railings caught her painfully in the midriff as she toppled forwards and flipped over the bar onto the platform. She landed on her rear with a thump.
So, Dontai was right,
she thought.
It really does move in the wind.

Mikita got up. The escape was in a bad state of repair and it wobbled uncertainly under her weight. She made for the connecting stairs, the structure creaking with every step she took. Some of the iron railings gave way when she grabbed at them, but she carried on.

At the window of Hanoi’s flat a TAPCON agent stuck his head out. He caught sight of Mikita and yelled down at her: “Miss Smith! Stop where you are!”

Mikita carried on down the stairs as fast as she could. She was running for her life.

“Miss Smith, I do not want to have to shoot! Please stop where you are!”

No, I won’t stop!
Not now!

“Stop, Miss Smith! This is your last warning!”

No! Not ever!

A shot rang out and ricocheted off the grating above her head. Mikita ducked in fright, then stumbled, but still managed to keep her legs moving. Down, down the stairs she went, like a pinball bouncing off the bumpers.

Mikita realised that she was only exposed to the gunman at one end of the fire escape, so she tried to go as quickly as possible through these sections. She kept her limbs pumping and continually dodged from side to side making it as difficult as she could for the agent to draw a bead on her. It was getting quite dark now and this would help, but she needed all the assistance she could get.

Mikita was at the fifth story of the building.
Not far to go now, Mikita, keep moving,
she told herself, as another shot was fired from Hanoi’s window. She felt a strong rush of air go fizzing past her temple, yet still she sped on.

At last she'd reached the bottom of the escape. This final platform was about 20ft from the ground and had a hinged ladder connected to the underside that, normally, could swing down to the street below. There was only a small section of it left. The rest had been broken off or damaged somehow leaving a rusty, mangled mass of metal. Mikita would have to jump the last 20ft.

She turned around to climb down onto the remaining scrap of ladder as a further shot was fired from above.

She felt contact - a sharp, searing pain in her arm - and let go of the top rung.

She felt herself falling.

Falling down, head first, towards the dark alley below.

20:25 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Aarmaten District, Baal-500)

Phil Jameson and Tina Gössner had known each other since their Space Academy days - but they had gone their separate ways after that. Tina, into the Interplanetary Medical School, and Jameson, to Starship Pilot Training and Flight Management. They both got married and, further down the line, both ended up on their own - albeit for different reasons.

Tina had made her way through Med School with ease. Her main scientific interests were in alien life forms and she'd published several papers on various creatures from nearby planets whil
st still studying. Her work on the tiny, and seldom seen, Seba Lynx (a feline furball from the planet Seba-23) had set the scientific world alight and brought her a PhD from the Med School. Her personal life, however, was not nearly as rewarding.

Tina married Jack Gössner (a surgeon, specialising in advanced alien to human transplants) and stayed with him for 12 years, until his philandering
ways finally took its toll on her, and she left him. ‘There’s only so many times your best friend can treat you like dirt before you say enough is enough’ - Tina was fond of saying. They’d had a child, Jana, so, at least in Tina’s eyes, the marriage had not been an entire waste of time. Out here in space though she was on her own - except for Jameson, that is. But sometimes she didn’t know if hanging around with the Captain was worth all the effort.

Philip Stephen Jameson was your archetypal airman. He came top of his class in Pilot Training, and soon found himself moving up the ranks of TAPCON’s burgeoning airforce. The captain of a Space Cruiser by the age of 26 and
, then, the newly built Starship Hawk, at the tender age of 31, such a speedy line of ascension had never been achieved amongst TAPCON’s graduates. Needless to say, starships became his life - and they still were. He was a flyer through and through.

His marriage to his wife Mharianne was fraught with difficulty. It was a tempestuous union, both of them young, ambitious types, passionate in their work. Mharianne’s job was at the airbase in security, high up the ranks and very well paid. However, things started to go wrong for them while she was putting together a report on in-house corruption
: Mharianne suddenly became gravely ill. The TAPCON doctors put it down to some new super-bug, but she never got better - the illness simply wouldn’t go away.

Mharianne would eventually die from a gunshot wound under the chin, not the super-bug. It was presumed to be suicide, though no note, no letter of explanation, no real clue as to why (or if) she
’d done it, was ever found. The case was quickly closed, but Jameson had never agreed with the verdict.
Mharianne just wouldn’t do that,
he told himself, time and time again.

He backed-off on his workload and got some help from the psyche team. Over the next few months his friends started to tell him to let it go, that it was crushing him. “Get back to flying, Phil. Do what you love. Move on with your life,” they said.

And gradually, he did.

Jameson disliked David Sempre and the whole TAPCON set-up, but he would do a lot of things he didn’t like in order to keep flying. And TAPCON were true to their word, they’d held his job for him. He was reliable. Solid. A paradigm of workman-like application. He was someone they valued and, thereafter, Jameson’s achievements were of the highest order:

1. Defeating the Hoqut’al Kuo in their attempt to conquer Meai-18533.

2. Leading a one-starship attack on the Moonsmen Group - notorious illegal arms dealers from the planet Yolanda-CDI.

3. Rescuing two TAPCON pilots stranded on Fuschia-2609(b) after they had jettisoned from their maimed spacecraft in the Pocket Rocket-16.

The list went on, and on.

And now, he was with Tina, attractive, intelligent, with a razor-sharp wit. But even she didn’t know everything about Jameson - not many people did. And those that did, had been dead now for some time.

Jameson got out of the lift and made his way through Sub-Section 1 towards the Medical Lab.

Tina was still running what tests she could on Zanthu’s muidog. It was in bad shape from continually gnawing and biting itself, and from whatever else was causing the dog’s physical and mental distress.

“How’s the pooch, Tina?” asked Jameson.

“It doesn’t look good, Phil. I’d hazard that this will turn out to be a post-mortem rather than a rehab.”

“That bad, huh? Well, the Code youth is very attached to the thing. He’ll take it hard. I would have a sedative handy for him when he hears the news.”

“Gotcha, will do. And Phil, there’s something else I need to tell -”
Tina was interrupted.

“How is my Spoolu? Ha
s she recovered yet?” It was Zanthu, with Lead-Out running up behind him.

“Sorry, sir, ma’am,” she offered. “He was desperate for news of his dog. I couldn’t stop him.”

“It’s OK, Lead-Out,” said Tina, looking over at Jameson. He nodded. “Zanthu. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the prognosis is not good for Spoolu. She has multiple lacerations to her entire body and has lost a lot of blood. We could lose her at any moment. I’m so sorry.”

Zanthu’s face was ashen.

“We will do our best for her, to make her as comfortable as possible, for what little time she has left.”

Zanthu managed a smile of thanks
, but underneath he was stricken with anguish.

“Lead-Out,” began the Captain. “Could you take Zanthu back to his room?”

“No! No! I want to be with Spoolu! Please? Let me hold her?” implored the young Code. “Please, Captain Jameson? For a few minutes?”

“Yes, yes, of course Zanthu. You can have a moment or two.
Corporal, sit with Zanthu for a few minutes will you? But don’t let him get in Dr. Gössner’s way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then, taking Jameson aside to where they could talk in private, Tina said: “Phil, listen - what I was trying to tell you before? About the muidog? We found something. In its ear, there was a device of some kind. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She took Jameson into the lab’s anteroom where she'd setup the Argon’s transmission electron microscope. “Take a look at this,” she said, ominously.

Jameson stooped over the scope and looked down through the eyepiece. He adjusted the fine focus a notch or two and there, pinioned by a force-field mechanism, was what looked to be a tiny, winged insect. Except this one appeared to be metallic, like it had on some kind of hi-tech armour. And it was struggling to free itself from the electromagnetic prison Gössner had set for it.

“What the heck is that?” asked Jameson, looking up at her.

“I’m not sure. But I have a sneaking suspicion that this little mite here is the cause of what’s been happening on Baal-500.”

“Is it a Code device? Maybe it’
s got something do to with the Linking process? We can ask Zanthu about this, right now. He may be able to shed some light.”

“Wait, Phil. I don’t think this technology belongs to the Codes. This has more than an essence of malice about it. It’s definitely come from the mind of one angry individual.”

“But that would mean either the Codes are lying about being peace-loving zealots or there’s another party involved.”

“I’m going with your second interpretation.”

Jameson thought to himself for a second. “We need Gadget in on this.”

Tina nodded.

Jameson went back into the main lab area. “Lead-Out, get down to Technical and ask Corporal Gadget to come up here. And I want every member of the crew down here in Medical, now. Tell them we have an emergency!”

He didn’t show it on his granite-like visage, but Jameson was already beginning to reappreciate why he normally did things
‘by-the-book’.

20:52 - Saturday, July 28, 2187 (Weah Mansions, Muhaze, Tapi-36)

Mikita felt her body crashing heavily to the ground.
She’d fallen over 20ft and, miraculously, she was still alive.

Then she noticed she was lying on top of something.

No… Wait…
she thought.
I’m on top of some
one
!

“Good evening, Mikita Smith,” said a familiar, though slightly winded voice.

She looked over her shoulder at the body beneath her.
Drain me, it’s Gompi. I’ve landed on Gompi!

“Sorry, Mikita Smith. I try catch you. You too heavy for me,” apologised the mutant.

“No, no, it’s OK, Gompi,” she said. “Thank you. You’ve saved my life.” Mikita rolled off him and stood up. She felt around herself for any damage.

She was sore, but no bones were broken. Howe
ver, her arm was very painful - it looked like a serious flesh wound.

“Are you OK, Gompi?” asked Mikita, looking up towards Hanoi’s flat for signs of the TAPCON agents.

“Yes, I fine,” he replied. “You not worry, Mikita Smith.”

As luck would have it, Mikita found that her view was
completely obscured by the fire escape. She was directly underneath it. They wouldn’t be able to fire on her from that vantage point. Now she had to get out of there, without any more delay.

“You have blood on hands, Mikita Smith,” pointed out Gompi, getting to his feet.

She looked down at her palms, they were red with Hanoi’s blood.

“And arm. You are hurt, Mikita Smith? Gompi help?”

“Yes… um, no, it’s not what you think, I… Oh, I’m sorry Gompi. Look, I have to go. But thank you for saving me.”

She made to leave, but Gompi had already taken off his cravat and was tying it around the top of Mikita’s arm. She winced as he tied a knot in the bandage. “Thank you, Gompi. Now really, I must go… I must.”

“It is good. I can finish with garbage. Good-bye, Mikita Smith.” Gompi had been putting out the rubbish. The bins were located under the fire escape.

Mikita smiled
, weakly. “Bye, Gompi, and thank you again,” she said, and started to run down the backstreet and off into the night.

Upstairs, in Hanoi’s flat, the agents were arguing.

“Shizz and fire! How many times did you draining well miss, Zeus? Was it four, or was it five?” teased one of them.

“I definitely got her with that last shot, Fitz, definitely,” replied Zeus, the sniper, but his partner wasn’t convinced. “It was dark, Fitz! I couldn’t get a good look!”

“Oh, that’s great! Sempre will be delighted with that, won’t he? He’ll take that as a perfectly acceptable excuse!”

“Right men, cut it out,” interrupted Wenceslaus, their moustachioed senior. “We need to get onto her trail, pronto. Fitz, contact surveillance. Let’s find out where she’s going.”

             
“Yes, sir. Right away.”

“Sir? I’ve found her Serene,” said Ryptal, a keen junior agent on his first mission.

“Good, take it down to control, Ryptal. There’ll be something on it we can use. Green? Timmons? Get this mess sorted out here. No evidence is to be left. Nothing. The rest of you men, get yourselves down to the vehicles and start searching the streets. We can’t afford to lose the suspect. Mikita Smith is one dangerous young woman.”