The Golden Circuit (The Smith Chronicles)

by John K. Irvine

  But then this fantastical state of mind was countered by its polar opposite, when she foolishly looked into the forgotten backwaters of her memory and reached down into that dark and deadened place only to be reminded that the past couldn’t be changed, that those recollections were already drowned and unsalvageable. That same feeling of hopelessness filled her mind right now.

  On top of all this, the last 48 hours had seen her entire belief system completely reversed! What about those ideas of infiltration? Of infusing the diseased corporate hallways with goodness and truth? What of all the theory she'd learned from Janeee at her PASIV meetings? The non-violent methods of protest? Was all of it out the window in exchange for a few guns, bombs and thoughts of oblivion?

  Then, looking up, Mikita realised that her decision was being made for her, right then and there, as she stood in the doorway.

  On a Megatron across the road, TAPCON’s balding press officer, Reynald Frampton (the self-professed ‘master of spin’) was talking to Zip golden-girl, Harriet Honeste, in the studio.

  “That’s right, Harriet. We are asking Mikita Smith to come directly to the TAPCON buildings and enter into discussions with us about her ‘supposed’ crimes. She will not be charged. I repeat… she will not be charged. That has come directly from Mr. Sempre, himself. And we also have this message for her, recorded this very afternoon by her cousin, a Miss Polo Smith. And Harriet, your viewers should be aware – it is a rather emotional, personal message.”

  Harriet Honeste did her well-practised sympathetic nodding, and made a face that said ‘I feel the excruciating pain of the cosmos throughout my entire being’ - although it was probably just wind.

  Then, on came Polo.

  It looked like she was in a holding room somewhere within the TAPCON enclave. She looked distressed, like the Agents had been threatening her… or worse. She started to speak:

  “Mikita please come to the main entrance as soon as possible. Please? They will not harm you - they’ve promised me that. They only want to talk to you and sort things out. Please, Mikita. Come in, as soon as you can!” Then Polo began to cry. The clip ended and they were back with Harriet Honeste’s gleaming teeth, lustrous hair and indigestion.

  “So, Mikita Smith, if you’re watching,” she gushed. “That was your cousin Polo there, with some very good advice. No charges will be pressed. Simply turn yourself in at the TAPCON front entrance, at your own convenience.”

  Mikita’s heart sunk. She could not bear to see Polo in that state - her own flesh and blood.

  She'd been left with no choice. Not now. Not after that. And it was inevitable, anyway. How could she hope to waltz right in there and conquer TAPCON? An 18 year-old girl taking on the TTF? She'd really gone mad - she was convinced of that, now.

  But something within herself said that this is what she deserved, if not by Earth-based karma, then certainly by solar law. Powers, or no powers, she'd killed Hanoi Jones and she needed to be punished, did she not? She could publicly blame the Golden Circuit all she liked, but who would believe her? Yeah, you see, it was the force that created the universe what made me kill him, your honour. Nothing to do with me.

  Um… No.

  And there was another thing.

  Mikita herself was unsure as to what was behind the events that had happened. Had she really meant to kill Hanoi? He had been attacking her, violently, and he had been physically threatening. But that didn’t merit his murder.

  The level of guilt and denial she was going through was enormous, and she began to feel its strain. It was like a powerful undercurrent pulling at her legs, drawing her below the surface, down into a vortex of remorse.

  How she wanted it all to end.

  How she wanted it all to end, right now.

  Mikita took off her scarf and hairband, put down her suitcase and walked the last few remaining blocks to the TAPCON buildings. The guard at the gates recognised her immediately and spoke into his hand-held. Alarms went off, lights flashed and TTF agents appeared all around her. She closed her eyes and let them carry her off to meet her fate.

  It was over.

  Mikita almost felt relieved.

  The agents took her directly to a holding room, where she was to wait for Sempre to speak with her. They had found her munitions case out on Tapcon Stratis and had taken it away for examination. They’d also searched her thoroughly, finding nothing except her meta-file, which they promptly confiscated. Mikita realised her situation was now in the hands of the TAPCON big gun.

  What would he do to her?

  Reynald Frampton had said they weren’t going to punish her? Was that for real?

  There was a knock at the door.

  It opened slowly and a face peered around the side.

  It was Polo!

  “Mikita!” she screeched.

  There were two TTF agents behind her, waiting, watching. “Three minutes, that’s it,” one of them said and closed the door with a heavy thud, locking it. A small hatch shot open halfway up the door and a blinking, observant eye looked in on them.

  “Polo! Have they hurt you? Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, Mikita. They haven’t done anything to me. They’ve been very nice, so far.”

  “Yeah, I think ‘so far’ are the important words, there. But, you’re not harmed, are you? They’ve not stuck things in you… or done a frontal lobotomy, like they should do, of course?” Mikita offered a smile and got one in return from Polo.

  “No. Really, everything’s fine. They’ve got nice food here, too. I had ice-cream today! Baz & Jeremy’s!”

  “Good, that’s good,” said Mikita, encouragingly.

  “So you saw my message, then?”

  “Yes, Po, I did, that’s why I’m here. I had to make sure you were OK.”

  “I knew that you would, Mikita. I knew that you would come for me.”

  “Of course. I said I’d always look out for you, Polo, didn’t I? No matter what.”

  “And they’ve promised me that they won’t press charges against you! Isn’t that great?”

  “Well, let’s wait and see about that...”

  …

  Polo looked like she had a burning question. “Mikita? You didn’t really kill Hanoi, did you? I mean, actually ‘kill’ him? And shoot that agent, as well?”

  “Um, yes… I mean… No... not the agent. Gildan shot him, though he’s from another planet. But Hanoi… Oh, it’s such a long and complicated story, I wouldn’t know where to begin -”

  “So, you did kill Hanoi, then?” said Polo, looking at Mikita, as if for the first time.

  “No. Yes… I guess so… But he tried to… Hey, don’t look at me like that!”

  “But Mikita, you killed someone. I mean, really murdered somebody!” Polo was genuinely horrified. All these years of knowing Mikita, never once would she think she could do such a thing.

  “All right, all right, stop saying it like that! It was an accident, OK! I didn’t mean to do it!”

  “But you did it, didn’t you? You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “YES! I DID! I KILLED HANOI JONES!”

  The TTF men burst into the room. They handcuffed Mikita, then grabbed Polo and led her away. Polo didn't look back.

  “Polo, you little fool! You’ve set me up! Oh, drain you, Polo! Why?” Mikita could feel her face burning. There was no answer from Polo. She was gone now, out of her life. Just like her brother, Kané.

  Then, David Sempre entered the room.

  “Now, now, Miss Smith. Let’s not get too carried away, here. Your cousin was only doing what she thought was best. Please, don’t hold it against her. Oh, how I hate these petty little family arguments, truly, I do.”

  Mikita spat in Sempre’s face.

  Sempre didn't like that. Not one bit.

  He wiped his cheek and raised his other hand to strike her, just like Hanoi had done 24 hours ago.

  It shook, while he held it aloft, and his face went beetroot red.

  Then, slowly, he lowered
his arm and put it back down by his side, calmly.

  “Ahem, no, no, no… Let’s deal with this in a civilised way. Let me see, now…” He was eyeing up Mikita, making mental notes. “Yes, I think we can safely start the process now. Take her to Room 77.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sempre,” said one of the agents. It was Wenceslaus, from the Mansions raid. “With pleasure, sir.”

  Wenceslaus pulled at his moustache ends, then pushed Mikita through the door and led her down the myriad of hallways that made up the TAPCON building. An armed security-mutant followed closely behind them both.

  TAPCON’s inner sanctum was a maze of grey - endlessly the same. However, Wenceslaus knew his route perfectly. They needed to go through several electronic doors, the agent using a pass to get through each one.

  They passed several members of TAPCON’s administrative staff and office personnel, all with badges and clip-on passes. They ignored her - nobody was bothered by her presence: just another street urchin out of her depth and banged to rights by the authorities. They’d seen it all before.

  “This is it, Miss Smith,” said Wenceslaus, as they came to a halt outside Room 77. “I hope you – ‘enjoy yourself’.” The agent smiled, wickedly.

  Room 77 was just like any of the other rooms down any of the other corridors. Another grey door down another grey hallway. Wenceslaus unlocked it with his pass and opened the door.

  Inside the room were two people. One male and one female - Specialists, Mikita thought. They were both dressed in white scientist’s coats, both were bespectacled, and both were sat at two wooden desks. One on either side of the room.

  The interior was small and rectangular, with a curved semi-circular bay area behind the Specialists. There wasn’t much space in there for the two of them, let alone three, once Mikita was shoved in by Wenceslaus.

  “Mikita Smith,” the burly agent announced, then left, shutting the door behind him.

  Mikita stood there, impassive, staring straight ahead.

  “Please, sit down,” said the woman.

  “Yes, sit down, please, Miss Smith,” said the man.

  She continued to stand.

  The two Specialists looked at each other in dismay.

  “Oh, dear,” said the woman. “It appears we have one of ‘those’, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Yes, Miss Quince. It appears to be so. How dull.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Miss Smith. Tell me now. Do you know why you are here? With us, of course, not philosophically speaking!” Mr. Mitchell tittered to himself at his joke. Miss Quince wrinkled her face at him in mutual amusement.

  Mikita said nothing.

  “Hmmm. I see,” said Mitchell. “Do we need to get the guard in, Miss Smith. Do we really? I hate the sight of blood. Particularly on a Sunday.”

  Mikita frowned and went and sat in the chair that had been provided for her.

  “A good choice, Miss Smith,” said Quince.

  “A very good choice, Miss Smith,” said Mitchell.

  “Now then, let’s begin with a few questions. What is your favourite colour?” asked Quince.

  “What?” said Mikita. Are they mad?

  “Your favourite colour, what is it?”

  Mikita said nothing, again.

  Both of the Specialists, looked at each other, again.

  “Guard!” they shouted in unison.

  “Black!” said Mikita.

  Mr. Mitchell exhaled in tedium, as the door flew open. “It’s OK, guard, she is now cooperating, please leave us.”

  The guard shut the door.

  “That was very good, Miss Smith,” said Quince, entering the information into her electronic tablet. “And it appears to be the correct answer, as well. Good for you! Nevertheless, you should be made aware, for future reference, that black is, scientifically speaking, not a colour. Now, Miss Smith, your favourite breakfast cereal?”

  “Beta-Bytes.”

  “Yes! That’s correct. Oh, well done.”

  “Your favourite toothpaste?”

  “Moon-Shine dental spray.”

  “Good!”

  “Favourite shampoo?”

  “Celestial-Wash, regular.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Your favourite sport.”

  “Space-Biathlon… the skiing and laser-blasting one.”

  “Correct!”

  And so on they went, asking their apparently inconsequential questions to Mikita.

  They carried on for a considerable time and gradually Mikita found herself wondering when they would stop. Plus, her inquisitors were making her ever more nervous, with their extreme oddness and passive aggressive natures.

  “How many more questions do you intend to ask me?” said Mikita.

  “None. By you asking that question we now move on to the next stage. But first, a break. For 10 minutes - yes, Miss Quince?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you Mr. Mitchell. A good idea. I could do with a cup of Mu-tea myself. Mikita? Would you like a cup of tea, too?”

  Oh, we’re first name terms now, are we? “Yes, please. Why not?” she replied, in a ‘what-have-I-got-to-lose’ voice.

  “Good. Open the blinds for Mikita, would you Mr. Mitchell?”

  “My pleasure, Miss Quince.”

  Mikita saw that each side of the curved bay had a large blind pulled down from the ceiling about halfway to the floor. Mr. Mitchell went over to each one, gave it a downward jerk and let go. The blind whirled up to the top of its roller, clattered a bit, then stopped. He did this on the other side, each time revealing, not a window with a view of the TAPCON car park or the side of a nondescript building, but a projection screen.

  A slowly pulsing, coloured light shone on each one. It changed to a different colour with each oscillation - like a rainbow doing a slow samba. Now a green, softly turning into a blue. Here an orange becoming a purple, and so forth.

  Mitchell gave Mikita an unexpected smile as he left the room, then shut the door behind him.

  The lights in the room went out!

  Mikita started to feel uneasy.

  On the screen, to her right, Mikita thought that she saw an image flash up, very quickly. So quickly she was not sure whether there had been one there at all. Then the same thing happened on her left hand side, yet still she could not make out the image. This happened several times, and each time Mikita was unable to detect what was on the photograph.

  The lights flicked back on and in came Quince and Mitchell with their cups of tea.

  They’d not brought one for Mikita.

  “Do I not get a cup of tea, then?’ said Mikita, somewhat bolshily.

  “But you said you didn’t want one, Mikita. Didn’t she Mr. Mitchell?” replied Quince.

  “Oh, yes - ‘No, thank you, Miss Quince’ - you said. Very clearly, in a good strong voice,” confirmed Mitchell.

  “No. That’s not what I -”

  “You said no, Mikita. Do we need the guard again?” threatened Quince.

  Mikita shook her head.

  “Good. Then let’s proceed. Mr. Mitchell if you would, the next question, please.”

  “Mikita, look at this picture.”

  The lights went off again. A photo came up on the screen.

  It was her mother, Kaori. A black and white photograph of her mother. On a slab. In a morgue. Dead.

  “No! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me?” she got up.

  “Sit down, Mikita.”

  “But why are you -”

  “Do we need the guard? ”

  She sat down, her lip trembling.

  “Who is this woman, Mikita?”

  “My mother,” she said, quietly.

  “Yes. It is, isn’t it. And this person?”

  On the other screen came an image of her father, Ichiro. Again, black and white. The morgue.

  “Oh, Herra, no.” Mikita began to cry.

  “The person. Mikita! WHO IS IT?” shouted Quince.

  “It’s my father.”

  “Good. Correct.�
��

  “Both of them are dead now aren’t they, Mikita? Both dead now, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how do you feel about that, Mikita? Are you sad? Hmmm? Does it make you feel… sad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And if I told you they were still alive and that they were not dead, how would you feel then, Mikita? Hmmm?”

  “What? You mean they’re not dead?” she said, suddenly happy.

  “I said, how would you feel if I told you they were still alive?”

  “Oh, so happy! Yes! So very happy!”

  Quince and Mitchell went completely still.

  Neither one moved.

  They were like two chimerae watching over the entrance to Hades - rictal, monstrous and vile.

  Mikita was terrified. “What’s going on? What are you doing to me? Are my parents still alive? Tell me!!”

  A single tone began to make its presence felt in the room. Mikita looked around for its source, but she would never find it. The noise got louder - incrementally louder, and louder. Mikita covered her ears with her hands, but it made no difference. Louder and louder the tone went in volume. Mitchell and Quince hadn’t moved a muscle and appeared to be unaffected by the sound. And now, they were smiling. Insane smiles. The smile a Specialist would make following a successful interrogation. As if they were void of any emotion except the terrible enjoyment of her suffering.

  The pictures of her parents zoomed in and out on themselves. A close up of her mother’s wounds, her father’s face, eyes open, dead eyes looking at her. Then the sound seemed to split into several parts – some low and thunderous, the others high and piercing - as if it had been shattered by Satan’s trident into thousands of agonising aural shards. Mikita fell to her knees in pain. She felt like her head was caving in; like she was in a black hole and the gravity was crushing her down; squeezing her soul out through her eyes. And still the noise got louder.

  Suddeny, Mikita felt the force of the Golden Circuit surge within her, rising quickly from inside. She almost doubled-up with the severity of its onset, as she felt the white-hot light move outward along her arms and arrive at her fingertips like a brilliant fire. How it burned. It was excruciating in its intensity!