Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  DEEP YELLOW

  by

  Stuart F. Dodds

  Copyright 2015 by Stuart F. Dodds

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Published by Stuart F. Dodds

  ISBN: 978-0-9932065-2-8

  For further information, please visit http://www.deepyellownovel.com/home.html

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of

  the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or noncommercial

  purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

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  To mum.

  ***

  Thanks to my wife Jayne for her help, encouragement and patience and my children for their love and support.

  ***

  Cover design by Rachel Bostwick and Stuart F. Dodds.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Commander Sturlach

  Chapter 2 - Wing 90

  Chapter 3 - Overseer’s office

  Chapter 4 - We Proudly Present

  Chapter 5 - Corporal Sturlach

  Chapter 6 - The Prize Giving

  Chapter 7 - Inhab-47

  Chapter 8 - Mapping the alien world

  Chapter 9 - The Twins

  Chapter 10 - The Tinker

  Chapter 11 - Deep Yellow

  Chapter 12 - Reports are good

  Chapter 13 - The others

  Chapter 14 - New horizons

  Chapter 15 - Locardum

  Chapter 16 - Into the studio

  Chapter 17 - The Farmer

  Chapter 18 - No one dies today

  Chapter 19 - Pinball

  Chapter 20 - Space Corps Special Forces

  Chapter 21 - Covering the basics

  Chapter 22 - Smuggling

  Chapter 23 - The Holographic World

  Chapter 24 - Inspector Sturlach

  Chapter 25 - The Assassin

  Chapter 26 - The day before

  Chapter 27 - The First Challenge

  Chapter 28 - Gladiators

  Chapter 29 - Entrance and exit

  Chapter 30 - Lulu

  Chapter 31 - Death equals profits

  Chapter 32 - Tinker Holdings Ltd

  Chapter 33 - Sanctuary

  Chapter 34 - Information received

  Chapter 35 - Challenge Two

  Chapter 36 - By the White Tower

  Chapter 37 - Traitors’ Gate

  Chapter 38 - You know your problem?

  Chapter 39 - It’s all going well

  Chapter 40 - Final Challenge

  Chapter 41 - On the streets

  Chapter 42 - It’s only a gameshow

  Chapter 43 - Whisky

  Chapter 44 - Courage

  Chapter 45 - The Obelisk

  Chapter 46 - Out and about

  Chapter 47 - Security bots

  Chapter 48 - Drive

  Chapter 49 - Which way?

  Chapter 50 - Making arrangements

  About the author

  Chapter 1 - Commander Sturlach

  Flexing her hands, she shifted in her seat and pressed the fire button. Seeker missiles tore through the air, vaporising the defence drones.

  Dockside was still a crap hole, Police Corps Commander Brell Sturlach reflected, as she flew her command skiff around for another run. Little had changed since her first posting there. Huge dilapidated tower blocks, supposed “cities in the sky,” now a desolate residence of poverty, crime, and the forgotten. Despite all the advancements in technology, people still hung their clothes on a washing line strung over their balcony.

  Dancing her fingers over various real and holographic buttons, she checked on the progress of the land transporters. Her two support skiffs flew alongside. It was early morning, a good time for a drugs raid. The only people awake would be the poor sods manufacturing the illegal drugs or the “volunteers” operating the defence pods. Most of the gang were in oblivion unaware of anything going on around them. Deep Yellow and other illegal drug ampoules, bottles and tablets would be strewn all over their apartment floors. Brell hated Deep Yellow users.

  Studying the console monitors and holographic screens within her cockpit, Brell realised that the drug gang’s defences outside the building were basic. No sticky bombs, laser splashers, or heavy armaments. Still, caution was required. The location was a whole floor inside Tower Block Linear 51, but experience told her that gangs used the surrounding buildings for early warning systems and defences.

  The transporters, full of Corpsmen and Corpswomen, steadily drove along the grid road, one behind the other. They were within one kilometre of the target tower block. Regardless of the obvious Corps activity, local people walked on the side-paved areas, cabs dropped off passengers, and auto sleds cabs shuffled around the grids. Off to one side were the cargo docking areas where large bulk transporters manoeuvred into a final descent. The stevedore sleds would be getting ready to scan and store the shipments ready for collection, whilst the security guards waited for the morning shift to arrive.

  A signal chimed on Brell’s console, a heat signal discovered by the community centre ruins.

  “Trans One, two hundred metres ahead of your position on the left. Possible armaments.” Brell said, via her comms implant link.

  “Skiff Alpha, assist Trans One.”

  She watched the leading transporter, Trans One, as it approached the community centre, remembering her time as a junior Corps officer in the back of a similar transporter en route to a raid. Two lines of Corps officers, sitting opposite each other in dark blue uniforms, with their commander positioned off to one side studying screens. There would be the usual small talk, jokes, silence, and faces unable to hide nervous tension. At least one of them would clasp and re-clasp their laser barrel, looking around at the others. Brell remembered when a Police Corps colleague had come straight to work from an all night party. He had not washed and his stomach acid tablets were not working, so they sent him to sit in the corner. When the “go” order came, they pushed him out of the transporter first. Unfortunately, as he jumped the half metre to the ground, he let off a huge fart. The remainder of the crew, including Brell, had to run through a cloud of rank stomach gas with every one of them coughing. Their Commander went red in the face whilst telling them to pull themselves together without being overcome by the fumes himself.

  Trans One and Skiff Alpha went to work, firing missiles and emitting laser strikes. After the dust settled, the heat signals had gone.

  “Trans One. Good job. Will clear target entranceway. Skiff Beta, follow me.”

  She tensed, relaxed, adjusted her breathing, and calmed her thoughts. Flipping up another holographic screen, she made a positive thought.

  Command; disengage auto.

  The engine noise changed slightly. Brell felt the weight and vibration of the craft through her joystick. Easing off the anti grav drive, she lowered the craft to twenty metres above the roadway and surveyed the area ahead, Skiff Beta following her path. Her intention was to curve around the target tower block and back pass
ed the entrance, where she would send in some stunners.

  Boom!

  The craft suddenly dipped to the left. Brell compensated on the joystick as best as she could, but the sudden banking put the skiff onto a collision course with another tower block.

  “Warning, wing damage. Warning, wing damage,” the cockpit announced.

  “Skiff Beta. I’ve been hit. Be careful.”

  Brell tensed her jaw, tightened her grip on the joystick, and decelerated. By fighting the joystick and adjusting the drive, she managed to lift the wing up to just clear the tower block. Letting out a breath, she saw out of the corner of her eye, Skiff Beta pelting the armaments that had fired at her wing.

  “Damage report.” An update message appeared. The wing tip had received some minor damage.

  “Auto stabilise, yaw,” she said in a firm voice.

  The skiff balanced itself whilst Brell settled back in her seat, flying the skiff up and around the adjacent tower block on the grid. She wiggled the joystick and felt the skiff responding.

  “Skiff Beta, all okay,” Brell said calmly, “all trans, standby for entranceway stun.”

  With final screen and sensor checks made for lookouts, cameras, holo fields, and pedestrians, Brell swung her skiff onto the grid line leading to the entrance. Lowering to three metres, the ground streamed passed until she engaged the sensor assist braking. Balancing the braking and the anti grav drive, she hung outside the entrance. A stream of light laser fire emitted from a window midway up the tower block and splashed against the craft’s shields. Another stream joined it from the next window along. Her main screen brought up a heat temperature gauge as the left side anti grav drive engine began overheating. The drive unit started to whine. Adjusting her concentration, Brell got ready.

  Command; stun pellets.

  Small pellets burst out and into the entranceway. A cloud of dust billowed back out of the doorway. Anyone inside, gang member or not, would have collapsed on the floor, unable to move. Upon waking, a grinning Police Corps officer would be leaning over them.

  “Warning, drive unit overheating. Warning, drive unit overheating.” The temperature gauge flashed red.

  Brell pushed her joystick for acceleration without response. The sensors had set both engines into tick over to maintain height only. Another laser splashed onto the drive unit, which started to melt.

  “Danger, drive unit fail. Danger, drive unit fail.” Brell’s eyes flicked around the various warning lights.

  A distinct warning chime sounded. Had Skiff Alpha and Beta been hit? The chime got louder. Brell sat back, dropping her shoulders.

  “Frag it.”

  The Reveille breakfast chime continued as Brell pulled off her gaming helmet and placed it on the desk in front of her. Rubbing her face with both hands, she stared at the wall, adjusting herself back into the real world: Cell 752, Wing 90, Association (Women’s) Prison Facility, Planet Crin, on the outer rim of the Vorsan Galaxy.

  Chapter 2 - Wing 90

  Brell sat on the privy, rubbing her arm, staring at the floor. Another day had dawned, same old breakfast waiting for her. Aside from the bed, chair, table, wardrobe, media console, and punch bag, she had little personal effects in her cell. The regulation single shelf held a picture cube, a small plas-glass sculpture set on a wooden plinth from a craft class and a stack of personal messages she should have thrown away.

  Standing up, she washed her hands then splashed some water on her face. She straightened her clothes, yawned, scratched her backside, and ambled out onto the landing overlooking the communal area. A smell of disinfectant and cooking wafted up to her. The area for meals and free association consisted of a large rectangular room on the ground floor, surrounded by tiers of cells. Psych analysis, treatment, and holo activity rooms were off to the side, whilst the guard stations nestled around the entrance door. No one had escaped; the security and location implant inside each prisoner saw to that.

  Brell casually observed several inmates doing their usual morning walking routine. This not only gave them a chance to walk and talk with fellow inmates, but it put the guards on edge. Another inmate performed some stretching exercises whilst watching one of the giant image screens, which displayed rolling positive messages. When Brell first saw the messages such as, “Be good to your fellows” and “A positive mind is a positive place” she laughed. Whoever wrote that had not stayed in prison themselves. This place was full of lifers, like herself, who cares a frag about this? The messages had changed very little over the years.

  The Arborian in the next cell wandered out onto the landing and leant over the rail. They could not have appeared more different. The Arborian had dull red scaly skin and nose plugs to assist in breathing. Whereas Brell was 178 centimetres tall with pale blue skin, a round face, brown eyes, a low wide forehead and short black hair. The punch bag routines had helped her keep trim and on top of her thirty-nine years. They gave each other an acknowledgment as the cleaner bots popped up and scurried through their cells. Most lines of conversation were exhausted.

  Brell slowly wandered back into her cell, lifted the sculpture off the shelf, and opened the small flap in the back of the wooden plinth. Hooking her finger inside, she pulled out a small liquid ampoule and weighed it in her hand. Deep Yellow. Two hundred days had passed since the last time she had taken the illegal substance. Though a weaker form of Deep Yellow than the original bottled mix, it was better than nothing. Brell had tried offsetting the monotony of prison life with a drug-free health and fitness regime. Aware but oblivious of the 24-hour cell surveillance and scanning, Brell slowly put the ampoule back and then replaced her sculpture whilst looking directly at the cams smiling.

  Frag it, the guards supplied the Deep Yellow, at a cost. Made their lives easier. She tapped on her picture cube. The holo screen materialised with the first image, showing Gorst, her ex-boyfriend. She ran her hands through her hair a couple of times and made her way out of the cell.

  Brell stood in line, collected her food from the large industrial auto chef, and took her usual seat at the far end of the communal eating table. She was oblivious to the food smells, sweat, unwashed inmates, and guards’ perfume permeating the sterile air. The usual murmur of conversation carried on around the room. What did they have to talk about? Brell had long given up taking an interest in the different races, creeds, and skin colours. It was something to do with differences in radiation and soil apparently.

  She remembered one of her first Police Corps Academy lessons describing the history of the Association of Planets. If Stolaan Golic had survived the explosion in his shed and Hypar V’tr’lich had been sober, then beam propulsion and space folding would never have been invented. The Association, with its two hundred member planets, provided plenty of work for Police and Space Corps around the galaxy. Having had years to reflect on this, it meant that Brell, without the ability to travel, might have become a weaver’s wife on her home world just looking up at the stars. She would certainly not be in prison.

  Her fellow inmates were all serving long sentences for drugs, smuggling, fraud, and murder whatever their background. Like Brell, they were all unsuitable for community punishments, psyche profiling, DNA altering, or brain implants.

  Today’s breakfast consisted of a bread egg affair with a large sweet root together with fruit gloop. Brell snatched a quick glance at the others and busied herself with the food whilst mulling over whether to apply for a new Holo World game console and helmet. The conversation around her stopped and she felt the gaze of the other inmates.

  “What do you think?”

  “What was that?” Brell said clearing her throat and glancing up to see which inmate had spoken.

  It was one of the Colony 09 inmates, sitting further up the table. They were tough, heavily tattooed, swarthy women who could only deal with things by way of conflict, hence the reason why many of them were in prison.

  “My friend has just been brought in by the Corps.”

  “Really?” Br
ell said, narrowing her eyes.

  “MK running.”

  “Well, MK is a heavy drug. Probably a washout, psych change at the least,” Brell said, biting into the root vegetable.

  “MK ain’t no Deep Yellow, you know. Now Deep Yellow, that’s what the rich lot use, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, and some of them carry on with their job catching MK users.” A second inmate joined the conversation.

  “Old captain here knows all about that, don’t you, princess blue skin?” the first inmate said.

  “Talk about two-faced.”

  “Yeah. More like blue faced.”

  “Well, looks like there’s a bit of a mixture in there. More light blue than pure blue, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Your mother or father from the other side of the tracks, captain bluey?” She made a mock salute.

  Brell let them talk and bit harder into the root, frowning. Some of the other women said nothing but looked on, their eyes darting left and right. They had all stopped eating.

  “Oh, look, caught a nerve, have we? Missed your Deep Yellow hit again?”

  “Yeah, probably run out. What you going to do?”

  “Actually, I haven’t used it for two hundred days,” Brell said.

  “Oh, we are good, aren’t we captain princess blue skin. Two hundred days, well, I never.”

  Brell stared down at her food. Here we go again. She never lost her Police Corps tag. Well, the Corps had placed every one of these women here. Three years ago, a Space Corps sergeant caught smuggling Association-rated gland implants, appeared on the wing. Brell developed a relationship with her, two Corpswomen in similar circumstances, and all that, but the sergeant opted for voluntary termination. It was a difficult time for Brell. Her thoughts often strayed to taking the VT option. Whilst it provided an easy way out, she could not bring herself to do it, at the moment, anyway.