by Stuart Dodds
“Two hundred minutes, more like,” the first inmate said. She flipped her friend a look, motioning with her eyes. A couple of guards walked nearby.
“Yeah. Old bluey there had better calm down.” The second inmate stared intently at Brell.
Brell tasted a spoonful of gloop and threw the spoon back in the cup. There was a sharp bang on her head as a half-chewed root fell into her plate. Laughter erupted. In one movement, Brell stood up and threw her plate at one of the bitchy women. It missed and clattered on the floor. Some nervous giggling started.
“Hey, old Corpy’s getting a bit angry. Watch out girls, she may try and run you in.”
Brell ran around the table and grabbed the inmate’s shirt collar with her left hand, pulling back her right hand for a punch. The last thing she remembered was the woman screwing up her eyes, trying to turn her face away, in anticipation of the punch.
***
She awoke face down on her bed, her implant burning at the base of her neck.
“Aagh, fret, frag, frotting, frag yes I’m awake, for frag’s sake, okay.”
“She is awake. Vital signs are good.”
“Yes, now turn it off.”
Through half closed eyes, she saw a guard standing just inside the cell staring back at her whilst talking to a supervisor via her comms implant. It was one of the new guards, still a bit twitchy on the buttons.
Brell rubbed the back of her head as if to erase the lingering burning sensation from the stunning, which had mixed with the current one being administered to wake her up.
“Okay, okay, I’m awake, turn it off.”
The burning stopped a little as she sat up. The guard approached her, holding up a neck beam collar and beam cuffs.
“Overseers office,” the guard said, smiling.
Chapter 3 - Overseer’s office
The Overseer’s office was large, yet bland. The guard plonked her down in a chair three metres from the Overseer’s large metal desk. The only item of adornment was a large corner bookcase with Rules and Regulation holo book covers neatly stacked on the shelves. Streaming holo screens were positioned in a wide semicircle in front of the desk. Brell turned her head and saw a huge checkerboard of screens lining the long wall behind her. Every few seconds the images changed, sometimes a corridor, a recreation area, or staff showers. As if aware of her thoughts, some screens blinked off.
The Overseer turned off the console in front of her and looked at Brell. The round face with its small ears and even smaller nose was devoid of expression. Many Prison Corps staff were Bermians, a race known for following regulations and orders. They were of medium height, but tough, their stout bodies ideal for dealing with disorderly inmates, as new prisoners testing the boundaries often found out. They lacked humour, as Brell remembered from her Bermian Corps colleagues, but they were dependable and solid, but not great fun on a night out.
Sitting to the side of the desk was a man. A man! There were no male guards in this female prison. He appeared Elytian with his light yellow skin, and appeared roughly sixty years old, unfit, with a second chin trying to break through. His face had both charm and weariness, but his loud, colourful patterned, short sleeved shirt was interesting, made of some kind of basic fabric.
“Prisoner Sturlach,” the Overseer’s voice boomed out in an emotionless accent, though a slight high trill betrayed her age. “The breakfast business this morning has been dealt with; though it isn’t the first time you have been stunned for fighting.”
Being in front of the Overseer must mean bad news, Brell considered as she rested her cuffed hands on her lap. The hard beam collar felt stiff and uncomfortable, but it only took a button press from the guard standing behind her to deliver a stun ten times worse than her implant. She licked her lips and tried to relax her shoulders.
“This is Williams from the Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company. It is easier if he explains.”
Yes, Elytian, the colour of his skin gave it away. It was unusual for anyone from there to stoop this low and visit a prison. Elytia, the Association capital, where all major technology and media companies were based.
“Hi, Viva! I’m Williams.” He held up the palm of one hand as if in greeting, and then fiddled with his multi-coloured beaded necklace. The Overseer glanced at Williams impassively.
“Interesting name,” Brell said.
“It is a kind of foreign name.”
Brell shrugged.
Williams, paused, leaned forward, and smiled. “I’ve put together a programme which is to be beamed all over the Association. It’s got clues that you have to solve, and you are going to be one of the challengers.”
“Challengers? I’ve just sat down here, my head is hurting, and you are talking about what, a children’s clue hunt?”
“Well, it’s more than that, actually. It’s a whole show, clues, keys, but most importantly,” he waved his hand, “the winner gets their freedom.”
“Hold on, what … out of here, prison? I’m incarcerated for the rest of my life.” Brell darted her eyes around the room as if to emphasise her point. What was this man going on about?
“Okay, I will slow down a bit. Have you ever heard of or seen ‘No win No return’? It was shown a while back.”
“Wasn’t that a race thing involving some Rackskin losers who ended up killing some locals and causing undue political damage? Remember it, great show.”
Williams wriggled in his seat and rubbed his jaw.
“Okay, okay, what do you want from me? Is this a joke or something?” Brell glanced at the Overseer. Her face remained blank.
“We are going to run an updated version called Convict Challenge. There will be seven prisoners to start with. It’s set on a holographic version of Planet Inhab-47, an inhabited world only a few decades from Association first contact.”
“And if I lose?”
“Well, there is only one winner. The others don’t make it.” Williams lightly rubbed his chin.
The Overseer nearly smiled.
“Oh, I see. A chance of freedom or death on a live beam show for the entertainment of an Association-wide audience. Sounds great.”
“There’s no choice, you’ve been signed up already by the Overseer. Also, I believe you are due for a voluntary termination interview soon.” He glanced at the Overseer, “You could always choose that option.”
Brell swallowed, her throat dry. This had already been decided. Talk about getting notice.
“Look, I got a life sentence. It’s taken me years to come to terms with that, and now you suddenly come up with this, this game show, as if I’ll go on and suddenly, bingo, I’m free.”
She went to run her hands through her hair, forgot about the beam cuffs, and flinched as the cuffs knocked against her chin.
“Watch this cube.” Williams held up a small metal box. “It’s got your fellow challengers and an overview of how the game will run. It’s being beamed cross-Association from today, as well.”
“May I?” Williams took a quick look at the Overseer.
He walked out from the table, reached over, and placed the cube in Brell’s hand. She became aware of his body heat and perfume; it was the closest she had been to a man for several years. Nevertheless, she knew what nerves looked like as his hand shook a little. Was he afraid of prison or inmates, or just one of those media types who lives in a virtual world? Surely, he had every type of enhancement and media implant such as retina screen, thought transmitters, and gland improvements?
“I am not sure about the idea, but as this has come from on high, I like to follow my orders. Return to your cell. In two weeks, you will be transferred into custody of Prison Corps officers at the studios. The Challenge starts in four weeks. Say your goodbyes; you will not be returning,” the Overseer said finally.
Brell could not be sure if the Overseer was pleased, grateful, or just being truthful, especially after the bust up this morning. Whilst being ushered out of the office, she heard Williams say, “She will make good viewing
ratings.”
“We’ll see,” the Overseer said.
Chapter 4 - We Proudly Present
Brell gnawed on her fingernails. The daily prison grind would end soon because of some ludicrous game show. Was she just being toyed with, a Carac prank? Perhaps she could gain her freedom, but more than likely it would end in death. If nothing else, presumably, she will be free for a while during the contest. Saves the voluntary termination chat.
Pressing the edge of Williams’ cube caused a screen to materialise a metre in front of her. Better technology than her old picture cube. Buttons and symbols displayed near to her hands, so she sat back in her chair and pressed “Play.”
A blue planet came into view together with low throbbing background music.
“Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company proudly presents Convict Challenge.” The words Convict Challenge curled and rotated around the planet.
“It’s back in a new format, refreshed and updated. Seven prisoners, all murderers, released on our Holo version of an alien world. Their aim, to solve the clues and be the first to get back to the studio. There is only one winner: their prize, their freedom. The losers: well, just let’s say they won’t be coming back.”
“Hi I’m Flip C’hundai, one of the main hosts for the show.” A male Elytian wearing a sparkly green suit appeared on screen. His greased back hair had a single gold line running through the middle. Typical Elytian show presenter, false hair, and permanent smile.
“Where will the contest take place? For older viewers, we have learnt our lessons of the past.” Serious face. “That is why we are going to use a holo version of the planet. There will be no repeat of last time.” A close-up of the planet appeared.
“Inhab-47 is several decades behind our technology. Many of its inhabitants live in basic communities spread around the planet.” An image showed some black skinned people with children sitting outside dwellings seemingly made of tree leaves. The children filled water containers from a small dirty pond situated nearby. Brell had not seen anything like that. Basic dwelling pods, synthetic water, solar powered auto chefs, yes, but nothing that basic. Would she have to learn jungle skills?
“Many communities are permanently at war. Others have accords and peace agreements. Most of the population mainly live in family structures, no central birth systems, or birthing tanks. Sadly poverty, famine, early death are rife.”
Further images appeared of some children, thin faced, insects buzzing around them.
“There is basic communication technology and transport using the planet’s limited resources. No anti gravitation transport.” Various types of transporters and vehicles appeared, all with wheels, travelling on the ground. There was a quick glimpse of a rudimentary flying craft.
“They believe they are unique in the known universe. Deep Space Corps actually mapped their location years ago.”
Flip faced the camera. “Throughout the challenge, you can vote for your favourite contestant and experience real surround holo scenes. Behind the scene specials have been created to see how the programme was put together. There will be many interviews with the challengers and you can also enter a draw to become a virtual audience member.”
A blue screen appeared for a second, then Flip’s magnificent teeth returned. Probably space for a commercial break when shown on beam channels, Brell considered. How about that, a show where lives are at stake but with adverts for the latest frothy milk mix. Mind you, it involves convicted murderers, who on another day, could have all been terminated. Let’s not go there. Flip announced the challengers. Seven faces appeared on screen, the images from when they were initially booked into prison.
“Here they are, what a pretty bunch. We will meet them all in good time, and you can read up on them via our beam and stream channels, but here is a brief overview.”
“They are all incarcerated for murder. We’ve got ex Space Corps and Police Corps.” Brell’s face, together with a lizard-like man, appeared on screen. Have to get used to this exposure again.
Further faces filled the screen, “Also, we have a smuggler, an ex-farmer, a nun, an assassin, and a Corporation First Executive.”
“Crap, fotting, fragging bastard crap!” Brell shouted and stood up, trying to find something to damage or throw. She chose instead to hit her punch bag for a full minute before pausing for breath.
“No, not him.”
Chapter 5 - Corporal Sturlach
Brell was a corporal on Grab, a back of beyond planet rich in ore and minerals. One night duty, she drove a Police Corps ground patrol skiff around the entertainment district. The area was a jumbled collection of ramshackle shacks, basements, bars, and shops that had grown up over the years. It serviced the needs of miners, haulage crews, dockers, scientists, and the occasional off-duty security and Corps personnel. The mining activities on the planet meant that most static objects had a thin layer of dust; the entertainment district was no different. Many workers wore face masks whilst inside the many establishments to protect their lungs.
Her partner, fresh out of the Academy, busied himself by scanning parked vehicles for any trade and licensing offences. A typical Bermian, Brune sat upright staring at his screens, his white, starched shirt a counterpoint to his brown, leathery skin.
Brell, on the other hand, continued thinking about how many days remained until the end of this duty rotation. Her next posting should be to a busy urban precinct on another planet, giving her a chance to gain promotion. She nudged the skiff slowly around the parking area; it would soon be time for a meal break.
“Hang on. Over there, a drunk, I think walking towards a conveyance. Body scan shows signs of intox. We can intervene before he gets into the transporter. It’s a Section Five offence right now,” Brue said, trying to hide his excitement.
“Wait a moment. Hold on,” Brell said.
“If we let him drive off and he causes an accident, we will be blamed for not preventing it. My tutor always told me that …”
“Look, you have to follow your gut instinct sometimes, not just rules and regulations.”
Brune said a not very convincing, “Okay,” and went back to monitoring his screens.
The drunk got into the transporter and soon after, there was a low whine as the anti grav kicked in. The vehicle rose a metre off the ground, and gathering speed, it swayed over to the right of the parking lane, then back to the centre. Ahead was a tight left turn, and then an exit to open highways.
“He’s not going to make the turn. Get the stinger ready.”
Brune made some finger movements. “Stinger locked on,” he said, his voice growing louder, disguising his nerves.
The transporter lurched to the right, and just as Brell said, “Stinger away,” the vehicle accelerated and skewed across the roadway smashing straight into the side of a parked truck. Plas-steel and glass showered everywhere. The stinger somewhat belatedly entered the engine compartment, shutting off its power.
Various warning and crash alarms sounded.
“Frag it,” Brell said scratching the back of her neck. This was going to take time to report.
The driver was sitting upright, legs pinned lightly against the seat by a twisted metal control console. A strong smell of intox wafted up towards Brell. The driver stared straight at Brell with a thin smirk on his face, his head bobbing due to the intox effect. He had white blond hair, white skin, a high forehead, square jaw, and blue eyes.
“Are you ill or injured?” Brell said.
“Never felt better,” the male said slowly and seemingly mockingly.
“We need to get you out in case the power cell has a leak. Can you get out yourself?”
The driver stared back at Brell and paused before saying, “Ah, a blue skin? You must be from Celeste, then. In the Corps as well? You are not very blue, though.”
The man slowly manoeuvred his way out of the wreck, his feet slipping as he tried to keep control of his drunken legs.
Brell stood stock still, legs apart, and folde
d her arms.
“Brune, get him in the skiff and start the intox procedures.”
“I would prefer it if gorgeous here did some tests on me rather than old fresh face here. Missed your wrestling match, have we?”
Brell, used to insults, considered there was something arrogant about this man. In addition, he had abused Brune. Okay, he was a young Corpsman doing everything by the book, but that did not excuse the attitude.
“Brune, follow the steps exactly, as per your Academy lessons, okay?” She shot the man a glance to make sure he had heard her.
“Certainly will,” Brune said as he led the unsteady man to the back of the skiff. When satisfied that Brune explained the procedures correctly, she pressed her neck and started communicating with control to sort out the mess.
***
“Do you know who Carac Montil is?” Without waiting for a reply, the Commander continued. “He is the First Executive for Grab. He runs all the mining business here, a political top dog.”
“But, he was drunk in charge of a transporter,” Brell said.
Brune stood to attention, staring ahead.
“Yes, but he and his Legal will argue that he should have been stopped before getting in the transporter. Public safety, heard of it?”
“Experience shows that once he has started the engine, it is better for the judiciary and courts. Gut instinct.” She stopped talking and swallowed.
“Yes, when it is an unknown Jon Alien, but not a first executive. We have dropped the intox driving case. He paid a drunkenness fine instead and the damaged transporter owner has been paid off. Case closed.”