Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  Brell shook her head showing her annoyance, but she restrained herself from saying anymore. It was a done deal, and shouting at the commander would not be in her interest. It wouldn’t take much for her duty on Grab to be extended. Play along, don’t make a fuss, and finish your work here.

  Brell walked slowly back to the skiff; the cool night air a welcome relief from the warm Commanders office. Perhaps a weed smoke may help, or some intox, to forget that creep. A drink, every now and again, helped cope with the tedium of Grab, she told herself, it was quite normal. Her gland enhancements recently had not been calming here enough.

  She had aimlessly started to clean the intox testing equipment when she smelt thin wasps of smoke. Peering around the rear door, she saw Brune standing by the perimeter beam wall, finishing off a weed smoke. Wonder if he has a spare one?

  “Hey, smoking won’t make you feel any better.”

  “Got a new enhancement. I can smoke all I like, no after effects. Helps my addiction!” He laughed.

  He is certainly less tense now. Brell had considered him an uptight new recruit, well he was, but she didn’t think he would have any vices, yet.

  “Got a spare one?”

  “Sure.” Brune went to get his case out of his pocket, but then looked up and paused.

  “Well, here they are. Moxy and Doxy, a right pair of Corps corpses. Perhaps you need to go back to the Academy to learn the Association Laws again. You know, the ones you swore to uphold.” Carac said purposefully over in their direction.

  He was standing on the other side of the security beam wall, his two aides trying to motion him to keep walking.

  “We did our duty. You were the one who had been driving whilst drunk,” Brune said.

  “Don’t reply, just let him go,” Brell said.

  “Ah very sensible Corpswoman Officer Sturlach. Keep your young boy on the leash. He may attack at any time. Pity, bluey, it could have had a better outcome. Told you to do the tests on me. Never mind, it is a small matter now. I have a mining planet to run. You no doubt need to go and terrorise some poor old transporter captain to check if his medical kit is up to date.”

  Brell pressed Brune’s arm. They both kept silent, impassive.

  “Ha, ha, never mind, never mind. Perhaps I may see you again, bluey. I bet you are a pretty thing underneath that uniform.” Carac nodded to one of his aides and with chin held high, he strutted off towards his limo transporter.

  “Fughead, I’ll get him again,” Brune said, taking another drag on his weed.

  “Leave it. It’s not worth it, believe me. I’ve been in the Corps for long enough, plenty of fugheads around. There’s a whole universe of them!”

  Brune laughed. “Yes, suppose so. Where I come from, they say, everyone suffers from a privy breakdown sometime in their life.”

  Brell understood the expression, which no doubt Bermian’s thought hilarious. Even Carac cannot guarantee that the privy works every time. He will get his just desserts in the future.

  She laughed, partly at Brune’s attempt at humour, but mainly as a release from the stress of dealing with that man. If she had known how her future life intertwined with his, she probably would have shot him there and then with her laser pistol.

  Chapter 6 - The Prize Giving

  Three weeks after the intox driving incident, Brell attended a prize-giving ceremony with her unit Commander. It was a handshaking, back-slapping event with free drinks, food, and a miner’s band playing live. The Commander had wandered off to do some networking whilst Brell stood by the side of a food table at the back of the hall. She had a brief conversation with Carac in the company of her Commander. In amongst the polite talk, Carac’s eyes never left her; she felt them moving up and down her body. She shivered when their meeting ended.

  Biting into another crispy-coated meat piece, she sipped a fruit juice and people-watched. A mixed group, many off-worlders, a few locals, and some miners with dirt inground faces wearing dress suits. The high-powered players, the Carac types were networking away and plotting their next moves or promotion.

  A side door near Brell opened.

  “Quick, officer, problem here,” someone said sharply. No face appeared just the open door and the room inside.

  Putting down her plate but keeping her drink, Brell hesitantly walked towards the door. It was dim inside, but no one made themselves known.

  “Help,” the voice said again.

  Brell went inside. It was an anteroom with another door on the far side. The door slammed shut. Carac stood there, smiling at her.

  “Help,” he said in a low voice. He grinned and tilted his head. “Hello, blue skin, remember me?”

  Brell swallowed and stepped back against the wall. Carac stretched his left arm across the door. Brell saw a small movement of his right hand, which was reaching for something behind his jacket. She stiffened her legs and body in a defensive position. He brought his hand upwards and started to spray a substance towards her face.

  Instinctively, she threw her glass at his head. It skidded off his forehead and smashed on the floor, but it made him stutter. Bringing her fist down, she connected with his wrist and he dropped the spray tube. She kicked it across the room.

  The mist had sprayed onto Brell’s trousers and shirt; she could smell and taste it. Feeling slightly woozy, she pulled at his fingers and hand to unblock the door. Carac laughed and shook his head. She punched out again at his face with her left hand, but he pulled his head back in time, like a practiced boxer. He slapped the side of her head and laughed.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Everything okay, Mr Carac? Prize giving soon.”

  Carac smiled.

  “Run out of time. Pity, I was going to save you for later.”

  Reaching forward, he grabbed Brell’s belt with his left hand and pulled her body towards him. He kissed her neck and rubbed his right hand inside her thigh. Then he shot his hand up to her left breast and squeezed it hard.

  Brell gasped, but his grip on her was strong, and she felt powerless as he bent his neck back to stare into her eyes. Dead eyes, the eyes of a man that had power, who believed he could do whatever he liked.

  Flinging her away, Carac straightened up and after adjusting his tie he opened the door.

  Brell retrieved the spray, wiped down her uniform tunic and trousers with shaky hands, then sat on a table for a moment. When ready, she walked back into the main hall. Carac was standing on the stage, master of ceremonies, centre of attention, giving away prizes to loud audience applause.

  Afterwards, in her quarters, she spent an hour in the beam shower, and then incinerated her uniform. Sitting in her dressing gown, she drank a litre of intox as the scene played over in her mind. How could she have been so stupid, so duped? What happened to her Police Corps training? She picked up a glass and threw it at the wall.

  People would construe any allegations against Carac as being vengeful. He would say that she was drunk, infatuated by his power, and a way of getting credits out of him. The feeling of violation and helplessness never really left her. Images would float into her mind in the middle of the night or during a meeting. She found herself becoming more controlling at work, particularly when restraining and arresting male prisoners. It took time before she felt ready to have a steady relationship with a man.

  As the days passed, she got back on with her patrol duties. A tech at Corps HQ confirmed that the tube contained a type of incapacitant spray, often used by the military to overcome targets who later woke up in a controlled interrogation building.

  A short while afterwards, Brell got her next posting, an urban city centre on a planet mid-Galaxy. At least, she believed, that was the last of Carac. However, it didn’t stop him sending messages.

  ***

  Brell gave the punch bag a final hit and stood back, in her cell, breathing heavily. Grabbing a towel, she wiped the sweat off her hair and stared at Carac’s image. Years later, despite all his wealth and political influence,
he received a life sentence for corporate homicide. He had filtered credits, bought cheap equipment, and when the mines collapsed, two hundred staff died. He could not wriggle out of his involvement, despite trials, appeals, and retrials. She enjoyed watching the events unfold from the comfort of her cell. He had only been in prison properly for a year.

  Missed me? Good luck in prison. I believe you will be there a very long time

  That was just one of the messages she received from him.

  When incarcerated himself, more messages arrived.

  From one cell mate to another. Happy birthday.

  So it went on. His influence in prison allowed him to send messages outside of the normal prison filters. He was always present, deep in her thoughts or on her media cube, like an infatuated ex-boyfriend stalker.

  At the end of every note, it said, “blue skin”, “bluey” or similar.

  She walked around in circles, calming her breathing, shaking out her shoulders and arms, then hit the punch bag four times. It was time to view her own profile.

  ***

  She found her image and paused the screen. A dispirited, dejected ex-Corpswoman, a Deep Yellow and intox addict stared back at her. It was the lowest time in her life and took no effort in remembering stepping off the prisoner transport ship in beam cuffs. Passing through each successive secure entranceway, she felt a growing realisation of never seeing freedom in the outside world again. The processing guard smirked when Brell was officially booked in, a convicted Corpswoman in for life as well. The indignity of the body scans whilst standing naked in a small room was one thing, but did it need that many guards to observe the procedure? It was unlikely that she would cause a problem or try to escape, but they all wanted to have a look at her. Her case had been a popular news item across the Association.

  Time to get it over with.

  “Play.”

  “Born on Celeste to an indigenous mother, Brellinane Sturlach grew up without knowing the identity of her father. After a problematic childhood, she left home and joined the Police Corps. Working on various inner cities as well as mining and pleasure moons, she rose up the ranks, making Captain with hopes of becoming a Skiff Commander.”

  “However, after a Deep Yellow and intox session, she stole a Command Skiff, flew over the Inter Association Hotel, and fired into the penthouse suite, killing a hotel guest and seriously injuring his family. Extensive damage was caused to the hotel.” Images of the dead man, his family, and the hotel appeared on screen.

  “The Judiciary Corps threw the full force of the law at her. The Police Corps were embarrassed, the hotel had to be rebuilt, and the family was devastated. Appearing at a real Assizes court, she received life imprisonment for Association Homicide with yearly voluntary termination interviews. She has currently served five years. Could she be our winner?”

  Her profile had many items, galleries, images, and streams to view. She pressed “Holo psyche interview 4.”

  “Well, Brell, you have been incarcerated for six months now. How are you settling in?” the prison psyche analyst said.

  “What do you want me to say? Wonderful, everybody is being so helpful. The taunts, snide remarks, pushes, punches, etc, are just my fellow inmates settling me in.”

  “That’s to be expected, though, isn’t it?”

  “Look, I’ve been stripped of everything: pension, promotion, enhancements, self belief, and status.”

  “How is the Deep Yellow treatment coming on?”

  “The psyche and holo treatments have helped.” Brell’s voice trailed off.

  “Any virtual or real visitors?”

  “Not my mother, obviously. Gorst has made a holo visit. That’s it. As soon as I was arrested, all my friends suddenly had something else to do.”

  “So settling in okay, then?”

  “You’ve been really helpful,” Brell said. She sat back and crossed her arms.

  “See you in six months for your first voluntary termination interview.”

  “I look forward to your visits. Always full of joy.”

  Brell paused the programme. She had seen enough. Actually, her father was a drunken itinerant cargo pilot whom she could not remember seeing as a child. He could have originated from anywhere, as her skin colour is a lighter blue than most Celestians. Her mother was an intox drunk whom she couldn’t wait to get away from.

  All thrown away; her job, Gorst, and family life. Threw it all away. Glancing back at the screen, she navigated to “Brell’s Gallery”. There must be something good here.

  She stood outside a Police Corps building with a senior officer, being awarded a trophy for performing a diligent weapon smuggling investigation. Confident, relaxed, and smiling, a fulfilling career ahead of her. This was just before she discovered Deep Yellow. That was the old Brell, where has she gone?

  She snapped herself back from the introspection, and without giving much thought, her weak side had already made up its mind.

  Opening the back lid of her sculpture, she took out the ampoule.

  Chapter 7 - Inhab-47

  Williams spent some time in his office going through the various schedules and actions en route to the studio and holo worlds where the challenge would take place. It was an untidy office, holo logs, cups, intox containers, and weed smoke packets strewn across his desk. Images and sculptures were haphazardly placed around the shelves.

  It had been a long day already, what with working his way around the prison security and performing the final viewing of the inmates with the Overseers. None of them had any problem releasing their prisoner for the Challenge; in fact, they wanted him to take a few more as reserves. He felt relieved to be away from the prison planet, even though being escorted by guards the whole time. A recurring feeling came over him that he would be accidently locked in a cell and forgotten about. However, he was happy with the choice of challengers, a good mix to keep the audience interested.

  Turning off his constant stream of holo and implant communications, he picked up one of the Inhab-47 artefacts that he had brought back.

  “Inhab-47 playlist one,” he said and swivelled around to face a wall screen set to a live stream of the view from his main office on Elytia. Skiffs, tugs, trucks, and cabs skimmed along the sky lanes curling their way around the capital. The tall, thin towers and spires a silhouette against the yellow evening sky. A glowing Police Corps vehicle flitted in and out of the traffic, screaming to another emergency.

  Opening a carved wooden box, he took out a wrapped weed smoke, touched it on the lid to light it, and placed it in the side of his mouth. He relaxed back and traced the artefact’s outline with his index finger, whilst thinking about Inhab-47.

  ***

  Though requiring various node jumps and hyper sleep, it was worth the effort. Inhab-47 was the best of the listed inhabited worlds, most of which were just moons with swamp creatures or insects. The definition of ‘inhabited’ was loose. Inhab-22 consisted of warring tribes, too dangerous to study and many years from First Contact. Obtaining Association permission to study Inhab-47 at close quarters had not been too difficult due to the worlds flourishing technology.

  The inclusion of First Contact specialist Soohan Klastriyx on the crew had been a good decision. She would become invaluable to Williams. An Elytian, she studied community behaviour and had been involved in First Contact missions. Tall, with fading blonde hair, natural wrinkly face, not the type for cosmetics, she was in her mid-sixties and enjoyed rock climbing. Together with her historian husband, they frequently took on projects in some of the furthermost parts of the Vorsan Galaxy or just outside.

  She was good company, as well, often regaling Williams with stories from the journals of early First Contact specialists. For example, when Thracia received its first beam propulsion engine, they immediately raided all of their own moons, eradicating the indigenous population. Most of the population of Fracard left their own planet and headed for richer places, like Elytia, which eventually had to bring in strict immigration
controls.

  Their first job involved making sense of the huge amount of data that flooded out of Inhab-47.

  “We need to get our first experience out of the way. Just for an hour in a safe city, lots of people around where we won’t stick out,” Soohan had said after two days of research into the planets inhabitants and communities.

  Williams found a “Government Warning” information page regarding the safest places to travel. Once compared with maps, news channels, and images, they had a good idea where to go first.

  Their craft docked around the back of an empty moon and immediately dispatched space security probes. Once the captain was satisfied that there were no immediate threats, the planetary probes were launched. The probes were of military quality with full invisibility. Returning data suggested little capability of space travel, and planet weaponry was basic. Gravity readings confirmed it was virtually the same as Elytia. The captain relaxed, stood down weapon techs, and communicated to Williams that space and planet zones were safe for travel.

  ***

  Williams and Soohan went about creating clothing, refining their language skills, and turning off their implants. He had chosen a plain shirt, trousers, and black shoes, with Soohan picking a female shirt, casual trousers and black boots. She had stood by, whilst Williams removed all jewellery, gadgets, and anything else from their home worlds. He had to satisfy her that he was wearing the correct style of underpants. Their “look” was finished off with a hat and sunglasses in order to take someone’s eye off their faces. Being from Elytia, though similar in appearance to the city people below, they had more yellow skin pigment than seemed the norm.

  “Remember to use their main language and call me Soo. I’ll call you Ward. If we lose each other, use the hand gesture for immediate transportation. The sensor team will be continually scanning our movements.”

  Once the captain gave permission, they travelled in an invisi shielded craft near to the planet’s atmosphere and transported down into a small area behind some trees.