by Stuart Dodds
Then, complete catastrophe. The shaft suddenly billowed with dust, followed by a high-pitched grinding noise, and panicked shouts from the workers.
“Do you accept that the parts you bought or sourced were inferior and caused the excavators to fail?”
“No, not at all. I made a good deal and was assured the parts were certified genuine,” Carac said, a thin smile on his lips.
“So you feel no responsibility for the deaths of nearly two hundred people?”
“No. The engineers who fitted the parts are to blame. Not the boss.”
***
Ooma ran his thumbs around the inside of his trouser belt. Who was the most dangerous man in the Challenge, Grock, Brookko, or Carac? The calm assassin, the manic fighter, or the stab-you-in-the-back type? He would have to avoid all of them, all of the time.
He had observed the women through the glass screen and didn’t know what to make of them. Female killers were unknown on his home world. Kellsa was a world apart from the women born and bred on Agrier. Ooma liked the ladies, that’s what led him into trouble at the hands of a drug gang. The harvest dances were fun, but it was an expectation that couples would get together, stay together, marry, and never leave their farmland. Born on the soil, die in the soil.
Back then, Ooma read many fiction stories describing life on other worlds, and with his growing interest in engine designs, he dreamed of tinkering around with flying engines and anti gravity drives. The lure of a more exciting world drew him to the Electro City quarter in Agrier’s capital. It started when he became sidetracked during a visit to a machine shop. The women were more fun and not looking for stability or longevity. When Fyxen asked him whether he could plant some seeds for her, he was happy to oblige. Using fertile soil on a spare strip of land, he nurtured the young seedlings into full-grown pungent herbs.
Ooma stopped himself from viewing his own Court and Prison files; for now, anyway. He remained restless and did not know whether he wanted to eat just for the sake of it. Under Meren’s image, there was a stream called a “Day in the Life.” Perhaps he would watch it later.
***
Unable to sleep, Ooma sat up and felt reluctantly drawn to view some of his own files.
“Play.”
There was a loud cacophony of noise in the common room where the boxing ring had been set up. Sweat, smoked root, and tension swirled around the place. The anti grav engine whirled into action and two men shot up in the air, trying to get an early punch in. The cheering and shouting increased at the same rate as the credits were changing hands. However, after a minute, the engine stopped working. The referee sent the two sweating men to their corners and leant over the rail to talk to an assistant and guard. Ooma wandered over to the referee’s assistant, who was kneeling under the arena floor, inspecting the inner workings.
“Can you fix it?” the guard said.
Ooma hitched up his trousers, knelt down, and made an examination inside.
“Schematics?”
The assistant flexed his fingers and a small image of the engine floated in front of them. Ooma rotated the image around, leaned his head in to examine the engine again, and then said, “Have you checked the distration valve?”
The assistant shook his head. Ooma picked up a laser wrench and after getting an acknowledgement for a guard, he leant inside the engine compartment. A couple of minutes later the AG whirled back into action. The crowd cheered as the contest re-started. That wasn’t the end of it. The image stream skipped to the part when Ooma was hauled, pushed, and dragged onto the AG arena by laughing inmates. He bounced upwards to a wave of cheers. An inmate jumped into the ring and grabbed Ooma’s feet and pulled him down, letting go at the right moment for the anti grav to send Ooma back up again arms flailing. The cheers got louder. It carried on a couple more times before the guards felt obliged to stop it.
“Off,” he said.
He paced around the cell, and drank some water. During his sleepless nights, he often recalled the look on his father’s face when he witnessed Ooma’s arrest. Ooma could still not come to terms with his life sentence. Four years in, he had a recurring dream of finding the cell door open and in place of the landing, golden fields stretched to the horizon. The Challenge had changed things, whatever happened, it would all be over. He knew he would have difficulty competing against the others; perhaps he was the fat, funny one for audience laughs. Well, it was better than life within foursquare walls.
Chapter 18 - No one dies today
As the audience applauded, Flip and Argenta walked forward and stood together in the middle of the stage. They were smiling and relaxed.
“Hello, everyone at home, in the audience, or wherever you are. Welcome. Today is our Fun Challenge, where the challengers are put through their paces in a series of light-hearted games. It gives you a chance to study the challengers, perhaps you can pick your winner. Check out our beam streams and site for details of our competitions, you could win a big prize,” Flip said.
“Thanks Flip. Now, unlike the real challenges, no one dies today; instead, the winner will be allowed to have a visitor, real or virtual. Our challengers are in their free association area where, one by one, the guards will escort them into the challenge room. Here they are.” Argenta motioned towards one of the huge display screens. The challengers were sitting or pacing around, the men segregated from the women, as before, with guards standing nearby. “First, let’s see the games. Over to our director, Williams, who will explain all.”
Williams doffed his tall black brimmed hat to the camera. “Hello, everyone. Welcome to the greatest show on the Associated Planets.” He wore a bright red long tailed coat, black trousers, black waistcoat with gold buttons, a white shirt, and a black bowtie.
“I am dressed like an artistic director on Inhab-47, as you can see. You can view my travels on Inhab-47 and the making of the programme on our beam site.” He stepped forward. “This Challenge is about having fun. Inside here is a large area with three rooms in which there is a small task for each challenger to perform. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
He opened a door and entered a semi-circular room with three doors set into the wall. The doors, numbered from one to three in Elytian, also had Inhab-47 main language numbers underneath.
“Each challenger is brought here from the communal room. They are dangerous criminals, remember, so the guards will monitor them.”
He went into Room One. It was a dimly lit square room decorated with glowing neon-styled lights. A rectangular glass topped machine on four spindly looking legs and an upright back piece was set against the rear wall. A series of lights lit up at intervals behind the glass screens and the words “Outer Space” emblazoned across the back piece. Beeps and rings sounded from inside. Next to it was a fat, square machine with a long handle on its side and three small windows with symbols on show.
“This is called a pinball machine, and this one is a one armed bandit. Don’t ask how they got those names, but they are one of the main forms of entertainment on Inhab-47. They were in many meeting and social places.” Williams blinked twice then said, “I’ll show you how they work.”
He pulled the pinball plunger and shot out a metal ball, whilst commentating on what he was doing. Pressing the flipper buttons in a noticeably practiced manner, the machine binged, ringed and buzzed as the score counter whirled. He described how the gravity machine worked, then gave some tips on flipper and plunger action. Reluctantly, he stopped playing and demonstrated the other machine.
“This is a really basic gambling machine. You pull the handle like this.” He grabbed the black knob and pulled down the arm. The symbols spun around and audibly ticked into their final place. “The symbols represent Inhab-47 fruits. I have no idea why fruits, but you have to get the same three in a row. The challengers are allowed three attempts.”
***
Brell paced around, rubbing the back of her head. Meren sat on a chair and Kellsa stood with her arms crossed, looking at the men
through the plas-glass wall. All the challengers wore bright red fitness suits. The long sleeved tops had a zipper and black trim along the sleeve and down the side of the trousers. On their feet were black sports shoes with white rubber soles and a white patch by the anklebone.
Brell watched Williams showing the audience the fun things that they would be doing shortly. He stood inside a room that had a long rectangular shape marked on the floor. Inside the area was fine sand, and at the far end there was a small orange coloured ball. Williams picked up some larger silver balls and again with a practised motion, threw the ball, aiming it at the orange one.
“Five balls are thrown in whichever way is best to get as near to the orange ball as possible. We have an overhead camera measuring how many balls stop within fifteen centimetres of the orange ball.”
Brell wondered if Williams was going to play any tricks, on them, like a trapdoor opening or a game involving a sudden death. As much as this was an entertainment show, she did not believe that Williams intended to make fools of the challengers like in other beamcasts. The setup, the studios, and everything so far suggested a sensible challenge programme; involving death obviously. She remembered a termination beam show a while back where a competition winner threw a bucket of custard over a prisoner during the termination procedure.
However, when Brell saw Williams enter the third room, she wasn’t so sure.
***
“This is a model of a large beast on Inhab-47. You sit on this,” he patted a leather saddle then stood to one side. “Start her up,” he said. The beast, fixed to a central pivoting metal mechanism, started to revolve and buck up and down slowly.
“Our challengers sit on the saddle and try to stay on the beast for as long as possible. It gets progressively faster.” He laughed whilst walking back to the door entrance.
“So there you have it. The challenger with the highest aggregate score will be the winner. We begin shortly after the break.”
Williams held his smile for a moment until his assistant in the director’s chair told him that the cameras were off.
“Great. Flip and Argenta, back to you.” With that, he returned to the director’s room to take charge.
***
The Tinker sat in his command room situated in his restaurant basement. Seated on a large couch, wearing a purple robe, he studied the huge semi-circular screen in front of him. It displayed a chequer board of mini screens, views, and monitors all connected with his empire. He munched on a delicacy whilst dictating instructions to his assistant. Low stringed music played in the background.
“I see that the ore markets are up. That’s good. Regg, make a note, Locardum value is rising. Need to get our hands on this soon.”
Regg lifted his head up from examining his pad. “Yes sir.”
“Bring up Mack’s raid, will you? Looks like something is about to happen.”
A small display enlarged and centralised itself on screen. It showed a large office room with a meeting in progress. People sat around a table whilst holo assistants flitted back and forth. A small sub screen showed the view of a door from a body-worn camera device. There was no sound as the office door burst open and Mack’s gang ran in, laser and bullet guns blazing. Holo assistants disappeared as the startled people cowered beneath the table. A concealed auto laser activated and cut down two of Mack’s crew before it was destroyed. The laser fire continued, and one man made the mistake of standing up and firing off a couple of shots at the raiders. He was cut straight down, having only shot two holes in a wall. Mack stepped forward and took control, stopping all firing. The raiders were dressed identically in black with holo changing face shields, to blur their faces. Mack’s height and width was easy to distinguish among the others, his face a dark scarred distortion.
“Let see if he can get this right this time,” the Tinker said.
Mack grabbed a woman out from behind the table and pushed her towards the entrance door. A raider stepped forward and thrust a device up to her face. He then nodded towards Mack.
“That’s her. Positive ID. I can see the readout here. The one who queried our work contracts.” Tinker said.
“Boss. All okay?” Mack said aloud.
“Regg, comms link please.” He briefly paused. “Mack, yes go ahead.” Tinker replied directly to Macks comms implant.
Mack nodded, then motioned for the woman to walk back to the table, and join the others, who stood with their hands up, uncertain what would happen next. He spoke to a raider, who pulled some metal objects out of his shoulder bag.
“Mmm, explosives. Interesting. I asked for maximum impact. Looks like he’s going to blow everything up. Sound on.” Tinker said.
“You fraggers are all going to fragging die. All those fraggers watching, this is what fragging happens if you fragging mess with us!” Mack shouted at the group.
He then swiftly lasered the identified woman in the chest and walked back to the exit doors. In the meantime, his colleague threw the explosives towards the group, and a short while later the screen view was lost. The body worn camera showed the raiders exiting down a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony, where an AG skiff waited for them.
“He has a lovely way of talking, but the job was done. What do you think?”
“Mack achieved the objective. However, he lacks subtlety. Sir.”
“Yes, astute as always, Regg. The woman is dead; not very messy, though. Perhaps a bit more torture next time? It will keep the sector quiet for a while, anyway. When he is safely back to base, send him the credits.”
“Will follow their progress, sir.”
“How is Mrs. Tinker doing?”
Regg, who had not lifted his head for some time, flicked his fingers, and another small display screen enlarged.
“She has just arrived back at the compound sir.”
Mrs. Tinker, who was a large as the Tinker, but with four chins, waddled up the front pathway towards the main door of their residence. She had a wide-brimmed hat, a tight dress, and high-heeled shoes. There was a bevy of real and virtual assistants walking behind, ahead, and to the side of her. A bot brought up the rear, overladen with colourful bags and boxes.
Without waiting for a prompt, Regg said, “Hats. Five seven five credits, total spend.”
The Tinker started loading his pipe.
“Junior Tinker?”
“Safely inside the compound. His friends have left with their musical instruments.”
“Missy?”
“In her bedroom talking to her virtual animals. Compound now secure.”
“Good.”
“Let’s have a look at the Challenge.”
The Tinker puffed on his pipe and cast his eye over the challengers as they waited in the communal room.
“Who do you think will win?”
Regg spent a moment studying the men and women.
“Difficult to tell, sir. Some nervous, some reckless, perhaps. This challenge is for fun. I go with the woman with knotted hair, she will concentrate. Like a killer.”
“Good choice. Hmmm. I go with the old veteran lizard man. Older, wiser, he will take it slow.” Tinker shifted in his seat and puffed on his pipe. “Regg, display the viewing figures for the show and let’s see what those Twins are up to.”
“On screen now, sir.”
“Thank you.” The Twins were sitting next to each other behind a large table, watching their screens. Their communal quarters consisted of a large room with a kitchenette and a sitting room. Four assistants stood at the rear, partly in shadow, awaiting instructions.
“Creepy, but they will do what they are told. Regg, put me down for a thousand credits on the lizard man.”
***
The Police Corps Commander sat within his security dome conversing with his security team and the Prison Corps Commander. Though bemused by the “fun challenge” he appreciated that it gave security officers a chance of a dry run before the real ones.
“All ready, inmates secure,” the Prison Corp
s commander said.
“Thank you. Inside and outside security all in place.”
“Glad we persuaded the studio not to run the challenge with all of them in the same room. They’ve got the proper challenges for killing each other. The studio is happy if there is a little bit of punching and slapping; good for viewers apparently. But anything serious or threats to my guards, like Brookko last night, will get them zapped.”
“Yes. I think the studio forgets what these people have done. Have a good night. Will speak later.”
He ended the conversation and went back to his displays.
Chapter 19 - Pinball
“We are back, and it’s time to pick the first challenger. Hello, the Chorttle-as Clan from Colony 08.” Flip was talking to a large holo side screen displaying a large family group sitting on a floor staring at their beam camera.
“Who do you choose?”
They all shouted out together, “Kellsa.”
“Kellsa. Thank you. If Kellsa wins the challenge, the Chorttle-as Clan will win a large credit prize. Argenta.”
“Thanks Flip. Guards, please escort Kellsa into the games room.”
As she arrived in front of the three doors, a holo assistant appeared to remind Kellsa of the rules. The guard stepped outside and watched events on a discrete display screen.
Reminded of what to do, Kellsa pulled back the pinball plunger.
***
Brell drank water, sat down, got up, and paced around. She was not enjoying the waiting and would prefer to get the thing out of the way. She watched Kellsa nearly ripping the arm off the gambling machine and forcefully throwing the metal balls. No subtlety, all violent strong actions but her scores were good including riding the beast. Her face was flushed but smiling when she arrived back inside the communal area.