Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  She came straight up to Brell.

  “There you go, bitch, that’s how it’s done.” She pushed Brell in the shoulder.

  Brell planted a foot backwards and raised her hands in the ready position for a quick strike or defensive move.

  “Come on, then,” she said.

  A guard tensed, but did not intervene.

  “Not worth it now, see you in the Challenge.” She put her hands on her hips and walked over to Meren.

  “What do you have to say about this, miss monk, nun, or whatever you are?”

  Meren sat calmly and looked at Kellsa.

  “No fight in you. Should just stay in your cell, praying.”

  Meren remained silent. Kellsa folded her arms and went over to gesticulate at the men. The guard’s hand relaxed.

  ***

  After Kellsa, it was Grock’s turn. It was clear to the audience and other challengers that he was a deep thinker. After bowling the first ball, he stood back, weighed the next ball in his hand, and practiced his throwing technique arm without releasing the ball. Then he swung it in an arc, landing next to the orange ball, but on the far side in order to leave room for the next ball. His wiry, athletic frame and seating position were a great asset on the rotating beast. He scored higher than Kellsa.

  ***

  The Twins were a little confused by the fun events but gave the go ahead, weeks ago, mainly due to Williams’s enthusiasm. They were both keen to get on with the live event, to get it done, but a gentle start to the show was perhaps a good thing. It settled everyone down.

  “That was a solid performance by Grock,” Mayleth said.

  “Yes. He’s got good potential,” Ayleth said as he brought out two drinks from the kitchenette.

  “Calm under pressure,” Mayleth said as she watched her brother drop a tablet into his drink.

  “Want one?” he said.

  “No thank you.”

  They watched the next competitor, Carac in silence as he played the games through.

  “Fairly dextrous, he didn’t enjoy …”

  “… the beast? No, he did not look happy.”

  “How’s the betting?”

  “Grock still tipped to win, even though the others haven’t gone yet.”

  “Good,” Ayleth said.

  ***

  “Brookko, we choose Brookko. Go Brookko.” A group of men, sharply dressed, sat in and around a high tech office. They were drinking intox straight out of the bottle.

  “Brookko is next,” Brell said.

  “We’ll get our turn, don’t worry,” Meren said.

  “Well, me, you, and Ooma left. At least the Beam Company seems to be playing things straight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I presume you didn’t have access to much media, but there are loads of beam shows these days where they get people onto the show under false pretences. They then pull an unexpected stunt like driving everyone to a desert location and leaving them there for a few days.”

  “Interesting,” Meren said.

  The conversation fizzled out, so they both watched Brookko’s attempts at playing pinball. Frustrated after losing the first ball, he flipped the next one and lifted up the machine; immediately there was a “tilt” sign flashing so he slammed it down. The ball went past the flippers again. Buzzers went off, making Brookko even angrier. He flipped another ball and punched the top glass whilst pushing the flipper buttons. Managing to flip the ball back up the table, he shouted out in triumph. The holo assistant was calmly trying to give advice despite Brookko swiping the air around the holo to shut him up.

  “He is a volcano, one to avoid,” Brell said.

  “He is a volcano with a daughter,” Meren said slowly.

  “A daughter?”

  “Yes, did a bit of reading about everyone. Brookko’s daughter is a teenager. His female birth partner spirited her away. Brookko has had no contact with her.”

  “So, what did you read about me?”

  Meren shook her head and laughed. Brell moved her eyes and gestured her hands upwards, then smiled.

  For some reason, Brookko was at home on the beast and stayed on it for the longest time compared to the others. He whooped whilst riding the beast and scored third behind Carac.

  On returning to the communal room, Brookko ambled in looking around for eye contact with his fellow challengers.

  “I am the man, the riding man.” He slapped his chest.

  “Hey, lizard man, better watch out.” Brookko went up to Grock who was sitting down, staring ahead.

  “Yeah, watch out for the wily fox here, Brookko is the beast master.” He wiggled his hips and turned his head to the others. “No ice cold blood here, lizard man. No Space Corps Special Forces here. Just good honest dishonesty. One hundred percent.”

  He wiggled his hips again towards Grock’s face. With a speed that only replays would show, Grock punched into Brookko’s thigh muscles causing him to hold his leg then buckle to the floor.

  “Aahh,” was all Brookko could manage. He held his leg, face in pain, and stayed on the floor. The nearby guards laughed. Grock rested both hands on his lap as if nothing had happened.

  Ooma, having witnessed the episode, ambled over to the plas-glass screen whilst wiping his hands on his trousers. He breathed heavily.

  ***

  “Brell is next.”

  She stood up, and rubbed her hands together. Meren smiled at her whilst Kellsa screwed her face up. A short while later, she was in front of the pinball machine, hand on the plunger, waiting for the holo assistant to finish the explanations. She stooped slightly in order to reach down and pull back the plunger. The ball travelled up and into the gravity machine, beeped its way down, and as she pressed the flippers, it ran straight through the middle. With the second ball, she got the hang of using the flippers, and laughed when she successfully flipped the ball back up the table.

  As she played the other games, she realised it was, if nothing else, a distraction from cell life. The beast ride did not last very long, ending with her falling flat on her back. Many people would have enjoyed that one.

  She ranked fifth on the scoreboard.

  ***

  After returning to the communal room, Brell picked at some food whilst watching Meren. She was a natural at pinball, calmly stroking the flipper buttons in tune with the movement of the ball. After a good stint on the beast, she scored higher than Brell. As Meren returned, she just smiled and sat down.

  “That was fun,” Meren said.

  “Have to watch you, bit tricky. Hidden depths. You are a pinball sorcerer.”

  Meren smiled.

  “So what delights are the auto chefs providing you with?” Brell said in a change of subject.

  “Ming beans, green shoots, grains, that sort of thing,” Meren said.

  “For frag’s sake, Meren, you’re not in your religious sanctuary now with those monks, no disrespect. Live a little. Ice cream, that’s what it’s all about.” Brell shook her head. Meren didn’t reply.

  However, later that evening, after eating two choco whirls with mallow, crushed nuts, and sprinkles, Meren was content.

  ***

  Ooma was the final contestant. Picked by an elderly couple who liked farming and gardening, they hoped he would become their lucky mascot. Flip and Argenta commentated on the unfolding events for the viewers watching via the single live feed. When Ooma stepped up to the pinball machine, they both found it difficult not to laugh, as he had to squeeze his belly up against the machine in order to reach the flippers The sight of him trying to get his bulk up onto the beast was also something to behold. His face flushed as he held the beast’s neck, but after the first rotation, he fell off, face down on the surrounding mats.

  “So there we are. Grock is the winner. You can watch the events again on our beam site. However, Challenge One awaits. There is no return to the cells for the losers on that one. See you soon.” Flip ended the live portion of the show.

  ***<
br />
  “Good bet, sir. Your winnings are coming through now.”

  “Thanks, Regg. Grock is a good man to back. What do you think of the others?”

  “They all have strengths and weaknesses. From what I know of the challenges, it involves research and searching for a key and exit. Brute strength may not be enough.”

  “I agree. Now, Regg, please obtain one of those one-armed bandits, will you? I’ll add it to my collection.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 20 - Space Corps Special Forces

  Flip appeared on stage and after soaking up the applause, he took his seat a safe distance away from Grock.

  “Welcome, Grock.”

  Grock nodded.

  “This is your chance to tell us about your career and what happened to you.”

  Grock nodded.

  Flip shuffled in his seat and waited for some inspiration from Williams via the comm implant. Williams gave him a question.

  “You had a distinguished career in Space Corps Special Forces. What drew you to that part of Space Corps?”

  “Making a difference,” Grock said.

  ***

  “Finally, to end this briefing I would like to hand over to Lead Officer, Grock.”

  “Officers, this is a dangerous raid, take prisoners only if safe to do so. Regroup in fifteen minutes.”

  Grock always enjoyed seeing the flicker of acknowledgment across the eyes of his colleagues whenever he said that at the end of a briefing. Many of his team were fellow Tserians, “lizard men” as they were called, but not to their faces. Not given much to conversation and emotion, they were ideal for certain Police and Space Corps roles. Grock’s unit, a Special Forces team within Space Corps had many men and women from Tseri. Their lizard genes had mixed with off-worlders DNA over the centuries meaning that they were no longer “in the swamp”. This became one of their favourite sayings.

  ***

  They had disembarked in silence from their anti grav sledges and split into two teams, one for each cave entrance. Grock had his hound with him, a strong hill breed, which could carry scanners and devices to support the front line officers. Grock stroked its head and ears.

  Scans, remotes, and drones had shown the smugglers were inside, their contraband still in situ. They were pirates who were raiding tugs, haulers, and sledges on the quieter part of the main haulage routes. Their piracy started with just disabling the craft, then boarding and transferring the load across. Lately, however, there had been an escalation of violence, with crews being tortured, killed, or taken hostage for a ransom. Often, the crew were more valuable than the cargo. Space Corps initiated a crime prevention programme by asking companies to pay for a more sophisticated tracker technology. One such tracker had led them to the caves.

  “Team two ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Go, go, go.”

  Grock sent in the laser darts and sticky bombies. Paused, waited for the signal from the dart technician, and then ran in, his team following behind. The entrance doors just inside the cave were already twisted and laying to one side as they approached. Two mangled people lay nearby.

  Grock was inside now, his helmet and visor simultaneously guiding him towards the tracker device whilst scanning for people, bots or similar. He fired some smoke gas pellets, and in the confusion ran forwards firing his laser rifle, scything through any resistance from person or machine.

  “Pamshu, in,” Grock commanded his hound. It ran off further into the depths of the cave whilst a technician followed its path. Grock stopped and craned his neck over the technician’s shoulder, five targets, multiple armaments plus one hostage.

  “Pamshu, out,” Grock said. The hound’s comms implant would pick up his masters voice. Nothing.

  “Pamshu, out,” Nothing.

  “Ready. Go.”

  They went in and completely took apart the interior of the cave. Fortunately for Grock, the hostage was found alive in a small locked room, well away from the laser blasting. No prisoners were taken alive. Grock had exacted revenge for the destruction of Space Corps property, his hound.

  ***

  “When your career ended, did you find it difficult to get used to normal life?”

  “No, I kept busy.”

  “What jobs did you do?”

  “Security jobs, keeping people safe.”

  ***

  The target needs terminating in a public area, Grock considered. Impregnable otherwise. Long distance, laser splash internal, delay of two hours is best. He immersed himself in the total surround map, flicking his finger as he moved around corners and alleyways, considering the route that the man would probably take. Firing angles, passing transport, weather, and parking areas were all examined. He rehearsed various strategies using his military planning software.

  The following day, Grock was in position at the corner of a short alleyway near the Medical Zone. It was a mile from the city centre and contained all types of medical facilities, staffed, virtual, three-dimensional, and faith healers. There were an assortment of tall and low buildings, walkways, and thoroughfares. Numerous glide scooters zipped along the roadways with the occasional vehicle and people transporter.

  Grock rolled a bin bot along a fraction and hunkered behind it. The target had arrived on time, parking his skiff in an upper grid park. Grock watched via his cams anticipating the target’s next actions. The target got out of his vehicle and started walking in the company of a female roughly the same age. Grock honed in on the targets security guard, a semi bot with “eyes” plugged into the security sensors and cams. Grock watched the images with his right eye whilst gazing through the laser scope with his left.

  The target ambled along, holding the female’s hand; presumably, she was a partner of some sort, a limited threat. The target was, after all, just going to the dentist.

  Grock watched the target turn the corner, disappear behind a series of pillars underneath a building, then come back into view approximately one hundred metres away, right across from his position. A clear line of shot was available for the next three seconds. Sighting the laser on the exposed skin of the target’s neck, he locked on and fired. He could have withdrawn and left the area once the shot hit home, but he stayed to see if the target had noticed anything. The laser beam contained a minute capsule of molecules that passed through sweat pores into the bloodstream. Within minutes, particles would bind themselves around the brain stem and, when the timer expired, the blood vessels would melt. Death in seconds with very little trace left behind. Two hours was enough time to get off the planet.

  Grock waited to see if the target felt the minute splash on his skin. If the target or security became aware of it, Grock’s fallback was to send over a fatal laser lock on. He got himself ready.

  “Stand still. I am armed, put down your weapon.”

  Grock turned to see a private security operative pointing a small blaster at him. Realising that he had dawdled too long, he feinted to the left whilst quickly reaching for his pistol.

  P-zap.

  He hit the operative in the chest. Reaching down, he ripped the operatives head cap off, in case it had recorded anything, then went around the corner, and hopped onto his scooter, joining the mass of city traffic. Once clear of the Medical Zone, he deposited the scooter and pistol in a large waste disposal bot. Happy that no one was following; he jogged a short distance to his unlicensed skiff.

  Later, at his dwelling pod, he sat down and read the news channels whilst stroking his hound’s head. An industrialist had died on his way to a dentist’s visit. Grock nodded to himself. Job done, but, not as sharp as it should have been. He had missed the private operative’s patrol route, believing that they stayed on the main thoroughfares not side roads. Should have considered that. The operative had to die, otherwise he would have made an identification.

  A secure message arrived from the Agency.

  “Satisfactory outcome, account credited.”

  Grock knew the client wou
ld be concerned about the additional casualty, so he took his hound to a neighbour and moved to one of his safe dwelling pods. A while later, he made contact with one of his old Space Corps colleagues.

  “People saying, time for you to retire.”

  This was a blow to Grock as he lived for the job and the danger. Not long afterwards, he was arrested at a space port attempting to travel off-world. The Agency had contacted Police Corps.

  ***

  “You were convicted of the murder of a wealthy businessman. What happened?”

  “Undercover. Acting as security.”

  “But you killed him, didn’t you?”

  “An error.”

  Flip sat back, his face quizzical.

  “We have seen clips of the street scene and your get away. A security man was lasered as well.”

  Grock’s face remained passive; he stayed silent.

  “Anything else you want to add?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. Grock, everyone.”

  The audience applauded. Flip was relieved and after Grock was led away, he took a long break.

  ***

  Later that evening, Grock’s received his visitor. He sat the hound down at his feet, stroked its ears, and patted its body whilst he thought back to the old days.

  Chapter 21 - Covering the basics

  “In a few days you will face the first challenge. For the benefit of everyone we will run through how it works,” Williams said as he took up his position centre stage flanked by Flip and Argenta.

  The challengers, seated in a semicircle on stage before him, were secured by a contact beam tether and the usual wrist and neck cuffs. The seats were set apart to restrict any problems between them, and an invisible audio baffle screen stopped any interruptions or outbursts. Brell, the first challenger brought out, watched as the circus unfolded. There were cheers from the virtual audience as each inmate arrived. The audience were sitting together in rows and the effect was well done, Brell considered. It all added to the carnival.