by Stuart Dodds
At least she wasn’t sitting next to Carac. Whenever she glanced in his direction, he grinned at her. Brookko limped slightly as he walked slowly to his chair, eyes glassy, still subdued, or drugged. Ooma fiddled with his trouser belt. Meren sat upright, head raised, feet together, as if waiting for a religious story telling.
“Now, I’m sure you have all submerged yourselves in your beam casts and reading material.”
Brookko came to life, mouthing the words, “The what?” He screwed his face up.
“We have put together the basics for you, Brookko, and others, in case you didn’t understand anything,” Williams said slowly. He turned his head towards another camera.
“Also, it’s for our wonderful studio audience.” They cheered and clapped on cue.
“Come on, Kellsa,” an audience member shouted out.
“And for our Association audience.” William raised his arms, milking the moment. “Flip and Argenta, please.”
“Thank you,” Flip said. Argenta nodded seriously.
“First, the challengers will be given a clue to the location of a key. A key, like this.”
Williams held up a long metal shaped object.
“You hold this end,” he put his thumb and finger onto the piece of flat metal. The letters EHBC were inscribed within the intricate design.
“You insert this end.” He held up the other end of the key, a small square shape with finely cut notches, “into the lock hole and turn it.” He turned the key around in the air.
“Keys likes this are used to unlock doors on Inhab-47. Your great, great grandmother may remember what it is.” Williams stepped back to let Flip and Argenta take over.
“One of our production assistants is going to show us how to use the keys and doors.”
Nep, a young, fresh-faced “volunteer” appeared on screen. He tried to hold a smile, but he blinked fast and he continually wiped his hands down his trousers. Behind him was a row of small oblong boxes secured to the wall. Each one containing a key.
“Having found the location of a key, the challenger uses the finger scanner to release it. The scanner ensures they can only take one key.”
The assistant poked his finger into a small hole positioned underneath the key box thereby unfastening security clips. He held the key towards a camera.
Certainly stops the first challenger from taking all the keys, Brell considered. You could also conceal yourself somewhere, wait until you think a challenger has found a key, and then steal it off them. Quickly glancing at Grock, she knew he was thinking the same thing, his eyes betraying no emotion.
“Don’t forget, there are less keys than challengers,” Argenta added.
“The next predicament for the challengers is to find the exit door.”
Nep now stood on a paved area outside a line of identical buildings. He approached a door, inserted and turned the key in the lock, then went inside.
“This room has the most important piece of equipment you will see. The de-activator.”
Next to the door set in the corner of the far wall was a large countdown timer. In the centre of the room, there was a podium decorated in the Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company corporate colours with the words “Convict Challenge” written on its side. A large, glowing red button sat on top at waist height. The assistant stood in front of the console and pressed the button. A deep dong sound rang out.
“The button press deactivates the challenger’s deadly implant. The next thing to do is to return to the studio.”
Nep opened the door in the corner of the room to reveal a single seated transporter, and, just after he sat inside, it silently whisked him away.
Flip paused and motioned with his hand towards the large, ornate golden doors at the back of the stage. A few seconds later, the doors opened automatically and a smiling Nep appeared, to the roar of the audience.
“Thank you Nep, for showing us how it all works. But don’t go anywhere; there is one thing left for you to do.” Flip smiled at Nep, who swallowed and shuffled off the side of the stage.
“Don’t forget that you can re visit this and other aspects of the challenge via our beam network. So there you have it: the challengers have to solve a clue, find a key and an exit all within a time limit. Time for a break,” Argenta said.
Brell was grateful for the juice drink handed out during the break. She was thirsty and found it difficult to remain calm. Her heart had beaten faster many times whilst watching the demonstrations. Thoughts raced from resigning herself to the ultimate ending, death, or the slimmest chance that she could win. The close ups of her and fellow challengers displayed on the studio screens did not help.
Whilst sipping the drink, she glanced around the stage area. Flip and Argenta were being buffed up by a makeup artist whilst Williams stood to one side, conversing with a virtual assistant. Brell watched as Williams dictated instructions to his assistant, who appeared in the image of a tall man wearing white trousers, a white patterned jacket with wide collar, greased back hair, and dark glasses. Williams was the creative driver behind the show, there was no doubt about that. His excitement in the beam programme “extras” regarding his exploits on Inhab-47, and building the holo worlds was tangible. How does he square the fact that this is a show where people will die in front of a huge Association audience? Brell knew it was not her place to argue, but this challenge was certainly better than “Death Factor” where inmates had to sing, dance, or tell jokes for prison favours or termination in front of a panel of virtual judges.
***
“Let’s look at security. Police and Prison Corps have a strict security regime. Even I have to be identity scanned to get into the studio.” Cheesy grin. “If our challengers attempt to get outside of the worlds, through a side wall for example or their behaviour becomes dangerous etc, well, they will have the security bots to deal with.” Flip lifted his right arm up towards a screen. “Watch this.”
An alien city street scene appeared. Holographic alien adults and children walked along paved areas either side of a central roadway, whilst ground transporters drove along on their four wheels. Nep appeared in view, wearing a cap, hesitantly walking along one of the paved walkways. The cameras followed him as he entered a building, which was a large shop with people milling around, examining clothing displays. Nep wiped some sweat from his forehead, tugged at his cap, and entered a small room at the back. He picked up a chair and thrashed it against the wall, causing a small fracture in the wall skin. Two more blows later, and the wall started cracking.
At this point, the camera view switched back to the street scene.
A silent ground transporter, the words Security Together emblazoned on its side, glided into view stopping outside Nep’s building. All four doors opened at the same time and figures emerged. The security bots were dressed in dark blue jackets, trousers, and peaked hats with a gold badge in the middle. Their faces were like a still image of an unsmiling male or female guard. After shutting the doors together, they trooped into the building; the people inside continued shopping as per their programmed routines.
Nep swung the chair repeatedly at the steadily growing hole when he turned to see the incoming bots. The lead bot took a tube-shaped device off his trouser belt and levelled it at Nep, who by now held his hands up, pleading innocence. An electrical beam charge hit him in the chest. He went limp and fell to the floor. A second bot approached with another device that spun fine cord around the stunned Nep’s ankles. He was unceremoniously picked up and dumped into the back compartment of the transporter, which then glided along the roadway and out of view.
“Thanks Nep.” Flip lowered his voice. “We didn’t tell him what would happen,” he pulled a face, “but no harm was done.”
“Anyone restrained by the security bots is taken to a holding cell, to remain there for twenty minutes before being released. Will any of the challengers be able to afford twenty minutes of time?” Argenta said, looking at the challengers.
“Viewers can find ou
t some fast facts on the buildings and streets on Inhab-47, which we have provided on one of our accompanying streams.”
Brell saw Ooma’s face drop. He hasn’t got this yet. Grock, as ever, stared forward, assessing everything. His whole life must just be one big risk assessment. Brookko shouted out something, but, thankfully, it was inaudible.
There was a pause for advertising, betting updates, some message zaps sent in by home viewers, and another juice.
Brell shifted in her seat; she could do with a drink.
***
“We’re back,” Argenta announced. “We have seen the security bots, but what happens if a challenger doesn’t find the key and exit door in time? They will be injected with a lethal timer implant, synchronised at the start of the challenge. If they do not press the exit room button in time, then it is game over. Watch this.”
A Cruunpatch, a large bear-like beast, grazed and shuffled around a small grassy field. A life signs display and timer appeared on the top right of the screen. The count down from three minutes started, and the audience became silent. The Cruunpatch continued to graze; insects buzzed around, and it was quiet except for the gently throbbing background music. Nothing much happened until two minutes to go. The beast started moving its head from side to side, unsure whether to graze or walk. With thirty seconds to go, the beast moved slowly, shook its head a few times, and stamped its back foot. A few moments after the timer reached zero, the skin by its belly became dark orange, and then a black colour started radiating around the body. Hair singed just before the now black skin turned to ash, then into a fine dust that blew away with the light breeze. Two smaller beasts appeared, as if sensing something had happened. They wandered over to the beast’s last position; there was a thin outline on the forest floor, which started to disappear.
“That, dear audience is what happens if our challengers don’t get to the deactivation button in time.” Argenta held her serious face.
Brell was lost in thought for a moment, seeing the likely method of her demise. At least it didn’t look painful. She noticed that Carac rubbed his fingertips together whilst he stared at the screen.
“We hoped you enjoyed our sessions with our challengers. Don’t forget you can catch up on snippets, zaps, and images on our beam network. After the break, we will answer some of your questions, like where is Inhab-46?” Flip, Argenta, and Williams gave a brief wave to the cameras, which they held until given a signal.
“Was that okay? The right tone, facial expression?” Argenta said.
“A-ok. Perfect.” Williams said raising his hand and joining his thumb and forefinger.
The audio baffle turned itself off as the guards came onto stage.
“Lady, I could give you a better expression if you come to my cell tonight,” Brookko said whilst trying to grin. Argenta shuddered and recoiled.
Williams stepped forward, but not too close to the challengers.
“Well, there you have it, everyone.” Williams said finally. “You know everything is a risk, a gamble like roulette, but solve the clues and it will gain one of you your freedom.” Williams said.
“Might as well have some fun before we go, eh, precious?” Brookko leered over at Brell at this point.
“In your dreams and holos,” Brell replied. She glanced at Carac, who stared back at her. She shook her head.
“Don’t forget to read up and surround yourself in the Inhab-47 holos. Tomorrow there are individual interviews, an implant test, and a walk in a holo world. Enjoy your evening.”
***
Williams yawned. He hoped that the meeting wouldn’t last too long. Police Corps Commander S’Tr-Hert and his Prison Corps associate were happy with security arrangements and that rules were being followed. Technician 22 went on about the Holo World intricacies, and the Twins just sat in silence.
“How are the clues and key locations coming on?” Ayleth asked.
Williams sat upright.
“Nearly there. The reason for this is that we have been working hard on the re-enactments and the little touches like the transporters, smells, and auto chef menus, as well as incorporating the artefacts we brought back with us from Inhab-47. Once we have that in place, the clues to the key locations will follow. I’m also aware that they have to be a closely guarded secret.” Williams glanced at the Police Corps Commander, who wrinkled his brow.
“If someone found out the key locations, the betting and integrity of the show would be blown apart. Audiences will just turn off.”
“Thank you, Soward. We understand, but our insurance regulator wants us to obtain an encrypted copy of the key locations in case anything happens to you,” Mayleth said.
“I understand, bear with me, I will encrypt it for you soon.”
“Thank you,” Mayleth said.
Williams watched Technician 22; he remained impassive throughout the last exchange.
Chapter 22 - Smuggling
“Well, Brookko. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Flip. Where’s your side kick?”
“It’s my turn to do the interviews today.”
“Shame, such lovely hair.”
“What are your expectations for the forthcoming challenge?”
“Well, Mr. Flip, I’m going to win. Simple as that. If anyone gets in my way, then, bang.”
“The viewers and gamblers like confidence, Brookko.”
“They certainly do, Mr. Flip. You can bet on me, folks.” He winked at the camera.
“Now, here’s a question. You were born into crime, I believe. Is that correct?”
“My family was very law-abiding.”
“But you have numerous convictions for smuggling, as do all of your family.”
“Well, we just picked up contraband that people left behind.”
“Like in the Customs Corps raid?”
“Precisely. We were just nearby at the time and got the blame for that one.”
***
“Brookko, all I want you to do is take two men with you and go around to the back exit in case anyone runs out. If this happens, keep hold of them until I can get there. Listen, we want people alive, as we want their information. Next shipments, location of other warehouses, etc. Do not hurt anyone, do not kill anyone, and don’t ask any them any questions. Okay?”
“Why can’t I go in at the front? Drookko’s going in the front.”
“I need someone trustworthy around the back. Drookko is just acting as backup. I need you around the back, it’s very important. Okay?”
“Okay dad,” Brookko said reluctantly.
“Son, you’re too impulsive. You have energy, that’s good, but sometimes it is misplaced. We don’t need to go in all lasers blasting. We take it easy, get the stuff, and get back alive for the next job.”
It was a routine raid. The Custom Corps warehouse was in an isolated area of the spaceport, surrounded by utility buildings. As a result of staffing issues, it became known that building security was often lax due to lack of personnel. The warehouses often contained shipments of confiscated cargoes and drugs, as well as recovered stolen goods.
Brookko stood with his hands in his pockets and a laser rifle slung over his shoulder as he picked two men for his important assignment. It was early dawn and cold; the grass had a wet sheen which reflected the light from the fading moons. They had regrouped outside the spaceport perimeter for final instructions. His dad as always took centre stage and directed events, with his brother Drookko assisting. Brookko was never trusted to lead anything now, not after the previous incident.
“Frag and Fragger, are you ready?”
“It’s Drag and Corbon, and yes, we are ready.” Drag said, giving Corbon a sideways glance, who responded by shrugging his shoulders.
“The cams and sensors are down, let’s go,” a technician said.
Brookko grasped his rifle at the ready position and, with a wave back to his father, he led the two men off on a circular route to the back of the large warehouse. They trod caref
ully on the wet grass, checking for any mobile patrols. The concreted rear area was just a few metres wide and ended at the security fence, which they easily breached. There was only one exit door.
“Okay.” Brookko looked down at the ground, finger in one ear. “That’s the signal; they are going in. Fan out, give some space,” He moved his weight from one leg to the other and scratched at his unshaven chin as the two men moved away from Brookko, taking up a position either side of the exit door.
“Don’t know who is more dangerous, the Custom Corps or him,” Drag said. Corbon nodded.
“Quiet,” Brookko said, gesticulating with his rifle, his face grim and focussed on the doorway.
Corbon winked at Drag, who grinned in return.
There were a series of loud bangs from within the warehouse followed by light flashes pulsing out of the side windows. The exit door burst open; smoke poured out, followed by two coughing Custom Corps staff in uniform. The male held a laser pistol and the woman a small clutch bag.
Brookko rushed up and poked them with his laser rifle as they doubled over coughing violently. He kicked the officer’s laser pistol away.
“On the ground, now,” Brookko said shouting right into their ears. He hissed and laughed between his teeth.
The officers both got on the floor, face down, arms by their sides.
“Look, we know nothing. Just take the stash inside and we won’t say anything,” the male said.
“That’s what you think. Where did the shipment come from?” Brookko said.
Drag and Corbon had stayed near the exit door, partly in case more officers came out, but mainly to give Brookko a wide berth. He started to get agitated, which was not a good thing.
“Where did the shipment come from?” Brookko now shouted at the pair whilst prodding them with his rifle. “Easy question; who wants to say something, eh, eh?” He strutted around now, face flushed.
“Brookko, your father said to just keep them here, that’s all, no questions,” Drag said.
“Frag my father. I’m just as capable of doing this.”