Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  “He’s taken a high, hasn’t he?” Drag said. Corbon nodded.

  “We’ll start with the lady here. Up you get and over here.” He pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her over to a dark area by the fence. A dull sunlight appeared with the dawn, the rays mixing with the smoke still billowing out of the building.

  “Brookko, look, just wait for your father. You don’t want to muck up this job,” Drag said.

  “Again. You were going to say ‘again,’ weren’t you?”

  “No, just hold on, calm it down a bit. There’s no rush,” Drag said.

  “You’ve got a problem with me, haven’t you?”

  “No, Brookko, it’s just your father said …”

  “Your father said,” Brookko said, mimicking Drag’s accent. He pushed the woman against the fence. “Stay there.”

  The woman didn’t move.

  “You’ve always had it in for me, haven’t you?” Brookko said, levelling his rifle at Drag who started to move backwards. Corbon looked back and forth between the two men.

  “Brookko, calm down, calm down.”

  Brookko brought his rifle down. Drag let out a breath, but it was short-lived as Brookko fired into his foot. Drag gasped and fell down on his backside, holding the remaining shreds of his left boot, whimpering in pain and shock. Corbon ran to him, took off his backpack, and started fumbling around for an auto emergency kit.

  Turning around, Brookko walked back to the female, muttering to himself.

  Bangs, laser beam p-zaps, and shouting came from inside the warehouse; it was taking time to subdue to the Corps.

  “Well, honey, what is a good looking woman like you doing here?”

  The woman had her back to the fence, her uniform dishevelled. Her cheeks were flushed and streaked with smoky dirt. Still holding her clutch bag, she held her hands in front of her.

  “I asked you a question.” Brookko placed his face next to hers.” I asked you a question.”

  “I’m new here, I don’t know anything. Please. We don’t know anything.”

  Brookko rubbed the end of the rifle muzzle over her face, then down between her breasts.

  “A good looking lady,” Brookko said quietly, almost to himself.

  Corbon attached a device to Drag’s ankle to stem the blood flow whilst spraying the wound with emergency glue. The Corpsman on the floor lifted his head and looked around. He shifted his elbows and started a sideways crawl towards Corbon.

  Brookko heard a thud, then felt a piercing pain scrape along the side of his waist. Turning quickly, he saw Corbon and Drag both lying on the floor and the Corpsman half kneeling, holding Corbon’s laser pistol in his hand. Brookko instinctively punched the female, then aimed and fired at the Corpsman, hitting him in the chest. Running over, he checked the man was incapacitated and the two idiots were breathing. It was just him and the female now. He could hear his father and brother shouting instructions from inside the warehouse.

  He returned to the female; she was holding her jaw. She punched out and connected with his mouth, then tried to run away. Brookko shouted and swore in her direction. Seeing his two colleagues still lying on the floor and hearing his father’s voice shouting, he fired at the woman, slicing her down.

  As he was standing by the woman’s body, his father appeared out of the smoky exit. Brookko’s brother went over to help Drag and Corbon. There was a heated exchange with his father, whose dirt-streaked face flushed with rage.

  Then it happened, the thing that Brookko would never forget. His father shot him in the leg. Incapacitated and stripped of all weapons, they left him at the back of the warehouse by the two bodies.

  ***

  “The security clips we have just seen are pretty conclusive of your involvement in the raid,” Flip said.

  “It’s been changed by the Corps.”

  “We found out that you have a daughter.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Have you made any contact with her?”

  “You don’t have her here, do you?”

  “No. Does it change anything, though, knowing you have a child out there somewhere?”

  “Not really. Long time ago. Don’t think about it.”

  “Well, Brookko, it’s time for your best bits.”

  The screen displayed a montage of Brookko events, finishing with him riding the beast in the fun challenge.

  “Thanks, Brookko.”

  “No problem, the pleasure is all mine.” Brookko smiled and waved his hands at the audience, who clapped their appreciation.

  Chapter 23 - The Holographic World

  A bot doc trundled around the stage, injecting each challenger with two implants. The first was a visual cortex adaption, enabling the challenger to “see” the holo worlds without having to wear a head cap. It automatically turns off when the challenger returns to the real world. The second implant, nicknamed “the furnace” was the substance that activated when the timer reached zero.

  Flip then showed some brief interview clips of families, friends, and prison guards re-counting stories and anecdotes about the challengers, whilst the cameras relayed facial close-ups. This was just a warm up to elongate the show, a lot of the material had been presented during individual interviews already.

  Brell watched everyone wriggle at some point when a relative or friend said something. Her mother appeared, and all Brell could think about was how dressed up she was, including a thick layer of makeup. The only word she remembered was “disappointed.” There were a couple of old colleagues, both idiots, who said they had seen the signs of her addiction and behaviour changes and were not surprised she “lost it.” Brell had recommended one of them for promotion. Fragger. One of her old prison guards came on and talked about one of Brell’s fights; by this time, Brell was thinking about the beauty of slipping into oblivion. She came back to the present when Argenta said, “Isn’t that right Brell?”

  “Yes, probably,” Brell said. She had no idea what the question had been. It was clear that the programme producers had examined everyone’s life history, though.

  Brell watched the others go through a similar experience and making one or two word replies to questions. Grock had not changed in appearance, Kellsa was very good at school gymnastics, and Carac’s sister had disowned him, Ooma’s father made a heartfelt speech about his son getting involved with the wrong people, whilst Meren sat and smiled through snippets of her personal life, seemingly unaffected by the vitriol spoken by the monks.

  “Thanks, Argenta. Later we will test your holo world implants by taking you on a fifteen minute walk.” Flip nodded to the guards.

  ***

  Brell tried to take it all in. Was everything here alien? The people, buildings, everything. Nothing travelled in the air, no AG skiffs or scooters, just ground cars, wheeled contraptions and small two wheeled vehicles buzzing about, chugging smoke out of its rear pipe. A wooden style carriage rolled along the centre of the roadway, following a line of grooves. Its passengers sat inside or held onto a side pole. It all seemed chaotic. Rubbish lay on the floor, there were obviously no tidy-up bots.

  The “people” were of various skin colours; white, black, brown, no blue, though. There were individuals, couples, and seemingly family groups of men, women, and children. The clothes were a mixture of styles and fabrics. Drab, multi coloured, long, short, a bit of everything.

  Just a few paces inside the world she looked back and saw holo people and vehicles coming out of or disappearing into the wall behind her. There were numerous grey stone multi-floored buildings with metal stairways on the side. In the sky, the countdown clock was set to 00:00.

  She had seen this before during her homework but immersion like this was at a different level. Whilst waiting her turn in the fancy Living Room, her expectations were low and she expected the type of holo world that she had used years ago on basic exercises with Police Corps. Blocky shapes, barriers, corridors, a few good baddy holos, open spaces, and empty buildings with broken signs s
uggesting it was a shop.

  Williams welcomed each challenger, accompanied by a guard, of course, by opening the door and saying, “Welcome to the streets of San Francisco.”

  The guard nudged her in the back to move forward. A couple walked towards her and she moved to get out of their way but they went through her. Soft holos. A man held up a dirty cup; his clothes were shabby and dishevelled.

  “Spare some money,” he said as he shook the cup. He spoke in the main Inhab-47 language.

  “Um, Electro credit, discs, um, coins?” Brell said recalling her phrases.

  “Coins,” the man replied.

  Brell glanced in his cup; there were a few dirty metal discs inside.

  “Spare some money,” he said as he shook the cup.

  Brell leant down, touched his jacket sleeve, then squeezed his arm; it was solid.

  A hard beam holo generated around a plastic body wearing real clothing. Also, he could respond to a question, very useful to know. Brell continued on, spending the remainder of the time just taking it all in. Everything looked real, but was a clever mixture of soft holographs for people and vehicles. This was supplemented with plastic bodied, but cheap basic robots. The security bots must be of a higher grade, self thinking, possibly. What about the vehicles? She walked into the roadway allowing vehicles to run through her, until being struck by a small transporter. It wobbled slightly, before continuing its programmed path. She rubbed her leg, more from shock than pain. That was useful to know.

  Despite the cuffs and collar, she felt free and unshackled. The air was warm with a city smell of people, sugar, dirt, and perfume? Bit like some of the grotty inner urban places she had patrolled.

  There was no comparison with her holo world equipment in her cell on Wing 90. Police and Space Corps must have spent some serious credits on this facility. About time.

  She had to pinch herself to realise that a deadly game would take place in these worlds. Following a semi-circular route, she ended back in the Living Room. Williams was standing at the door laughing. Then it was back to the cells, and hopefully no more interviews or audience questions.

  ***

  Brell sat on her bed, cross-legged, listening to the main Inhab-47 language whilst eating ice cream. A quiet beep sounded in the background; it took a while to realise it was a recorded message.

  “Messages on.”

  The holo screen popped up. It was Gorst.

  “Pause.” She wanted to savour his face. Hair short and neat, the square lines of his face aged a little bit, but his eyes still had that twinkle.

  “Play.”

  “Hi, Brell. Yes, it’s me and yes, I could have been in contact more. Time just passes by, and with my new promotion, I’ve been wrapped up in work, as usual. Look, I know you may turn this off, but I have been watching you on the show and I just wanted to say that I’m thinking of you. Many of your old colleagues will be cheering you on. Who could forget you? Don’t listen to all the crap that they are showing, the interviews and everything. That’s it.” He paused. “Just wanted to add that I hope you are coping well, on your own. You show them what you are made of. See you. Bye.” With that, he waved his hand and the message ended.

  Brell replayed the message, analysing every word. “On your own” was a reference to Deep Yellow and many of their conversations before the bust up. “You have to cope with things on your own, Brell, rather than relying on Deep and intox,” he used to say. It was starting to become too much for him in the end. Good to see his face, though.

  Whilst eating another ice cream, Brell casually read some basic information about Inhab-47’s version of the Police Corps. Their technology, weapons, and ID scanning were not a patch on that used by the Corps; some things were the same whichever galaxy you were in. Domestic violence was one such example. Brell laughed as she remembered attending an argument between two virtual assistants, left in charge of a dwelling, whilst the owner was away on holiday. Their loud arguments had disturbed the neighbours. She found a technician to turn a power console off and left a data note for the owner to sort out the character settings. It wasn’t the most memorable domestic incident though, that occurred when she had been promoted to Inspector.

  Chapter 24 - Inspector Sturlach

  “Zone 2 patrol. Please attend Pod 122, Sub Level 5, Zone 2, a fight believed domestic circumstances, laser weapons used. Corridor cam shows a male and female arguing outside. ID’s unclear. No history of previous incidents.”

  “Received by Zone 2 patrol. On way. Out.”

  ***

  “Control from 2 patrol, urgent assistance, colleague hurt, lasers involved.”

  “Laser Response Team 2 and Duty Inspector, proceed to Pod 122, Sub Level 5, Zone 2. Officers injured.”

  “Laser Response 2 on way.”

  “Inspector Sturlach on way.”

  Brell’s office consisted of a small command pod situated inside a mobile neighbourhood Corps station. Every week, the mobile station was hoisted onto a transporter and driven to an adjoining neighbourhood. For the last two days, it sat at one end of Association Square, a concreted area surrounded on all four sides by tall dwelling tower blocks. The neighbourhood was occupied mainly by workers and their families, due to the huge factories nearby. Factory managers and clerks tended to live in the greener, safer areas situated a few kilometres away.

  Brell buckled on her belt, checked her equipment, and turned off her screens. She opened the office door and strode across the public area. The virtual and real advice booths both had queues, and Brell quickly got outside before someone tried to ask her a question.

  “Most of the neighbourhoods are shit holes here,” the Corps Area Commander had said to Brell on her first day in the rank of Inspector.

  “Just keep the lid on things, and that includes the officers as well as the locals.”

  As she approached her Inspector’s Command Vehicle, it automatically unlocked and the glide engine started up. Once the location was locked in and the autopilot activated, the vehicle sped off. Brell sat back in her seat, reading all the information about the incident, its location, and the officers attending. The vehicle sped along, weaving in between the giant pillars of the tower block foundations and continued along a main thoroughfare, overtaking when safe to do so. The holo warning signs flashed in front and above the vehicle whilst its three tone siren whooped and wailed.

  ***

  The vehicle came to a stop by the lower ground level entrance. Brell got out of the vehicle, but paused, weighing up the options. The officers were in trouble on Sub Level 5 and needed an immediate response, but rushing down there on her own could endanger herself. She would wait for backup.

  “Control. Inspector Sturlach at ground level. Awaiting Laser Team.”

  “Received in control. Cam and comms have malfunctioned, there are no updates from officers. Medicos are on way.”

  The sound of a siren grew louder, and then around the corner came a Laser Team’s transporter. It was basically a fully gliding rectangular box comprising of crew seats, storage, comms unit, and an impressive array of weapons. An armour-wearing officer stepped out of the front seat and approached Brell.

  “Sergeant Ritsma, Laser Team 2, ma’am. Any updates?”

  “Hello, sergeant. No updates. Need to send in comms and signal drones. Comms have malfunctioned. They can be a bit tricky in the deeper levels.”

  “Ma’am.” The sergeant went back to the transporter from which several armoured officers appeared, carrying the largest laser rifles Brell had seen for some time. Sergeant Ritsma waved his hands about, and a balding, stooped male appeared. He had short stumps for teeth, three hairs on his head, and wore a stained blue jump suit. Not the usual type of technician that rode with the Laser Teams. However, he immediately threw two drones in the air, watched as they hovered, then flicked on his display screen, all the time smiling with his toothy grin.

  “Worm. Standby.”

  Worm nodded his head. The team stood by waiting for a bri
efing.

  “Ma’am, ready to send down the drones.” Then he said, “Don’t worry about Worm, he doesn’t get out much but he is our best technician.”

  “Thank you sergeant. Let’s do it.”

  Sergeant Ritsma nodded to Worm, and the drones flew off towards the underground entranceway. Brell took up a position behind Worm with the sergeant. A small crowd of onlookers started to gather; an officer told them to move away.

  “Control, we are sending in the drones, follow us through,” Brell said. She knew the control room had the ability to review the images in a calmer environment.

  Within a short time, the drones descended the emergency stairs. They were dimly lit, wide concrete steps, the underground floor level number appearing at each level.

  “Level 3. Place signal booster,” the sergeant said.

  Worm moved his little finger and the signal drone hovered in the top of the stairwell, out of arm’s reach. He manoeuvred the camera drone around to check the signal booster stayed in its position. The camera then continued down to level 5.

  “Pod 122,” Brell said. Worm nodded.

  It was a long brightly-lit corridor, punctuated by solid metal doors on each side. A haze of smoke could be seen further along the corridor as the drone flew past Pod 104.

  “Stop. Hover and zoom. Heat scanner,” Brell said.

  The images zoomed into the smoke; the heat signal of one person lying on the ground appeared.

  “Inspector, some verbal calls have just come through. The couple in 122 are a male and female who often argue, believed drugs involved. They have a child. All kicked off when the Corps arrived. Sounds of laser fire confirmed. Announcement made for all people to stay behind their doors for safety.”

  “Received,” Brell said.

  The drone continued and started entering the smoke. It slowly hovered past Pod 118, then 120. The heat signal showed the person lying outside Pod 122.

  “ID shows it as Corpsman Drenne. No sign of Corpswoman Moyu. Check up the corridor Worm beyond the smoke.” Sergeant Ritsma paused watching Worms screens. “Okay, nothing there. Back to Pod 122 and wait. The door is shut, presumed locked.”