by Stuart Dodds
The sun was setting as Kellsa kneeled on the hard roof surface. She had no problem getting the service lift, and cloning security codes was straightforward. It was windy with clear skies and no smog. She threw a remote drone over the roof and steadied it, panning for the window with the large-leafed plant on the balcony. The silent drone manoeuvred down and over the balcony rail, dropping a fraction to scan inside the window. The target sat in a chair, surrounded by multiple screens, holding an animated conversation. Kellsa watched and waited, whilst judging the woman, weighing up the right time to strike.
Setting the drone on auto, she sent the laser dart up in the air to follow the drones trail. When ready, she pressed a button. A thin arm extracted itself out of the drone and tapped the window repeatedly to gain the woman’s attention. She saw her look back at the window, then towards the screens as if saying she would return in a minute. Kellsa zoomed in on the woman’s forehead, locked it into the dart display screen, and hit “go.”
As soon as the woman opened the balcony window, the dart detected exposed skin and flashed forward, burying itself inside the woman’s brain. A small, limited explosion then detonated, and the woman was dead before she hit the floor. Kellsa continued to view the inside of the apartment in case anyone appeared. Someone on the display screen had witnessed it, good. Recalling the drone, she packed it away, checked around the roof area in case she had missed anything, and made her way to the security lift.
Unfortunately, as the service lift opened on the basement level, six laser rifles were aimed at her forehead. Quite a while later, she found out it was a set-up. The target was an off-world AidHelp activist trying to secure funding for the regeneration of Colony 09’s poorer areas. If Kellsa had taken an interest in the news channels, she would be aware of local objections to the plan. Keeping the status quo was important to local crime gangs and some of their business friends. Many of the proposed plans were in Kellsa’s old neighbourhoods. An off-world freelancer had been hired to spy on Kellsa. As soon as the contract was completed and Kellsa was packing up her equipment on the roof, they anonymously tipped off Police Corps. It suited the crime gang to keep Kellsa alive, being a local colonist from one of the poorer parts of the city.
***
“The politician was attempting to bring credits into your home area, if you had read the news channels, the credits raised would have helped rebuild the ruins and children’s home where you lived. We’ve shown the clips of you on the roof and getting arrested,” Argenta said.
Kellsa shrugged her shoulders. Argenta looked out over the audience and examined her notepad.
“Finally, what do you say to the girl who asked you which gang to join?”
“Go to school.”
Chapter 26 - The day before
The day before the first challenge arrived. The proposed “last supper” with all the challengers sitting together was cancelled in favour of free association and a buffet lunch. Not much association actually occurred, but the viewers, gamblers, and gossips used it to pick their favourites. A religious celebration was held, which only Meren attended. It wasn’t Jayzan, but she politely listened to the preacher. Mostly, the challengers spent time in deep thought in their cells, eating favourite foods and recording or writing messages. Grock studied the homework cubes again, Carac recorded numerous messages, and Brookko paced back and forth, talking to himself.
***
Williams found some time to relax in his personal room whilst his assistant finished some mundane tasks. With a beer and a smoke, he watched the live feeds of the challengers settling into their cells for the last evening. The show had come a long way since the first discussions, especially regarding the list of potential challengers. Media consultants suggested just mad, bad argumentative inmates, as “that’s what an audience wants these days.” The Twins had made some initial suggestions, but once three of their “candidates” were accepted, there was little further discussion and left Williams to get on with finding the other challengers. They all had something to offer an audience, even before the actual challenges. Kellsa, for example, spent a lot of time in various stages of undress in her cell, which had boosted ratings. Brookko was entertaining enough just being himself.
Williams reclined his chair a fraction and blew a smoke ring up to the ceiling. Having long ago reconciled himself with the fact that six people will face termination, he remembered the shift towards these types of “justice” shows a few years ago. In the near future, it would no doubt shift back to more family oriented entertainment. At least on this show, one person would gain their freedom.
***
Brell was practising some last-minute language skills when the beam door chimed. She faced the door, wrists held up in front of her. As the beam disengaged, a stocky Bermian stood just outside. Brell looked him up and down; smart creased uniform, limited expression that changed into a slight smile. Brune! An older version of the young rookie with whom she had stopped Carac years ago. What was he doing here?
“Hello Brell, remember me?” he said in his monotone voice. Brell quickly adjusted her hearing back into Association language.
“Brune S’Tr-Hert. What are you doing here?
“I am in charge of Police Corps security; you know, the convicts and the studios. The cameras are off at this moment, just to let you know,” he said whilst lowering his bulk into a small chair, its legs protesting. Brell sat on her bed.
“What can I say? A lot has happened since we were last working together. What’s happened to you since Grab?” she said, trying to change the subject away from herself.
“After you left, I stayed on until finishing my probation, got a posting to Agger, and then promotion. I became involved in a big smuggling investigation with Space Corps, not involving Brookko before you ask. It was all good fortune and saw me right for further promotion. I worked here and there, steadily moving up the ranks, and now I’m a Commander. Plus, I have a couple of little Brunes running around at home.”
“Well, good for you,” Brell said.
“So it was interesting to see both Carac and yourself together again, but unfortunate circumstances, though.” That was his way of trying to breeze over Brell’s downfall, probably. Bermians did not approve of rule breaking.
“Look Brune, it is a surprise to see you. But I don’t know what to say. When we last worked together, I was in charge of you, and now I’m in a cell. This could be my last night here.”
“I’m not here to gloat or discuss rule breaking. I wasn’t sure myself whether to visit you, but I wanted to wish you the best of luck. I know you have had your problems, but the Brell I remember would have made sure she was organised and got on with it.”
Brell averted her eyes.
“I’ll be watching the whole thing, but I’m not involved in any of the studio business. I’m just making sure that you convicts don’t try and take the place over or run away.”
“Very funny.” Brell laughed.
“Okay. Well, Brell, I wish you good fortune.” He stood up.
“Brune. It’s good to see you. Good fortune.”
After he left, Brell sat back on her bed. Brune, that big old oaf, fancy him getting promotion to Commander.
***
Mayleth was concerned. The Tinker had been in touch, wanting reassurance that everything would run according to plan. The show, so far, was going well. The challengers were shaping up as a very watchable group of people. Williams was doing a great job, but he avoided her and her brother. He had told them where the keys were for the first challenge, but not the others. Apparently, he was “working his butt off” and “busting his hump” whatever that meant, to finish the clues in time. It was not what they wanted to hear. She glanced around; Ayleth was asleep again.
***
Ooma thought often about the long, wide, sweeping fields of home and the feeling he had when piloting his silent harvester across the landscape. Back then, he would yearn for something more exciting; now, he would be happy to bring in
the harvest for the rest of his life.
Just before leaving Crin, he had sent a fuel-efficient prototype engine design to his father. Engine design, apart from being a distraction from prison life, was a way of paying back for his shame. The brief high life in the city had been fun, but he never stopped regretting his actions.
***
Technician 22 stood in his low-lit office reading the latest encrypted message from the Tinker. He knew his role and did not need reminding. Another encrypted internal data zap arrived on his screen from the twins.
All ready for tomorrow?
He replied, Yes. then sent an additional message, No problem, all will be fine. He added the second message to reassure them. Amongst his people, you only said things once and it was understood.
Okay thank you, came back the reply.
That must have been Mayleth, the female one. The male one was inept. For all their act of confidence, they were unsure of him, which he thought was not a bad thing. Kept them on their guard.
After the female twin had told him the location of the keys for tomorrow’s challenge, he had easily worked out from the “tube transporter” layout where the exit doors would be. If the “special” challenger appeared in danger of losing, then he would create a clue message and display it secretively. Perhaps he might just send the security bots in.
The audience must not find out.
He actually agreed with the Twins on that one; they only needed to have said it once, though. Whatever the Tinker had on them was of no interest to him. As long as the right convict won and the Tinker paid up, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 27 - The First Challenge
“Technician 22. Everything ready your end?” Williams said, whilst observing him working in the Tech hub next door. Technician 22 continued to stare at his screens, and then stood upright a little.
“Yes, ready,” he eventually replied.
“Thank you. Okay everyone. Let’s do it. Roll music and count in Flip.” Williams said. He adjusted his seat a little. He had felt the mood change in staff as the challenge approached. The fun challenge had been an easy run through, but this one was real. Staff had become “fond” of the challengers personalities.
Flip and Argenta stood centre stage and looked across the audience whilst music blared out. Standing more stiffly than normal, they both held fixed smiles whilst their sparkly suits glittered in the stage lights.
“Welcome, everyone, to the first Challenge.” Large round of applause and cheering.
“Come on, Kellsa.”
“You’ve seen the Inhab-47 beam casts, the challengers, and the holo world itself. Now for the real thing.”
“Seven challengers, five exit keys, and one clue. Who will be the winners and who the losers? Who out of our seven will not return?” Flip said, letting his voice trail off at the end. He allowed the silence to settle on the audience whilst glancing up at the screens displaying the seven challengers in their cells. They were sitting, standing, or pacing around.
Argenta stepped forward. “The first challenge is set in holo world Rome. A place of ancient history on Inhab-47. Many of the buildings survive today, despite all their wars. Remember, you can visit our special holo world beam streams at any time.”
“First, let’s set the challengers’ timers. Doc bots away you go. Audience and people at home, are you ready?” Argenta motioned her hands towards the audience.
“Countdown to termination.” Everyone shouted. A side screen filled with home viewers all shouting at their screens.
The doc bots, lined up outside each cell, sprang into action, rolling forward to initialise each convict’s timer implant.
Flip held both arms up and said, “It’s showtime.” The audience started to applaud lightly, then started cheering loudly as the floor manager gesticulated at them. The screens around the stage came to life.
“Let the countdown begin!” There was a loud bong sound and the large studio clock started. It was synched with the implant timer, showing 60 minutes.
“Ready? Here is the clue. From a prison for execution to an arena of execution. The cross Emperor sat here. Train, anyone?” Flip repeated it.
“So, think about the clue. People back home and audience members can also research the clue. Your data zaps will be displayed on the screens here, once the prisoners have gone inside.” Argenta said.
The stage screens showed most of the challengers studiously examining their holo screens. They all wore standard issue Association prison uniform, a grey jumpsuit.
“Let’s see what they are up to.”
There was a close-up of information searches being undertaken. Ooma examined still images of execution arenas, whilst Carac studied “cross emperors” and read a list of items for sale. Brookko wandered around his cell, swearing. Grock stared at his screens without blinking, his fingers slowly working the holo info links. His feed showed that he had found references to an emperor and executions in a variety of places, many of them in Rome. He studied the clue again.
***
“Our first challenger had gone inside,” Flip said staring at the side screen. “It is Brookko. He is obviously relying on his instincts, having done no research whatsoever.”
“Flip, we are getting lots of data zaps about the location of keys. Betting is changing constantly, with the main credits on Grock, then Kellsa, with our favourite nun Meren at the bottom,” Argenta said.
As soon as Brookko emerged into the warmth of the holo world, he forgot about finding keys and looked around for two things: women and intox. He found the intox first at a cafe with an auto chef, near the main road. Remembering, somehow, the Inhab-47 word “beer”, he downed three glasses in quick succession. Then he made a few attempts to grab women, but kept falling through their holo outlines. Eventually he found a hard beamed woman with a solid body. He tried talking to her first.
“Hi, baby, want some fun?”
“Buona giornata,” she said. Completely unintelligible as far as he was concerned, but it made no difference.
“Love those aliens.”
He pulled her towards him and attempted to kiss her whilst placing his hands on her arms. Ignoring the other people walking nearby, he pushed the woman backwards, upsetting her balance and put her on the ground.
“Baby, you won’t forget this.”
“Buona giornata.”
As Brookko knelt down, some security bots arrived. Six bots in three ranks of two appeared from the rear of the cafe. Dressed for combat, they wore knee-length tunics and armour plates around their shoulders and midriff. Light metal helmets with earflaps were perched on their heads and open sandals on their feet. The leader had a tall, crescent-shaped plume atop his helmet. Within moments, Brookko was stunned, netted, and pulled back behind the cafe. The hard holo female got to her feet and moved her head from side to side. She continued on her programmed journey, oblivious to what had taken place.
“Buona giornata.”
***
Brell examined, for the second time, the picture of a man standing in what looked like an arena area with a person probably dead on the floor next to them. The armoured man held up a sword in the air in triumph. It was a place called the Colosseum in Rome. Emperor; a man sitting in a prominent seat. He had a white sheet wrapped around his body and some leaves on top of his head. It would make sense that a leader would oversee large arena events; it was similar to the Hablar Games. Having spent too long watching Brookko’s activities on the live feed screen, she went back to reading some information about crosses, her shoulders becoming tense. Glancing up she saw Ooma standing in the Living Room, opening the door to the holo world. Time to get a move on.
Standing up, she drank some water, and motioned with her hand towards the door. Somewhere, an invisible guard pressed a button and the door beam disengaged. If nothing else, it felt good to be without wrist or neck cuffs and, to a certain extent, free.
Hearing a cell door beam disengaging behind her, she quickened her pace alo
ng the corridor, as she did not want to take the lift with another challenger. Peering around the lift doors, the Living Room was empty; she went straight ahead and entered Rome.
The door shut behind her and it was silent, dark, and musty. She was inside a circular basement of some sort, with exposed brickwork and a smallish round hole in the ceiling. A stone table was set into a wall. It was a not a joyful-looking place. Striding up the stone stairs, she heard the door swinging open down below. Keep going, stay out of the way of the others.
The outside felt warm, the air was fresh, and she shielded her eyes for a moment against the glare of the bright sky. Walking quickly, she made her way to some nearby pillars and turned to see who was behind her. Carac. She hid behind a pillar and looked around to get her bearings. The map and still images had showed the arena as being very large in comparison to the old buildings nearby. Some people walked past her, examining maps.
Her knees suddenly gave way and something squeezed her shoulders hard.
“Hello. We meet again,” Carac said.
She was spun around, momentarily becoming unsteady. He smiled at her as if examining a museum piece, his white hair slicked back.
“Frag off, Carac.”
“Well, well, bluey is upset,” Carac said. He sniffed the air whilst keeping hold of her shoulders.
“Would love to stay longer having this chat, but I need to know where those stupid keys are so I can get out of here. Where are they?”