Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  Brell’s thoughts were settling now, but she was revolted by his touch, let alone his breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kellsa, who glanced over, smiled, and ran off.

  “Carac, I know where the keys are. Do you want a hint?” She said whilst transferring her weight onto her left leg.

  “We can get the keys together, how about that? It will be …”

  Carac didn’t finish his sentence; Brell had kneed him hard in the groin. He bent over, clutching his crotch.

  “There’s a hint for you. Leave me alone.”

  She ran off to put some distance between herself and Carac.

  ***

  “We have about thirty five minutes left and all the challengers are in the holo world,” Flip announced.

  “Ooma has just arrived at the entrance to the arena, closely followed by Kellsa and Carac. Meren is trying to follow Carac and Brell appears lost. Grock seems to be searching in a different place from the others, and Brookko will be out of gaol soon.”

  “Let’s have a look at the betting stakes and audience reactions.”

  “It shows Kellsa first and Brookko now demoted to last; his security bot episode has affected his ranking.”

  “Most people point towards the keys being in the large arena and the exit nearby. Let’s return and see how they are getting on.”

  ***

  Brell did not want to say that she was lost. Carac had thrown her concentration and she had lost her bearings. She believed she was far enough away from him, but kept glancing around just in case. Looking at the sky countdown timer didn’t help. It felt hotter and her mouth was dry, no temperature-controlled clothing here. Certain that the arena was nearby, she looked at the horizon and saw what appeared to be one of the rounded edges of it poking out behind some ruined buildings ahead. A pathway leading to the left should take her back to the main thoroughfare in case the route ahead through the ruins was blocked. After a short walk, she saw the main roadway ahead with a café situated nearby.

  “Tourist stop,” she read out aloud.

  A drink, perhaps some water, would help. People milled around; some sat on benches and seats holding cups of liquid or eating a colourful mush inside a cone-shaped object. Walking through a couple of empty holo people, she reached a counter inside. A gleaming auto chef, its company logo in large letters on the side sat, on top of the counter.

  “Gelato?” One of the hard holos said to her. Brell was taken aback at being spoken to. The accent was very thick and in Rome language. He wore real fabrics.

  “Just getting myself a drink,” Brell said in main Inhab language. She turned to the auto chef.

  “Gelato, good,” the holo said.

  “Do you know where the Emperor used to sit in the big arena?”

  “Caesar, Emperor. Colosseo. Crociera, Cross,” the holo said.

  “How about the train?”

  “Metro?”

  “Metro? What’s that?”

  “Gelato?”

  The holo had gone back to the beginning of its routine, but as basic as it was, the answers might be useful. Now for a drink.

  “Real water.”

  Beep. Brell reached in and took a cup of water. She drank it straight down then paused and frowned.

  “Intox straight.”

  Beep, beep. “‘Not available.” Brell stroked her hair and glanced around the cafe. There were paper adverts on the wall. Soft drinks, Gelato, oh, it’s ice cream. Beer, Whisky, Chocolate, Coffee, Tea. Her eyes stopped on the word whisky. Of course Inhab-47 drinks and food only.

  “Whisky?”

  Beep, the auto chef whirled into action. Seconds later, Brell reached in and took out a cup of golden liquid. Not quite Deep Yellow or her normal choice intox, but she downed it in one. Wow, strong, wood flavours. She put her cup down.

  “Whisky, large.”

  Beep. The auto chef delivered a larger cup. Brell sipped it, allowing the intox to flow through her more steadily. It had been a while since she had drunk intox properly, apart from a swift small illicit one during free association. She held her cup up in the air and made a mock salute.

  “Here’s to all the girls back on Wing 90.” She took another swig.

  “Carac, you are a fragging bastard.”

  A small group came into the cafe and one of them asked for “caffe” and sat down. Brell wandered outside and sat on the grass, watching the holos walking by. She extended her arms behind her and leant back. It was quiet, calm, and warm. Sitting forward and draining her cup, she sat back again. This was the perfect place away from the cell, prison, and her own life. She could have another drink, a large gelato and go out in a blaze of glory at least believing it was on her own terms.

  But no, frag it all.

  “Frag it all,” she said, shouting it out at the holos, who made no reaction. She got up and walked back inside the cafe.

  “Coffee, err, Caffe”

  Beep. It tasted bitter and gave her a jolt. No intox, but stimulant?

  “Coffee, caffe, large.” She ordered another one. The Arena, Colosseo, should be just up the road.

  Chapter 28 - Gladiators

  Grock was unsure. Since emerging into the sunshine, he found himself walking around a circle of ruined columns near to the entrance building and well away from the main roadway. He had taken the clue literally, as if it was a Space Corps Special Order. From a prison for execution to an arena of execution. This must mean a place in-between. Strategically, it would be best to explore the ruins first, before going towards the arena.

  Giving no thought to the other challengers, he was satisfied that he had guessed correctly that the door into Rome was in or near the prison shown on the map. He set out to find a set of stairs where history records showed that executions took place. His thoroughness whilst researching the clue in his cell had taken quite a few minutes. “Fail to plan, plan to fail,” the Special Forces used to say. If the clue was about guns, planning security operations, or assassinations, no problem, but all this cryptic crap.

  Shielding the sun from his eyes, he licked his lips, never comfortable in warm climates. He continued searching around the area, rationalising that it must be checked in case the clue setter had written a double bluff. Having not found anything useful, he moved onto the next strategic point by walking at a steady pace towards the main roadway. There was more than enough time to reach the arena.

  ***

  Ooma wiped the sweat off his brow, not used to walking fast or as far. The arena was nearly two kilometres from the Living Room. A large open concrete walkway surrounding the arena came into view. There was an increasing sound of a crowd stamping, cheering and clapping. Glancing back up the main road, he could thankfully not see any of the other challengers in their grey jumpsuits, but they may be obscured inside the crowd. He may be in with a chance.

  Lines of people wandered towards a queue which, Ooma guessed, must be going into the main entrance. He admired the building and the use of arches to displace weight. There were some arches in a building in one of the old towns on his home planet. This arena was small, though, compared with the mega stadium at Hablar.

  He passed people wearing white sheets folded around their bodies. Next to them were a group of men in rounded metal armour with face helmets. They were clashing their swords in a mock fight. A couple of people stood next to the men, whilst someone else held up a metal case towards them.

  Ignoring all the activity and people showing a paper ticket, Ooma went straight through the entrance and into a low tunnel. A quick look around, showed no one behind him. He quickened his pace. Walking straight through some holo people, he bounced off a couple of solid ones. He recalled the internal map of the arena that he had read in his cell. It was similar to a basic engine power node schematic. Through an oval tunnel, he could see the religious emblem at the end of it. He felt a lightness in his chest. The cross symbol, where the Emperor sat. As he walked forward, he saw all the key boxes lined up. He was the first one there.

 
“Yes,” Ooma said aloud and raised his clenched fist to no one in particular.

  Hitching up his trouser belt, he leaned forward and poked his finger in the security device.

  Click.

  The key felt heavy in his hand, and as he put it in his pocket, he became more aware of the crowd noise. With his sole attention on finding the key, he had not looked into the arena itself.

  The arena floor was full of people, clashing and fighting like the men outside, but this appeared more realistic. Gladiators in armour were striding around, threatening unarmed men, women, and children with their swords as if it were a game. One type of gladiator had a net and a long three-headed spear. The helpless victims ran around haphazardly trying to avoid tripping over unlucky ones lying on the ground, covered in red blood. Other pairs of gladiators were attacking each other with menace, trying to kill each other. A large audience filled the upper tiers of the arena.

  “Emperor.”

  Peering over the parapet, he saw a gladiator standing over another man in armour lying on the ground. A foot was firmly planted on the prone gladiator’s chest whilst he shouted up towards Ooma.

  “Emperor.”

  Ooma realised he was the one being shouted at. The gladiator held a short sword to the throat of the prone man whilst his other hand gesticulated towards Ooma.

  “Emperor?”

  “Hello.” Ooma said and gently waved his right hand at him. At this, the gladiator slipped the sword into the throat of the prone man who went limp. Ooma gulped and quickly walked away. They are only holos he said to himself. Better get out of here, find the exit door. He decided it would be safer to find an exit out of the arena away from the entrance.

  ***

  Williams remained tense but relieved. The challenge was working well, judging by the audience’s reactions and the data zaps coming in from live viewers across the Association. The clue had not been too difficult, though he was surprised that Grock had gone off track. He had him as a definitive finalist. As for Ooma, just goes to show all the reading, research, and sleep hypnosis programmes must have worked. The holos were holding steady and the re-enactments worked well.

  He felt relieved that a challenger had found a key. In the planning period, weeks ago, he had held a “what if” session.

  “What if the challengers kill each other on the first challenge?”

  “What if none of the challengers find a key or exit door within the countdown period?”

  “What if a bot goes berserk and sets fire to an auto chef, causing an explosion which burns a hold in the floor through which the challenger then falls, thereby, denying them the right to take part in the challenge?”

  Williams and the technicians had already considered many of the suggestions. If it appeared unlikely that anyone was going to find a key, then with fifteen minutes, left, the exit door location would be revealed. This, backed up by security bots, would cause a frantic, yet exciting, race to the door.

  One of the earlier versions considered was a race format, but in Williams’ mind it lacked subtlety and interest. Might as well just line up some convicts, give them a weapon, and see who get past the finish line first. Other shows were doing that already.

  The image quality was excellent in all beam and stream mediums, including the immersive “sense surround” which was first rate. Static and floating cams were virtually everywhere except on the challenger themselves. Enthusiastic audience members could dial into any camera, auto follow their favourite, and see the vital stats, as well. People watching from eating and intox houses could view the show in the background via a single edited stream.

  Williams had come up with the idea to beamcast two versions of the Challenge. Apart from the live feed, they would have another with a built-in five minute delay that younger audience and families could watch. Any extreme events and deaths would be edited out. The Twins were happy with that option, as it encompassed a wider audience, which meant higher ratings.

  Williams rubbed his chin; perhaps it may be time to grow another Inhab-47 style beard.

  “Flip, Argenta, good job. Keep it up,” Williams said directly to their comms implants and sat back, waiting for the events to unfold.

  ***

  Technician 22 was satisfied that the security bots followed their programming as per his instructions. It was a useful exercise and the incapacitation of Brookko had been efficiently carried out and an audience pleaser. The clothes were ridiculous; one of Williams’ jokes perhaps, security bots in skirts? Turning his attention back to the Challenge, he sent the bots off towards the arena and placed them on standby. A backup, just in case the “favoured one” could not find a key or exit door.

  ***

  Meren had waited for the others to go into the holo world first. Her intention was to follow Ooma as he seemed sensible and harmless. The research was difficult for her. It was one thing reading Jayzan and library texts, but delving into ideas and concepts based on an alien world was complicated. Racing against the clock did not help. Emerging from the prison building, she saw Carac rubbing his groin and shaking his head. What’s he been up to? Keeping her distance, she stepped lightly along, following him to the main roadway, staying behind groups of people as best as possible. She had an idea that the keys were in the arena, as she had found some information about a cross representing a religious symbol. That made sense at a place of slaughter. Half running, half walking, she kept her eye on Carac. Not difficult to notice, with his white hair, grey jumpsuit and athletic style of running. By controlling her breathing, she used only as much effort as was required. The surroundings and people were interesting to look at, but she had closed the inquisitive part of her mind. Find a key; she owed herself that, at least.

  ***

  Kellsa was fast on her feet and saw Ooma a distance ahead, as he negotiated the Arena entrance. Good boy. There were numerous people milling about, many of whom had the same skin colour as herself. This was just like a hunt, but within a different type of environment and only one main objective. She would step over, kill, or do whatever it took to win. No problem. In fact, she could wait for that fat oaf Ooma and just steal his key. Problem being that she had no idea where he would exit and didn’t want to waste time. If correct, she was second or third behind fatty. She could actually get a key legitimately. Finding the exit door was the next thing, but she would hide and follow one of the others.

  Moving through the queue, she reached one of the brickwork tunnels. Instinct took her through the corridors and the patterns of where people were going to and from in large groups. Having turned a corner, she paused for a moment looking around then re traced her steps. Entering a tunnel entrance she had previously walked passed, she came to a platform overlooking the arena by the cross symbol. The chanting from the crowd gave it a realistic atmosphere, and most people were dressed in cloth sheets. She honed in on the key boxes. One key had been taken; Ooma. She poked a finger into the sensor and took a key. Ooma must have found another way out of the building. Time to get out of here and find the exit door.

  ***

  Carac found the keys a while after Kellsa, but doubled back to the entrance as he did not want to get lost inside the arena. Like the others, he calculated that the door would probably be on the edge of the holo world, as the arena had an open area all around it. He stopped outside the arena entrance and considered which way to walk. To his right, six security bots stood to attention in a single row, their backs against the wall.

  He could just make out someone in a grey jumpsuit, running away from the arena. They appeared briefly in a gap in the crowd. Was that Kellsa? Whoever it was, they were moving purposefully away from the arena. Definitely worth following.

  There were two keys left with twenty minutes to go.

  ***

  Meren had ducked behind a pillar as Carac walked past. Following the crowd through the tunnels ahead, she ended up by the cross and secured a key.

  One key left and no sign of Brell. She made her way quietly bac
k to the entrance, wondering if the exit was nearby.

  Chapter 29 - Entrance and exit

  Brookko awoke in a cell. He tried to remember what had happened and groggily sat up rubbing his head.

  “What is this?”

  It was a small cell, two sides of which consisted of vertical metal bars from floor to ceiling. A security bot wearing a large hat, neck chief, chequered shirt, waistcoat, rough blue trousers, and boots stared at him from the other side of the bars. A shiny badge was pinned to his waistcoat.

  “Howdy, partner.”

  Brookko stared at him, mouth open.

  “What are you fragging on about?”

  The security bot paused, as if awaiting instructions.

  “Time’s up,” the bot said then made a motion by the cell door lock and swung the door open. Brookko walked out of the cell.

  “Fragging Police Corps.”

  “You have a nice day, now.”

  “Fragging Police Corps.”

  He strode past a large wooden desk and through a couple of doors until re-emerging back inside the dark basement room where the holo world started.

  “Here we go again,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  ***

  Brell found the main roadway and saw another challenger trotting up towards the arena. By the running style and light green skin, it must be Grock. Having previously seen Kellsa, that meant Carac and Ooma were well ahead of her. Meren was probably still meditating in her cell and Brookko may be out of gaol. There was a serious risk of becoming ash. Her stomach made a little turn; the coffee mixing with the whisky, perhaps? Come on, come on.

  Steadying her breathing, she started running towards the arena. A distinctive figure in a grey jumpsuit was running across the road, away from the arena. It was Carac. He negotiated his way around the metal ground transporters and two-wheeled noisy scooters, heading towards a wide entrance with five square doorways inside. “Colosseo” was written above, and a large red letter M was fixed to a nearby wall. Brell, not a natural when it came to languages realised, that the Inhab-47 main language was similar to Elytian. The auto-sleep learning programme had helped with some of the Rome words. She stopped in amongst a group of people and watched him go through the entrance without coming back out. Carac was the last person she wanted to see, but he had obviously found the exit. Still need a key, though.