Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  “Yes sir.”

  “Channel to Mrs. Tinker.”

  A few moments later, Tinker’s kitchen filled the screen. Mrs. Tinker was busy ordering all the assistants and bots around. She wore a large pink blouse, animal print leggings, and a small brimmed colour-changing hat perched on her head.

  “Honey, nearly home. Happy anniversary,” the Tinker said.

  “Rocky. I have our special dinner nearly ready. Busy day?” She smiled, her chins wobbling.

  “Usual business. Everything finished satisfactorily. I have something special for you.”

  “Rocky, you old charmer, see you soon.” She blew him a kiss.

  The Tinker waved back.

  Regg glanced up and saw the Tinker sit back, brush his trousers, and order one of his finest fruit drinks. Regg smiled, shook his head slightly, and stared back at his screens.

  Chapter 33 - Sanctuary

  Though secure in her chair on stage, Meren sat upright, hands in lap and waited for the next question.

  “Meren, you of all our challengers are the one that our audience wants to know more about,” Argenta said.

  “Thank you,” Meren said.

  “We’ll start with a viewer’s question. How different is your studio cell and life now than you are no longer in the Jayzan Sanctuary?’

  “There was no auto chef in the Sanctuary! Apart from that, it is very similar.” Meren said.

  ***

  Of course, it wasn’t similar. Meren’s daily routine incarcerated in the Sanctuary varied little over the ten years, except during Jayzan celebrations.

  She would wake just as the morning light streamed through the small rectangular window in her cell. The white-washed cell walls were unadorned except for a single effigy of Jayzan. After putting her hands together and bowing towards the effigy, she would pad out of the arched door past a sleeping nun sitting on the chair outside.

  The privy, like all facilities in the Sanctuary, was basic, only using local water; no sanitised soft beam technology here. Returning to her cell, she put on clean undergarments and a light brown day robe. After a solo morning meditation, she sat in her place, on her own, at the rear of the refectory. Auto chefs and many types of technology were shunned by The Guild, so a cook, washer, and assistant would serve the monks and nuns at stated meal times.

  Meren ate in silence whilst a monk or nun read out a passage of Jayzan Text.

  “Whenever I felt lost or in despair, I knew the answer would come from within. Not from technology or the latest gadget, but from the giving of free charitable work for others, the kindness shown to a stranger, or good deeds. Inside us all is a mirror of consciousness, where you can examine everything that has happened to you throughout your entire life.” The monk always peered over at Meren when reading something he believed was pertinent to her incarceration.

  Afternoons were often spent attending a sewing circle, where Meren was permitted to talk for one hour. With other nuns, Meren would sew Jayzan symbols into the corner of a large white sheet. Often, there would be light talk about the farm and the animals that inhabited the outlying fields. Once a nun mentioned that one of the older pigs was pregnant again.

  “There’s life in the old ones yet,” another nun said, to polite laughter from the group.

  They laughed again. The elderly nun sitting in the corner of the room narrowed her eyes, and the group returned to making an occasional comment.

  After a solo meditation, Meren would eat a day’s end meal and then walk around the square path in the Sanctuary garden. Stretching exercises in her cell followed, with a final visit to the privy before lights out.

  ***

  “Were you allowed any visitors?”

  “No visitors, real or virtual. It was a stipulation of my sentence.”

  “What about your parents? We tried tracking them down, without success.”

  “I have had no contact with them since I left home to join the Guild at eighteen.”

  “A lot of eighteen year olds join the Guild, don’t they? Often because they are unruly in their teens. Was that true in your case?”

  “It is not for me to say.”

  “So, how did you get by in the Sanctuary? With only low-level technology allowed, you probably didn’t have any virtual friends or escape. It must have been lonely.”

  She did not answer the question at first, but the lack of touching and contact was difficult for Meren throughout the last ten years. As a tactile charity worker, she often put an arm around the shoulder of a child or mother to show support during difficult times. Sometimes, when a new nun became homesick, Meren would talk calmly whilst holding their hand or touching their shoulder. Nothing in Jayzan forbade touching other people for “charitable and wellbeing” reasons, but Meren sensed the monks’ disapproval.

  Meren remembered her journey from the Sanctuary to the studios. Before she stepped on board the Prison Corps transporter, she gazed up at the sun, letting the warmth play on her face. After being beam cuffed, the guard placed his hand on the back of her arm, guiding her into the cell. She had not been touched like that for a very long time; it was good, a welcome back to society.

  “You get used to it,” she eventually answered.

  ***

  “How did you stimulate your mind?”

  “I discovered an old text in the library from a little known monk, who formerly worked as a neural brain network specialist. He devised a system of dual meditation where a person, with practice, could split their mind in order to meditate on two things at once.”

  “So what did you think about?”

  “I would pray and enjoy memories from my childhood.”

  “Such as?”

  “Dancing. I liked to dance when I was in my teens.”

  ***

  “So you lived a life of meditation and purity?”

  “Yes.”

  Actually, when the opportunity arose, Meren stole a piece of fruit from empty plates in the refectory before the servant cleared up. She also took news cubes from the library, which she hid in the end privy cubicle. These cubes had less viewing filters on them as the Guild expected her to read about Jayzan news, events, and texts, and nothing else. She enjoyed reading the news channels from around the Association, even reading about Brell’s arrest. After two weeks, she would stamp on the cube and flush it down the privy. Sometimes, when feeling lonelier than normal, she would hide a cube under her robe and take it back to her cell. She read late into the night, ensuring that the screen glow was very low and the guard nun sound asleep. Every now and again, they searched her cell, but she was always careful.

  ***

  “Is it right that a special herb is mixed into the meals of all Jayzan followers to ensure, shall we say, that monks and nuns do not feel any urges?” Argenta said.

  “Yes, that is correct. Ghramun Jayzan, the founder, realised that though people were attracted to the simpler life, their urges, as you say, did not stop.”

  “What happens if you avoid taking the herb?”

  “The herb forms part of a daily ritual and is strictly controlled. It would be a serious matter if a follower avoided taking it.”

  “What about the hair and clothing?”

  “Acts of purity. All body hair shaved off, tablets do the trick nowadays, and simple garments that reflected the simplicity and devotion to the Guild.”

  “How about the charity work?”

  Meren’s face lit up. “Yes, I enjoyed that the most. You felt as if you were making a difference.”

  “This brings us to the big question. What happened that night when you killed the monk?”

  “I had my reasons and it had to be done. His actions broke the Jayzan code.”

  “What had the monk done?”

  “Things.” Meren smiled

  “What sort of things?”

  “Actions that broke the Jayzan code.”

  Argenta sat back. From the prompts by Williams, there was an expectation that Meren would reveal everything a
nd they were hoping for a scoop. Much had been written and speculated on by the news channels. She changed tack.

  “You are free from The Guild here in the studios, they are not telling you what to do.”

  Meren nodded.

  “So you can tell us about what happened? You know, dish it up.” Argenta smiled and wiggled her shoulders.

  “I could. But it is all in the past, why is anyone interested? I have moved on. It was ten years ago …”

  ***

  “Sister Meren. I need to tell you something, but I am afraid,” the young nun said.

  “There is no one here, sister, what is on your mind?” Meren said.

  “Brother Marchantte.”

  Meren checked no monks or nuns were nearby then held her hand up to stop the young nun talking further.

  “Has he hurt you?”

  The nun nodded.

  “When did this start?”

  “Two weeks ago. He visits me at night and …”

  Meren again held her hand up.

  The Jayzan Charitable Trust provided Jayzan charity and education to local impoverished people across the Association. Meren and her fellow nuns and monks had been living and working in their large ramshackle collection of buildings for some time.

  Brother Marchantte joined them three months ago. The gossip suggested that the Guild often moved him around their charity locations, often at short notice. As serene as she appeared on the outside, Meren seethed with anger. Her thoughts were not in keeping with Jayzan code. She knew what Brother Marchantte was up to with this young girl. How could she forget? It had only been a month ago.

  ***

  The hand pressed over her mouth had awoken Meren. The other trembling hand ran down her body and started pushing her legs apart. A heavy bulk climbed onto the bed, knees pushing hers further apart in a practiced motion. She was pinned down, unable to call out. At this point, she decided it would be best not to resist. Her memory of those few minutes consisted of his heavy body, pain, the bed squeaking, and hot breath smelling of intox. There were awkward silences the next day when someone mentioned that Meren was not as cheery as usual. She mumbled something about having a cold.

  Praying continually to Jayzan over the next few days, she expected an answer, but none came. The shame and embarrassment meant she could not tell anyone; she was on her own. Brother Marchantte knew that.

  For the next few nights, Meren sat in a chair, waiting for another visit, only sleeping when dawn approached. When he did return, she was waiting for him. Hearing the heavy steps in the corridor, she stood beside the door. It opened silently, and in the shadows, she saw him drunkenly stumble into the room. As he leant in towards the bed, Meren stretched forward and scraped her fingernails down the left side of his face. His hand sprung up to his cheek in shock, then he saw Meren and laughed. She pushed out at him causing him to topple onto the bed and then ran out along a couple of corridors until reaching the night wardens office.

  “Are you okay, sister?” Old Brother Jordelle said. He sat hunched over a textbook, his head trembling.

  Meren looked at his gnarly hands and smiled.

  “Brother I could not sleep, just getting some fresh air.”

  Brother Jordelle nodded and returned to his text.

  The next day at breakfast, Meren felt calmer than the previous few days. Jayzan had not given her an answer; she had found the best response herself.

  “Are you okay, brother? The marks on your face?” someone said at morning breakfast.

  “I was in the fields and a wild cat was scaring a cow. I lost the fight with the cat,” he said, laughing. The group laughed as well. Brother Marchantte was believable, a likeable personality.

  He did not approach Meren again.

  ***

  “What is your cell number, sister?” Meren said.

  “Fourteen.”

  “Say your prayers, be peaceful.”

  Later that night, Meren situated herself inside an airless privy. There was a strong smell of antiseptic burning her nose, but it was next to the young nun’s cell. Pressing her ear against the wall every few moments, she heard nothing; perhaps the monk was sleeping tonight. Then, there were some muffled sounds, the bed squeaking and some heavy breathing. She tensed her grip on the long metal pipe that she had taken from the farm outhouse.

  Slowly creeping out of the privy, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim corridor light, she stood by the cell door. Door locks were not allowed, so she gently pushed the plain wooden door open a fraction. Through the gap by the hinges, she saw brother Marchantte on top of the nun, grinding his body downwards, an outstretched hand clasped over her mouth. Meren padded, barefoot, three steps inside the room, the grunts, and groans muffling the sound of her footsteps. The sister locked eyes with her for a moment; she was terrified. Deliberately lifting up the pipe, Meren paused before bringing it straight down onto the sweaty head. There was a dull thud and a groan. Two strikes later, he went limp.

  The sister pulled his hand off her mouth. “Sister Meren, Sister Meren.” She said, turning her head from side to side whilst attempting to push him off.

  Meren put the pipe down and pulled at the brother’s robe with both hands until he rolled off the bed and bumped onto the floor. Blood flowed from the back of his head and his eyes stared somewhere else. He was dead. Unspoken eye contact passed between the nuns.

  “Go get the Abbott,” Meren said calmly.

  The nun pulled her legs together and stood up, looking down to avoid stepping on the body. Standing for a moment acknowledging that her nightdress and face were covered with blood, she just ran out of the cell. Meren could hear the footsteps receding along the corridor. Remaining by the body, she waited and before long, there was a sound of people approaching the cell.

  Meren, arms down by her side, head held high, watched the Abbott’s incredulous expression.

  ***

  The fact that the Abbott had opposed Brother Marchantte’s posting to their charitable community due to previous questionable behaviour with nuns was not mentioned in the Jayzan Ecclesiastical Court hearing. Neither was the fact that he managed to avoid the effects of the special herb in his food, by using illegal substances. His assault on Meren was deemed a conflict of personalities. The judgement, given by a Jayzan Elder, was just a series of quotations from texts. The Guild tried hushing up the whole episode, but the locals, especially those who had worked with Sister Meren, contacted a local stream news channel. Unfortunately, the media were more interested in the “murdering nun” news headlines, than investigating what happened. Offers by private donors to buy Meren out of the Guild were made, but the sentence forbade it. She would serve the rest of her life in daily penance at the Sanctuary.

  ***

  The studio interview continued, with Argenta becoming increasingly flustered and Meren more relaxed. Clips were shown, more questions put, but Meren added little to what was already known. She spoke about her surprise at being chosen as a challenger, considering the other, stronger people. However, when Argenta told her that the Abbott had contacted Williams before the programme had been officially approved, Meren could only say, “What has happened is history and for others to judge.”

  Finally, Argenta gave up and thanked Meren for the interview.

  ***

  Later, in the interview debrief, Argenta discussed her frustration with Williams and Flip.

  “I could feel the Jayzan hierarchy giving a huge sigh of relief when Meren did not reveal all. Why didn’t she say anything?”

  “Jayzan thoughts and beliefs are part of her life. This whole studio thing must be a shock to her system. Perhaps she doesn’t see the point of the questions,” Williams said.

  “This is her last chance to put it straight,” Argenta said

  “Yes, I know,” Williams said.

  Chapter 34 - Information received

  The evening before the second challenge, Technician 22 finally received information from the Twins regarding the location of
the exit doors. Lifting a foot off the floor, he rotated an ankle, and then repeated the exercise with the other. Preferring to stand whilst working, he mulled over the co-ordinates. As for the location of the keys, there was a chance that the clues would change the day before. Probably be Williams’ attempts at keeping control over his little secrets. Liberal media types. The co-ordinates matched the holo world schematics, so there was a very good chance the information was correct.

  The Twins were obviously feeling the pressure from the Tinker, judging by their increasingly panicky messages regarding the requirement for Carac to win. They probably did not consider that his credits were at stake as well.

  He displayed a plan of the challenger’s cells and the interlinking corridors. If he could pass over a message before the challenge, there would be less chance of Carac making a fool of himself during the live event. Considering the amount of time and credits wrapped up in helping him secure victory, Technician 22 did not consider Carac as being a grateful or reliable person. However, credits were credits.

  Tracing one of his spindly fingers across the plan, he plotted a course from the technical area to Carac’s cell, and a possibility emerged.

  ***

  Near midnight, a cell tidy bot woke up, ran a self-check routine, and promptly reported itself as requiring a service. Off it trundled along the corridors, through security doors, and into a repair space on the far side of the service centre. A safety bot stationary in the next space opened its side panel and extended a pincer arm. Once the cell tidy bot had collected the item, it paused, ran a routine, and then started its journey back to the cells.

  Chapter 35 - Challenge Two

  “Welcome to Round Two of Convict Challenge.” Flip paused and scanned around the audience. “Greetings, everyone.” He waited until the cheering stopped.

  “Five challengers, three keys, and three clues. This time there are no key boxes to add a little spice to the mix.”

  Argenta took over from Flip.

  “Following our theme, our holo technicians have recreated an old Inhab-47 prison set within a town called London, where prominent people were tortured and executed. Many had their heads chopped off. As always, you can follow the clues and solve them for great prizes.”