Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  “You have more strength than you think,” Meren said.

  Brell drew comfort from Meren’s eye contact. A stillness was there, an understanding deep inside those eyes. How could they compete against each other?

  A guard walked in.

  “Well, see you tomorrow, I suppose,” Brell said finally.

  ***

  As Brell walked into her cell, she nearly tripped over the stationary cell tidy bot. It came to life and slid underneath the bed, emitting a small beep. Bending down, she saw a small flap opening in its side and a small bottle clunked onto the floor. It then took itself off through a small disengaged beam “hole” in the cell door and out into the corridor.

  Brell reached her arm in and grasped the bottle. She immediately went and sat on the privy and, hunching over, opened her hand.

  It was a small bottle of Deep Yellow.

  Chapter 40 - Final Challenge

  “Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company, proudly present, the final of Convict Challenge.” A deep voice announced over programme highlights of the previous two challenges.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the final challenge. Do not go anywhere for the next six hours. Where better to start than in one of Inhab-47’s most feared prisons, Alcatraz. It housed some of the most dangerous and vile prisoners on the planet.”

  An aerial view of San Francisco appeared on screen. The camera swept over the city, across the stretch of water, and around the prison. After a brief fade, an image appeared of a long corridor with rows of cells on each side and two upper levels.

  Flip and Argenta stood in the middle of the corridor, facing towards some cells, waiting for their cue. Both were dressed in contrasting coloured suits, without glitter this time, in an attempt to look more serious. Carac, Meren, and Brell were sitting in separate cells, dressed in black and white hooped patterned shirts and trousers. Guards and doc bots hovered around the side of the cells. The other cells in the wing were occupied by prisoners either sitting on a bed or standing up, holding onto the bars looking outwards. They were a mixture of ages and menace, all wearing the same black and white uniform. The quiet background murmur of voices was set at a low volume so that Flip and Argenta were audible.

  “Only one key remains, only one challenger can make it out alive.” Flip and Argenta took turns in speaking, each one trying to sound more dramatic than the other.

  “Being the final challenge, we have changed things. There is one clue, but six worlds, including the one we start in. Also gaol time has been increased to thirty minutes.”

  “A Senior Assizes Judge is in the studio ready to grant the winner their freedom.” At this, a live screen image appeared of an elderly man wearing a black suit, sitting bolt upright in a private office, reading some files.

  “Now, don’t forget you can experience Alcatraz for yourself as well as the other worlds being used today. See if you can solve the clue. Visit Elytia Beamcasting’s beam and stream sites for more details.”

  “Flip, you know I did the Alcatraz surround experience, and I must say it was scary and exciting at the same time. It really stayed with me. Well worth doing.”

  “Thank you, Argenta, I will certainly check it out. Here is our director Williams to tell us a little bit about the worlds.”

  Williams appeared on the main screen, standing inside the Living Room, wearing one of his by now, signature short sleeved shirts, grey trousers, and red shoes.

  “Well, here is the key, the one and only key that will give the finder their freedom. Which world will it be in?”

  Standing by one of the doors, he pressed a floating holo button, and a menu option appeared.

  “Unlike the previous two challenges where we only needed one door, today there is a selection of holo worlds. They are Washington, Paris, Las Vegas, Bangkok and Moscow. Once they have entered one of those worlds, the door shuts behind them; they cannot return to the Living Room. One decision, one door.” He motioned around the room with his arms. “However, San Francisco is a free world, meaning that if anyone enters the Living Room, hesitates, they can return back inside to continue any research. But the clue could also apply to San Francisco.” He tapped on the door marked San Francisco.

  “Technically, before anyone asks, we have the five worlds ready and waiting. After making a selection, there is a brief pause whilst the world is enlivened. There are three doors available, one for each challenger. What if they pick the same world? Simple; a narrow corridor is created which takes the challenger around and into their selected world.”

  He walked back into the centre of the Living Room.

  “We have added some hotel-style rooms with door locks in all of the worlds, so that the challengers can be safe from each other for a while. We don’t want them to kill each other straight away.” He pause and smiled, his face showing signs of weariness. “Watch for the transporters and vehicles; some of them are genuinely from Inhab-47, by the way, we just changed the engines. Everything you see is based on the alien world. You may not even realise what is ‘real’ or a made-up re-enactment.”

  He stood over by the image with yellow flowers.

  “But which world will hold the real key?” He held a key up towards a camera.

  “Thanks Williams. The holo worlds are waiting. Now everyone knows what time it is?” Flip looked up at the screen showing the audience.

  “Well?”

  “It’s time to start the countdown to termination!” The audience all chanted “countdown to termination” together.

  Flip waved his hand, and a guard standing at the end of the line of cells pulled a lever up and down and the three cell doors slid open. The doc bots slipped inside to set the timer implants. A large countdown clock appeared on a screen: six hours.

  “The clock has started, it’s time for the clue, everyone ready?” He paused for a moment.

  “The Obelisk and the King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise.”

  He repeated the clue and then gave each convict a copy of the clue with a list of the holo world locations.

  “That’s the clue. There are no research facilities within this prison; the challengers will need to find an Inhab-47 image device, many of which have been placed around San Francisco city. For ease, we have provided a short bridge for them to walk onto the mainland. If you look at our original recordings, you will see that a boat trip is required.”

  “We will tell you one thing,” Flip said, leaning over towards the challengers, “the door back to the Living Room is at the end of this cell block. It’s marked ‘Recreational Area.’” He pointed to one end of the corridor.

  ***

  Brell yawned as the countdown started, but realising she needed to get her body and mind moving, she immediately left the cell and looked around for a weapon, but nothing came into reach. Flip and Argenta took a large step backwards, towards the guards, in readiness for their return to the safety of the studio. Best to get away from the prison, into the city and disappear. San Francisco was where they had previously walked around during their acclimatisation, so should not be too much of a shock.

  As Brell went along the corridor, she heard Carac say, “See you later.” She didn’t speak to Meren. As she headed towards the end of the cellblock, some of the cell occupants were glaring at her whilst grasping the cell bars. Creepy. This must be a hell of place for a prisoner; made Wing 90 seem like luxury apartments.

  Working her way through various doors and offices whilst checking behind her for Carac, she made it outside. There were craggy rocks on each side of the island and a narrow bridge at the end of a paved area. The city of San Francisco appeared on the horizon, with its mild slopes and variety of buildings. She stepped onto the bridge.

  ***

  Meren left her cell shortly after Brell and thought it best to follow behind her, since she didn’t know what else to do. Since the Ooma incident, Carac had more than revealed his plan of winning at any cost. She knew how desperate Brell was to win. She may not say it, but her need to
put her ‘downfall’ behind her was strong. As for herself, she would enjoy the freedom within the holo worlds and if things worked out for her, so be it. She followed on whilst glancing around for Carac.

  ***

  Carac waited until the other two had left and nonchalantly ambled out of his cell waving at some of the holo prisoners. Might as well enjoy the atmosphere. It was clear what he needed to do; win. Find the key and get out. How that would be achieved didn’t matter, the problem was that he had not received any information as yet. Had the Tinker abandoned him? The messages prior to transporting to the studios were positive, as the Tinker recognised that Carac was the only person who knew the location of the huge stash of Locardum. Therefore, no win, no information! Millions of credits were mixed up in this, too much for the Tinker to ignore. Quite possibly the Tinker had a hand in selecting the challengers, easier than trying to spring Carac out of prison or wasting credits on legal battles. The Tinker probably thought it would be fun to have the blue bitch in there. As to the others, well you would have thought Grock should be in the final, not the nun, but Tinker had probably put bets on everyone.

  So, best just to keep an eye out for a sign or clue from the Tinker’s people. In the meantime, he would follow Brell; he would look forward to having a bit of fun with her. Ever since their first meeting, there was something about her he could not resist; her light blue skin, the way she walked, the way she flinched when she saw him. Sending her messages in prison had passed the time, as he knew she would read them. It kept him sane. As for Meren, she packed a punch but could not solve the clues. Find her, find Brell, probably. He realised he had gone back through an office the same way twice. Hate this place.

  ***

  The other side of the bridge led to an area full of people milling about, eating, and drinking. Any whisky? Not yet, perhaps later. A couple wearing fur sleeveless coats, multi-coloured trousers, headbands, and flowers in their hair sat cross-legged on the ground. They were inhaling deeply from a small fat paper tube, the smoke wafting around their faces. A large sign gave the place name as Pier 39. There were shops lining both sides of the pier, and in the middle of the walkway was a small stage. A man dressed in a black suit and top hat performed an act of some sort for an attentive audience.

  “Abracadabra!” the holo shouted out. Brell could not understand it; must be yet another language. Aware that she needed to get further into the city, but not too far from the bridge, her Police Corps experience was coming back to her. Like the need to disguise clothing. Her skin colour was another matter. She extended her arms as she walked until making contact with a two hard holos. Both men were wearing blue jackets made of what appeared to be a strong tough fabric. The multi coloured motif on the back of the jacket that Brell chose, read, “Do your thing.” After pulling it off the non-protesting holo, she threw her prison uniform jacket over the side railing and went off towards the other end of the pier. Further along, she snatched an “I love San Francisco” cap off an elderly man’s head.

  Chapter 41 - On the streets

  Brell heard a loud cacophony of drums, flutes, chanting, and shouting. Hundreds of people were walking along the main roadway that traversed the end of the pier area. There was a long line of buildings on the other side of the road, which Brell considered might have a quiet place to research the clues. Standing with her arms folded, she could not stop herself looking at the crowd. This was definitely very alien, but she could not work out if they were protesting or just being happy. Many people wearing vividly coloured clothing were singing, talking, or shouting in unison. Two men with moustaches and beards were holding a large cloth banner that read, “Turn on, Tune in, Drop it.”

  One group of people resembled Meren’s Guild friends. They were bald, dressed in colourful robes, and were skipping around chanting whilst banging drums.

  The chant sounded like, “Harry Crisma, Hairy Harry.”

  Brell realised that she had to move on and walked along with the crowd. She wound her way around the tall street lamps, knotty tree trunks, and other fixed metal objects. The shop buildings on her right appeared to sell clothing. Standing still, she considered her options; keep walking or have a look at the buildings on the other side of the street. There was plenty of time, for now, anyway.

  Casually looking back towards the pier entrance, thinking about the best place to cross the road, she saw Meren running along the side of the crowd and quickly crouching down behind a wide seat. Carac appeared. He stopped, moved his head left and right, and then went off in Meren’s direction.

  Brell got behind a street light and edged into the crowd a fraction whilst keeping her eyes on the unfolding scene. Meren shuffled backwards whilst tilting her head around the side of the seat. Brell realised she was near enough to shout a warning, but she kept silent and watched. If Carac started fighting with Meren, then it might improve her chances of winning. She rubbed the back of her head.

  Carac stopped a few metres from Meren and craned his neck as he stared at the crowd. As Meren’s head started to emerge from the edge of the seat, Carac stopped, rubbed his hands together, grinned, and bent down hands on his knees. He spoke, but Brell could not hear anything above the crowd noise. Brell pursed her lips and shifted her body weight, still rooted to the spot.

  Carac ran a few strides towards Meren and slapped her bald head with his hand. He laughed, as she sprinted off into the crowd. Brell walked into the mass of people herself. It became a disorientating blur of people just coming towards her and passing through the other side. She put her arms out as if blindfolded, knocking into a couple of hard holos, then a large solid object. It was a wheeled transporter, which, like everything else on the road obscured the crowd. Reaching the pavement on the other side of the road, she peered around. Meren ran into the entrance of a large building called “Williams’ Believe it or Don’t.” Another lame Williams joke, probably. Carac followed behind, shouting out, like a game of chase.

  Brell again stopped, uncertain what to do. This was not some Police Corps chase where she assisted a colleague chasing criminals. There was a danger that if she intervened, there might be injuries whereby she could spend the rest of her time just watching the countdown clock.

  As the crowd became less dense, she carefully walked into the entrance. It became quieter the further she went inside. The first thing she noticed was a tall robot structure standing by an inner door, obviously an Inhab-47 attempt at designing the future. It was made of plastic blocks. She grinned a little, as many Association bots were mundane compared to this colourful statue.

  She went further into the entrance. There was no noise, shouts, or any activity. Perhaps it would be best to leave the area and find a research machine. Turning around, she walked back outside and saw that the crowd was thinning out.

  There were just a few colourful stragglers at the back of the crowd, all puffing into some paper-based tubes. They appeared very relaxed as they sauntered along. The road cleared and Brell saw a number of small, round vehicles of a light yellow colour with stripes and a large number five and three on the front, back and sides. Fifty-three. A clue from Williams? she wondered.

  That soon changed as she realised she hadn’t piloted any sort of vehicle since her arrest. Before long, she sat inside, hands on the steering wheel, wondering what to do next. She gave commands aloud, by thought, but nothing happened. Pulling levers and pushing pedals up and down; still nothing. Must be a piece of junk Williams brought back from Inhab-47 just to dress the scene.

  “Have you turned the key?”

  It was Meren. She bent down slightly whilst staring in at Brell, her face flushed with a thin film of sweat on her bald head.

  “Key?” Brell felt around the instrument panel behind the steering wheel and smiled. The engine started and the vehicle vibrated slightly. Meren smiled back at her.

  “Jump in, for frags sake,” Brell said.

  Meren slid into the front passenger seat. Brell pushed and pulled the levers and pedals. The engine n
oise revved up, but no movement.

  “Brake off, push the right foot pedal, then steer,” Meren said.

  Brell gazed at Meren. How does she know this stuff? She followed the instructions, pushed her foot down, promptly jerking the car forward, straight into a street light. They were both jolted forward with the impact, but were uninjured.

  “That went well,” Meren said.

  Brell got out of the transporter and walked over to another one. Meren followed. This time, she sat still for a moment and orientated herself with the levels and pedals.

  “Don’t forget the brake.”

  Brell shot Meren a glance.

  “Used to drive basic transporters on my charity jobs.”

  Brell rolled her eyes, but then they both started laughing.

  “Okay, transport expert madam. Let’s go.” Brell made a mock salute.

  Crunch.

  Brell felt the rear of the vehicle shudder slightly. Carac appeared in one of the side mirrors, then her door shot open and he leaned inside, trying to pry her hands off the steering wheel. His right hand whipped across, stinging Brell’s ear.

  “Easy now, blue one,” he said quickly.

  He got a hand on the steering wheel yanked it hard to the left. Brell dug her elbow into his arm and tried to pull the wheel back the other way. They were in danger of crashing into another vehicle.

  “Foot down, now,” Meren said in a firm voice.

  Brell responded immediately by pushing her foot down hard on the accelerator. The vehicle lurched forward; as she kept pressure on the pedal. Carac tried to keep up but very quickly lost his grip and could only shout back at them as they got away. Brell ensured that the transporter kept travelling in a straight line for a distance before easing off the speed.