by Stuart Dodds
***
Brune swallowed a stomach acid pill. He was watching statutory offences against women, being committed right now on a live beam show, in a place not far from where he sat. The inmates turning to ash was interesting but he had seen terminations and deaths up close as part of his normal Police Corps duty. He felt helpless to do anything. The Association gave permission for the Holo Beam Company to terminate convicted prisoners on an entertainment show as long as there was no protracted torture. It also allowed criminal acts and behaviour between the prisoners. All that matters was that the audience and workers were safe from the convicts. Despite his personal thoughts about what was happening, like millions of others, he could not stop watching.
***
Meren could feel and smell the hot breath on her neck. Trying to shrink back into the wall, she turned her head away and tensed, ready for the attack. He started to kiss her neck. She attempted to punch and push him away, but he grabbed her right wrist and pinned it across her chest. Her left arm was squeezed against the cell wall. He then positioned his body weight in an attempt to hold her legs down with his right knee. Meren kept her eyes open defiantly and steadied her breath as she considered her next move. Best to relax and pick the right moment.
“Where is the key?” Carac said slowly between breaths.
With her legs pinned down, she could not move. Most of his weight was now on top of her. Shifting onto his left elbow, his right hand started groping around her neck, then he ran a trembling hand down past the side of her breast to her stomach, his fingers sliding and grasping through her clothes. Then his hand stopped, his head went limp and lay on her shoulder. Meren held her breath. His body moved backwards, head bumping down until it finally knocked into her shoes.
After watching the top of Carac’s head disappearing down the bed, she looked up and saw the unmoving face of a security bot standing in the cell doorway. Its head moved around back and forth, locked eyes with Meren and then strode out. She sat up and, through the bars saw Carac being dragged along the floor by a netted cord around his ankles. His body was completely limp. Two bots then hoisted him up and walked him off along the corridor.
She slowly got up, adjusted her clothing, and stood in the cell entrance. All the security bots had gone. The prisoners in the adjacent cells were murmuring to themselves. Becoming more alert, whilst burying any thoughts of Brother Marchantte from years ago, there was no time for introspection. Straightening up and focussing herself, she performed a breathing pattern whilst imagining her golden light. She felt ready.
Reaching the Living Room, she chose the first door on the right and pressed the menu button. A “location select” option appeared. She pressed Paris.
***
Technician 22 had his reply ready for the expected message from Mayleth.
Calculated risk. Looks less suspicious being detained. Sufficient time left. Can get an update message to him.
He knew from working with the Police Corps that they had a tactic where an undercover officer was arrested on purpose to extract them from the scene, without revealing their identity. Drug undercover operatives did it all the time.
Whilst being detained, vital information may come through from audience data zaps. It all pointed to Paris, so it would be certain that Meren would find the key. However, she wasn’t the fastest challenger, and would dither about waiting for Brell. That’s when Carac would act.
***
Carac woke up, mumbled something, and started rubbing his eyes. The weird, screechy music playing in the background did not help his headache. A security bot sat on a chair, arms folded, feet up on a desk. More importantly, Carac could see a live screen of the Challenge; no sound, but it was of himself in his cell, looking at the screen, watching himself.
Chapter 45 - The Obelisk
Meren stood in the middle of a short, narrow cobbled road with white brick buildings lining each side. Large, illuminated lamps hung on metal stanchions above high arched doorways. Behind her, the end wall of the holo world, and stretching ahead, a large open square area with a tall stone column at its centre. In the distance, a tall metal structure peeked out above some taller square-shaped buildings. First thing would be to get a bearing; the column definitely looked like the obelisk on the computer images.
Reaching the end of the road, she stopped and glanced back. Although Carac was in gaol for thirty minutes, she presumed he would be coming after her. Walking forward, a whole scene started to play out.
A large noisy crowd entered the square from her left. People were waving their arms, singing, and jostling each other. Flutes were blown, and drums banged at differing rhythms. Most of the men in the crowd were wearing drab-coloured long jackets with wide sleeves, loose fitting white shirts, and shoes with buckles. Their trousers didn’t reach their ankles. Red, white, and blue coloured sashes crossed their chests. The women had long dresses, bodices, and white caps. The crowd parted at the same time that the cheering and shouting grew louder. A wooden horse-drawn cart appeared, the white horse pulling it unfazed by the crowd noise.
Intrigued by the spectacle, Meren had temporarily forgotten about the countdown.
A portly man, dressed in a white shirt and trousers, with a receding hairline, stood inside the cart. Crowd members walked on each side, jeering and shouting at the occupant. A second cart just behind the first contained a woman wearing a plain white dress and white cap. The lead cart made its way slowly towards the other side of the obelisk, the crowd swarming around it.
Meren strolled around the crowd towards the obelisk. The symbols on the tapering sides were picture like, matching the close-up images Brell had shown her. She moved her gaze to the gathering crowd in the square. A tall narrow wooden contraption, set in the middle of a square staging area, rose above the heads of the crowd. Uniformed men holding long wooden poles kept the rowdy people back from the stage. Some men wearing three-cornered hats, stood on the scaffold stage, and as the cart approached, a loud bang of drums rang out. Meren focussed on the wooden contraption; it had a heavy looking blade of metal at the top of the structure, presumably held in place by a mechanism at the side. As the portly man went up the scaffold steps, Meren started to walk away, realising that this was an execution. Similar to the Tower, but with a fiendish gravity device instead of an axe. The man and woman had travelled in separate carts, and the crowd reaction became heightened around them. He appeared to be a very prominent man. A king?
The Obelisk and the King are here.
It fitted perfectly with what she had seen. The crowd became silent, save for the drums and then a huge cheer roared around the square. Meren had seen enough, and did not look back; it was time to find the key. Ahead of her, she could now clearly see the metal tower. It had four large legs, fabricated out of a series of crisscrossing metal lengths, which intertwined upwards into platforms. Lights adorned the tower’s peak. It was similar to the towers on Wrax, which she passed through once on her way to an outer world community.
Look under the Tower.
Pleasant smells of cooking wafted around, making her hungry. The single sun shone a beautiful yellow colour and the air smelt fresh. Green trees were dotted around near to the stylish low-level buildings. It reminded her of a meditative scenario she once created to deal with the tedium of the Sanctuary.
Halfway along a bridge, which traversed a river, she noticed the people walking around were similar to those in the other holo worlds. Also, they were wearing different clothing from the crowd at the obelisk. She could hear voices speaking with a different accent to that used in San Francisco. Small transporters were driving around, fast and very near to each other, horns blaring. No sign of security bots, though. She took a wide-brimmed hat off a holo woman walking nearby.
“Brell, I’ve covered the bald patch properly this time.” Meren said aloud, looking up into the sky. As if Brell could be somehow watching the events.
After passing a junction where transporters converged chaotically, the pavement areas contained variou
s stalls of food and drink. Nearby, couples were dancing in a small square to music provided by a woman wearing a black fabric hat with a stem on top. She had a large box shaped instrument secured around her shoulders, which she opened and closed at regular intervals whilst her fingers furiously danced up and down the sides. Meren went over to a food stall, and watched as a girl poked a thin round pancake on a flat griddle. The smell was enticing.
“Une crepe, madam?” the girl said.
“Yes,” Meren said and nodded, not expecting anything.
Next to the hot griddle, an auto chef went into action, and Meren took out a crepe wrapped within a cardboard cone. Though hot to the tongue, it tasted wonderful.
After a couple of twists and turns, she rounded a corner and reached the base of the tower. Its four large feet disappeared into the ground. She looked up into the interlaced metal struts; quite impressive for its basic technology.
In the large square area under the tower, people were queuing or waiting by an entranceway. There were also stalls selling souvenirs and people sitting on the ground asking for money. In the direct centre, there was a group of women performing a dance routine. They were colourfully dressed, with frilly see-through blouses and white skirts, their fingers gripping and waving the dress fabric as they moved. A small group of musicians stood to one side of the dancers, and behind them was a tall red coloured wooden structure. It had a square base and a thinner, round turret at the top. Four large, wing-like struts revolved on a centre point in the middle of the turret. A semi-circular sign lit up, spelling the words Moulin Rouge.
Meren, used to confusion with everything Inhab-47, did not waste time trying to understand what it represented. Standing right underneath the tower by the dancers, she examined the red structure. Whilst the women whooped and stepped back and forth, Meren found the key resting on a shelf inside.
She smiled and looked towards the sky. All she had to do now was wait a while for Brell to sober up, perhaps eat another of those crepes, and look around for the shirt sellers. Walking along, she examined the key again in the sunlight. It had some letters etched on it.
Sorry, not the right Key.
The key did not feel as heavy as the previous ones. She bent it between her fingers and it broke in half. Laughing, she shook her head and dropped the key fragments on the ground. Her first thought was to hope that Brell did not follow her into Paris. However, in her drunken state, anything could happen. Meren was alone again.
***
A message arrived on Brune’s screen from his opposite number in Prison Corps.
A cleaning bot reported itself as requiring a service before Challenge 2 and 3. The bot had visited Carac’s and Brell’s cells.
Brune replied, Thank you, enjoy your party. The Prison Corps job had all but ended; the winner would be free and not an inmate anymore. The cells would be dormant, and they would effectively be packing up for reassignment.
“Scrivvens?” Brune used his comm implant.
Whilst waiting for him, Brune went back to watching the challenge. He had watched Brell’s self-destruction with the whisky. It saddened him. At first, she showed confidence and took control, but once the drinking started, she didn’t want to stop. No wonder Meren left.
“Scrivvens, enter.”
“All correct sir,” Scrivvens said, saluting.
“Scrivvens, you have knowledge of bots, is that correct?”
“Yes sir, did a posting on Bot World, um, planet Ourak. You know, virtually everything is run by bots.”
“Interesting. Have you had any postings on normal worlds with real people? Don’t answer that. Anyway, look, I have a job for you. Check out the service regime for a specific cleaning bot. Check its route around the time it called at Carac’s cell before Challenge 2 and Brell’s cell before Challenge 3. Where did it go and how accessed; remotely or directly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As soon as possible. I believe it is linked to the challenge.”
“Yes sir. Just seen that the nun has found a key, but it is the wrong one, so she is locked in the wrong world. Just seeing it out, I suppose. As for Brell’s drinking, well …”
“Thank you Scrivvens. Do you have a sparkly suit? You could get a job commentating with those two presenters.”
“Yes, sir, er, no, sir. I’ll look into the cleaner bot.”
As Scrivvens left the room, Brune turned back to his challenge screens and ordered another drink, hoping to delay his need for another weed smoke.
***
It was not Paris. With Brell asleep, drunk, and Carac due for release soon, it gave a bit more thinking time. The tower in San Francisco was worth exploring. Being nearby it was possible that Williams could have purposefully put the real key in San Francisco to confuse everyone.
Technician 22 had watched Brell drinking the whisky, but could not understand the need for intox, as it poisoned his system. For the moment, he secured Brell’s hotel in case she suddenly came to life. Having discounted Paris, this only left four unseen worlds to scan. It would be worthwhile for Carac to check out the San Francisco location whilst he continued investigating. A message arrived from the Twins.
New director reluctant/unsure about the location of key. Working on it.
They all stuck together, those media types. He continued setting up instructions for Carac.
***
“Hi de partner. Time to leave.”
The security bot opened the cell door. Carac’s eyes widened as he slowly stood up, and walked out of the cell. The bot stood between him and the exit door with his right hand resting on the desk.
Carac eyes followed the bot’s arm down to the desk. Next to tapping fingers, a holo tablet displayed a message.
Not Paris. Try Coit Tower, San Francisco. The message then disappeared.
“You have a nice day, now.”
The bot tipped its wide brimmed hat to Carac, who had already left through the door back into Alcatraz. As he made his way through the prison to the bridge, six security bots appeared from another part of the prison, all dressed in dark blue uniform jackets, trousers, and round peaked hats, their belts full of equipment. They walked in unison their faces staring ahead.
He tagged behind them at a discreet distance, through the prison, over the bridge, and to the main road at the other end of the pier. Two Security Together transporters were waiting for them. Carac pondered whether to follow them or go straight to this Coit Tower. Was something up? What had Brell done? There was a link between San Francisco and a man named King, so the tower was definitely worth a visit. As for the obelisk, nothing came to mind. He jumped in a small yellow vehicle and, after what seemed a long time feeling and pushing around with his hands and feet, he got going and stuttered up a hill in the same direction as the security bots.
Chapter 46 - Out and about
Brell awoke still sitting on the floor, back resting on a cupboard handle, neck hurting from the position of her head, and she needed the privy. Pulling herself up, she knocked over the cup of coffee Meren had left for her. After negotiating the ensuite toilet door, she sat on the privy, head supported in her hands. Finished, she got up, scratched her backside, and ordered a glass of water and a whisky. She rubbed her left shoulder; it ached inside. A small black plastic device with buttons lay on the table, and when the top button was pressed, the image screen came to life. Brell hit the buttons randomly and found the “next channel” button. Taking a sip of water, she rotated through the channels, part fascinated part bored with the alien output on its square linear screen.
Still a bit woozy, she finished the water and sipped some more whisky, then lay on the bed, pulling the cover over her. The warmth of the bed and whisky lulled her off to sleep as the flickering images and background sound drifted across the room.
She half woke up; the cup of whisky had dribbled over her hand and onto the sheets. Through half open eyes, she peered at the screen images. A city view appeared. This included large colourful buildings, a pyramid,
a lion, a tower, and fountains of water. She thought about Deep Yellow flowing around inside its bottle and nodded off again.
***
Carac drove past the front of Hotel California. Security bot vehicles were parked outside, and a couple of bots stood by the entrance. They must be inside after Brell; good. Be best to stay out of the way and investigate the tower, just in case. He got out of his transporter and examined the area to get a bearing on Coit Tower. If the slope went any higher, it would burst up into the studio floor. Guiding his transporter along a narrow tree-lined road and rounding a curve, he found himself at the bottom of the tower. It was not particularly tall and was shaped like a round tube with viewing windows at the top.
The Obelisk and the King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise.
He ran up some steps, entered the doorway, and found himself in a round foyer. A small shop was selling images, not alien shirts, he noticed straight away.
Look under the Tower.
Did that mean where he now stood? Williams had a sense of humour, what would he do? There appeared to be no underground entrance, this was the bottom as far as he could see. People walked past him and up some stairs, so he followed them. The top level opened out onto a series of arches, with open windows beyond offering a view of the city. Carac could not resist looking out over the city; it did not compare to his home world or Elytia, but seemed vaguely interesting, for Inhab-47, anyway. The truth was that the streets were dirty, people backward, technology basic, and the food worse than the crap they served in prison. How would they ever be ready for Association integration?
He turned back from the window and scanned the inside area. Stands with image views of San Francisco on cards, plus a rectangular glass box marked “souvenirs”. Carac understood it as a keepsake to show people that you had visited the place. He made a beeline for it and looked inside.
A key, hanging up inside the box.
Was it that simple? Did he expect music or something? A small metal knob protruded from the base, and after twisting it, the key fell down and deposited itself into a shelf. Carac momentarily paused before taking hold of the key; surely, it can’t be that easy? Though the same size and colour, it felt lighter. Turning it over, the words Better luck next time were inscribed on one side. He threw the key to the ground in frustration.