Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  “Would it need a person to visit the cleaning bot directly?”

  “You can programme another bot remotely to visit another one. Drug dealers regularly programme a chain of bots to make several exchanges from bots to personal bots to road cleaners. Difficult to trace the route back to the original handler, takes days.”

  “Okay, you’ve been following the challenge, why are the security bots chasing Brell?”

  “Part of the challenge, perhaps, to chase her out for staying in a hotel too long? It worked, she is on the run now. The bots did previously imprison Carac for attacking Meren.”

  “Yes, it’s possible it is a rule change to ensure more activity. What about this, though?”

  Brune replayed the beamcast snippet where Carac had ran back into the cell block and looked up before running back into the Living Room.

  “There is something there he has seen, don’t you think?”

  “Sir, have you reviewed the previous images from that area? It is located where they first started the programme when they set the clue.”

  “Let’s do it now. I presume you know a few shortcuts to do this quicker than me?”

  Scrivvens displayed his own keyboard, which instantly connected to Brune’s screens. First, he replayed the part where Flip and Argenta were introducing the programme and gave the clue. It focussed on the cell occupants and the ground floor cell area with the presenters.

  “Let’s have a look at the separate viewer cams. Here’s one, it’s situated on an end wall looking out along the main cell area.” Scrivvens hands were a flurry of activity. “Yes, here we are, on the edge of the image is the landing above the inmates cells. Got it. I will just bring up the original floating cam images from Inhab-47. Hold on.” He paused both images.

  “Cell B-206, Al Capone.”

  “So that is the original image. How about from a few minutes back?”

  “No problem, that was where those bots were helping each other to stand up.” Scrivvens zoomed in.

  “Cell B-206, Al Capone from Las Vegas.”

  “This information has been added since the challenge started, but Carac has only just noticed it.”

  “Yes. With more time, I could find out when it was changed. If it has just been added, then it was just after Brell selected Las Vegas.”

  “Not sure we have enough time. Whilst I think about it, Scrivvens, why was Carac netted and put in the holding gaol? The bots did nothing when Brell was attacked by Kellsa, let alone when Meren brained her.” Brune sat back and crossed his arms. “Have you performed undercover work?”

  “Yes, passed myself off as a waiter bot once. It worked well.”

  Brune stared at Scrivvens and continued. “One tactic is for an undercover officer to get arrested during a Corps raid to make it look like they are just one of the gang. Was Carac arrested on purpose to fool the audience? It appears he has been receiving outside help what with the tidy bots thing and that Las Vegas message.”

  “Williams was zapped by a bot.”

  “Yes, to keep him out of the way, do you think?”

  “Perhaps, but they didn’t consider Brell.”

  “No indeed. Now, bearing in mind that the clock is ticking, can you control the security bots? Stand them down?”

  “Well sir, following Corps regulations, we would need a warrant from the on duty Assizes Judge to break into the Beam Companies matrix. It will take a few hours to secure the warrant.”

  Brune shifted in his seat, rubbed his chin, and placed his Orders and Regulations cube viewer into a drawer.

  “Break into the systems, stop the bots. There is criminal activity going on, outside of the show. I take responsibility.”

  “Yes, sir,” Scrivvens said uncertainly. “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Call it gut instinct.”

  Chapter 48 - Drive

  The “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign was the first thing that Brell noticed; a man and woman were standing underneath it, holding hands. The woman wore an ivory-coloured dress, and a preacher situated behind them, spoke from a book. Two lanes of traffic flowed up and down the roadway, appearing then disappearing into the wall behind her. There was only one way to travel, at least, and that was straight ahead. Hopefully, the tower was not far away. She glanced up again into the sky; just under thirty minutes left. From her memory of the images on screen in the hotel room, there was just one long road.

  She headed for a colourful, stylish-looking vehicle parked by the side of the road. Round metal lines and streaks of white were set against the red bodywork. As it had no roof, Brell jumped over and into the driver’s seat. Accelerating away, she was careful not to knock into anything in case it was a hard beam transporter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall stone obelisk like the one in Meren’s Paris and nodded to herself. This was good.

  A wide intersection appeared ahead, so she slowed to negotiate it as safely as possible. Every minute counted. An old Police Corps saying came back to her.

  Best to get there safely a little late, rather than not at all.

  This was ground into her when driving fast response skiffs to emergency calls on teeming roads and skyways. Some of the Las Vegas buildings had huge display boards or advertising structures outside; one had a large animal’s head. The pavement areas and overhead walkways were busy; this must be a relaxation place. It was like a basic pleasure city, which Williams, no doubt, spent a lot of time in.

  Driving steadily, the tip of a tower peeked out from beyond some large buildings. Right direction, just up ahead. At that moment, a security bot transporter, travelling on the opposite side of the road, braked sharply, the bonnet tilting down with the change of speed. It swerved across the lanes, positioning itself right behind Brell’s vehicle.

  Bang

  Brell’s head snapped forward and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel narrowly avoiding a parked transporter. Accelerating harder, she weaved across the lanes, speeding through the empty holo transporters, being less cautious.

  Ahead, she saw another bot vehicle coming straight towards her. Instinctively, she swerved her vehicle out of the way and, striking a raised kerb, she flew along the walkway through swathes of holo people. Scraping a street light, she just managed to keep the vehicle upright. Not far.

  ***

  Carac ran out of the doorway, stopped, orientated himself, and continued running towards an empty transporter. There was only one direction of travel. Security bot transporters appeared behind, then overtook him. Just need to follow the Corps. That’s a first.

  ***

  Brell pulled back out into the roadway to get a better view of the tower. It was exactly as she had seen it on the image set in the hotel room.

  Look under the Tower.

  Oblivious of the large water fountains pluming ahead on her left, she tried to calculate the safest place to stop. Two bot transporters were behind her, taking it in turns to bump the rear of her vehicle in an attempt to make her veer off. She accelerated, gripped the steering wheel, then jabbed at the brake. The rear side bumper crunched as one of the pursuing vehicles bounced off it and into the centre of the road. Pushing hard on the accelerator again, she took a quick glimpse on the rear view mirror. A plain faced bot was leaning out of a vehicle window lining up for a shot.

  One of the tower legs appeared ahead. Its crisscrossed metal struts jutting out onto the street. Without thinking, Brell aimed at it.

  ***

  After finding the key, Meren ambled back to the area by the entrance door. She kept observation from a discrete vantage position, but there was no sign of Carac or Brell. Eventually giving up, she wandered around aimlessly and found a seat overlooking the river. The warm sun, fresh air, and disappointment had made her feel dozy.

  It was the wrong key, over and finished. No going back to the Living Room to select another world. Brell would be staggering around, fighting Carac, or more than likely in a drunken stupor in the same hotel.

  “Brell, if you can hear me, it’s
not Paris. Do not come into Paris,” Meren said again in the vain hope that Brell may have access to the live Challenge screens.

  She knew that stopping her entering Paris at the doorway would be difficult, or there would be some Williams invention like a double door to stop this happening. Her best choice would be to stay near the tower; at least they could turn to ash together. There would be no more incarceration, no more repetitive daily routines.

  All things will pass.

  With thirty minutes left, she walked back towards the tower, becoming sidetracked by the food stalls.

  “Une crepe madam?” Meren nodded. As the auto chef cooked away, Meren browsed around an intox selection, the drink names written on bottles standing on a table. One caught her eye, though its name was unpronounceable.

  “Border? Bordux?” An auto chef nearby switched itself on, and then paused as if working out the request. Then it chugged to life, producing a ruby-red liquid in a long-stemmed glass. Meren picked up the glass and examined the liquid in the sunlight. A swill and a sniff later, she held up the glass.

  “Girls!”

  The first sip was an interesting mix of fruit, intox, and something else. She sat back down on the bench, munched, and drank the wine whilst watching people go by. Finishing her wine, she set the glass down and ambled across the square towards the box-squeezing musician.

  ***

  “Come on,” Brell shouted, trying to clear her head. Thankfully, she could move her legs, but it took some effort pulling them out of the crushed transporter. The vehicle had skimmed off the tower struts and smashed into the casino entrance doors, coming to rest just inside. Having bent down under the windscreen at the last moment and though covered in plastic and plas-steel, she managed to climb into the back seat and out onto carpet flooring. The two security bots’ transporters that were following her had smashed straight into the tower leg. Two broken bots lay on the ground, unmoving.

  She found herself in a huge room full of people sitting, standing, or walking around. There were rows of machines, the front face of which was a series of blinking lights. All she could hear were bing bing bing sounds. Several of the female tourists were wearing long, white, fancy dresses, their heads covered by veils. There were also women in glittery bras and pants with plumed headdresses walking slowly around the casino. A man’s singing voice was audible, coming from somewhere near the middle of the room. The chair held her weight as she jumped on it in order to look over the bing bing machines. Yes, there was a stage and, would you believe it, a man dressed like Williams’ assistant singing whilst being accompanied by a small group of musicians. She could not quite hear the words due to the background noise.

  A clunk of boots and two security bots ran in, stopped, moved their heads, and locked onto Brell. She ran forward, around, and over anything in her way. Hunkering down, she hid behind a machine whilst reaching out and grabbing a nearby stool. Straining her ears, she waited and listened for footsteps. As the steady clank got louder, she stood up and slugged the approaching bot, sending it flying backwards, its body crumpling on the floor. The other bot, its netting device in hand, stopped and aimed at Brell. She ducked around the back of a line of bing bing machines, crept along to the end of the row, and crouched while looking back down both aisles. The machines, she noticed, were solid but not fixed to each other. The bot chose to follow her.

  Brell waited, then crept down the empty row, and quickly peering over the top, she shoulder pushed a machine, toppling it over onto the bot. Its reaction was to press the netting device, which shot out across the floor. Checking back and forth for any more bots, she strode along the machines reaching a group of green-covered tables that had a spinning wheel set into one end. The singing voice sounded much louder now, and as Brell picked her way forward, she tried to understand the words.

  “Viva Las Vegas,” the man sang repeatedly. One hand held a small metal tube towards his mouth; a microphone? His other hand moved animatedly in tune with the music beat. Dressed exactly the same as Williams’ assistant, Brell looked him up and down.

  A key hung around his neck.

  Again, no sign of any bots; the people meandering around obscured her view. She jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the key, breaking the linked chain necklace. The weight and look of the key felt genuine as she put it in her pocket.

  Look under the Tower, then for une chemise.

  The shirt. She stepped off the stage, whilst looking around for a something to do with a shirt by an exit door or similar. A blow from the side brought her heavily to the floor face down. She was pinned down, breath forced out of her lungs. Knees dug into her back and thigh, then hands moved down from her shoulders to her backside. Laughter.

  “Well, well, Captain bluey, it comes to this,” Carac said. He sounded elated.

  “Not only do you have the key, but I get to hold another prize as well.”

  Face pushed into the floor, she tried to stare up at him.

  “Nearly missed you, what with your uniform. You’re not Police Corps now. You’re nothing, just a blue bitch. A loser!” He continued to stroke her backside.

  “You see, bluey, this is it. Just a few minutes to go. I would like to stay and play longer, but there are things I need to do, like winning this challenge. This damn challenge.” He patted her thigh.

  “You know, I hate these worlds. Who would want to visit Inhab-47? Dirty, backward, food, well you can’t call it food. I am going off subject. Now, where is the key?” He moved his hand around her backside, closing his eyes briefly.

  “Ah,” Carac said.

  “It’s not the real key. A Williams joke, I was wrong,” Brell said, managing to talk out of the side of her mouth.

  Carac placed both his hands onto her back and pushed himself backwards so he could comfortably kneel on the floor. He kept hand pressure on her back with both hands whilst glancing around.

  “Does it have any writing on it?”

  “Check it for yourself.”

  She sensed Carac’s hesitation as he shifted the weight on his knees. Her right hand had lain alongside her body throughout the confrontation. Now that he had moved his position, she moved her fingers slowly towards her belt.

  “It’s in my left pocket,” she said.

  Carac looked down as he started trying to feel around the front of her trousers.

  Brell suddenly pulled her left knee up whilst rolling over. Carac, taken by surprise, reached forward. Brell continued to roll over onto her back, freeing her right arm. She swung the baton upwards, levering at the elbow to gain as much energy as possible. It struck his left knee, not too heavily, but it caused hesitation. Straightening her body she rolled back towards Carac, forcing her body weight onto his thighs, making him flop backwards awkwardly. Quickly getting to her feet, she kicked towards his body whilst he was still floundering and connected with the side of his leg.

  “Viva Las Vegas,” she shouted back.

  Chapter 49 - Which way?

  Come on, Scrivvens. Brune sat helplessly, watching the events unfold. An old colleague a few minutes from death on a live entertainment show. A show in which Brell was not meant to win. Was there still time to intervene? It all hinged on Scrivvens.

  He knew his promotion prospects would be jeopardised if he did something to interfere with the show. What about his wife and children’s future?

  With ten minutes to go, it was unbearable to watch. Nevertheless, he clapped as he saw Brell kick Carac and run off. She had the key, but was it the right one? He had long given up trying to solve the clues let alone understand the Inhab-47 worlds.

  ‘Chime, chime.’

  A screen displayed Scrivvens’ face.

  “Yes,” Brune said, trying, but failing to disguise his nerves.

  “Sir. I’ve found Technician 22’s communication code and pathways; the encryption is the usual military standard. Having difficulty reaching security bot core instructions. However, the Technicians attention is on the live action, not on any security bre
aches.”

  “Throw everything at it. Not much time left,” Brune said, realising he had been holding his breath.

  “Sir.” Scrivvens display faded.

  “Come on, Scrivvens,” Brune muttered under his breath.

  ***

  Mayleth had difficulty watching the screens. Carac had been kicked by the blue one and was seriously in danger of losing. Despite all the help, including being selected for the Challenge, it all came down to the last ten minutes.

  Ayleth was asleep, having given up long while ago and taken a “knock out” tablet. Mayleth drank some lukewarm liquid and half-smiled over at one of her assistants whilst toying with her necklace. The next few minutes would seal their future. She glanced at the door. Would that burly commander be knocking on their door soon, or had the Tinker organised something for them? He must have others in his employ, not just Technician 22. And all because of her brother’s gambling debts. At least the correct holo world location had been confirmed by Williams’ replacement, but he had fended off giving the exit location. Must be some unwritten rule; perhaps she should have pushed him a bit harder. However, on a live show, though, it would always be tricky replacing the director of operations a second time. She thought that with Williams out of the way, they could ensure greater control over events.

  Fiddling with her necklace again, she stared at the screens. Come on, Carac.

  ***

  The Tinker crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. He glanced at the latest Locardum ore prices, Carac fumbling about, and then at the Twins in their office.

  “Regg. Contact Mack, tell him to get his crew ready and await further instructions.”

  “Yes sir.”

  ***

  After striking Carac, Brell felt her pocket to make sure the key was still there. Where next? She felt sure that “une chemise” was linked to this casino building due to the Paris language influences. Would Williams make the exit so far away from the key? She gained the impression that he did not wholly enjoy the idea of entertainment involving death, so ensuring at least one person survived would be his motivation.