by Stuart Dodds
Crouching, she moved around the winking gambling machines, working her way into the building itself. There was a loud ching noise, followed by some cheers; someone was having luck. Carac had received a fair kick, but it would not stop him. Just past some more gambling tables with people peering at small cardboard pictures, Brell reached a wide walkway stretching left and right from her position. Two directions, nine minutes.
To the left was a cobbled street scene, with ornate street lamps and a large round water fountain. Beyond the street appeared to be shops, judging by the signs. To her right was a carpeted walkway leading to a large empty room and a long row of glass doors at the far end. It looked like an exit out of the building. The shops would be the best choice, rather than returning back through the casino floor or to an exit.
As she sprinted to her left, there was a loud crash and glancing behind, two security transporters crashed through the glass doors. Both vehicles drove straight towards her. Quickening her pace, she ran into the street area feeling the hard stone effect flooring underfoot. The water fountain was just ahead. Trusting it was a hard beam object, she jumped up towards the ledge, relieved when her feet settled on a solid surface. She scrambled up onto the second ledge; the water was just a light effect.
The first transporter, crashed into the fountain base, carrying it along for a few metres before smashing into a sidewall. Glass and plas-steel billowed everywhere as Brell toppled sideways onto the ground, wrenching her ankle. The transporter dug itself into the wall having skewed around, away from where Brell now lay. The second transporter stopped in time and disgorged its passengers. She pulled herself up and limped forward.
P-zap.
A hole erupted in the side of the wall next to her head. A team of security bots ran towards her, with zappers in hand, the sound of their clunking boots echoing off the walls.
P-zap.
She limped to the end of the street and into a “town square”. Quickly bearing left, she leant against a wall whilst keenly examining everything for a clue, a shirt, or anything. It was a medium sized square lined with shops and unusually there were no holos walking around. In one corner was a small stage with velvet curtains at the rear. A short sturdy woman stood onstage singing emotionally in the Paris language. Raising an arm, she sang “je ne regrette rien”; I regret nothing.
She dragged herself further along into the square, desperately looking around. The security bots appeared and spread out in a line. With their eyes locked onto her, they walked forward very slowly.
Across the square was her lifeline.
The clue, the exit door it must be. Might as well have Williams written all over it. Hanging in the window of a shop named, “Soohan’s Chemise Emporium” was a huge, colourful shirt, just like the ones Williams owned. In fact, it was a larger version of the shirt he wore during their first meeting in prison. He must have worn it when visiting all the others. The shop door had a keyhole.
P-zap.
Feeling an intense pain in her legs, she dropped straight to the floor, on her back. Apart from the searing pain in her unresponsive legs, she glanced down her body and saw her feet entangled in a net.
Carac stepped out from between the security bots and loomed over her, holding a zapper, smiling.
“Me again.”
***
With five minutes to go, Meren danced. She had stopped looking at the countdown and instead enjoyed the moment. At first, she stood beside the people dancing, just holding the hem of her dress, swaying to the music. There were some men sitting, watching, and after waving her hand through the holos, she put her hand on the shoulder of a smiling man.
“Dance?” Meren said.
“Dance,” the holo said.
Meren led him to the middle of the dance area. Copying the others, she held him around his waist and was happy when he did the same. He copied her dancing movements.
“What’s your name?”
“Dance,” the holo said.
“Can’t have everything,” Meren said.
She clung closer to him, letting the music, the movement, the fresh air release her from the growing warmth spreading in her stomach.
“I am free,” she said softly.
***
Brell tried moving her legs, without success. Pushing herself up, she supported her upper body weight by placing both hands on the floor behind. She started to shuffle on her backside across the square whilst shaking her unresponsive legs, her stomach starting to feel mildly warm.
Just under five minutes left.
“Well, time to get the key and get out of here. Back to the studio, freedom, and some proper food.”
Brell strained her back forward in an effort to unpick the netting.
“Found the exit door yet?” Carac said.
Brell remained silent.
“It’s here, isn’t it? Let me see, now.” Carac looked around and across at the range of shops.
“Stage, no, sparkling jewels, no. Oh, yes, of course. You can’t miss it. Chemise. That large shirt in the window. Williams wears them all the time, yes, that’s what you were looking at?”
He stepped forward.
“Not taking any chances, now. Have a good sleep. You won’t even wake up.”
He pointed the zapper at her chest and pressed the button. Brell went limp, her upper body smacking down onto the floor. Working his hands over her, he smiled when he felt the key in her trouser pocket.
“Bye bye captain.” He bent down, kissed her on the lips, then turned towards the exit door.
Brell opened her eyes and saw two things. Carac heading in the direction of the exit door waving at the camera, and the security bots. They were standing still, frozen in their last position. She knew that the zapper Carac used had run out of energy, as the zap felt like a mild static electricity jolt. Only her lower legs were numb. She sat up as silently as possible, wiped her mouth, and twisted the net off her feet. Shaking her legs, a slight feeling returned, so she grabbed the trousers of a nearby bot and dragged herself onto her knees.
She drew the zapper out of the bots holster and leaning on its body, pulled herself up some more. Raising the weapon, she aimed it at the bulkiest part of Carac, his chest. Was he in range? Time to find out.
A clear view of him came into sight. She fired, but he kept on walking. Missed. She fired again and this time the bluish bolt struck the side of his waist. He stopped, rubbed his side, glanced back, and hobbled towards the exit door. Brell levered herself up and staggered after him. Enough sensation had returned in her left leg to drag the right one along. Barely aware of the pain in her ankle, she pulled herself forwards by grabbing the clothing of a security bot, then hand by hand worked her way from bot to bot until reaching the last one. She snatched a zapper out of its holster.
Carac leant forward and moved his hand down to the door lock, the key glinting as he extended it towards the lock. Brell planted her good leg on the floor, and aimed again, this time at his legs. The blue bolt struck both thighs. His hand hesitated as his knees started to tremble and buckle. He fell to the floor, the key clattering out of his hand.
She walked forward attempting to zap his legs again, but the charge was weak. Carac pulled himself on his backside towards the key, then lay on his side and stretched out his fingers. The tip of his forefinger touched the key edge. Brell reached down and picked it up.
Two minutes left.
“Looking for this?” Brell showed him the key as she took two steps back from him.
He twisted his face in pain, but kept slowly inching towards her.
“Not this time,” she said, grabbing his legs and pulling him away from the shop. Carac propped himself up on his backside as again Brell stepped back, out of arm’s reach. She instinctively put a hand on her stomach.
“There is one thing, though,” she said, breathing heavily, hands on her knees.
Carac narrowed his eyes.
“This.” Brell quickly stepped forward, swung her arm back, and punched C
arac square on the side of his face. Years of pent up frustration and hatred released in that one blow. He hit the floor and did not move.
Aware of the seconds counting down, she gathered herself and limped towards the door. She concentrated fully in order to keep a firm grip on the key and scraped it around the keyhole until it went into place.
Click. She opened the door, closing her eyes for a second.
Exhausted, the growing warmth spread itself around her stomach and chest as ahead was the red button.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered to herself as she dragged her shaking legs across the floor. Careful not to trip or fall over, she leant her body weight on the podium. Raising her hand above the button, she held it mid-air.
Fifteen seconds.
“This is for Meren and Lulu,” she said slowly, then nodded.
Brell slapped the button.
Three seconds.
Chapter 50 - Making arrangements
Eighteen Months Later
The conditions were damp and drizzly as Brell landed the cargo transporter gently into its docking position. Having finished safety checks, she gave permission for the stevedore bots to start unloading the hold. Once all systems were off and the log completed, she unbuckled herself whilst looking at the still image of Meren. She was dancing in Paris, smiling just before the end. Next to it was an image of Lulu, taken when she first joined the Police Corps Academy.
She heaved herself out of the pilot seat, grabbed her personal valise, and exited onto a walkway. The valise helped shield the rain off her face.
“Hi, Brell, good journey?” It was the haulage operator, Holly.
He sat behind his desk, wearing a patched pilot’s jacket, like always, even though he had not pulled cargo for years. Chewing on a large, unlit weed smoke, he gazed at Brell, awaiting her reply.
“Yes, all good, even better as it’s the last one for a few days,” Brell said, handing over her log.
“Got anything planned?” Holly threw the log on top of a stack of others.
“Gorst has some time off, so we thought we’d have some fun, go for walks, and relax. Nothing much, really.”
Holly took the weed smoke out of his mouth.
“Okay, see you next week,” he said.
“Thanks, Holly. Appreciate everything,” Brell said and headed for the showers.
Often when showering, Brell would cast her mind back to the Challenge and the events thereafter. She spent many hours with Brune, reflecting on the challenges and the events happening back stage. His second-in-command managed to halt the security bots just after Carac zapped her. As much as Brune accepted the statutory investigation into his actions, he was pleased when his discipline hearing was overturned because of a public outcry. Williams’ death had shocked her, including the fact he had died not long after the start of the final challenge.
The beam showers finished their cycle, and as she got dressed, her comms cube chimed. Gorst.
“Answer,” she said.
A screen opened at head level.
“Hi.” Gorst’s smiling face appeared.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“Just read some news channels; there is talk of another Challenge show being put together, so you may be called as their resident expert.”
“We’ll see,” Brell said laughing, “perhaps they could pick the female twin as the first challenger.”
“Perhaps. She is making yet another appeal against the conspiracy conviction, which she is unlikely to win. There is no news on her brothers disappearance and if they wanted to utilise Technician 22’s skills again, they’d have to track him down first.”
“I bet the female will be placed on my old wing.”
Gorst paused. “Will you be home on time?”
“Yes, just finished the last load. Will get a ground craft, so back in time for the evening.”
“Well, I’ve got it all arranged. Meal, Inhab-47 soft drink substitute, and the latest holo adventure. It’s a good time of the month for you, as well, isn’t it?”
Brell laughed again. Gorst concerned himself with her monthly cycles more than she did. She accepted it, yes, something may happen.
“Okay, see you later.”
“Safe journey.”
She could not have got through the last eighteen months without him. After all the congratulations, interviews, replays, and contractually obliged events, all part of the contract she had signed in her cell, apparently, Gorst had kept her strong. Relations with her mother were still strained; it didn’t help that she had made up stories of Brell’s childhood. She had even been a guest on an Inhab-47 styled cookery programme, for frag’s sake.
Gorst had gently come back into her life, they had connected again, but it had not been easy. She had regular rages and threw things around her temporary living pod, whilst he quietly tidied up behind her. He put up with her behaviour in the early days after release, when she would not leave the bedroom for days. It was something to do with habit and incarceration. Gorst caught her watching Carac’s final moments continuously.
“He has gone. Turned to ash,” he said.
Brell just nodded. It took at least twenty viewings before believing that he must be dead. A few more replays and a lack of sarcastic messages eventually made her feel safer. Carac was history.
Gorst’s interventions had kept her straight and, with the support of the Beam Company, she had successfully completed lengthy substance rehabilitation sessions. She had even won an award for the best punch of the year. Carac’s last seconds and that punch became the most replayed moment from the Challenge. Once passed as medically fit, the Beam Company helped her get a basic cargo pilot’s licence, and Holly had been willing to employ her. Not a Command Skiff, but it gave her something to do and she enjoyed the solace.
She walked out of the base and onto an elevated walkway. The grey sky threatened more rain. It didn’t matter.
End
About the author
Stuart was born in north London, England. His interest in science fiction started with the first episodes of Dr Who. Leaving school at 16 and after some part time jobs, he joined the Metropolitan Police, enjoying a 30-year career. Bringing up a family of four children with his wife combined with a full time policing role did not leave much time for anything else. It was only after retiring with more time on his hands that Stuart started to write.
The ideas for Deep Yellow came from many sources, including personal experiences, movies, and books. Amongst recent experiences was a three-month journey around India and South Asia. Sporadic plot ideas and character outlines eventually turned into a solid story sufficient for a novel. The intention was to write a book with a unique storyline that people, who may not be avid science fiction readers, would enjoy.
He is currently working on a second novel set within the ‘worlds’ and themes of Deep Yellow.
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Thank you for reading the book. I hope you enjoyed it.
Any reviews via your favourite retailer are most welcome.
Thanks.
Stuart F. Dodds
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For more information, please visit http://www.deepyellownovel.com/home.html