Deep Yellow (3 page)

"I am not sure about
the idea, but as this has come from on high, I like to follow my
orders. Return to your cell. In two weeks, you will be transferred
into custody of Prison Corps officers at the studios. The Challenge
starts in four weeks. Say your goodbyes; you will not be
returning," the Overseer said finally.

Brell could not be
sure if the Overseer was pleased, grateful, or just being truthful,
especially after the bust up this morning. Whilst being ushered out
of the office, she heard Williams say, "She will make good viewing
ratings."

"We’ll see," the
Overseer said.

Brell gnawed on her fingernails. The daily prison
grind would end soon because of some ludicrous game show. Was she
just being toyed with, a Carac prank? Perhaps she could gain her
freedom, but more than likely it would end in death. If nothing
else, presumably, she will be free for a while during the contest.
Saves the voluntary termination chat.

Pressing the edge of
Williams' cube caused a screen to materialise a metre in front of
her. Better technology than her old picture cube. Buttons and
symbols displayed near to her hands, so she sat back in her chair
and pressed “Play.”

A blue planet came
into view together with low throbbing background music.

“Elytia Holo
Beamcasting Company proudly presents Convict Challenge.” The words
Convict Challenge curled and rotated around the planet.

“It's back in a new
format, refreshed and updated. Seven prisoners, all murderers,
released on our Holo version of an alien world. Their aim, to solve
the clues and be the first to get back to the studio. There is only
one winner: their prize, their freedom. The losers: well, just
let’s say they won’t be coming back.”

“Hi I’m Flip C’hundai,
one of the main hosts for the show.” A male Elytian wearing a
sparkly green suit appeared on screen. His greased back hair had a
single gold line running through the middle. Typical Elytian show
presenter, false hair, and permanent smile.

“Where will the
contest take place? For older viewers, we have learnt our lessons
of the past.” Serious face. “That is why we are going to use a holo
version of the planet. There will be no repeat of last time.” A
close-up of the planet appeared.

“Inhab-47 is several
decades behind our technology. Many of its inhabitants live in
basic communities spread around the planet.” An image showed some
black skinned people with children sitting outside dwellings
seemingly made of tree leaves. The children filled water containers
from a small dirty pond situated nearby. Brell had not seen
anything like that. Basic dwelling pods, synthetic water, solar
powered auto chefs, yes, but nothing that basic. Would she have to
learn jungle skills?

“Many communities are
permanently at war. Others have accords and peace agreements. Most
of the population mainly live in family structures, no central
birth systems, or birthing tanks. Sadly poverty, famine, early
death are rife.”

Further images
appeared of some children, thin faced, insects buzzing around
them.

“There is basic
communication technology and transport using the planet’s limited
resources. No anti gravitation transport.” Various types of
transporters and vehicles appeared, all with wheels, travelling on
the ground. There was a quick glimpse of a rudimentary flying
craft.

“They believe they are
unique in the known universe. Deep Space Corps actually mapped
their location years ago.”

Flip faced the camera.
“Throughout the challenge, you can vote for your favourite
contestant and experience real surround holo scenes. Behind the
scene specials have been created to see how the programme was put
together. There will be many interviews with the challengers and
you can also enter a draw to become a virtual audience member.”

A blue screen appeared
for a second, then Flip's magnificent teeth returned. Probably
space for a commercial break when shown on beam channels, Brell
considered. How about that, a show where lives are at stake but
with adverts for the latest frothy milk mix. Mind you, it involves
convicted murderers, who on another day, could have all been
terminated. Let's not go there. Flip announced the challengers.
Seven faces appeared on screen, the images from when they were
initially booked into prison.

“Here they are, what a
pretty bunch. We will meet them all in good time, and you can read
up on them via our beam and stream channels, but here is a brief
overview.”

"They are all
incarcerated for murder. We’ve got ex Space Corps and Police
Corps." Brell's face, together with a lizard-like man, appeared on
screen. Have to get used to this exposure again.

Further faces filled
the screen, "Also, we have a smuggler, an ex-farmer, a nun, an
assassin, and a Corporation First Executive."

"Crap, fotting,
fragging bastard crap!" Brell shouted and stood up, trying to find
something to damage or throw. She chose instead to hit her punch
bag for a full minute before pausing for breath.

"No, not him."

Brell was a corporal on Grab, a back of beyond
planet rich in ore and minerals. One night duty, she drove a Police
Corps ground patrol skiff around the entertainment district. The
area was a jumbled collection of ramshackle shacks, basements,
bars, and shops that had grown up over the years. It serviced the
needs of miners, haulage crews, dockers, scientists, and the
occasional off-duty security and Corps personnel. The mining
activities on the planet meant that most static objects had a thin
layer of dust; the entertainment district was no different. Many
workers wore face masks whilst inside the many establishments to
protect their lungs.

Her partner, fresh out
of the Academy, busied himself by scanning parked vehicles for any
trade and licensing offences. A typical Bermian, Brune sat upright
staring at his screens, his white, starched shirt a counterpoint to
his brown, leathery skin.

Brell, on the other
hand, continued thinking about how many days remained until the end
of this duty rotation. Her next posting should be to a busy urban
precinct on another planet, giving her a chance to gain promotion.
She nudged the skiff slowly around the parking area; it would soon
be time for a meal break.

"Hang on. Over there,
a drunk, I think walking towards a conveyance. Body scan shows
signs of intox. We can intervene before he gets into the
transporter. It’s a Section Five offence right now," Brue said,
trying to hide his excitement.

"Wait a moment. Hold
on," Brell said.

"If we let him drive
off and he causes an accident, we will be blamed for not preventing
it. My tutor always told me that ..."

"Look, you have to
follow your gut instinct sometimes, not just rules and
regulations.”

Brune said a not very
convincing, "Okay," and went back to monitoring his screens.

The drunk got into the
transporter and soon after, there was a low whine as the anti grav
kicked in. The vehicle rose a metre off the ground, and gathering
speed, it swayed over to the right of the parking lane, then back
to the centre. Ahead was a tight left turn, and then an exit to
open highways.

"He's not going to
make the turn. Get the stinger ready."

Brune made some finger
movements. "Stinger locked on," he said, his voice growing louder,
disguising his nerves.

The transporter
lurched to the right, and just as Brell said, “Stinger away,” the
vehicle accelerated and skewed across the roadway smashing straight
into the side of a parked truck. Plas-steel and glass showered
everywhere. The stinger somewhat belatedly entered the engine
compartment, shutting off its power.

Various warning and
crash alarms sounded.

"Frag it," Brell said
scratching the back of her neck. This was going to take time to
report.

The driver was sitting
upright, legs pinned lightly against the seat by a twisted metal
control console. A strong smell of intox wafted up towards Brell.
The driver stared straight at Brell with a thin smirk on his face,
his head bobbing due to the intox effect. He had white blond hair,
white skin, a high forehead, square jaw, and blue eyes.

"Are you ill or
injured?" Brell said.

"Never felt better,"
the male said slowly and seemingly mockingly.

"We need to get you
out in case the power cell has a leak. Can you get out
yourself?"

The driver stared back
at Brell and paused before saying, "Ah, a blue skin? You must be
from Celeste, then. In the Corps as well? You are not very blue,
though."

The man slowly
manoeuvred his way out of the wreck, his feet slipping as he tried
to keep control of his drunken legs.

Brell stood stock
still, legs apart, and folded her arms.

"Brune, get him in the
skiff and start the intox procedures."

"I would prefer it if
gorgeous here did some tests on me rather than old fresh face here.
Missed your wrestling match, have we?"

Brell, used to
insults, considered there was something arrogant about this man. In
addition, he had abused Brune. Okay, he was a young Corpsman doing
everything by the book, but that did not excuse the attitude.

"Brune, follow the
steps exactly, as per your Academy lessons, okay?" She shot the man
a glance to make sure he had heard her.

"Certainly will,"
Brune said as he led the unsteady man to the back of the skiff.
When satisfied that Brune explained the procedures correctly, she
pressed her neck and started communicating with control to sort out
the mess.

***

"Do you know who Carac
Montil is?" Without waiting for a reply, the Commander continued.
"He is the First Executive for Grab. He runs all the mining
business here, a political top dog."

"But, he was drunk in
charge of a transporter," Brell said.

Brune stood to
attention, staring ahead.

"Yes, but he and his
Legal will argue that he should have been stopped before getting in
the transporter. Public safety, heard of it?"

"Experience shows that
once he has started the engine, it is better for the judiciary and
courts. Gut instinct." She stopped talking and swallowed.

"Yes, when it is an
unknown Jon Alien, but not a first executive. We have dropped the
intox driving case. He paid a drunkenness fine instead and the
damaged transporter owner has been paid off. Case closed."

Brell shook her head
showing her annoyance, but she restrained herself from saying
anymore. It was a done deal, and shouting at the commander would
not be in her interest. It wouldn't take much for her duty on Grab
to be extended. Play along, don't make a fuss, and finish your work
here.

Brell walked slowly
back to the skiff; the cool night air a welcome relief from the
warm Commanders office. Perhaps a weed smoke may help, or some
intox, to forget that creep. A drink, every now and again, helped
cope with the tedium of Grab, she told herself, it was quite
normal. Her gland enhancements recently had not been calming here
enough.

She had aimlessly
started to clean the intox testing equipment when she smelt thin
wasps of smoke. Peering around the rear door, she saw Brune
standing by the perimeter beam wall, finishing off a weed smoke.
Wonder if he has a spare one?

"Hey, smoking won't
make you feel any better."

"Got a new
enhancement. I can smoke all I like, no after effects. Helps my
addiction!" He laughed.

He is certainly less
tense now. Brell had considered him an uptight new recruit, well he
was, but she didn’t think he would have any vices, yet.

"Got a spare one?"

"Sure." Brune went to
get his case out of his pocket, but then looked up and paused.

"Well, here they are.
Moxy and Doxy, a right pair of Corps corpses. Perhaps you need to
go back to the Academy to learn the Association Laws again. You
know, the ones you swore to uphold." Carac said purposefully over
in their direction.

He was standing on the
other side of the security beam wall, his two aides trying to
motion him to keep walking.

"We did our duty. You
were the one who had been driving whilst drunk," Brune said.

"Don't reply, just let
him go," Brell said.

"Ah very sensible
Corpswoman Officer Sturlach. Keep your young boy on the leash. He
may attack at any time. Pity, bluey, it could have had a better
outcome. Told you to do the tests on me. Never mind, it is a small
matter now. I have a mining planet to run. You no doubt need to go
and terrorise some poor old transporter captain to check if his
medical kit is up to date."

Brell pressed Brune's
arm. They both kept silent, impassive.

"Ha, ha, never mind,
never mind. Perhaps I may see you again, bluey. I bet you are a
pretty thing underneath that uniform." Carac nodded to one of his
aides and with chin held high, he strutted off towards his limo
transporter.

"Fughead, I'll get him
again," Brune said, taking another drag on his weed.

"Leave it. It's not
worth it, believe me. I've been in the Corps for long enough,
plenty of fugheads around. There's a whole universe of them!"

Brune laughed. "Yes,
suppose so. Where I come from, they say, everyone suffers from a
privy breakdown sometime in their life."

Brell understood the
expression, which no doubt Bermian’s thought hilarious. Even Carac
cannot guarantee that the privy works every time. He will get his
just desserts in the future.

She laughed, partly at
Brune's attempt at humour, but mainly as a release from the stress
of dealing with that man. If she had known how her future life
intertwined with his, she probably would have shot him there and
then with her laser pistol.