by Stuart Dodds
“No fragging ice fragging cream,” she shouted.
A box of biscuits later and wrapping herself in her robe, she drank some more intox in preparation for the next Deep Yellow experience.
The menu popped up with several options. Time for a sensual experience, perhaps, it had been a while since the last one. No, let the drug decide.
She initiated “Random”.
This was a life-changing error. The Deep Yellow Brell had drank was part of a shipment that she had stolen from the HQ storeroom; easy when you are the one in charge of signing everything off. However, this Deep Yellow batch was confiscated from a gang who created their own concoctions. The random option Brell received was “Plan attack,” which the gang leader used for considering all options regarding their next raid. It worked by combining their previous memories and experiences with a gloriously silent world in which they could examine possible attack scenarios. Many gang leaders used it; others could not get on with it, preferring instead to blast their way in and out.
Brell set out her plan from getting dressed in uniform, auto transporter to Corps HQ, show pass to guard, and sneak into the skiff. Then she would set an auto flight to the Inter Association Hotel, heat seek people inside the Penthouse, pinpoint Carac, guide in a missile, and drop bomblets. Park skiff back at HQ and then travel home. Perfect.
However, the next thing Brell remembered hearing was a distant voice shouting at her. She awoke, groggy, dry mouthed, eyes blinking and inside a skiff cockpit.
“Captain Sturlach. Get outside now and explain yourself.”
***
“Is this your first time here, Gladia?”
“No, the third time. It’s been difficult, lot of pressure at work.”
“How many days were you sober last time?”
“About a hundred days.”
“Do you drink all the time?”
“Yes and no. Often, it may be a quick one at home after a stressful day at work. Then a small one at work and another in the evening. That carried on for a long time, but I believed I was in control of it. I would spend a few days not drinking, and then hit it again. On days off, I sometimes mixed small amounts of intox and Deep Yellow. I am hell to live with at home. At work, I am the professional manager, constantly working. I believe that no one suspects anything. However, at home, you know, tantrums, damage, arguments, and then regret the next day. I’ve had many periods of being sober, something would happen, and a small drink would help make everything smooth.”
“Are you holding anything back, Gladia?”
Brell wiped her eyes, then her mouth. She glanced at Gorst. He nodded again.
“Yes. I’ve just had a termination. Sansa, her name was, would have been. My career is important to me, I’m about to be promoted. Substance abuse is in my family; indications were that Sansa would turn out the same way.”
***
“Mind your head,” the Police Corpswoman said.
Brell stepped out of the transporter, her hands in beam cuffs. As she walked towards the custody centre, she gazed upwards, trying to locate her office window; well, the office that she used to work in.
“What’s the charge?”
“Murder, sergeant.”
Brell remained silent. Surrounded by the officers under her command, could she be more embarrassed?
“Empty your pockets.”
***
“What were you thinking when you pressed the fire button?” The prosecutor raised his voice.
“I’m not sure I was thinking straight.”
“It’s quite a simple question, Captain Sturlach. What were your intentions when you pressed the fire button?”
“To hurt Carac.”
“Hurt or kill? Which is it?”
“Kill, I wanted to kill him.”
“No further questions.”
***
“Captain Sturlach, you have brought shame on yourself and the Police Corps. During a drug-fuelled binge, you punched a guard, stole a skiff, and intentionally killed a man and seriously injured his family. The reputation of the local Police Corps sank to an all-time low, and much of the hotel had to be rebuilt. You targeted an innocent man who had checked out of the hotel the day before the attack. As there was an intention to kill, the homicide charge is proven. Life imprisonment, no parole, but voluntary termination allowed. Take her down.” Having given his decision, the High Steward Judge watched as Brell was led down steps into a holding centre prior to transportation to Crin.
***
“You know your problem, Brell? You spend too much time thinking.”
Chapter 39 - It’s all going well
“Greetings everyone, may the Association be with you.”
Williams stood in front of a briefing screen, smiled and looked around the meeting room. After acknowledging the numerous blank faces around the table, he said,” It’s a common expression on Inhab-47.” He shuffled his feet. “Except they use “force” in place of Association.” He scratched his nose.
“Okay. Our viewing figures are growing and the credits are rolling in.” He said, changing tack and holding up his hands. “I’ll show you some beam clips.”
A montage of images appeared on the display screen. There were people dressed up as the challengers, socialising and creating Inhab-47 meals together. Others were re-enacting the Rome arena and Tower scenes. A professor appeared discussing ancient Association history and the similarities to Inhab-47. Finally, there was a newscast of a wealthy entrepreneur talking about future adventure holidays on Inhab-47.
“It was worth all that planning time on Inhab-47,” he said, flicking his eyes at the Twins as he sat down.
“Will the last three challengers provide enough entertainment?” Ayleth said.
“It’s worked out well. Brell and Carac have a hate relationship from previous history, which we can develop more now. We downplayed it slightly due to the stories and backgrounds of the other challengers.”
Brune shifted in his seat. “Before anyone asks, I was appointed to this role before the challengers were announced formerly. I have my orders, and I refute any suggestions there may be that I would help Brell in any way.” He held his hands up in exclamation.
“Thank you commander. There are no doubts about your ability to follow orders and your professionalism,” Ayleth said.
There was another pause.
“The nun, well, who would have thought she would kill again?” Flip said, trying to add in something useful.
“Yes, but Grock or Kellsa gave it some danger. Can we put someone in to go after them, hunt them down?” Mayleth said.
“It would be a major rule change. I don’t think the audience will buy it; they have all picked their favourite. Meren is very popular; sure, she’s not an assassin, but she is watchable. Carac is the nasty one, people don’t like, but begrudgingly root for. He is also the betting favourite. As for Brell, well, if she drinks intox again she will become a loose cannon. Suppose your hunter hunted them down, end of programme. No ending, no winner, completely deflating.” Williams said.
“Still, it would make sense to have a backup,” Mayleth said.
“We could re-programme one or two of the security bots. I used to do it for the military. Lone sniper or undercover assassin, nothing too involved.” Technician 22 said, maintaining eye contact with the Twins and ignoring Williams.
“Good idea, give it some thought,” Ayleth said.
“I urge caution. The three of them are enough to carry the challenge and make it last longer, more advertising, more revenue as per the plan. Don’t think it will carry with the viewers for a rogue bot to wander about,” Williams said, his voice becoming louder.
“Well. We would like Technician 22 to do some work on it as a standby,” Mayleth said, firmly. “The extra days we have been given by the studio for Brell’s recovery can be used for this purpose.”
There was a pause whilst people shuffled their feet.
“Are all the exits and keys ready?” A
yleth said.
“Yes. There will be a key in all the worlds, of course only one will be real. We have built in false exit doors and transport tunnel into the schematics to keep any hackers on their toes.”
“We run a tight ship here. Surely this information could be shared?” Mayleth said.
“Well, I’ve had some information from an old colleague that gambling syndicates are trying to breach our system. The technical crews are aware.” Williams scratched his nose.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Technician 22 said.
“All the technets are aware, I informed them just before this meeting. So I cannot release the location of the real key and exit door, for now anyway.” Williams glanced down and absent-mindedly tapped a note pad button.
Brune kept his eyes on Technician 22, whose eyes flickered briefly.
***
Brell awoke in her cell. Slowly raising herself up, she fumbled around for the privy before realising that she was not in her old cell on Wing 90. With her left arm strapped up, she felt a heaviness in her shoulder. She rubbed the back of her head, which felt sore, whilst recollecting something to do with a hard force on her shoulder, blood, and Kellsa laughing.
The cell door sensor chimed, and a fussy doc bot wheeled in, followed by a guard.
“You’re awake. Doc check.”
Brell sat on the privy, hair sticking out feeling like the morning after a heavy intox session. The doc bots four arms reached out.
“Hang on,” Brell said whilst trying to stand and pull her pants and trousers up with one hand. The guard looked on, not sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed.
“Over here, please,” the doc bot said. The tinny voice had never been properly perfected.
Brell sat on the stool whilst the doc became a flurry of arms. When the dressing casing came off, she examined her wound.
“A neat job, doc. Got anything for the pain? Whisky, intox or something like that?”
“A pain relief spray has been used. The amount of pain relief is to recognised standards.”
“Your bedside talk needs a bit of work, doc.”
“It is to recognised standards. I have finished. Have a good day.” With that, the doc trundled off, followed by an amused guard.
Brell moved her shoulder; heavy, stiff, but it would mend to “recognised standards.” She laughed. Then stopped herself. What happened to Meren and Ooma? How long had she been out of it?
***
“It all started with my wrongful arrest, years ago. I had only drunk a small amount of intox. It was a celebration of a new contract for one of the deep Ore Mines, which guaranteed jobs. Anyway, Brell was surly, typical Corpswoman, all aggressive. I heard that the senior Police Corps Commander here was Brell’s old partner; he was the one who wrongly arrested me. Have to watch out he doesn’t give her any advantages, if you know what I mean.”
Carac sat centre stage, answering questions posed by Flip and Argenta, who found it easier just letting him talk.
“I took an interest in Brell’s career and sent her messages of encouragement. As there are not many blue skinned Police Corps officers, I thought it important for integration reasons that I showed her my support …”
“She clearly wanted to do me harm, and was rightly convicted of murdering that poor man …”
“When she was found guilty I wanted her to know that she had someone to reply on, to give her reassurance …”
“I am innocent of the charges against me, the court got it wrong. I’m a mover and shaker, always have been, that’s why I am successful when running businesses and corporations. I’m confident in my abilities and as soon as someone saw an opportunity to bring me down, they did. The mine that collapsed was old, the workings and foundations poorly constructed. The people responsible should remind themselves daily of the pain and anguish they have caused to all the relatives …”
“Ooma was weak. Look, this isn’t a holo book story with a happy conclusion, I’m out to win and proud of it. No one will stand in my way; this is do or die here …”
“Well, I’m dreaming of sitting on one of the leisure planets on a beach by the sea with personal services on tap. Looking forward to it …”
“Will Brell win? No chance. She is a weak substance abuser. Look at her in the Rome world; first thing she did was get drunk. Doesn’t stand a chance against me. The nun, why does she bother to think about starting the challenge? How did she get this far?”
“Thank you for your insights. Well, that’s Carac, everyone,” Flip said to the audience.
***
Brell got all her answers during a debrief interview which had been anticipated for the last three days by hundreds of millions of people. Buoyant by the news that audience numbers had doubled during the second challenge, Flip and Argenta started in an upbeat fashion.
“Well, Brell, you are through into the final. You could be free soon.”
The sessions took all day, what with advertising breaks, refreshments and technical breaks. Brell did her best, her emotions ranging from relief to anger. Argenta paused before showing Ooma’s last moments. After being kicked by Carac, Ooma eventually got to his feet. The shock and despair that his key had gone dawned on his dirt-covered face. For the last four minutes of his life, he stumbled around, giving Kellsa’s body a wide berth, as he visited the exit doors. As he glanced continually at the countdown clock, he started saying something about being sorry but sunk to the ground, his body turning grey as it was consumed by the “furnace”.
She was fascinated by watching the action in ultra-slow motion and how the axe had nearly severed her neck. Just at the moment that Kellsa swung the axe, Brell had quickened her pace a fraction on seeing the dwellings. The axe glanced off the back of her head and sliced deeply into her flesh and shoulder bones.
The actions of Meren made her very humble. Here on a game show where winner takes all, a fellow challenger saved her after another one tried killing her. She tensed her fists when they replayed Carac’s arrival into the studio. He triumphantly smiled and waved at the studio audience, then stood still, and bowed.
Flip asked about how she had first met Carac.
“Is it right that Carac was wrongfully arrested?”
“That’s not quite right. He was drunk in charge of a transporter, it was a technicality.”
“He sent you messages of support when you were arrested, didn’t he?”
“No, not really. They were messages, but I threw them away.”
“But he was someone that you wanted to kill, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He is someone who gets away with everything, but fortunately he got convicted of the mining thing.”
“He made straight for you on the first challenge.”
“Yes, that’s the sort of person he is. Has a thing about blue women, I think. I wouldn’t believe anything he says. He has a dark history.”
“Your mother says …”
And so it went on for a few more body-squirming minutes. The presenters were clearly trying to increase the aggravation factors between her and Carac. She found that she didn’t want to talk about him, it only opened old thoughts, none of which were positive. Thankfully, they changed tack and asked her about Ooma.
***
“We hope to have the locations soon, but can’t rely on the information. Williams being stubborn. Concerned that attempts to assist Carac will be noticed by Williams (and the audience). Options?”
On the evening before the last challenge, Technician 22 would have raised his eyebrows if he had any. He rotated his ankles and wrists a few times as he tested an instruction routine. It was aimed at slowing Brell down, but not fatally; that would be too much of a risk, the show could be cancelled or delayed. The nun was not worth worrying about.
Since the production meeting, the Twins re-considered the sniper and hunter options, now believing it was too risky. Instead, they preferred the long game, where opportunities could be created for Carac to be given some hints, perhaps su
pported by the security bots. He was in the process of making them more “independent” anyway.
The Twins were worried that if Williams, let alone others, found out about any “security breaches” or assistance given to a challenger, there would serious problems.
Technician 22 could voice what the Twins could not. If Williams became incapacitated and out of the way, then no one in the studios could or would interfere. Also, he was finalising methods of covertly sending messages to Carac during the challenge.
“All options considered. Everything will be taken care of,” he replied.
***
“Any regrets?” Brell said.
“In life, perhaps. About the murder of the monk, no,” Meren said.
“How so?”
“He deserved it. He was a humble, charitable monk during the day and a sexual predator at night. Attacking me and the other nuns, he needed stopping, so I hit him on the head with a metal pole as he was assaulting one of the younger nuns.”
“You have a thing about hitting people on the head,” Brell said. “Do you think about it much, now?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t you think about what you could have done in life?”
“I had a normal life until eighteen, when my parents sent me to the Guild. I was a bit of a free spirit, creeping out from home to attend the local dances.” Meren’s eyes became distant.
“Boys?” Brell said, a slight grin on her face.
“Perhaps.” Meren smiled and raised a bald eyebrow back.
Brell took a sip of water.
“Any regrets yourself, Brell?” Meren said.
“Most things. Where do I start? I destroyed a family and deserved prison. I cannot do or say anything to undo what happened. The man who died was a financier for a large criminal gang. Doesn’t make it any better, but he lived each day at a time apparently. I destroyed myself years before that. I threw it all away, a family, everything.”
