Deep Yellow

by Stuart Dodds

  ***

  Once the women drove off, Williams knew there would be a pause in the action, so he left the director’s booth and walked to his office, intending to take a short nap. The challengers would be running around a lot in the early part, afraid of entering another world without solid research. He also wanted to direct events through to its conclusion, which would be a few hours yet. Some instructions to his assistant and a milky drink later, he lay down on his expensive anti grav cot and nodded off.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Tslus, sorry to interrupt you. This is safety bot 32445.” A metal voice sounded over an intercom link.

  “Eh, what, something happened in the worlds?” Williams said in reply his eyes still closed and his brain in another place.

  “Yes, a problem,” the voice replied.

  Williams sat up and rubbed his eyes. He had only been asleep fifteen minutes. He yawned as he swung his legs over the side of his cot.

  “Open sesame,” Williams said.

  The safety bot, a low-level metal sphere on wheels, had the job of monitoring for signs of fire, atmosphere breaches, and so on. Staff also used them for passing occasional messages the old fashioned way by hand, mainly for fun. It stopped in front of Williams who leaned forward.

  “A message?”

  “Yes.”

  A small lid opened on its side and a thin arm extended towards Williams. Usually a thin paper message was contained inside. Williams tensed his jaw.

  P-zap.

  A thin blue electrical beam surged straight into his upper body area, stopping his heart. Grabbing his chest in disbelief, he tried to take a breath. Eyes glazing over, the room became fuzzy, and then it became dark. He fell forward onto the floor, dead.

  The tip of the arm then silently moved to the left and shot out a wide invisible stream of hologram jamming particles. Williams’ assistant, who had stood dormant at the end of the cot, disappeared. The arm retracted back into its side, and the safety bot wheeled itself out along the corridor, back into its power node, awaiting its next round.

  Chapter 42 - It’s only a gameshow

  Brune patrolled an outside security area which happened to be a weed smoker’s hangout. He watched Brell on the challenge using his pocket cube display, and considered whether he should have visited her again. He only spoke to her the once, in her cell, before the first challenge. Her face was a bit thinner but her brown eyes held the same gaze as years ago. She had that older, wiser, been in trouble look. Since becoming known that he had worked with Brell, years ago, he purposefully and professionally decided not to see her again. He regretted that decision, now the last challenge had started. As he took another puff, a message came through from Scrivvens.

  “Sir, need your attendance. There’s been a serious incident.”

  He stamped out his smoke, took a BreathFresh, and brushed down his uniform.

  ***

  Williams was dead, no doubt about it. An interesting man; not on Brune’s wavelength, but he got things done. He still had decades left until compulsory Second Life, when the oldies had to retire to allow younger people to work.

  It was certainly an unexpected turn of events, here in a beam studio office during a live show. Brune had plenty of experience of death, homicide, suicide, and robocide, so was not fazed by the investigation ahead. He would appraise his boss later, after the Challenge was over.

  “Who found him?”

  “The virtual assistant of a studio director raised the alarm. Security alerted Police Corps, who forced entry inside,” Scrivvens said.

  “So the room and body are untouched?”

  “Yes, apart from the Corps officer and a doc bot, everyone else stayed out in the corridor. As the life signs scanner showed negative, the body has not been moved.”

  “Good.”

  Brune stood by the doorway, his bulk practically filling the whole doorframe. He kept still, just moving his head as he examined the scene in silence. It certainly lacked organisation and order. Empty intox bottles on a table in amongst solid holo books piled on top of each other. A square black box rested on top of a work desk. It had three rows of push buttons on its front and a rounded handle mounted on top. A black curly wire connected the handle to the box. Could this be anything to do with it? The shelves were stuffed with objects, none of which Brune could discern whether they were from Association planets or Inhab-47. He shook his head. How can someone be so untidy?

  Williams wore a colourful shirt, trousers, and a string of wooden beads around his neck. He was sprawled face down on the floor as if he had fallen forward from sitting on the cot. His right arm underneath his chest, there were no marks or anything unusual apparent on clothing or skin.

  “Scrivvens, prepare the scanner.”

  Brune stepped out into the corridor and joined Scrivvens, who opened an oblong case marked “Crime Scene Examination” in faded letters. Taking out what resembled a silver ball, he placed it into a dish within the case. A holo screen appeared, displaying various buttons, sliders, and graphics. Once programmed and thrown up in the air, the minute jets held its position. After self-calibration, the ball flew slowly along an invisible set of grids lines around Williams’ office, performing a deep scan. He did this twice more and, after clearing the area of people, the ball was set free to roam along the corridors adjoining the office.

  Brune watched the scanning process over Scrivvens’ shoulder.

  “He had a holo assistant. Do we know where this would have been controlled?” Brune asked.

  “Yes, sir, there is a console link near his desk and on his comm implants.”

  “Have you got experience investigating holo assistants?”

  “I’ve got some experience. I did a posting on Rhyll where you spent more time with holos than real people. I learned some techniques there, so when the scan is finished, I will examine the console. There are plenty of technicians here that could help.”

  “No, we keep this in house.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve also tasked Corps officers to find witnesses and review the security streams. Do you think this is connected to the challenge?”

  Brune rubbed his chin. “Yes. But we keep this to ourselves, okay?” he said, lowering his voice.

  Scrivvens nodded, “Yes sir.”

  “When finished, get the body to the hospital for a death scan. I’ll go and see the Twins.”

  Brune left the area. Definitely connected, but who and why?

  ***

  The Twins were in a nearby office waiting for Brune to give them an update. Thankfully, he considered, their virtual assistants were not present. They were creepier than real people.

  “What happened?” Mayleth said.

  “Well, we will investigate to see if there are any suspicious circumstances. Was he in good health, do you know?” Brune said.

  “Yes, as far as we know. He used to smoke, disgusting habit, of course but healthy weed, I think,” Mayleth said.

  Brune coughed into the back of his hand.

  “Did he have any relatives, birth, life, marriage, virtual, or bot partner?”

  “Not that we know about. He originated from a common birthing pool.” Mayleth pursed her lips.

  “Okay, we’ll check central records. Need to know where to send his stuff.”

  “This won’t affect the show, will it?” Ayleth said.

  “My orders are to not interfere with the show. The death appears to have happened since the challenge started. We are going to carry out an investigation as per regulations.”

  After Brune left, the Twins left the office to appoint their new director.

  ***

  Carac realised that he had rattled Brell. Shame their transporter had not crashed with both of them in it; would have left him on his own then. He nearly caught the nun, but she was faster than he first thought and had escaped the building through an exit door. Not seeing the door, he had run further into the building and fell over a few of the exhibits inside. One of which was a body wrapped in bandages, whi
ch became dust by the time he had finished with it. At least he could have reduced the competition to one. The nun was trickier than he gave her credit and should not be underestimated. As his anger subsided, he spent a while brushing his trousers and returned to the street. There, of all things, were the two of them trying to drive away.

  He rubbed both hands through his sweaty hair then wiped them down his trouser legs. Back to the Challenge. He had seen various places to sit in back up by the bridge to Alcatraz. There must be one with an auto chef and a research machine. If it had a window, he could sit and wait for one of the women to walk back towards the bridge. He might even do some research himself, might get lucky. He almost laughed.

  ***

  Ayleth and Mayleth watched their bank of holo screens with the lights dimmed. The new director was now in charge and doing a good job. Argenta and Flip were shocked but professional; the promises of extra credits and other beamcast opportunities seemed to help. All staff knew what had happened, and the gossip suggested it was natural causes, due to overwork, intox, and smoke weed intake. It had shocked everyone, but as it happened during a live show, staff could not just stop what they were doing.

  “Work now, we’ll celebrate Williams’s life when it’s all finished. Big party. Extra credits. The show must go on,” the managers said.

  Mayleth informed the Tinker, but received no reply. She would wait a while before asking Williams’ replacement for the location of the real key. Ayleth, lately, would never be far from one of his special inhalers and today was no exception. Mayleth knew that the next few hours would be nerve shredding. Hopefully, the Corps Commander would not be too thorough.

  ***

  Having monitored the state of the holo worlds, backgrounds, soft and hard holo people, and transporters, Technician 22 sat back and considered his next move. Pulling up another screen, he worked through some changes to the security bots programming. As a backup, just in case. His thoughts strayed for a moment onto what he would do with his Tinker-sponsored retirement fund. The “by the rules” Corps Commander would spend so long investigating Williams’ death, he would be half way across the galaxy by the time they made any conclusions.

  ***

  Brell managed to drive the transporter a couple of blocks away from Carac. She narrowly missed hitting a ground transporter full of people whilst, it seemed, that her driving improved the more she shouted “Frag it” or “Frag you.” Nearly missing the large trundling vehicle in the middle of the road, she avoided this by shouting “Fotting bastard transporter.”

  Meren sat looking out of the window, hands resting on her lap. “Your swearing abilities have got better since driving,” she said.

  “Do you know any swear words?” Brell said, not taking her eyes off the road.

  “Well, I heard some young men, the holos, swearing at each other just now on the pier.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “Your mother is a fucker, something like that.”

  Brell braked hard to avoid some vehicles that raced across an intersection that had some coloured lights overhead.

  “Your mother is a fucker,” Meren said loudly out of her window.

  “That’s it, good girl,” Brell said. “Fragging transporter drivers, what are the fragging Police Corps doing about it?”

  Happy enough distance had been put between themselves and Carac, they looked around for a place to start their research.

  “There.” Meren said, pointing towards a large multi floored building with a signboard over its wide entrance that read, “Hotel California”.

  “A hotel. Safe, lockable room inside, perhaps?”

  “Okay, will pull over, hang on.” Brell knew the drill and parked up a side street, in case Carac spotted their vehicle outside the hotel.

  The hotel foyer was a grand affair; wood panelling, paintings, smell of leather, and plush seats like some old pre beam stream production. Two people with fixed grins were standing behind a semi-circular desk.

  “A room,” Brell said, “with an auto chef and one of those computer things you call it.”

  “And a window,” Meren said. Brell exchanged a glance with her.

  “Yes, a window,” Brell said.

  “Room 101,” The female said.

  “Where do we go?”

  “Room 101.”

  There were a few people in the foyer; a couple sitting on a seat reading from a large paper, a male constantly looking at his watch, and a hotel worker, judging by the uniform, idly standing by the front entrance. Brell noticed two men walking up the main staircase; perhaps that’s where the rooms were.

  They followed the men and found themselves in a dark corridor. The room numbers were clearly signposted, and soon they were inside. The large room had a king size bed, ensuite bathroom, a sofa, an old computer thingy, and a kitchenette with an auto chef.

  “Do you think the doors are a similar shape to the ones used in the Living Room, you know, to get into the holo worlds?” Meren said.

  “Williams. Bet you’re laughing now. Good chance he stayed in a hotel like this on Inhab-47.”

  “Perhaps this became Williams’ own cell when he was there, until he realised that he could walk amongst Inhab-47 people without being found out,” Meren said.

  “Yes, it is,” Brell said and laughed. She noticed a couple of strong locks on the door and slid them across. Safe, for a while.

  She then opened all the cupboard doors and found a small fridge. Taking one of the small bottles out, Brell held it up to the light and realised it was intox, which, after a sip, she confirmed.

  “Not bad. Williams you old fragger. Girls,” Brell said and held the bottle up in the air in mock salute. She felt its courage, finished the bottle, and looked for the next one.

  “Want one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Will your vows hold to the end?”

  “Jayzan still guides me. I have nothing to fear at the end.”

  Brell stared at her and shrugged her shoulders.

  “We have to solve the clue,” Meren said as Brell fumbled around in the fridge.

  Brell stood up holding two bottles of Scotch whisky.

  “Yes. Killjoy,” Brell said in reply, the laughter and fun of the last few minutes dissipating. She started to unscrew the top.

  “The clue,” Meren said, looking directly at Brell whilst placing her hand over the bottles.

  Chapter 43 - Whisky

  Brune ordered another milky drink from his Corps auto chef. It was a particular Corps mixture that kept officers alert during long periods of duty. He was re-reading The Rules and Regulations of Homicide Investigation when Scrivvens arrived, still looking fresh in a neat uniform, considering the hours worked.

  “Sir, initial scans have been processed.”

  “Good, take a seat, we’ll go through it. Milk drink or something?” Brune said.

  “No, thank you, sir,” Scrivvens said, uncertainly.

  “What have we got?” Brune said, taking a sip from his glass.

  Scrivvens opened up his cube and displayed three screens.

  “Cause of death, sudden heart overload and electric shock, probably a beam of some sort. More or less instant. It is possible the beam was only meant to put him in an unconscious stupor, but its frequency had been set too high. The position of body suggests Williams had no notion of it happening, probably grabbed his chest as he fell. Apart from a deeply inked mark, of unknown origin, there were no other unnatural marks on his body.”

  “Unknown origin?”

  “It had the words Route 66 written inside a shield shape. It’s in Inhab-47 main language, we have no idea what it means, but it was on his backside. Believed connected with his time on Inhab-47 and not to do with this matter.”

  “Okay. Carry on.”

  “Nothing appears missing from the office. When last spoken to, he was in good spirits and had gone for a break whilst the challengers made their initial movements.”

  “Holo assistant?
” Brune said.

  “Nothing, console has been fried.”

  “A coincidence? What do your virtual experiences tell you?”

  “This is not uncommon, actually. I am sure Williams would have had his assistant awake as he slept, to capture messages, wake him if needed, that sort of thing. The assistant would have been monitoring everything, awaiting a task or something. Consoles and assistants are often electrically overloaded to cover the criminal’s tracks.”

  Brune nodded. “Yes. Okay, what about his last movements?”

  “He left the directors booth and went straight to the office. His implants are all civilian, no military style tracking programmes, but his movements are not disputed. He had only been dead for ten minutes before the Corps arrived there. So it occurred well after the Challenge had started.”

  “Anything untoward?”

  “Wheel tracks. The high-spectrum camera showed wheel tracks from the corridor into his office. It could be a safety bot which regularly visit all the offices.”

  “Anyone not where they should be?”

  “No, all working on the Challenge. The technical monitoring office was busy, but everyone was there.”

  “Technician 22?”

  “At his console at the time of death.”

  “And the Twins?”

  “In their office, with their four odd assistants. Sir.”

  “Good work, Scrivvens. When all this is over, I will update your personal record. Thank you.”

  Brune took a few more sips. Key people all in their places, nothing to suggest holos used. The safety bots were similar to the cleaner bots that look after the inmates’ cells. He sat back and checked the current situation in the Challenge. Brell had found some intox. Brune shook his head and went back to reading his guidelines.

  ***

  Brell sat staring into the computer. Meren had hidden the bottles of whisky and positioned herself purposefully in front of the auto chef.

  “The Obelisk and the King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise,” Brell said aloud and examined the words again.

  “Make any sense?” Meren said.

  “There is something in the back of my mind, but I can’t recall it. Let’s have a look.”