by Stuart Dodds
“Your little joke, Williams?” he said aloud. Some of the holos reacted, then went back to their behaviour routine, ignoring him.
“And you lot, yes. You Inhab-47 people, Brench people.”
People milled about, standing by the windows, walking up and down the steps, oblivious to Carac’s rant.
“Don’t you lot do anything?” He picked up a card stand and threw it across the room. It went through a couple of soft holo people and hit the floor; images scattered around on the floor. Picking up another stand, he strode over to a window and threw it out, watching it smash onto the ground.
“Aargh!” was all he could shout. Face flushed, agitated, he went back down the stairs, trying to push men, women, and children out of his way. His arms a flurry of activity, not connecting with anyone. He stomped out of the tower, back into his transporter, intent on going back to the hotel. No point waiting around for a message or sign that might not even appear, it was time for direct action. Was the Tinker leaving him high and dry?
Calming himself down after a few near misses on the roadway, he slowed down and managed to find his way back to Hotel California. The security bot transporters were still there. Carac stopped, turned off the engine, and hunched over the steering wheel, thinking of his next move. Nothing seemed to have changed at the hotel; could Brell still be there? Alternatively, might she have given him the slip whilst he wasted his time at Coit Tower?
There was a growing tension in his shoulders, and just sitting doing nothing, was not good. He worried that whilst he searched the hotel, Brell could be leaving from a rear door. There was no technology assistance, spy cams, or anything he could utilise. If he found Brell, sure, he would have fun, but she might not know or say where the key is located. Winning was everything, he could have as many blue women as he wanted. Drumming fingers on the steering wheel, he turned on the engine and made his way to the Living Room. He needed to check that she was still in this world. There was enough time.
After a slow drive down the hill, craning his neck to observe anyone with blue skin, he made it to the pier, and then over the bridge to Alcatraz.
To Carac, the Living Room was the only place in the holo worlds that had any class. Sitting in one of the bow-legged chairs, listening to light music, there was an exclusivity about the room. Just one red door meant that Brell must still be in San Francisco. The message on the gaol table read, “Not Paris”, so either the Tinker’s representative had received information or the nun had gone inside and found a false key. San Francisco was incorrect, so that only left four worlds. But which one? Could the nun be in the correct place but unable to find a key? It gave him a headache just thinking about it. He would have to wait for a clue, as more research would only confuse him.
Walking around, he admired the paintings and furniture, nodding his head. After winning the Challenge, he would take great delight in buying this room from Williams. Sitting back down, he slouched slightly, realising he was on edge and becoming tired. His eyelids became heavy.
Waking up, Carac grabbed the armrests and jumped to his feet. Only one red door. Under a hundred minutes left. He rubbed his face, then jogged on his feet briefly to wake himself up and started his journey back to the hotel.
Along the pier, the magician continued with the same routine. “Abracadabra.”
Carac stopped. Jumped on the stage and punched the holo, who fell straight to the stage floor. As he went to walk away, he paused, leaned down, and tugged off the magician’s trousers and jacket. The trousers fitted but were short at the ankles, and the jacket had enough room over the Alcatraz sweatshirt. The small red flower remained fastened to the top jacket pocket.
***
Deep Yellow. Beautiful golden Deep Yellow. Brell, still asleep, mouth open, snored loudly. Within her stupor, she relived her decision to drink the contents of the small bottle, delivered by the bot, to her cell last night. The golden liquid beckoned to her when reflected in the cell light. It would be the last, after all. When the menu option appeared, she intentionally made her choice.
“Thought - Williams.”
Brell reached out to connect back with that thought stream.
“Viva,” he had said at their first meeting. Multi coloured shirt. White suited male assistant, black hair.
“It’s all a risk, a gamble, like roulette.”
The copy of the metal tower, like all these holos, copies of the real thing. The obelisk, copied. Gamble, having fun. Roulette. She drifted back up into a lighter sleep, aware of the music, noise, and flickering light coming from the image set.
“Special offer weekend at Las Vegas.” Music played in the background.
“Spend your weekend in Venice, Paris, or Rome without using your passport. You could take a gondola; see what’s at the top of the Eiffel Tower or the entertainment inside the Colosseum.”
More music and singing.
“Play some slots, how about roulette?”
Deep Yellow, Williams, gamble.
“It’s all a risk, a gamble, like roulette.”
“You might meet the King. Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas.” A man repeatedly sang.
Brell sat up, wrenching herself into the present. Her head spun and her stomach lurched. Normally she would have taken an InstaSober pill and boosted an implant. Wobbling a little, she got up to look out the window.
One hour.
She threw off her clothes, got into the shower alternating the temperature from warm to cold, and dry retched a few times. With just a towel draped around her, she stood in the bedroom, dripping water on the carpet, whilst changing the TV channels.
“Special offer weekend at Las Vegas.” The commercial was accompanied by a sweeping aerial view of the Luxor pyramid with an obelisk outside and an Eiffel tower replica further up the main road, at the Paris hotel. People partying, men wearing bright shirts, chemise, like Williams’ and a man in a distinctive white suit singing “Viva Las Vegas.” Williams’s assistant.
The Obelisk, Tower, une chemise. But what about the King? A King of Las Vegas? No time for research.
“Auto chef. Hangover cure?” It recognised the order. Williams must have created one; partying too hard on the real Inhab-47, probably. She drank it down.
“Frag this.” She pushed her tongue out, it tasted like crap.
“Another one.” It still tasted like crap.
The effects of the intox remained, but she would not let it slow her down; in fact, it might loosen her up.
“Come on,” she shouted, clearing her throat. She dried herself with the towel and picked up her clothes, taken from the Room 222 holo. As they were creased, sweaty, and smelt of whisky, she threw them back on the floor.
Opening the door a crack, she heard heavy footsteps. Crap, a security bot was patrolling up and down the corridor. There was no time for modesty, now, one hour from death. Naked, she grabbed a sheet off the bed and went back to the door. As the bot walked up the corridor, she sprang forward, putting the sheet over its head and pulling it backwards into her room, kicking the door shut. Tying the sheet around its neck, she twisted the body around, tripped up its legs, and wrestled it to the floor. The bots hands and feet were moving around uncertainly and erratically. Brell undid the jacket and trousers and stripped off all the uniform and underpants, finally lifting the sheet to retrieve the hat. Using the same sheet, the bot was quickly tied to a fixed pipe in the bathroom with a pillowcase over its head. There was a good chance the bots eyes were sending camera images. She put the bots clothes on. A quick glance in the mirror and, of course, she was back in uniform. Standing up straight, she brought her hand up in a salute.
“Ready for duty, ma’am.”
A sound of crashing filtered up from downstairs. Bet they had gone into Room 101. Wouldn’t take them long to realise the mangled bots inside were programmed for this room, 222.
The corridor was empty as she slipped out of the room, though a bot walked along the adjacent corridor by the stairs. Brell retraced her steps ba
ck past Room 222 and to a large window. Confirming what she had seen earlier from the hotel bedroom, the fire escape stairs were accessible from this window. Not thinking why they were there, she pulled the window up and stepped outside. Hearing fast approaching footsteps, she took a quick peek back inside. A bot ran down the corridor towards her, its face impassive. They were obviously after her.
Taking two steps at a time, she reached the bottom, boot steps following her down. The fire escape led to the back of the hotel with a low fence beyond that. Once over the fence, she found herself in a side road. Transporter? There were a few of the usual yellow ones, but just down the hill was a sleek, low-slung, dull green, two-door vehicle. Brell ran for it, got in, and felt around for the key.
P-zap.
An electric charge bounced off the side of the transporter. She frantically felt around the console with both hands.
Crack.
A security bot started punching the driver’s side window. Small cracks started to appear. Another bot appeared in the roadway ahead and started walking up towards the front of the vehicle, holding a small device in its hand. Brell glanced in the rear view mirror; a Security Together transporter glided around a corner towards her. The bot standing by the window started reaching around its belt.
Brell finally found the key and the engine started first time with a satisfying throaty reverberation. She accelerated away just as the bot smashed a small metal baton down, just hitting the rear bonnet.
Brell drove straight at the bot in front, knocking it over, then she positioned her vehicle in the middle of the road to stop any attempts of an overtake. The vehicle was fast and loud. She felt a rush of excitement and adventure, the leftover intox effect boosting her confidence. In her previous life, she would have been the one doing the chasing. No stingers or anti grav devices here, though.
The security bots’ transporter matched her speed. Brell saw a chance as the old, clanking people transporter came towards her on its rails in the middle of the road. She accelerated towards the transporter, and at the last moment, pulled the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding it. The Security Together vehicle ploughed straight into the transporter with a loud crump of plastic, squashed hard beams, and bot metal casing. Brell sped down the hill towards the sea, and screeching the vehicle to the right, she headed towards the pier.
Chapter 47 - Security bots
Carac remained tense; under an hour left to go and he fiddled about, sitting in a vehicle, planning his next move. He had taken his time driving back to the hotel, carefully examining the area in case Brell was on the move. However, as the security bots had not moved, Brell must still be inside. Was she just going to end it all by being drunk, without attempting to find a key? Beats voluntary termination in a prison, but she could know where the key is but not be able to physically get there. Time for that direct action. He went to get out of the transporter, but stopped himself.
There was a sudden burst of energy. Three bots ran around the back of the hotel and their transporters hastily drove off. Brell must be moving. Good. However, if they got her, how would he know which world to go to, or where to look? He drove off after the security bots’ transporter. After a couple of turns, he travelled downhill and had to negotiate a way past a large mess of twisted metal and plastic. Half-formed holos were crawling around whilst soft holo people walked past. Driving down to the end of the road and towards the sea, the pier was in sight.
Brell had obviously been busy; there were bots and hard holos laying on the road or walking in circles. Two mangled transporters lay abandoned with their front bonnets stoved in. He steered along the pier for as long as he could until reaching the magician’s stage, which had a small green transporter embedded into it. As he ran around to the front, the magician was laying on the ground, in his underpants, having been shunted forward with the force of the accident.
“Abracadabra,” it said. The head tried to move side to side.
Carac kicked the magician’s head. “That’s magic,” he said sarcastically and ran towards Alcatraz.
***
Brell ran as fast as possible and did not need telling that if caught, everything would be finished. Body bruised from the vehicle smash ups, her left shoulder bones ached from the Kellsa incident. The immediate issue was to navigate through the Alcatraz building to the exit door and Living Room, as security bots were seemingly appearing out of every doorway.
Negotiating the offices and then once around the control room she recognised the small windows set in a wall. The door opening ahead led straight into the cellblock and corridor. Unfortunately, there were two security bots standing in the middle of the corridor, waiting for her. Without thinking, her old instincts kicked in as her hand went to her belt. The kit was very different to her Police Corps one, but as she ran forward, her hand curled around the weapon. Bringing it up to waist level, she pulled the trigger. An electrical charge shot out, hitting one of the bots on the arm. At the shock of the device, the bot started to shake and stumble. That was all she needed. Pushing her weight forward with a shoulder charge on the injured bot, she got past. Breathing hard and now with both shoulders aching, she reached the Recreation Area door.
Hands on hips, she panted whilst getting her breath back in the Living Room. One door was coloured red. Sorry, Meren, there would be no meeting in Paris world. Shrugging off further thoughts, she chose the furthest door, whilst cautiously glancing behind. The door menu popped up.
“Las Vegas.”
A long pause later, the door unlocked itself with a loud click and she walked into another world.
***
Carac reached the Living Room to find two doors coloured red. Where had she gone? This was a disaster. Sweating and gasping for breath, he wiped his forehead, looking around for inspiration. A indication, message, signal, anything. Retracing his steps back to the cell corridor, the two bots were still there. The intact one helped the injured one to get up off the floor, but he dropped him and then tried again with the same result. Carac fidgeted with his hands as he slowly looked around the cellblock. He paused when he caught sight of a sign placed on the railing in front of a cell.
“Cell B-206, Al Capone from Las Vegas.”
Carac read the sign twice and smiled, whilst running back towards the Living Room. The two security bots were still stuck in their pick-me-up routine.
***
Technician 22 felt relieved that Carac had seen his message; having uploaded it in haste. He hoped no one noticed it on the live feed, as it had only appeared for a few seconds. The Twins sent through confirmation of the location at the same time that the blue woman had her revelation inside the hotel room. He had hoped that Carac would have at least seen where she had gone, or forced the information out of her. He couldn’t even manage that.
The blue woman was ahead of him and unfortunately, her shower in Room 222 had created a temporary shield that confused the security bots. They had spent too long searching Room 101, despite his best efforts to alter their instructions.
He also knew that he had dithered.
Brell had been secure in the hotel room, drunk and out of it, but her sudden activity when looking at the image screen had taken him by surprise. His expectation was that she would remain drunk and asleep until the end, whilst the Twins obtained the key location or he found it himself. He would have had plenty of time for relaying a subtle message to Carac, who could have gone after the key without any interference.
The bots need to detain her. The thirty-minute detention should see her out of the challenge. It doesn’t matter what the audience thinks or complains about. As long as Carac lives at the end, they can investigate programme malpractice all they like.
He won’t be around to answer any questions, his transport was all arranged.
As to the exit location, he still had to work on this, as Williams had duplicated many of the tube diagrams. He started searching through Las Vegas world, following the edges and the power lines conduits. In particular,
he focussed on areas around the tall metal Paris Tower.
***
Brune shifted in his seat, unsettled about the events occurring on the Challenge. He concentrated on the possible scenarios for Williams’ death as he glanced at the Challenge on screen. Brell had taken down a security bot in the hotel corridor whilst naked. The sudden hot prickly, sensation at the back of his neck meant that his full attention focussed on the unfolding events. She looked good in the Police Corps style uniform and the car chase was exciting to watch, especially because she escaped from the security bots to reach the Living Room. But why were they chasing her? What had she done to merit this action? In addition, why Carac’s sudden change of direction when he was standing still in the cellblock?
Brune remembered his briefing for this job.
“Make sure there are no embarrassing escapes by inmates or any release attempts by outsiders. Do not interfere with the Challenge Show, you are just to provide the safety and security outside of the game zones. The show is properly licensed for contained episodes of criminal activity,” the Police Corps Commissioner had told him.
Brune had run his operation according to Corps Regulations, his officers had performed well, and there had not been any security leaks.
He became increasingly bothered by what he saw and the death of Williams. Security bots were pursuing Brell. His door sensor chimed.
“Yes, Scrivvens, anything?”
“Well, yes, sir perhaps. The same cleaning bot was used for the two cell visits. It reported itself requiring a service and returned to its power dock in the corner position, near a service lift.”
“Easy for someone to instruct the bot?”
“The usual beam code and recognition systems.”
