Deep Yellow (13 page)

"Good."

 "Let's have a
look at the Challenge."

The Tinker puffed on
his pipe and cast his eye over the challengers as they waited in
the communal room.

"Who do you think will
win?"

Regg spent a moment
studying the men and women.

"Difficult to tell,
sir. Some nervous, some reckless, perhaps. This challenge is for
fun. I go with the woman with knotted hair, she will concentrate.
Like a killer."

"Good choice. Hmmm. I
go with the old veteran lizard man. Older, wiser, he will take it
slow." Tinker shifted in his seat and puffed on his pipe. "Regg,
display the viewing figures for the show and let's see what those
Twins are up to."

"On screen now,
sir."

"Thank you." The Twins
were sitting next to each other behind a large table, watching
their screens. Their communal quarters consisted of a large room
with a kitchenette and a sitting room. Four assistants stood at the
rear, partly in shadow, awaiting instructions.

"Creepy, but they will
do what they are told. Regg, put me down for a thousand credits on
the lizard man."

***

The Police Corps
Commander sat within his security dome conversing with his security
team and the Prison Corps Commander. Though bemused by the “fun
challenge” he appreciated that it gave security officers a chance
of a dry run before the real ones.

“All ready, inmates
secure,” the Prison Corps commander said.

“Thank you. Inside and
outside security all in place.”

“Glad we persuaded the
studio not to run the challenge with all of them in the same room.
They’ve got the proper challenges for killing each other. The
studio is happy if there is a little bit of punching and slapping;
good for viewers apparently. But anything serious or threats to my
guards, like Brookko last night, will get them zapped.”

“Yes. I think the
studio forgets what these people have done. Have a good night. Will
speak later.”

He ended the
conversation and went back to his displays.

"We are back, and it’s time to pick the first
challenger. Hello, the Chorttle-as Clan from Colony 08." Flip was
talking to a large holo side screen displaying a large family group
sitting on a floor staring at their beam camera.

"Who do you
choose?"

They all shouted out
together, "Kellsa."

"Kellsa. Thank you. If
Kellsa wins the challenge, the Chorttle-as Clan will win a large
credit prize. Argenta."

"Thanks Flip. Guards,
please escort Kellsa into the games room."

As she arrived in
front of the three doors, a holo assistant appeared to remind
Kellsa of the rules. The guard stepped outside and watched events
on a discrete display screen.

Reminded of what to
do, Kellsa pulled back the pinball plunger.

***

Brell drank water, sat
down, got up, and paced around. She was not enjoying the waiting
and would prefer to get the thing out of the way. She watched
Kellsa nearly ripping the arm off the gambling machine and
forcefully throwing the metal balls. No subtlety, all violent
strong actions but her scores were good including riding the beast.
Her face was flushed but smiling when she arrived back inside the
communal area.

She came straight up
to Brell.

“There you go, bitch,
that’s how it’s done.” She pushed Brell in the shoulder.

Brell planted a foot
backwards and raised her hands in the ready position for a quick
strike or defensive move.

“Come on, then,” she
said.

A guard tensed, but
did not intervene.

“Not worth it now, see
you in the Challenge.” She put her hands on her hips and walked
over to Meren.

“What do you have to
say about this, miss monk, nun, or whatever you are?”

Meren sat calmly and
looked at Kellsa.

“No fight in you.
Should just stay in your cell, praying.”

Meren remained silent.
Kellsa folded her arms and went over to gesticulate at the men. The
guard’s hand relaxed.

***

After Kellsa, it was
Grock’s turn. It was clear to the audience and other challengers
that he was a deep thinker. After bowling the first ball, he stood
back, weighed the next ball in his hand, and practiced his throwing
technique arm without releasing the ball. Then he swung it in an
arc, landing next to the orange ball, but on the far side in order
to leave room for the next ball. His wiry, athletic frame and
seating position were a great asset on the rotating beast. He
scored higher than Kellsa.

***

The Twins were a
little confused by the fun events but gave the go ahead, weeks ago,
mainly due to Williams’s enthusiasm. They were both keen to get on
with the live event, to get it done, but a gentle start to the show
was perhaps a good thing. It settled everyone down.

“That was a solid
performance by Grock,” Mayleth said.

“Yes. He’s got good
potential,” Ayleth said as he brought out two drinks from the
kitchenette.

“Calm under pressure,”
Mayleth said as she watched her brother drop a tablet into his
drink.

“Want one?” he
said.

“No thank you.”

They watched the next
competitor, Carac in silence as he played the games through.

“Fairly dextrous, he
didn’t enjoy …”

“... the beast? No, he
did not look happy.”

“How’s the
betting?”

“Grock still tipped to
win, even though the others haven’t gone yet.”

“Good,” Ayleth
said.

***

“Brookko, we choose
Brookko. Go Brookko.” A group of men, sharply dressed, sat in and
around a high tech office. They were drinking intox straight out of
the bottle.

“Brookko is next,”
Brell said.

“We’ll get our turn,
don’t worry,” Meren said.

“Well, me, you, and
Ooma left. At least the Beam Company seems to be playing things
straight.”

“What do you
mean?”

"Well, I presume you
didn't have access to much media, but there are loads of beam shows
these days where they get people onto the show under false
pretences. They then pull an unexpected stunt like driving everyone
to a desert location and leaving them there for a few days."

"Interesting," Meren
said.

The conversation
fizzled out, so they both watched Brookko’s attempts at playing
pinball. Frustrated after losing the first ball, he flipped the
next one and lifted up the machine; immediately there was a “tilt”
sign flashing so he slammed it down. The ball went past the
flippers again. Buzzers went off, making Brookko even angrier. He
flipped another ball and punched the top glass whilst pushing the
flipper buttons. Managing to flip the ball back up the table, he
shouted out in triumph. The holo assistant was calmly trying to
give advice despite Brookko swiping the air around the holo to shut
him up.

“He is a volcano, one
to avoid,” Brell said.

“He is a volcano with
a daughter,” Meren said slowly.

“A daughter?”

“Yes, did a bit of
reading about everyone. Brookko’s daughter is a teenager. His
female birth partner spirited her away. Brookko has had no contact
with her.”

“So, what did you read
about me?”

Meren shook her head
and laughed. Brell moved her eyes and gestured her hands upwards,
then smiled.

For some reason,
Brookko was at home on the beast and stayed on it for the longest
time compared to the others. He whooped whilst riding the beast and
scored third behind Carac.

On returning to the
communal room, Brookko ambled in looking around for eye contact
with his fellow challengers.

“I am the man, the
riding man.” He slapped his chest.

“Hey, lizard man,
better watch out.” Brookko went up to Grock who was sitting down,
staring ahead.

“Yeah, watch out for
the wily fox here, Brookko is the beast master.” He wiggled his
hips and turned his head to the others. “No ice cold blood here,
lizard man. No Space Corps Special Forces here. Just good honest
dishonesty. One hundred percent.”

He wiggled his hips
again towards Grock’s face. With a speed that only replays would
show, Grock punched into Brookko’s thigh muscles causing him to
hold his leg then buckle to the floor.

“Aahh,” was all
Brookko could manage. He held his leg, face in pain, and stayed on
the floor. The nearby guards laughed. Grock rested both hands on
his lap as if nothing had happened.

Ooma, having witnessed
the episode, ambled over to the plas-glass screen whilst wiping his
hands on his trousers. He breathed heavily.

***

"Brell is next."

She stood up, and
rubbed her hands together. Meren smiled at her whilst Kellsa
screwed her face up. A short while later, she was in front of the
pinball machine, hand on the plunger, waiting for the holo
assistant to finish the explanations. She stooped slightly in order
to reach down and pull back the plunger. The ball travelled up and
into the gravity machine, beeped its way down, and as she pressed
the flippers, it ran straight through the middle. With the second
ball, she got the hang of using the flippers, and laughed when she
successfully flipped the ball back up the table.

As she played the
other games, she realised it was, if nothing else, a distraction
from cell life. The beast ride did not last very long, ending with
her falling flat on her back. Many people would have enjoyed that
one.

She ranked fifth on
the scoreboard.

***

After returning to the
communal room, Brell picked at some food whilst watching Meren. She
was a natural at pinball, calmly stroking the flipper buttons in
tune with the movement of the ball. After a good stint on the
beast, she scored higher than Brell. As Meren returned, she just
smiled and sat down.

“That was fun,” Meren
said.

“Have to watch you,
bit tricky. Hidden depths. You are a pinball sorcerer.”

Meren smiled.

"So what delights are
the auto chefs providing you with?" Brell said in a change of
subject.

"Ming beans, green
shoots, grains, that sort of thing," Meren said.

"For frag's sake,
Meren, you're not in your religious sanctuary now with those monks,
no disrespect. Live a little. Ice cream, that's what it's all
about." Brell shook her head. Meren didn't reply.

However, later that
evening, after eating two choco whirls with mallow, crushed nuts,
and sprinkles, Meren was content.

***

Ooma was the final
contestant. Picked by an elderly couple who liked farming and
gardening, they hoped he would become their lucky mascot. Flip and
Argenta commentated on the unfolding events for the viewers
watching via the single live feed. When Ooma stepped up to the
pinball machine, they both found it difficult not to laugh, as he
had to squeeze his belly up against the machine in order to reach
the flippers The sight of him trying to get his bulk up onto the
beast was also something to behold. His face flushed as he held the
beast’s neck, but after the first rotation, he fell off, face down
on the surrounding mats.

“So there we are.
Grock is the winner. You can watch the events again on our beam
site. However, Challenge One awaits. There is no return to the
cells for the losers on that one. See you soon.” Flip ended the
live portion of the show.

***

“Good bet, sir. Your
winnings are coming through now.”

“Thanks, Regg. Grock
is a good man to back. What do you think of the others?”

“They all have
strengths and weaknesses. From what I know of the challenges, it
involves research and searching for a key and exit. Brute strength
may not be enough.”

“I agree. Now, Regg,
please obtain one of those one-armed bandits, will you? I’ll add it
to my collection.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flip appeared on stage and after soaking up the
applause, he took his seat a safe distance away from Grock.

"Welcome, Grock."

Grock nodded.

"This is your chance
to tell us about your career and what happened to you."

Grock nodded.

Flip shuffled in his
seat and waited for some inspiration from Williams via the comm
implant. Williams gave him a question.

"You had a
distinguished career in Space Corps Special Forces. What drew you
to that part of Space Corps?"

"Making a difference,"
Grock said.

***

"Finally, to end this
briefing I would like to hand over to Lead Officer, Grock."

"Officers, this is a
dangerous raid, take prisoners only if safe to do so. Regroup in
fifteen minutes."

Grock always enjoyed
seeing the flicker of acknowledgment across the eyes of his
colleagues whenever he said that at the end of a briefing. Many of
his team were fellow Tserians, “lizard men” as they were called,
but not to their faces. Not given much to conversation and emotion,
they were ideal for certain Police and Space Corps roles. Grock’s
unit, a Special Forces team within Space Corps had many men and
women from Tseri. Their lizard genes had mixed with off-worlders
DNA over the centuries meaning that they were no longer “in the
swamp”. This became one of their favourite sayings.

***

They had disembarked
in silence from their anti grav sledges and split into two teams,
one for each cave entrance. Grock had his hound with him, a strong
hill breed, which could carry scanners and devices to support the
front line officers. Grock stroked its head and ears.

Scans, remotes, and
drones had shown the smugglers were inside, their contraband still
in situ. They were pirates who were raiding tugs, haulers, and
sledges on the quieter part of the main haulage routes. Their
piracy started with just disabling the craft, then boarding and
transferring the load across. Lately, however, there had been an
escalation of violence, with crews being tortured, killed, or taken
hostage for a ransom. Often, the crew were more valuable than the
cargo. Space Corps initiated a crime prevention programme by asking
companies to pay for a more sophisticated tracker technology. One
such tracker had led them to the caves.