Deep Yellow (21 page)

Moving through the
queue, she reached one of the brickwork tunnels. Instinct took her
through the corridors and the patterns of where people were going
to and from in large groups. Having turned a corner, she paused for
a moment looking around then re traced her steps. Entering a tunnel
entrance she had previously walked passed, she came to a platform
overlooking the arena by the cross symbol. The chanting from the
crowd gave it a realistic atmosphere, and most people were dressed
in cloth sheets. She honed in on the key boxes. One key had been
taken; Ooma. She poked a finger into the sensor and took a key.
Ooma must have found another way out of the building. Time to get
out of here and find the exit door.

***

Carac found the keys a
while after Kellsa, but doubled back to the entrance as he did not
want to get lost inside the arena. Like the others, he calculated
that the door would probably be on the edge of the holo world, as
the arena had an open area all around it. He stopped outside the
arena entrance and considered which way to walk. To his right, six
security bots stood to attention in a single row, their backs
against the wall.

He could just make out
someone in a grey jumpsuit, running away from the arena. They
appeared briefly in a gap in the crowd. Was that Kellsa? Whoever it
was, they were moving purposefully away from the arena. Definitely
worth following.

There were two keys
left with twenty minutes to go.

***

Meren had ducked
behind a pillar as Carac walked past. Following the crowd through
the tunnels ahead, she ended up by the cross and secured a key.

One key left and no
sign of Brell. She made her way quietly back to the entrance,
wondering if the exit was nearby.

Brookko awoke in a cell. He tried to remember
what had happened and groggily sat up rubbing his head.

"What is this?"

It was a small cell,
two sides of which consisted of vertical metal bars from floor to
ceiling. A security bot wearing a large hat, neck chief, chequered
shirt, waistcoat, rough blue trousers, and boots stared at him from
the other side of the bars. A shiny badge was pinned to his
waistcoat.

"Howdy, partner."

Brookko stared at him,
mouth open.

"What are you fragging
on about?"

The security bot
paused, as if awaiting instructions.

"Time’s up," the bot
said then made a motion by the cell door lock and swung the door
open. Brookko walked out of the cell.

"Fragging Police
Corps."

"You have a nice day,
now."

"Fragging Police
Corps."

He strode past a large
wooden desk and through a couple of doors until re-emerging back
inside the dark basement room where the holo world started.

"Here we go again," he
said, rubbing his hands together.

***

Brell found the main
roadway and saw another challenger trotting up towards the arena.
By the running style and light green skin, it must be Grock. Having
previously seen Kellsa, that meant Carac and Ooma were well ahead
of her. Meren was probably still meditating in her cell and Brookko
may be out of gaol. There was a serious risk of becoming ash. Her
stomach made a little turn; the coffee mixing with the whisky,
perhaps? Come on, come on.

Steadying her
breathing, she started running towards the arena. A distinctive
figure in a grey jumpsuit was running across the road, away from
the arena. It was Carac. He negotiated his way around the metal
ground transporters and two-wheeled noisy scooters, heading towards
a wide entrance with five square doorways inside. “Colosseo” was
written above, and a large red letter M was fixed to a nearby wall.
Brell, not a natural when it came to languages realised, that the
Inhab-47 main language was similar to Elytian. The auto-sleep
learning programme had helped with some of the Rome words. She
stopped in amongst a group of people and watched him go through the
entrance without coming back out. Carac was the last person she
wanted to see, but he had obviously found the exit. Still need a
key, though.

It was going to be
close. Perhaps, just go back for a whisky and sit in the sun. A
hand touched her shoulder. Meren!

They locked eyes.
Brell sensed the warmth of her touch.

“Have you got a key?”
Brell said.

As Meren nodded, Brell
realised that the grip on her shoulder tightened.

“Hold on. Brookko.”
Meren said turning her head.

Brookko came into
view, running as fast as his limp would allow, chasing after Grock.
Brell could see from his fixed gaze that he had not seen herself or
Meren.

Brell realised she
must now be the last challenger to reach the arena. As she slumped
her shoulders, Meren released her grip and shook the top of her arm
encouragingly.

"Through the arena
entrance, first left, tunnel second right," Meren said.

"Exit over there by
the red M." Brell said and pointed to the other side of the road.
She ran towards the arena entrance, not looking back.

***

Ooma had almost hopped
his bulk out of the tube transport as it arrived back at the
studio. A show runner motioned him to a marked position behind the
large stage doors. He could hear Flip commentating on stage. The
doors silently split apart, the studio lights shone on him, music
boomed, and wispy smoke appeared.

“It’s Ooma,
everyone.”

There was thunderous
applause that got louder as Ooma shuffled forward. He raised his
arms up and smiled, may as well milk it. He remained centre stage
in the bright lights for a while until motioned into a seat by
Argenta who had turned her attention back to the live feed. As soon
as he sat down, the seat tether activated, the guards taking no
chances. His heart pumped and he continued to sweat, but he was
safe. He was first in, the farmer they tried to write off. Bet the
gamblers have lost a packet.

Gradually, becoming
calmer he watched Kellsa and Carac arriving. He was unsure who
would be next.

***

The Tinker kicked off
his slippers, wiggled his toes, and selected one of his special
delicacies.

“Good. All going well.
Message those Twins will you? As follows: ‘Good show. Presume all
in place for the next Challenge?’”

***

Grock eased himself
into the entrance, senses on high alert. He cursed the holo alien
world. A professional would have spent time acclimatising himself
to the geography, people, and landscape to ensure they could get in
and out without being caught.

The cross Emperor sat
here.

He read the signs
inside the tunnels and listened to a couple of holos speak in Rome
language. Being fluent in Inhab-47 languages, he knew where they
were going and adjusting his stride, he followed them right to the
cross. One key left. Amateurs. He leaned forward and reached out to
insert his finger in the sensor.

Whack
.

His right hand lost
its feeling. Brookko stood just behind him, breathing heavily, a
short sword in his hand, which he had prised from a soldier
re-enacting a fight.

"No, no, that's for
me. You didn't look around. First rule of smuggling," Brookko
said.

He grinned as he
tapped Grock's arm with the sword edge a couple of times. He
motioned for Grock to stand up and move to one side, whilst
snorting under his breath.

"Thank you so
much."

Brookko took a step
back towards the parapet to give Grock some room to stand up. Grock
moved slowly, and then suddenly heaved himself up and towards
Brookko's chest. Brookko dropped his sword in surprise and
attempted to push Grock's head and torso back. Feet planted firmly
on the ground, Grock pushed again. It sent Brookko backwards until
his thighs dug into the edge of the parapet, the arena surface
below them. As the punches rained in, Brookko started falling
backwards and grabbed Grock to steady himself. However, their
momentum was such that they both toppled over the parapet together,
falling onto the sandy surface of the arena. Brookko punched out,
quickly uncoupled himself, and got to his feet. Walking backwards,
he kept Grock in his sight. Grock planted his feet wide apart and
put his hands into a defensive stance.

***

Brell wiped her
forehead with a sleeve and kept running. There was still time, well
just about fifteen minutes, but she knew it was desperate.
Following Meren's instructions, she rounded a corner, and through
the tunnel she saw the two intersecting poles, one set firmly in
the ground. If there was no key, then possibly there was a chance
to get the exit before Grock or Brookko. Nothing to lose.

Her attention became
drawn to the noise and activity in the arena. As she peered into
the arena, she did not expect to see Grock prodding a spear at
Brookko, who was attempting to defend himself with a small sword.
Taking a step back, she glanced down; there was a key still in its
box. Placing her hands on her hips, she let out a long breath. The
stupid sods, male aggression; whatever, the key was still there.
Releasing it, she ran back out towards the entrance, leaving Grock
and Brookko still going hard at it in the arena. The crowd cheered,
as per their programming, unaware of the two real men fighting for
their lives.

Out through the
entrance and to the red M. Nine minutes to go. Enough time.

***

Grock made his move,
feinted left, and thrust the three-pronged spear into Brookko's
ribs. It had the effect; Brookko let out a yell as Grock pushed and
twisted the spear handle, followed up by a punch to the face.
Brookko fell to the ground clutching his chest. Grock immediately
sprang up the side of the arena and vaulted over the parapet.

***

Her stomach felt a
little warm; was it the whisky or the timer? Brell ran through the
Metro entrance and up to a door with a keyhole. Once inside, she
slapped her hand on the red button numerous times and breathed
again.

***

Flip realised that he
had not spoken for a while, as he was getting too caught up in the
live event. Argenta was the same; it was quiet in his comm implant
as well.

The sight of the large
doors opening and Ooma standing there smiling to loud applause
would not be forgotten for a long while. The loser in the fun
challenge was the winner in the first challenge. The others had
followed in behind him and were watching the final few minutes.
Brell could not have appeared more relieved as she took the last
seat.

The audience were
transfixed.

***

The key had gone.
Grock ran through the corridors out into the sunshine.

Six minutes.

Where
could the exit doors be? The clue, “
Train,
anyone?”
had confused him and he had spent
a while researching the words. Had to be on the outside of this
arena. First, he scanned the crowds for any signs of grey jumpsuits
and different skin colours. Nothing. Strategically, he needed to
find the exit door and take the key off another challenger. Best
option was to find an outside wall, as the tube transporters ran
along the interconnecting walls near power and technical cabling.
Turning left, he ran towards some buildings behind the arena, up a
slight incline. His insides felt warm; he ignored it.

Four minutes.

At the top of the
slope, he scrutinised a long line of buildings, looking for any
doors with keyholes. There was a “Tours” sign in one of the windows
with pictures of a long line of box shaped transporters travelling
on two lines of metal tracks. A train?

Two minutes.

With both hands on the
window, he quickly realised that this place sold travel tours. The
door had no keyhole. It was not the right place and there were no
other challengers around.

He
sat on the ground, propping his back against the wall realising
that the strategy of thorough research had become his undoing.
Perhaps his instincts had slowed during his incarceration. Well,
time to return to “
the swamp”.

***

Brell was tired, a
tiredness she had not felt for some time. A physical and mental
fatigue from one hour of stress. But she was alive by luck,
judgement or whatever. The others appeared confident but
relieved.

She watched the
instant replays of Grock and Brookko's demise. Grock was sitting
still, staring into the distance, as if replaying a Space Corps
memory, when the orange-grey combustion appeared on his clothing.
Brookko limped and staggered around, laughing at the gladiators
before collapsing.

"We have our five
winners. See you after the break," Flip said extending his arms.
There was a vague ripple of applause despite the studio manager’s
energetic arm waving.

Brell had been a Captain for six months when
she became a mentor to Lutet Malm-ert, a new Corps recruit. Lulu
was from a different district from where Brell spent her childhood.
Celeste people were renowned for their sewing and tapestry skills,
not Police or military-type roles. Mentoring, especially by an
officer from the same community group, became a way of retaining
personnel.

They held regular
stream chats, and Brell read Lulu's progress reports. She was
pleased with Lulu's progress, though in the early days it became
apparent that Lulu needed to toughen up.

"Hi, Lulu, this is
your first month on patrol, what have you been up to?"

"Hello, captain."
Lulu's cheery smiling face appeared. She had changed her hair
colour since they had last spoke; it was now blonde and tied in a
bun. "Very exciting, we had a chase, a ground level transporter
used as a getaway vehicle in a theft from a shop. Marvelle, the
driver, was very good, stopped the vehicle and he told me where to
search, and we found the stolen property, bot parts and some drugs
in a rear compartment."