Deep Yellow (27 page)

***

Technician 22 ignored
the message from the Twins. The security bots were in the right
area and now following Carac and Ooma. If Carac hadn't been so
lazy, he could have researched the clues properly, got a key, and
then “found” the exit without problem.

He created some more
code to take Ooma down, with a delay built in. Carac could make a
performance of helping Ooma against the security bots’ restraints,
whilst actually searching him for the key. He should be able to
manage that on his own.

Since putting the key safely in her pocket,
Brell had ambled almost aimlessly, wondering whether there was an
auto chef anywhere for a quick whisky. The cityscape outside of the
walls reminded her of some buildings back home; in particular, the,
tall slender building tapering to a splintered glass effect. To
save herself getting lost, she found her way back to Traitors’
Gate, then went through the entranceway opposite. Checking her map,
the White Tower was on the right, meaning that the grass area would
be on the left, just around the corner.

Rows of dwellings with
front doors, some with keyholes, lined the far side of the grassy
area. It had her full attention as a man marched in front of some
of the houses. After a few steps, he turned and marched back again.
He had a thick bushy hat, red uniform jacket, and black trousers.
How did the hat stay on?

The exit doors, where
do you start? Like Rome world, the exit door would probably be at
the edge of the holo world. However, she wouldn't put it past
Williams to change things around.
The Queen lived here
, so
presumably it was a dwelling pod or house. No written signs were
evident, but the houses must be important if a uniformed soldier
marched outside. Where is Ooma? He would know. Keeping her eyes
ahead, she started walking towards the marching man and the
dwellings he was guarding.

There was a grinding
thump as her left shoulder suddenly slumped down. With the intense
pain, her legs buckled, and she fell face down on the ground. Her
vision blurry, she could not make sense of what had happened. A
voice spoke, far off amongst her brain fog. She felt the trickle of
fluid, must be blood, inside her jumpsuit around her shoulder and
neck. The tips of her fingers were feeling numb.

"I presume you have a
key."

Brell twisted her neck
a little and glanced up. Kellsa. She was standing with both hands
on her hips. A large-headed axe lay next to her feet.

"Missed your neck, you
were lucky. But then again, not really. Not worth wasting my energy
on you." Kellsa kneeled down and Brell felt rough hands inside her
pockets. The key was easy to find.

"Yeah. Got it. Thought
you had one. Looking at those dwellings too long." She bent down
and showed Brell the key. Unable to speak, Brell could only watch
and listen.

"Bye bye, Police Corps
bitch," Kellsa said laughingly.

Brell felt a shot of
pain in her thigh, a goodbye kick? She shut her eyes, waiting for
the axe to strike again? There was something about a game, a key
and a countdown turning around in her mind, mixed in with the
throbbing pain.

Then, a distant gasp
and groan. Opening her eyes, she saw Kellsa crashing to the ground,
her face smacking down hard. She didn’t move.

"What?" Brell tried to
say, and pressed down with her right hand, lifting her head up for
a better look. An axe was buried in the back of Kellsa's head.

Meren stood still,
arms down by her sides, smiling serenely as ever. Brell blew out
some breaths, coming to terms with the sudden turnaround of
events.

"May Jayzan forgive
me," Meren said, pulling the key from Kellsa's hand.

***

It was a typically
small Inhab-47 shop set inside a tower named Martin. Ooma wiped his
hand across his forehead and went inside. He sweated as much from
the sight of Kellsa attacking Brell as he did from running, let
alone the eight minutes left. He reasoned that the last key was
there for the taking, why shouldn't he be the one to find it?

Try shopping in the
old jewel store
.

It made sense to Ooma
now that he was inside the shop. The tower used to house a large
jewellery collection, so was an “old jewel store” and therefore
nothing to do with the secure vault nearby.

Various glass cabinets
were dotted around the shop along with other items such as clothing
and images. Behind a counter with a machine for taking paper
credits, was a smiling elderly woman wearing a white dress with a
blue sash running across her body from shoulder to waist. She had a
sparkling necklace and earrings. On top of her grey hair, she wore
a beautifully crafted ornate hat with purple lining, fine
silverwork bands with large embedded jewels. It was topped with a
small ball and square design. Two small, squat animals with big
ears, brown fur, and white markings stood at her feet. Ooma
realised that he could not afford the time to search the whole
shop, so said, "Where is the key?"

The woman smiled and
motioned with her hand towards the display cabinet on her right. On
the top shelf was what looked like a crown, with large encrusted
jewels. Next to it was a round, golden orb, the size of a small
fizz ball, with a silver band and a cross symbol on top. The same
cross shape as at the arena. Ooma did not consider jewellery that
interesting, but considered that this was a beautifully crafted
piece. He tore his eyes aware from the gems and examined the shelf
below. The key lay in the middle of a red coloured cushion. Ooma
rubbed his thumbs inside his waist band and glanced towards the
shop assistant.

"Got it."

She made a circular
waving movement with her right gloved hand. He smiled and stepped
back out into the sunshine.

***

Taking some of her
weight, Meren helped Brell to her feet. Brell was clearly shocked
and badly wounded. Her left shoulder was a mess of blood, shredded
clothing, and twisted skin. Remembering her community charity
medical aid lessons, Meren ripped off Brell's right sleeve and tied
it around the bleeding shoulder. There were no mobile docs around
to staunch the bleeding and glue the skin back together.

"We have to get to the
exit. There is enough time. Come on."

Gradually, Meren
encouraged Brell's shaky legs to walk forward, and they both
stumbled towards the house that had a black door with a lamp
hanging above. The uniformed man continued marching up and down.
Meren remembered that Ooma had pointed at the black door first.

Brell leant on the
doorframe as Meren helped her turn the key. The door opened and
Meren pushed Brell in towards the red button. She stumbled forward
and almost fell on top of the thing, then slowly inched herself
into the tube transporter.

Meren quickly went to
the dwelling next door and glanced around before using her key. She
couldn't see Ooma or Carac. Implant deactivated, she caught the
tube.

***

Carac was swift. As
soon as he saw Ooma exit the shop, he emerged from a shadow and
punched him on the back of the head. He followed this up with a
left hook to the cheek, and then kneed him in the back leg, sending
Ooma sprawling onto the ground. Standing on Ooma's arm, he forced
the hand open; the key clattered onto the paving stones. After
picking up the key, Carac balanced himself and kicked Ooma in the
face. Ooma lay still. Five minutes left, more than enough time.

Carac ambled over to
the exit door, smiling and waving the key towards the cameras.

***

Brune watched the
final events unfold from the back of the audience area. He felt
relieved when Brell hit the red button. It was then that he
realised how tense he had become. Her injuries, though serious,
would be patched up by the hospital.

His thoughts returned
to work considerations. With only three inmates remaining, his
Prison Corps Commander colleague could probably release some of his
staff back to normal duties. Brune would keep all his officers to
maintain strict security.

There was something
about Carac. He appeared too relaxed in the Tower and tried to make
it seem as if he searched around for a key. Brune had seen enough
security images to know that Carac has scoped out the exit doors
first and walked slowly passed them whilst trying to look the other
way. Also, the oddly dressed security bots had arrived just after
he had seen Technician 22's reaction to Brell finding a key. The
bots had marched around, like reinforcements waiting for
instructions, and then lined up. As soon as Ooma had run towards
the shop, the bots followed him, but stood still when he was
attacked.

Interesting. He would
ask the Prison Corps Commander to double-check cell security in
case they had a mole. Many credits were involved in the betting
stakes.

Meren was a
revelation. A murdering nun who kills again! Williams could not
have written a better beam news headline.

"You know your problem, Brell?"

"What's that, mother,
not standing up to the bullies?"

"No." She dragged on
her weed smoke. "You spend too much time thinking." Her mother held
up a cup of orange liquid. "It all goes round in there." She
pointed at Brell's head.

"Like you?"

"You've got to leave
things alone, move on."

"Bit early for your
'juice,' isn't it?"

Her mother turned up
the corner of her mouth, sipped her juice, took another puff, and
shrugged. She sat on a stool in the small kitchenette of their
rented dwelling pod, elbow propped on the counter. Empty intox
bottles lay in the broken waste disposal bin.

The chats were usually
a ramble of “how things could have been better in her life.”
Brell's father always got a mention, even though her mother had
trouble remembering his name, but not his drinking.

Her mother was right,
though. Brell spent too much time thinking.

***

The doc bot topped up
Brell's in-line, ensuring another twelve hours of induced sleep.
The other bots checked the progress of her shoulder, bone, and skin
rebuilding. Argenta occasionally popped in and sat at Brell's
bedside with her serious face to check on the patient and give
updates to the audience. A guard remained outside Brell's room.

***

"My name is Gladia,
and I'm a substance abuser." Brell tightened her grip on Gorst's
hand. She sat in a quiet room within her quarters attending a
virtual “substance abuse” conference. It was encrypted, private,
and conference members remained anonymous. Members could alter
their face and voice; Brell had chosen an Elytian persona. The holo
image formed a near circle around Brell, so she could see the other
session members.

"Welcome, Gladia, what
is your story?" the interlocutor asked.

"I'm. I'm in a
position of authority, a soon to become senior manager." Brell
stopped and glanced at Gorst. He nodded and pressed her hand.

"I first took Deep
Yellow years ago. It was a way of dealing with the stress. I was a
very put upon manager. I enjoyed it and I worked normally, just
using it as an escape every now and again. Intox, well I drank
quite a bit of that, it is sociable, you know, but never a
problem."

***

"So did you have
permission to take the command skiff?" the prosecutor asked. The
court room was silent.

"No," Brell said.

"Could you fly
one?"

"Yes, well, I had
recently undertaken a week's flying course as part of the commander
application process.

"Did you pass?"

"Yes."

"Were you drinking
during your training?"

"Yes. Err, no. I had
some anti-intox tabs that masked it, and I had also started on a
Virtual Rehab Programme."

"So you were familiar
with all the controls on the craft?"

"Yes."

***

A year after Lulu's
death, Brell, still a captain, was in charge of a large urban
sector. She sat in her office, casually reading some security
orders for the forthcoming week. There was a mining exposition at
the conference centre. The security arrangements were in hand and
utilised a mixture of Corps and private security. Just as she was
about to press her finger onto the confirmation pad, her eyes
skipped down the guest list.

Carac Montil.

Pausing the screens,
she got up and turned around to observe the view from her window.
Whilst the air con vent rattled, Corps transporters glided into the
rear yard to deposit their struggling arrested prisoners into the
custody centre. A command skiff took off from the landing pads.
Soon she would be able to swap the office for the cockpit on her
way to becoming a fully-fledged Skiff Commander. With a hand on her
stomach, she watched a ground transporter racing out onto the main
road, holo warning signs displayed and horns blaring.

The intox hit the back
of her throat; it was tasteless but effective. Putting the bottle
back in the bottom drawer, she sat down and re-read the event
security plans. Carac was a notable speaker, so would be met at his
hotel by a Corps transporter, which would then tail his limousine
to the venue. He was staying at the Inter Association Hotel in the
penthouse suite on top of the building. Bastard.

***

"What were your lowest
points, Gladia?"

Brell paused and took
a settling breath. She ran a hand through her hair.

"I lied. Many times. I
got the storekeeper fired for stealing when it was me that had
taken the Deep Yellow from storage. He had stolen other things,
though, but I was the one that reported him. That was pretty
low."

"Once, I was trapped
inside a transporter that a local gang had ambushed. Plas-explosive
with a ten minute fuse was place under the vehicle. I survived, but
not without other people being killed. I blamed myself for their
deaths. If the Deep Yellow session had not hit the mark, I would
drink and then just do another Deep Yellow oblivion."