Deep Yellow (28 page)

***

Brell had a rare
weekend off; her second in command had taken over captain duties.
Gorst was away on a Police Corps smuggling deterrent course.

By the afternoon, she
was heavily into her session. Wearing just underpants and a robe,
she turned up the music and put on all the media screens, each
displaying a different channel. With empty food containers strewn
around the floor, she stepped steadily over to the couch, holding
the other furniture as she went. Lying down, she shuffled her legs
and reached around until she found the bottle. Holding the Deep
Yellow up towards the light, she admired the rich colours through
glazed eyes.

"Here we are, my
beauty," she said taking a swig instead of the usual measured
amount. She then cradled the bottle with both hands on her
belly.

The menu appeared.
“Thought - Carac Montil.”

It had become dark
outside by the time she came back to reality, the window privacy
beam unengaged. It was a bad session, the wrong menu choice. She
particularly remembered Carac's smile, his slimy smile, his hand
rubbing up her thigh, his humour, “a blue skin,” the messages and
the indecent streamed images. She glugged some intox, half retched,
wiped her mouth, and tried, but failed, to send a message to Gorst.
She wanted tell him she loved him. Staggering around, she ended up
on the privy, staring at the floor, crying. Wiping her nose and
mouth, she threw some cold water on her face, stripped off for a
cold beam shower, went to the kitchen, and stuck her face in the
fridge. Ice cream. The carton was empty, so she threw it across the
room.

"No fragging ice
fragging cream," she shouted.

A box of biscuits
later and wrapping herself in her robe, she drank some more intox
in preparation for the next Deep Yellow experience.

The menu popped up
with several options. Time for a sensual experience, perhaps, it
had been a while since the last one. No, let the drug decide.

She initiated
“Random”.

This was a
life-changing error. The Deep Yellow Brell had drank was part of a
shipment that she had stolen from the HQ storeroom; easy when you
are the one in charge of signing everything off. However, this Deep
Yellow batch was confiscated from a gang who created their own
concoctions. The random option Brell received was “Plan attack,”
which the gang leader used for considering all options regarding
their next raid. It worked by combining their previous memories and
experiences with a gloriously silent world in which they could
examine possible attack scenarios. Many gang leaders used it;
others could not get on with it, preferring instead to blast their
way in and out.

Brell set out her plan
from getting dressed in uniform, auto transporter to Corps HQ, show
pass to guard, and sneak into the skiff. Then she would set an auto
flight to the Inter Association Hotel, heat seek people inside the
Penthouse, pinpoint Carac, guide in a missile, and drop bomblets.
Park skiff back at HQ and then travel home. Perfect.

However, the next
thing Brell remembered hearing was a distant voice shouting at her.
She awoke, groggy, dry mouthed, eyes blinking and inside a skiff
cockpit.

"Captain Sturlach. Get
outside now and explain yourself."

***

"Is this your first
time here, Gladia?"

"No, the third time.
It's been difficult, lot of pressure at work."

"How many days were
you sober last time?"

"About a hundred
days."

"Do you drink all the
time?"

"Yes and no. Often, it
may be a quick one at home after a stressful day at work. Then a
small one at work and another in the evening. That carried on for a
long time, but I believed I was in control of it. I would spend a
few days not drinking, and then hit it again. On days off, I
sometimes mixed small amounts of intox and Deep Yellow. I am hell
to live with at home. At work, I am the professional manager,
constantly working. I believe that no one suspects anything.
However, at home, you know, tantrums, damage, arguments, and then
regret the next day. I’ve had many periods of being sober,
something would happen, and a small drink would help make
everything smooth."

"Are you holding
anything back, Gladia?"

Brell wiped her eyes,
then her mouth. She glanced at Gorst. He nodded again.

"Yes. I've just had a
termination. Sansa, her name was, would have been. My career is
important to me, I’m about to be promoted. Substance abuse is in my
family; indications were that Sansa would turn out the same
way."

***

"Mind your head," the
Police Corpswoman said.

Brell stepped out of
the transporter, her hands in beam cuffs. As she walked towards the
custody centre, she gazed upwards, trying to locate her office
window; well, the office that she used to work in.

"What's the
charge?"

"Murder,
sergeant."

Brell remained silent.
Surrounded by the officers under her command, could she be more
embarrassed?

"Empty your
pockets."

***

"What were you
thinking when you pressed the fire button?" The prosecutor raised
his voice.

"I'm not sure I was
thinking straight."

"It's quite a simple
question, Captain Sturlach. What were your intentions when you
pressed the fire button?"

"To hurt Carac."

"Hurt or kill? Which
is it?"

"Kill, I wanted to
kill him."

"No further
questions."

***

"Captain Sturlach, you
have brought shame on yourself and the Police Corps. During a
drug-fuelled binge, you punched a guard, stole a skiff, and
intentionally killed a man and seriously injured his family. The
reputation of the local Police Corps sank to an all-time low, and
much of the hotel had to be rebuilt. You targeted an innocent man
who had checked out of the hotel the day before the attack. As
there was an intention to kill, the homicide charge is proven. Life
imprisonment, no parole, but voluntary termination allowed. Take
her down." Having given his decision, the High Steward Judge
watched as Brell was led down steps into a holding centre prior to
transportation to Crin.

***

“You know your
problem, Brell? You spend too much time thinking."

“Greetings everyone, may the Association be
with you.”

Williams stood in
front of a briefing screen, smiled and looked around the meeting
room. After acknowledging the numerous blank faces around the
table, he said,” It’s a common expression on Inhab-47.” He shuffled
his feet. “Except they use “force” in place of Association.” He
scratched his nose.

“Okay. Our viewing
figures are growing and the credits are rolling in.” He said,
changing tack and holding up his hands. “I’ll show you some beam
clips.”

A montage of images
appeared on the display screen. There were people dressed up as the
challengers, socialising and creating Inhab-47 meals together.
Others were re-enacting the Rome arena and Tower scenes. A
professor appeared discussing ancient Association history and the
similarities to Inhab-47. Finally, there was a newscast of a
wealthy entrepreneur talking about future adventure holidays on
Inhab-47.

"It was worth all that
planning time on Inhab-47," he said, flicking his eyes at the Twins
as he sat down.

"Will the last three
challengers provide enough entertainment?" Ayleth said.

"It's worked out well.
Brell and Carac have a hate relationship from previous history,
which we can develop more now. We downplayed it slightly due to the
stories and backgrounds of the other challengers."

Brune shifted in his
seat. "Before anyone asks, I was appointed to this role before the
challengers were announced formerly. I have my orders, and I refute
any suggestions there may be that I would help Brell in any way."
He held his hands up in exclamation.

"Thank you commander.
There are no doubts about your ability to follow orders and your
professionalism,” Ayleth said.

There was another
pause.

"The nun, well, who
would have thought she would kill again?" Flip said, trying to add
in something useful.

"Yes, but Grock or
Kellsa gave it some danger. Can we put someone in to go after them,
hunt them down?" Mayleth said.

"It would be a major
rule change. I don't think the audience will buy it; they have all
picked their favourite. Meren is very popular; sure, she's not an
assassin, but she is watchable. Carac is the nasty one, people
don't like, but begrudgingly root for. He is also the betting
favourite. As for Brell, well, if she drinks intox again she will
become a loose cannon. Suppose your hunter hunted them down, end of
programme. No ending, no winner, completely deflating." Williams
said.

"Still, it would make
sense to have a backup," Mayleth said.

"We could re-programme
one or two of the security bots. I used to do it for the military.
Lone sniper or undercover assassin, nothing too involved."
Technician 22 said, maintaining eye contact with the Twins and
ignoring Williams.

"Good idea, give it
some thought," Ayleth said.

"I urge caution. The
three of them are enough to carry the challenge and make it last
longer, more advertising, more revenue as per the plan. Don't think
it will carry with the viewers for a rogue bot to wander about,"
Williams said, his voice becoming louder.

"Well. We would like
Technician 22 to do some work on it as a standby," Mayleth said,
firmly. "The extra days we have been given by the studio for
Brell's recovery can be used for this purpose."

There was a pause
whilst people shuffled their feet.

"Are all the exits and
keys ready?” Ayleth said.

“Yes. There will be a
key in all the worlds, of course only one will be real. We have
built in false exit doors and transport tunnel into the schematics
to keep any hackers on their toes."

"We run a tight ship
here. Surely this information could be shared?" Mayleth said.

"Well, I've had some
information from an old colleague that gambling syndicates are
trying to breach our system. The technical crews are aware."
Williams scratched his nose.

"This is the first
I've heard of it," Technician 22 said.

"All the technets are
aware, I informed them just before this meeting. So I cannot
release the location of the real key and exit door, for now
anyway." Williams glanced down and absent-mindedly tapped a note
pad button.

Brune kept his eyes on
Technician 22, whose eyes flickered briefly.

***

Brell awoke in her
cell. Slowly raising herself up, she fumbled around for the privy
before realising that she was not in her old cell on Wing 90. With
her left arm strapped up, she felt a heaviness in her shoulder. She
rubbed the back of her head, which felt sore, whilst recollecting
something to do with a hard force on her shoulder, blood, and
Kellsa laughing.

The cell door sensor
chimed, and a fussy doc bot wheeled in, followed by a guard.

"You're awake. Doc
check."

Brell sat on the
privy, hair sticking out feeling like the morning after a heavy
intox session. The doc bots four arms reached out.

"Hang on," Brell said
whilst trying to stand and pull her pants and trousers up with one
hand. The guard looked on, not sure whether to laugh or be
embarrassed.

"Over here, please,"
the doc bot said. The tinny voice had never been properly
perfected.

Brell sat on the stool
whilst the doc became a flurry of arms. When the dressing casing
came off, she examined her wound.

"A neat job, doc. Got
anything for the pain? Whisky, intox or something like that?"

"A pain relief spray
has been used. The amount of pain relief is to recognised
standards."

"Your bedside talk
needs a bit of work, doc."

"It is to recognised
standards. I have finished. Have a good day." With that, the doc
trundled off, followed by an amused guard.

Brell moved her
shoulder; heavy, stiff, but it would mend to “recognised
standards.” She laughed. Then stopped herself. What happened to
Meren and Ooma? How long had she been out of it?

***

"It all started with
my wrongful arrest, years ago. I had only drunk a small amount of
intox. It was a celebration of a new contract for one of the deep
Ore Mines, which guaranteed jobs. Anyway, Brell was surly, typical
Corpswoman, all aggressive. I heard that the senior Police Corps
Commander here was Brell's old partner; he was the one who wrongly
arrested me. Have to watch out he doesn't give her any advantages,
if you know what I mean."

Carac sat centre
stage, answering questions posed by Flip and Argenta, who found it
easier just letting him talk.

"I took an interest in
Brell's career and sent her messages of encouragement. As there are
not many blue skinned Police Corps officers, I thought it important
for integration reasons that I showed her my support ...”

"She clearly wanted to
do me harm, and was rightly convicted of murdering that poor man
..."

“When she was found
guilty I wanted her to know that she had someone to reply on, to
give her reassurance ...”

"I am innocent of the
charges against me, the court got it wrong. I'm a mover and shaker,
always have been, that’s why I am successful when running
businesses and corporations. I'm confident in my abilities and as
soon as someone saw an opportunity to bring me down, they did. The
mine that collapsed was old, the workings and foundations poorly
constructed. The people responsible should remind themselves daily
of the pain and anguish they have caused to all the relatives
..."

"Ooma was weak. Look,
this isn't a holo book story with a happy conclusion, I'm out to
win and proud of it. No one will stand in my way; this is do or die
here ..."