Deep Yellow (30 page)

***

Meren left her cell
shortly after Brell and thought it best to follow behind her, since
she didn’t know what else to do. Since the Ooma incident, Carac had
more than revealed his plan of winning at any cost. She knew how
desperate Brell was to win. She may not say it, but her need to put
her ‘downfall’ behind her was strong. As for herself, she would
enjoy the freedom within the holo worlds and if things worked out
for her, so be it. She followed on whilst glancing around for
Carac.

***

Carac waited until the
other two had left and nonchalantly ambled out of his cell waving
at some of the holo prisoners. Might as well enjoy the atmosphere.
It was clear what he needed to do; win. Find the key and get out.
How that would be achieved didn’t matter, the problem was that he
had not received any information as yet. Had the Tinker abandoned
him? The messages prior to transporting to the studios were
positive, as the Tinker recognised that Carac was the only person
who knew the location of the huge stash of Locardum. Therefore, no
win, no information! Millions of credits were mixed up in this, too
much for the Tinker to ignore. Quite possibly the Tinker had a hand
in selecting the challengers, easier than trying to spring Carac
out of prison or wasting credits on legal battles. The Tinker
probably thought it would be fun to have the blue bitch in there.
As to the others, well you would have thought Grock should be in
the final, not the nun, but Tinker had probably put bets on
everyone.

So, best just to keep
an eye out for a sign or clue from the Tinker’s people. In the
meantime, he would follow Brell; he would look forward to having a
bit of fun with her. Ever since their first meeting, there was
something about her he could not resist; her light blue skin, the
way she walked, the way she flinched when she saw him. Sending her
messages in prison had passed the time, as he knew she would read
them. It kept him sane. As for Meren, she packed a punch but could
not solve the clues. Find her, find Brell, probably. He realised he
had gone back through an office the same way twice. Hate this
place.

***

The other side of the
bridge led to an area full of people milling about, eating, and
drinking. Any whisky? Not yet, perhaps later. A couple wearing fur
sleeveless coats, multi-coloured trousers, headbands, and flowers
in their hair sat cross-legged on the ground. They were inhaling
deeply from a small fat paper tube, the smoke wafting around their
faces. A large sign gave the place name as Pier 39. There were
shops lining both sides of the pier, and in the middle of the
walkway was a small stage. A man dressed in a black suit and top
hat performed an act of some sort for an attentive audience.

"Abracadabra!" the
holo shouted out. Brell could not understand it; must be yet
another language. Aware that she needed to get further into the
city, but not too far from the bridge, her Police Corps experience
was coming back to her. Like the need to disguise clothing. Her
skin colour was another matter. She extended her arms as she walked
until making contact with a two hard holos. Both men were wearing
blue jackets made of what appeared to be a strong tough fabric. The
multi coloured motif on the back of the jacket that Brell chose,
read, “Do your thing.” After pulling it off the non-protesting
holo, she threw her prison uniform jacket over the side railing and
went off towards the other end of the pier. Further along, she
snatched an “I love San Francisco” cap off an elderly man’s
head.

Brell heard a loud cacophony of drums, flutes,
chanting, and shouting. Hundreds of people were walking along the
main roadway that traversed the end of the pier area. There was a
long line of buildings on the other side of the road, which Brell
considered might have a quiet place to research the clues. Standing
with her arms folded, she could not stop herself looking at the
crowd. This was definitely very alien, but she could not work out
if they were protesting or just being happy. Many people wearing
vividly coloured clothing were singing, talking, or shouting in
unison. Two men with moustaches and beards were holding a large
cloth banner that read, “Turn on, Tune in, Drop it.”

One group of people
resembled Meren's Guild friends. They were bald, dressed in
colourful robes, and were skipping around chanting whilst
banging drums.

The chant sounded
like, “Harry Crisma, Hairy Harry.”

Brell
realised that she had to move on and walked along with the
crowd. She wound her way around the tall street lamps, knotty tree
trunks, and other fixed metal objects. The shop buildings on her
right appeared to sell clothing. Standing still, she considered her
options; keep walking or have a look at the buildings on the other
side of the street. There was plenty of time, for now, anyway.

Casually looking back
towards the pier entrance, thinking about the best place to cross
the road, she saw Meren running along the side of the crowd and
quickly crouching down behind a wide seat. Carac appeared. He
stopped, moved his head left and right, and then went off in
Meren's direction.

Brell got behind a
street light and edged into the crowd a fraction whilst keeping her
eyes on the unfolding scene. Meren shuffled backwards whilst
tilting her head around the
side of the seat.
Brell realised she was near enough to shout a warning, but she kept
silent and watched. If Carac started fighting with Meren, then it
might improve her chances of winning. She rubbed the back of her
head.

Carac
stopped a few metres from Meren and craned his neck as he stared at
the crowd
. As Meren's head started to emerge from the edge
of the seat, Carac stopped, rubbed his hands together, grinned, and
bent down hands on his knees. He spoke, but Brell could not hear
anything above the crowd noise. Brell pursed her lips and shifted
her body weight, still rooted to the spot.

Carac ran a few
strides towards Meren and slapped her bald head with his hand. He
laughed, as she sprinted off into the crowd. Brell walked into the
mass of people herself. It became a disorientating blur of people
just coming towards her and passing through the other side. She put
her arms out as if blindfolded, knocking into a couple of hard
holos, then a large solid object. It was a wheeled transporter,
which, like everything else on the road obscured the crowd.
Reaching the pavement on the other side of the road, she peered
around. Meren ran into the entrance of a large building called
“Williams’ Believe it or Don't.” Another lame Williams joke,
probably. Carac followed behind, shouting out, like a game of
chase.

Brell again stopped,
uncertain what to do. This was not some Police Corps chase where
she assisted a colleague chasing criminals. There was a danger that
if she intervened, there might be injuries whereby she could spend
the rest of her time just watching the countdown clock.

As the crowd became
less dense, she carefully walked into the entrance. It became
quieter the further she went inside. The first thing she noticed
was a tall robot structure standing by an inner door, obviously an
Inhab-47 attempt at designing the future. It was made of plastic
blocks. She grinned a little, as many Association bots were mundane
compared to this colourful statue.

She went further into
the entrance. There was no noise, shouts, or any activity. Perhaps
it would be best to leave the area and find a research machine.
Turning around, she walked back outside and saw that the crowd was
thinning out.

There were just a few
colourful stragglers at the back of the crowd, all puffing into
some paper-based tubes. They appeared very relaxed as they
sauntered along. The road cleared and Brell saw a number of small,
round vehicles of a light yellow colour with stripes and a large
number five and three on the front, back and sides. Fifty-three. A
clue from Williams? she wondered.

That soon changed as
she realised she hadn’t piloted any sort of vehicle since her
arrest. Before long, she sat inside, hands on the steering wheel,
wondering what to do next. She gave commands aloud, by thought, but
nothing happened. Pulling levers and pushing pedals up and down;
still nothing. Must be a piece of junk Williams brought back from
Inhab-47 just to dress the scene.

"Have you turned the
key?"

It was Meren. She bent
down slightly whilst staring in at Brell, her face flushed with a
thin film of sweat on her bald head.

"Key?" Brell felt
around the instrument panel behind the steering wheel and smiled.
The engine started and the vehicle vibrated slightly. Meren smiled
back at her.

"Jump in, for frags
sake," Brell said.

Meren slid into the
front passenger seat. Brell pushed and pulled the levers and
pedals. The engine noise revved up, but no movement.

"Brake off, push the
right foot pedal, then steer," Meren said.

Brell gazed at Meren.
How does she know this stuff? She followed the instructions, pushed
her foot down, promptly jerking the car forward, straight into a
street light. They were both jolted forward with the impact, but
were uninjured.

"That went well,"
Meren said.

Brell got out of the
transporter and walked over to another one. Meren followed. This
time, she sat still for a moment and orientated herself with the
levels and pedals.

"Don’t forget the
brake."

Brell shot Meren a
glance.

"Used to drive basic
transporters on my charity jobs."

Brell rolled her eyes,
but then they both started laughing.

"Okay, transport
expert madam. Let's go." Brell made a mock salute.

Crunch
.

Brell felt the rear of
the vehicle shudder slightly. Carac appeared in one of the side
mirrors, then her door shot open and he leaned inside, trying to
pry her hands off the steering wheel. His right hand whipped
across, stinging Brell’s ear.

"Easy now, blue one,"
he said quickly.

He got a hand on the
steering wheel yanked it hard to the left. Brell dug her elbow into
his arm and tried to pull the wheel back the other way. They were
in danger of crashing into another vehicle.

"Foot down, now,"
Meren said in a firm voice.

Brell responded
immediately by pushing her foot down hard on the accelerator. The
vehicle lurched forward; as she kept pressure on the pedal. Carac
tried to keep up but very quickly lost his grip and could only
shout back at them as they got away. Brell ensured that the
transporter kept travelling in a straight line for a distance
before easing off the speed.

***

Once the women drove
off, Williams knew there would be a pause in the action, so he left
the director’s booth and walked to his office, intending to take a
short nap. The challengers would be running around a lot in the
early part, afraid of entering another world without solid
research. He also wanted to direct events through to its
conclusion, which would be a few hours yet. Some instructions to
his assistant and a milky drink later, he lay down on his expensive
anti grav cot and nodded off.

"Excuse me, Mr. Tslus,
sorry to interrupt you. This is safety bot 32445." A metal voice
sounded over an intercom link.

"Eh, what, something
happened in the worlds?" Williams said in reply his eyes still
closed and his brain in another place.

"Yes, a problem," the
voice replied.

Williams sat up and
rubbed his eyes. He had only been asleep fifteen minutes. He yawned
as he swung his legs over the side of his cot.

"Open sesame,"
Williams said.

The safety bot, a
low-level metal sphere on wheels, had the job of monitoring for
signs of fire, atmosphere breaches, and so on. Staff also used them
for passing occasional messages the old fashioned way by hand,
mainly for fun. It stopped in front of Williams who leaned
forward.

"A message?"

"Yes."

A small lid opened on
its side and a thin arm extended towards Williams. Usually a thin
paper message was contained inside. Williams tensed his jaw.

P-zap
.

A thin blue electrical
beam surged straight into his upper body area, stopping his heart.
Grabbing his chest in disbelief, he tried to take a breath. Eyes
glazing over, the room became fuzzy, and then it became dark. He
fell forward onto the floor, dead.

The tip of the arm
then silently moved to the left and shot out a wide invisible
stream of hologram jamming particles. Williams' assistant, who had
stood dormant at the end of the cot, disappeared. The arm retracted
back into its side, and the safety bot wheeled itself out along the
corridor, back into its power node, awaiting its next round.

Brune patrolled an outside security area which
happened to be a weed smoker's hangout. He watched Brell on the
challenge using his pocket cube display, and considered whether he
should have visited her again. He only spoke to her the once, in
her cell, before the first challenge. Her face was a bit thinner
but her brown eyes held the same gaze as years ago. She had that
older, wiser, been in trouble look. Since becoming known that he
had worked with Brell, years ago, he purposefully and
professionally decided not to see her again. He regretted that
decision, now the last challenge had started. As he took another
puff, a message came through from Scrivvens.

"Sir, need your
attendance. There's been a serious incident."

He stamped out his
smoke, took a BreathFresh, and brushed down his uniform.

***

Williams was dead, no
doubt about it. An interesting man; not on Brune's wavelength, but
he got things done. He still had decades left until compulsory
Second Life, when the oldies had to retire to allow younger people
to work.