Deep Yellow (34 page)

"Brell, I’ve covered
the bald patch properly this time." Meren said aloud, looking up
into the sky. As if Brell could be somehow watching the events.

After passing a
junction where transporters converged chaotically, the pavement
areas contained various stalls of food and drink. Nearby, couples
were dancing in a small square to music provided by a woman wearing
a black fabric hat with a stem on top. She had a large box shaped
instrument secured around her shoulders, which she opened and
closed at regular intervals whilst her fingers furiously danced up
and down the sides. Meren went over to a food stall, and watched as
a girl poked a thin round pancake on a flat griddle. The smell was
enticing.

"Une crepe, madam?"
the girl said.

"Yes," Meren said and
nodded, not expecting anything.

Next to the hot
griddle, an auto chef went into action, and Meren took out a crepe
wrapped within a cardboard cone. Though hot to the tongue, it
tasted wonderful.

After a couple of
twists and turns, she rounded a corner and reached the base of the
tower. Its four large feet disappeared into the ground. She looked
up into the interlaced metal struts; quite impressive for its basic
technology.

In the large square
area under the tower, people were queuing or waiting by an
entranceway. There were also stalls selling souvenirs and people
sitting on the ground asking for money. In the direct centre, there
was a group of women performing a dance routine. They were
colourfully dressed, with frilly see-through blouses and white
skirts, their fingers gripping and waving the dress fabric as they
moved. A small group of musicians stood to one side of the dancers,
and behind them was a tall red coloured wooden structure. It had a
square base and a thinner, round turret at the top. Four large,
wing-like struts revolved on a centre point in the middle of the
turret. A semi-circular sign lit up, spelling the words
Moulin
Rouge
.

Meren, used to
confusion with everything Inhab-47, did not waste time trying to
understand what it represented. Standing right underneath the tower
by the dancers, she examined the red structure. Whilst the women
whooped and stepped back and forth, Meren found the key resting on
a shelf inside.

She smiled and looked
towards the sky. All she had to do now was wait a while for Brell
to sober up, perhaps eat another of those crepes, and look around
for the shirt sellers. Walking along, she examined the key again in
the sunlight. It had some letters etched on it.

Sorry, not the
right Key
.

The key did not feel
as heavy as the previous ones. She bent it between her fingers and
it broke in half. Laughing, she shook her head and dropped the key
fragments on the ground. Her first thought was to hope that Brell
did not follow her into Paris. However, in her drunken state,
anything could happen. Meren was alone again.

***

A message arrived on
Brune’s screen from his opposite number in Prison Corps.

A cleaning bot
reported itself as requiring a service before Challenge 2 and 3.
The bot had visited Carac's and Brell’s cells.

Brune replied,
Thank you, enjoy your party
. The Prison Corps job had all
but ended; the winner would be free and not an inmate anymore. The
cells would be dormant, and they would effectively be packing up
for reassignment.

"Scrivvens?" Brune
used his comm implant.

Whilst waiting for
him, Brune went back to watching the challenge. He had watched
Brell’s self-destruction with the whisky. It saddened him. At
first, she showed confidence and took control, but once the
drinking started, she didn’t want to stop. No wonder Meren
left.

"Scrivvens,
enter."

"All correct sir,"
Scrivvens said, saluting.

"Scrivvens, you have
knowledge of bots, is that correct?"

"Yes sir, did a
posting on Bot World, um, planet Ourak. You know, virtually
everything is run by bots."

"Interesting. Have you
had any postings on normal worlds with real people? Don't answer
that. Anyway, look, I have a job for you. Check out the service
regime for a specific cleaning bot. Check its route around the time
it called at Carac's cell before Challenge 2 and Brell's cell
before Challenge 3. Where did it go and how accessed; remotely or
directly?"

"Yes, sir."

"As soon as possible.
I believe it is linked to the challenge."

"Yes sir. Just seen
that the nun has found a key, but it is the wrong one, so she is
locked in the wrong world. Just seeing it out, I suppose. As for
Brell’s drinking, well ..."

"Thank you Scrivvens.
Do you have a sparkly suit? You could get a job commentating with
those two presenters."

"Yes, sir, er, no,
sir. I'll look into the cleaner bot."

As Scrivvens left the
room, Brune turned back to his challenge screens and ordered
another drink, hoping to delay his need for another weed smoke.

***

It was not Paris. With
Brell asleep, drunk, and Carac due for release soon, it gave a bit
more thinking time. The tower in San Francisco was worth exploring.
Being nearby it was possible that Williams could have purposefully
put the real key in San Francisco to confuse everyone.

Technician 22 had
watched Brell drinking the whisky, but could not understand the
need for intox, as it poisoned his system. For the moment, he
secured Brell's hotel in case she suddenly came to life. Having
discounted Paris, this only left four unseen worlds to scan. It
would be worthwhile for Carac to check out the San Francisco
location whilst he continued investigating. A message arrived from
the Twins.

New director
reluctant/unsure about the location of key. Working on it.

They all stuck
together, those media types. He continued setting up instructions
for Carac.

***

"Hi de partner. Time
to leave."

The security bot
opened the cell door. Carac’s eyes widened as he slowly stood up,
and walked out of the cell. The bot stood between him and the exit
door with his right hand resting on the desk.

Carac eyes followed
the bot’s arm down to the desk. Next to tapping fingers, a holo
tablet displayed a message.

Not Paris. Try Coit
Tower, San Francisco.
The message then disappeared.

"You have a nice day,
now."

The bot tipped its
wide brimmed hat to Carac, who had already left through the door
back into Alcatraz. As he made his way through the prison to the
bridge, six security bots appeared from another part of the prison,
all dressed in dark blue uniform jackets, trousers, and round
peaked hats, their belts full of equipment. They walked in unison
their faces staring ahead.

He tagged behind them
at a discreet distance, through the prison, over the bridge, and to
the main road at the other end of the pier. Two
Security
Together
transporters were waiting for them. Carac pondered
whether to follow them or go straight to this Coit Tower. Was
something up? What had Brell done? There was a link between San
Francisco and a man named King, so the tower was definitely worth a
visit. As for the obelisk, nothing came to mind. He jumped in a
small yellow vehicle and, after what seemed a long time feeling and
pushing around with his hands and feet, he got going and stuttered
up a hill in the same direction as the security bots.

Brell awoke still sitting on the floor, back
resting on a cupboard handle, neck hurting from the position of her
head, and she needed the privy. Pulling herself up, she knocked
over the cup of coffee Meren had left for her. After negotiating
the ensuite toilet door, she sat on the privy, head supported in
her hands. Finished, she got up, scratched her backside, and
ordered a glass of water and a whisky. She rubbed her left
shoulder; it ached inside. A small black plastic device with
buttons lay on the table, and when the top button was pressed, the
image screen came to life. Brell hit the buttons randomly and found
the “next channel” button. Taking a sip of water, she rotated
through the channels, part fascinated part bored with the alien
output on its square linear screen.

Still a bit woozy, she
finished the water and sipped some more whisky, then lay on the
bed, pulling the cover over her. The warmth of the bed and whisky
lulled her off to sleep as the flickering images and background
sound drifted across the room.

She half woke up; the
cup of whisky had dribbled over her hand and onto the sheets.
Through half open eyes, she peered at the screen images. A city
view appeared. This included large colourful buildings, a pyramid,
a lion, a tower, and fountains of water. She thought about Deep
Yellow flowing around inside its bottle and nodded off again.

***

Carac drove past the
front of Hotel California. Security bot vehicles were parked
outside, and a couple of bots stood by the entrance. They must be
inside after Brell; good. Be best to stay out of the way and
investigate the tower, just in case. He got out of his transporter
and examined the area to get a bearing on Coit Tower. If the slope
went any higher, it would burst up into the studio floor. Guiding
his transporter along a narrow tree-lined road and rounding a
curve, he found himself at the bottom of the tower. It was not
particularly tall and was shaped like a round tube with viewing
windows at the top.

The Obelisk and the
King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise
.

He ran up some steps,
entered the doorway, and found himself in a round foyer. A small
shop was selling images, not alien shirts, he noticed straight
away.

Look under the
Tower
.

Did that mean where he
now stood? Williams had a sense of humour, what would he do? There
appeared to be no underground entrance, this was the bottom as far
as he could see. People walked past him and up some stairs, so he
followed them. The top level opened out onto a series of arches,
with open windows beyond offering a view of the city. Carac could
not resist looking out over the city; it did not compare to his
home world or Elytia, but seemed vaguely interesting, for Inhab-47,
anyway. The truth was that the streets were dirty, people backward,
technology basic, and the food worse than the crap they served in
prison. How would they ever be ready for Association
integration?

He turned back from
the window and scanned the inside area. Stands with image views of
San Francisco on cards, plus a rectangular glass box marked
“souvenirs”. Carac understood it as a keepsake to show people that
you had visited the place. He made a beeline for it and looked
inside.

A key, hanging up
inside the box.

Was it that simple?
Did he expect music or something? A small metal knob protruded from
the base, and after twisting it, the key fell down and deposited
itself into a shelf. Carac momentarily paused before taking hold of
the key; surely, it can’t be that easy? Though the same size and
colour, it felt lighter. Turning it over, the words
Better luck
next time
were inscribed on one side. He threw the key to the
ground in frustration.

"Your little joke,
Williams?" he said aloud. Some of the holos reacted, then went back
to their behaviour routine, ignoring him.

"And you lot, yes. You
Inhab-47 people, Brench people."

People milled about,
standing by the windows, walking up and down the steps, oblivious
to Carac’s rant.

"Don’t you lot do
anything?" He picked up a card stand and threw it across the room.
It went through a couple of soft holo people and hit the floor;
images scattered around on the floor. Picking up another stand, he
strode over to a window and threw it out, watching it smash onto
the ground.

"Aargh!" was all he
could shout. Face flushed, agitated, he went back down the stairs,
trying to push men, women, and children out of his way. His arms a
flurry of activity, not connecting with anyone. He stomped out of
the tower, back into his transporter, intent on going back to the
hotel. No point waiting around for a message or sign that might not
even appear, it was time for direct action. Was the Tinker leaving
him high and dry?

Calming himself down
after a few near misses on the roadway, he slowed down and managed
to find his way back to Hotel California. The security bot
transporters were still there. Carac stopped, turned off the
engine, and hunched over the steering wheel, thinking of his next
move. Nothing seemed to have changed at the hotel; could Brell
still be there? Alternatively, might she have given him the slip
whilst he wasted his time at Coit Tower?

There was a growing
tension in his shoulders, and just sitting doing nothing, was not
good. He worried that whilst he searched the hotel, Brell could be
leaving from a rear door. There was no technology assistance, spy
cams, or anything he could utilise. If he found Brell, sure, he
would have fun, but she might not know or say where the key is
located. Winning was everything, he could have as many blue women
as he wanted. Drumming fingers on the steering wheel, he turned on
the engine and made his way to the Living Room. He needed to check
that she was still in this world. There was enough time.

After a slow drive
down the hill, craning his neck to observe anyone with blue skin,
he made it to the pier, and then over the bridge to Alcatraz.

To Carac, the Living
Room was the only place in the holo worlds that had any class.
Sitting in one of the bow-legged chairs, listening to light music,
there was an exclusivity about the room. Just one red door meant
that Brell must still be in San Francisco. The message on the gaol
table read, “Not Paris”, so either the Tinker’s representative had
received information or the nun had gone inside and found a false
key. San Francisco was incorrect, so that only left four worlds.
But which one? Could the nun be in the correct place but unable to
find a key? It gave him a headache just thinking about it. He would
have to wait for a clue, as more research would only confuse
him.