Deep Yellow (35 page)

Walking around, he
admired the paintings and furniture, nodding his head. After
winning the Challenge, he would take great delight in buying this
room from Williams. Sitting back down, he slouched slightly,
realising he was on edge and becoming tired. His eyelids became
heavy.

Waking up, Carac
grabbed the armrests and jumped to his feet. Only one red door.
Under a hundred minutes left. He rubbed his face, then jogged on
his feet briefly to wake himself up and started his journey back to
the hotel.

Along the pier, the
magician continued with the same routine. "Abracadabra."

Carac stopped. Jumped
on the stage and punched the holo, who fell straight to the stage
floor. As he went to walk away, he paused, leaned down, and tugged
off the magician's trousers and jacket. The trousers fitted but
were short at the ankles, and the jacket had enough room over the
Alcatraz sweatshirt. The small red flower remained fastened to the
top jacket pocket.

***

Deep Yellow. Beautiful
golden Deep Yellow. Brell, still asleep, mouth open, snored loudly.
Within her stupor, she relived her decision to drink the contents
of the small bottle, delivered by the bot, to her cell last night.
The golden liquid beckoned to her when reflected in the cell light.
It would be the last, after all. When the menu option appeared, she
intentionally made her choice.

“Thought -
Williams.”

Brell reached out to
connect back with that thought stream.

"Viva," he had said at
their first meeting. Multi coloured shirt. White suited male
assistant, black hair.

"It’s all a risk, a
gamble, like roulette."

The copy of the metal
tower, like all these holos, copies of the real thing. The obelisk,
copied. Gamble, having fun. Roulette. She drifted back up into a
lighter sleep, aware of the music, noise, and flickering light
coming from the image set.

“
Special offer
weekend at Las Vegas
.” Music played in the background.

“
Spend your weekend
in Venice, Paris, or Rome without using your passport. You could
take a gondola; see what’s at the top of the Eiffel Tower or the
entertainment inside the Colosseum.”

More music and
singing.

“
Play some slots,
how about roulette
?”

Deep Yellow, Williams,
gamble.

“It’s all a risk, a
gamble, like roulette.”

“
You might meet the
King.
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas.”
A man repeatedly
sang.

Brell sat up,
wrenching herself into the present. Her head spun and her stomach
lurched. Normally she would have taken an InstaSober pill and
boosted an implant. Wobbling a little, she got up to look out the
window.

One hour.

She threw off her
clothes, got into the shower alternating the temperature from warm
to cold, and dry retched a few times. With just a towel draped
around her, she stood in the bedroom, dripping water on the carpet,
whilst changing the TV channels.

“Special offer weekend
at Las Vegas.” The commercial was accompanied by a sweeping aerial
view of the Luxor pyramid with an obelisk outside and an Eiffel
tower replica further up the main road, at the Paris hotel. People
partying, men wearing bright shirts, chemise, like Williams’ and a
man in a distinctive white suit singing “Viva Las Vegas.”
Williams's assistant.

The Obelisk, Tower,
une chemise
. But what about the King? A King of Las Vegas? No
time for research.

"Auto chef. Hangover
cure?" It recognised the order. Williams must have created one;
partying too hard on the real Inhab-47, probably. She drank it
down.

"Frag this." She
pushed her tongue out, it tasted like crap.

"Another one." It
still tasted like crap.

The effects of the
intox remained, but she would not let it slow her down; in fact, it
might loosen her up.

"Come on," she
shouted, clearing her throat. She dried herself with the towel and
picked up her clothes, taken from the Room 222 holo. As they were
creased, sweaty, and smelt of whisky, she threw them back on the
floor.

Opening the door a
crack, she heard heavy footsteps. Crap, a security bot was
patrolling up and down the corridor. There was no time for modesty,
now, one hour from death. Naked, she grabbed a sheet off the bed
and went back to the door. As the bot walked up the corridor, she
sprang forward, putting the sheet over its head and pulling it
backwards into her room, kicking the door shut. Tying the sheet
around its neck, she twisted the body around, tripped up its legs,
and wrestled it to the floor. The bots hands and feet were moving
around uncertainly and erratically. Brell undid the jacket and
trousers and stripped off all the uniform and underpants, finally
lifting the sheet to retrieve the hat. Using the same sheet, the
bot was quickly tied to a fixed pipe in the bathroom with a
pillowcase over its head. There was a good chance the bots eyes
were sending camera images. She put the bots clothes on. A quick
glance in the mirror and, of course, she was back in uniform.
Standing up straight, she brought her hand up in a salute.

"Ready for duty,
ma’am."

A sound of crashing
filtered up from downstairs. Bet they had gone into Room 101.
Wouldn’t take them long to realise the mangled bots inside were
programmed for this room, 222.

The corridor was empty
as she slipped out of the room, though a bot walked along the
adjacent corridor by the stairs. Brell retraced her steps back past
Room 222 and to a large window. Confirming what she had seen
earlier from the hotel bedroom, the fire escape stairs were
accessible from this window. Not thinking why they were there, she
pulled the window up and stepped outside. Hearing fast approaching
footsteps, she took a quick peek back inside. A bot ran down the
corridor towards her, its face impassive. They were obviously after
her.

Taking two steps at a
time, she reached the bottom, boot steps following her down. The
fire escape led to the back of the hotel with a low fence beyond
that. Once over the fence, she found herself in a side road.
Transporter? There were a few of the usual yellow ones, but just
down the hill was a sleek, low-slung, dull green, two-door vehicle.
Brell ran for it, got in, and felt around for the key.

P-zap
.

An electric charge
bounced off the side of the transporter. She frantically felt
around the console with both hands.

Crack
.

A security bot started
punching the driver's side window. Small cracks started to appear.
Another bot appeared in the roadway ahead and started walking up
towards the front of the vehicle, holding a small device in its
hand. Brell glanced in the rear view mirror; a
Security
Together
transporter glided around a corner towards her. The
bot standing by the window started reaching around its belt.

Brell finally found
the key and the engine started first time with a satisfying throaty
reverberation. She accelerated away just as the bot smashed a small
metal baton down, just hitting the rear bonnet.

Brell drove straight
at the bot in front, knocking it over, then she positioned her
vehicle in the middle of the road to stop any attempts of an
overtake. The vehicle was fast and loud. She felt a rush of
excitement and adventure, the leftover intox effect boosting her
confidence. In her previous life, she would have been the one doing
the chasing. No stingers or anti grav devices here, though.

The security bots’
transporter matched her speed. Brell saw a chance as the old,
clanking people transporter came towards her on its rails in the
middle of the road. She accelerated towards the transporter, and at
the last moment, pulled the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding
it. The
Security Together
vehicle ploughed straight into the
transporter with a loud crump of plastic, squashed hard beams, and
bot metal casing. Brell sped down the hill towards the sea, and
screeching the vehicle to the right, she headed towards the
pier.

Carac remained tense; under an hour left to go
and he fiddled about, sitting in a vehicle, planning his next move.
He had taken his time driving back to the hotel, carefully
examining the area in case Brell was on the move. However, as the
security bots had not moved, Brell must still be inside. Was she
just going to end it all by being drunk, without attempting to find
a key? Beats voluntary termination in a prison, but she could know
where the key is but not be able to physically get there. Time for
that direct action. He went to get out of the transporter, but
stopped himself.

There was a sudden
burst of energy. Three bots ran around the back of the hotel and
their transporters hastily drove off. Brell must be moving. Good.
However, if they got her, how would he know which world to go to,
or where to look? He drove off after the security bots’
transporter. After a couple of turns, he travelled downhill and had
to negotiate a way past a large mess of twisted metal and plastic.
Half-formed holos were crawling around whilst soft holo people
walked past. Driving down to the end of the road and towards the
sea, the pier was in sight.

Brell had obviously
been busy; there were bots and hard holos laying on the road or
walking in circles. Two mangled transporters lay abandoned with
their front bonnets stoved in. He steered along the pier for as
long as he could until reaching the magician’s stage, which had a
small green transporter embedded into it. As he ran around to the
front, the magician was laying on the ground, in his underpants,
having been shunted forward with the force of the accident.

"Abracadabra," it
said. The head tried to move side to side.

Carac kicked the
magician's head. "That’s magic," he said sarcastically and ran
towards Alcatraz.

***

Brell ran as fast as
possible and did not need telling that if caught, everything would
be finished. Body bruised from the vehicle smash ups, her left
shoulder bones ached from the Kellsa incident. The immediate issue
was to navigate through the Alcatraz building to the exit door and
Living Room, as security bots were seemingly appearing out of every
doorway.

Negotiating the
offices and then once around the control room she recognised the
small windows set in a wall. The door opening ahead led straight
into the cellblock and corridor. Unfortunately, there were two
security bots standing in the middle of the corridor, waiting for
her. Without thinking, her old instincts kicked in as her hand went
to her belt. The kit was very different to her Police Corps one,
but as she ran forward, her hand curled around the weapon. Bringing
it up to waist level, she pulled the trigger. An electrical charge
shot out, hitting one of the bots on the arm. At the shock of the
device, the bot started to shake and stumble. That was all she
needed. Pushing her weight forward with a shoulder charge on the
injured bot, she got past. Breathing hard and now with both
shoulders aching, she reached the Recreation Area door.

Hands on hips, she
panted whilst getting her breath back in the Living Room. One door
was coloured red. Sorry, Meren, there would be no meeting in Paris
world. Shrugging off further thoughts, she chose the furthest door,
whilst cautiously glancing behind. The door menu popped up.

“Las Vegas.”

A long pause later,
the door unlocked itself with a loud click and she walked into
another world.

***

Carac reached the
Living Room to find two doors coloured red. Where had she gone?
This was a disaster. Sweating and gasping for breath, he wiped his
forehead, looking around for inspiration. A indication, message,
signal, anything. Retracing his steps back to the cell corridor,
the two bots were still there. The intact one helped the injured
one to get up off the floor, but he dropped him and then tried
again with the same result. Carac fidgeted with his hands as he
slowly looked around the cellblock. He paused when he caught sight
of a sign placed on the railing in front of a cell.

“
Cell B-206, Al
Capone from Las Vegas.
”

Carac read the sign
twice and smiled, whilst running back towards the Living Room. The
two security bots were still stuck in their pick-me-up routine.

***

Technician 22 felt
relieved that Carac had seen his message; having uploaded it in
haste. He hoped no one noticed it on the live feed, as it had only
appeared for a few seconds. The Twins sent through confirmation of
the location at the same time that the blue woman had her
revelation inside the hotel room. He had hoped that Carac would
have at least seen where she had gone, or forced the information
out of her. He couldn’t even manage that.

The blue woman was
ahead of him and unfortunately, her shower in Room 222 had created
a temporary shield that confused the security bots. They had spent
too long searching Room 101, despite his best efforts to alter
their instructions.

He also knew that he
had dithered.

Brell had been secure
in the hotel room, drunk and out of it, but her sudden activity
when looking at the image screen had taken him by surprise. His
expectation was that she would remain drunk and asleep until the
end, whilst the Twins obtained the key location or he found it
himself. He would have had plenty of time for relaying a subtle
message to Carac, who could have gone after the key without any
interference.

The bots need to
detain her. The thirty-minute detention should see her out of the
challenge. It doesn’t matter what the audience thinks or complains
about. As long as Carac lives at the end, they can investigate
programme malpractice all they like.