

## Deep Yellow

## (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

## by

## Stuart F. Dodds

# Copyright

Copyright © 2015 by Stuart F. Dodds

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

***

Published by Stuart F. Dodds

ISBN: 978-0-9932065-2-8

Fourth edition (2019)

***

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of

the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***

Cover design by Stuart F. Dodds and Rachel Bostwick.

***

Discover other titles by Stuart F. Dodds

1. The Search for Locardum (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

2. The Fight for Locardum (A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

3. Billie

***

Table of Contents

# Chapter 1 – Commander Sturlach

Flexing her hands, she shifted in her seat and pressed the fire button. Seeker missiles tore through the air, vaporising the defence drones.

Dockside was still a crap hole, Police Corps Commander Brell Sturlach reflected, as she flew her command skiff around for another run. Little had changed since her first posting there. Huge dilapidated tower blocks, supposed "cities in the sky," now a desolate residence of poverty, crime, and the forgotten. Despite all the advancements in technology, people still hung their clothes on a washing line strung over their balcony.

Dancing her fingers over various real and holographic buttons, she checked on the progress of the land transporters. Her two support skiffs flew alongside. It was early morning, a good time for a drugs raid. The only people awake would be the poor sods manufacturing the illegal drugs or the "volunteers" operating the defence pods. Most of the gang were in oblivion unaware of anything going on around them. Deep Yellow and other illegal drug ampoules, bottles and tablets would be strewn all over their apartment floors. Brell hated Deep Yellow users.

Studying the console monitors and holographic screens within her cockpit, Brell realised that the drug gang's defences outside the building were basic. No sticky bombs, laser splashers, or heavy armaments. Still, caution was required. The location was a whole floor inside Tower Block Linear 51, but experience told her that gangs used the surrounding buildings for early warning systems and defences.

The transporters, full of Corpsmen and Corpswomen, steadily drove along the grid road, one behind the other. They were within one kilometre of the target tower block. Regardless of the obvious Corps activity, local people walked on the side-paved areas, cabs dropped off passengers, and auto sleds cabs shuffled around the grids. Off to one side were the cargo docking areas where large bulk transporters manoeuvred into a final descent. The stevedore sleds would be getting ready to scan and store the shipments ready for collection, whilst the security guards waited for the morning shift to arrive.

A signal chimed on Brell's console, a heat signal discovered by the community centre ruins.

"Trans One, two hundred metres ahead of your position on the left. Possible armaments." Brell said, via her comms implant link.

"Skiff Alpha, assist Trans One."

She watched the leading transporter, Trans One, as it approached the community centre, remembering her time as a junior Corps officer in the back of a similar transporter en route to a raid. Two lines of Corps officers, sitting opposite each other in dark blue uniforms, with their commander positioned off to one side studying screens. There would be the usual small talk, jokes, silence, and faces unable to hide nervous tension. At least one of them would clasp and re-clasp their laser barrel, looking around at the others. Brell remembered when a Police Corps colleague had come straight to work from an all night party. He had not washed and his stomach acid tablets were not working, so they sent him to sit in the corner. When the "go" order came, they pushed him out of the transporter first. Unfortunately, as he jumped the half metre to the ground, he let off a huge fart. The remainder of the crew, including Brell, had to run through a cloud of rank stomach gas with every one of them coughing. Their Commander went red in the face whilst telling them to pull themselves together without being overcome by the fumes himself.

Trans One and Skiff Alpha went to work, firing missiles and emitting laser strikes. After the dust settled, the heat signals had gone.

"Trans One. Good job. Will clear target entranceway. Skiff Beta, follow me."

She tensed, relaxed, adjusted her breathing, and calmed her thoughts. Flipping up another holographic screen, she made a positive thought.

_Command; disengage auto_.

The engine noise changed slightly. Brell felt the weight and vibration of the craft through her joystick. Easing off the anti grav drive, she lowered the craft to twenty metres above the roadway and surveyed the area ahead, Skiff Beta following her path. Her intention was to curve around the target tower block and back passed the entrance, where she would send in some stunners.

Boom!

The craft suddenly dipped to the left. Brell compensated on the joystick as best as she could, but the sudden banking put the skiff onto a collision course with another tower block.

"Warning, wing damage. Warning, wing damage," the cockpit announced.

"Skiff Beta. I've been hit. Be careful."

Brell tensed her jaw, tightened her grip on the joystick, and decelerated. By fighting the joystick and adjusting the drive, she managed to lift the wing up to just clear the tower block. Letting out a breath, she saw out of the corner of her eye, Skiff Beta pelting the armaments that had fired at her wing.

"Damage report." An update message appeared. The wing tip had received some minor damage.

"Auto stabilise, yaw," she said in a firm voice.

The skiff balanced itself whilst Brell settled back in her seat, flying the skiff up and around the adjacent tower block on the grid. She wiggled the joystick and felt the skiff responding.

"Skiff Beta, all okay," Brell said calmly, "all trans, standby for entranceway stun."

With final screen and sensor checks made for lookouts, cameras, holo fields, and pedestrians, Brell swung her skiff onto the grid line leading to the entrance. Lowering to three metres, the ground streamed passed until she engaged the sensor assist braking. Balancing the braking and the anti grav drive, she hung outside the entrance. A stream of light laser fire emitted from a window midway up the tower block and splashed against the craft's shields. Another stream joined it from the next window along. Her main screen brought up a heat temperature gauge as the left side anti grav drive engine began overheating. The drive unit started to whine. Adjusting her concentration, Brell got ready.

_Command; stun pellets_.

Small pellets burst out and into the entranceway. A cloud of dust billowed back out of the doorway. Anyone inside, gang member or not, would have collapsed on the floor, unable to move. Upon waking, a grinning Police Corps officer would be leaning over them.

"Warning, drive unit overheating. Warning, drive unit overheating." The temperature gauge flashed red.

Brell pushed her joystick for acceleration without response. The sensors had set both engines into tick over to maintain height only. Another laser splashed onto the drive unit, which started to melt.

"Danger, drive unit fail. Danger, drive unit fail." Brell's eyes flicked around the various warning lights.

A distinct warning chime sounded. Had Skiff Alpha and Beta been hit? The chime got louder. Brell sat back, dropping her shoulders.

"Frag it."

The Reveille breakfast chime continued as Brell pulled off her gaming helmet and placed it on the desk in front of her. Rubbing her face with both hands, she stared at the wall, adjusting herself back into the real world: Cell 752, Wing 90, Association (Women's) Prison Facility, Planet Crin, on the outer rim of the Vorsan Galaxy.

# Chapter 2 – Wing 90

Brell sat on the privy, rubbing her arm, staring at the floor. Another day had dawned, same old breakfast waiting for her. Aside from the bed, chair, table, wardrobe, media console, and punch bag, she had little personal effects in her cell. The regulation single shelf held a picture cube, a small plas-glass sculpture set on a wooden plinth from a craft class and a stack of personal messages she should have thrown away.

Standing up, she washed her hands then splashed some water on her face. She straightened her clothes, yawned, scratched her backside, and ambled out onto the landing overlooking the communal area. A smell of disinfectant and cooking wafted up to her. The area for meals and free association consisted of a large rectangular room on the ground floor, surrounded by tiers of cells. Psych analysis, treatment, and holo activity rooms were off to the side, whilst the guard stations nestled around the entrance door. No one had escaped; the security and location implant inside each prisoner saw to that.

Brell casually observed several inmates doing their usual morning walking routine. This not only gave them a chance to walk and talk with fellow inmates, but it put the guards on edge. Another inmate performed some stretching exercises whilst watching one of the giant image screens, which displayed rolling positive messages. When Brell first saw the messages such as, "Be good to your fellows" and "A positive mind is a positive place" she laughed. Whoever wrote that had not stayed in prison themselves. This place was full of lifers, like herself, who cares a frag about this? The messages had changed very little over the years.

The Arborian in the next cell wandered out onto the landing and leant over the rail. They could not have appeared more different. The Arborian had dull red scaly skin and nose plugs to assist in breathing. Whereas Brell was 178 centimetres tall with pale blue skin, a round face, brown eyes, a low wide forehead and short black hair. The punch bag routines had helped her keep trim and on top of her thirty-nine years. They gave each other an acknowledgment as the cleaner bots popped up and scurried through their cells. Most lines of conversation were exhausted.

Brell slowly wandered back into her cell, lifted the sculpture off the shelf, and opened the small flap in the back of the wooden plinth. Hooking her finger inside, she pulled out a small liquid ampoule and weighed it in her hand. Deep Yellow. Two hundred days had passed since the last time she had taken the illegal substance. Though a weaker form of Deep Yellow than the original bottled mix, it was better than nothing. Brell had tried offsetting the monotony of prison life with a drug-free health and fitness regime. Aware but oblivious of the 24-hour cell surveillance and scanning, Brell slowly put the ampoule back and then replaced her sculpture whilst looking directly at the cams smiling.

Frag it, the guards supplied the Deep Yellow, at a cost. Made their lives easier. She tapped on her picture cube. The holo screen materialised with the first image, showing Gorst, her ex-boyfriend. She ran her hands through her hair a couple of times and made her way out of the cell.

Brell stood in line, collected her food from the large industrial auto chef, and took her usual seat at the far end of the communal eating table. She was oblivious to the food smells, sweat, unwashed inmates, and guards' perfume permeating the sterile air. The usual murmur of conversation carried on around the room. What did they have to talk about? Brell had long given up taking an interest in the different races, creeds, and skin colours. It was something to do with differences in radiation and soil apparently.

She remembered one of her first Police Corps Academy lessons describing the history of the Association of Planets. If Stolaan Golic had survived the explosion in his shed and Hypar V'tr'lich had been sober, then beam propulsion and space folding would never have been invented. The Association, with its two hundred member planets, provided plenty of work for Police and Space Corps around the galaxy. Having had years to reflect on this, it meant that Brell, without the ability to travel, might have become a weaver's wife on her home world just looking up at the stars. She would certainly not be in prison.

Her fellow inmates were all serving long sentences for drugs, smuggling, fraud, and murder whatever their background. Like Brell, they were all unsuitable for community punishments, psyche profiling, DNA altering, or brain implants.

Today's breakfast consisted of a bread egg affair with a large sweet root together with fruit gloop. Brell snatched a quick glance at the others and busied herself with the food whilst mulling over whether to apply for a new Holo World game console and helmet. The conversation around her stopped and she felt the gaze of the other inmates.

"What do you think?"

"What was that?" Brell said clearing her throat and glancing up to see which inmate had spoken.

It was one of the Colony 09 inmates, sitting further up the table. They were tough, heavily tattooed, swarthy women who could only deal with things by way of conflict, hence the reason why many of them were in prison.

"My friend has just been brought in by the Corps."

"Really?" Brell said, narrowing her eyes.

"MK running."

"Well, MK is a heavy drug. Probably a washout, psych change at the least," Brell said, biting into the root vegetable.

"MK ain't no Deep Yellow, you know. Now Deep Yellow, that's what the rich lot use, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and some of them carry on with their job catching MK users." A second inmate joined the conversation.

"Old captain here knows all about that, don't you, princess blue skin?" the first inmate said.

"Talk about two-faced."

"Yeah. More like blue faced."

"Well, looks like there's a bit of a mixture in there. More light blue than pure blue, wouldn't you say?"

"Your mother or father from the other side of the tracks, captain bluey?" She made a mock salute.

Brell let them talk and bit harder into the root, frowning. Some of the other women said nothing but looked on, their eyes darting left and right. They had all stopped eating.

"Oh, look, caught a nerve, have we? Missed your Deep Yellow hit again?"

"Yeah, probably run out. What you going to do?"

"Actually, I haven't used it for two hundred days," Brell said.

"Oh, we are good, aren't we captain princess blue skin. Two hundred days, well, I never."

Brell stared down at her food. Here we go again. She never lost her Police Corps tag. Well, the Corps had placed every one of these women here. Three years ago, a Space Corps sergeant caught smuggling Association-rated gland implants, appeared on the wing. Brell developed a relationship with her, two Corpswomen in similar circumstances, and all that, but the sergeant opted for voluntary termination. It was a difficult time for Brell. Her thoughts often strayed to taking the VT option. Whilst it provided an easy way out, she could not bring herself to do it, at the moment, anyway.

"Two hundred minutes, more like," the first inmate said. She flipped her friend a look, motioning with her eyes. A couple of guards walked nearby.

"Yeah. Old bluey there had better calm down." The second inmate stared intently at Brell.

Brell tasted a spoonful of gloop and threw the spoon back in the cup. There was a sharp bang on her head as a half-chewed root fell into her plate. Laughter erupted. In one movement, Brell stood up and threw her plate at one of the bitchy women. It missed and clattered on the floor. Some nervous giggling started.

"Hey, old Corpy's getting a bit angry. Watch out girls, she may try and run you in."

Brell ran around the table and grabbed the inmate's shirt collar with her left hand, pulling back her right hand for a punch. The last thing she remembered was the woman screwing up her eyes, trying to turn her face away, in anticipation of the punch.

***

She awoke face down on her bed, her implant burning at the base of her neck.

"Aagh, fret, frag, frotting, frag yes I'm awake, for frag's sake, okay."

"She is awake. Vital signs are good."

"Yes, now turn it off."

Through half closed eyes, she saw a guard standing just inside the cell staring back at her whilst talking to a supervisor via her comms implant. It was one of the new guards, still a bit twitchy on the buttons.

Brell rubbed the back of her head as if to erase the lingering burning sensation from the stunning, which had mixed with the current one being administered to wake her up.

"Okay, okay, I'm awake, turn it off."

The burning stopped a little as she sat up. The guard approached her, holding up a neck beam collar and beam cuffs.

"Overseers office," the guard said, smiling.

# Chapter 3 – Overseer's office

The Overseer's office was large, yet bland. The guard plonked her down in a chair three metres from the Overseer's large metal desk. The only item of adornment was a large corner bookcase with Rules and Regulation holo book covers neatly stacked on the shelves. Streaming holo screens were positioned in a wide semicircle in front of the desk. Brell turned her head and saw a huge checkerboard of screens lining the long wall behind her. Every few seconds the images changed, sometimes a corridor, a recreation area, or staff showers. As if aware of her thoughts, some screens blinked off.

The Overseer turned off the console in front of her and looked at Brell. The round face with its small ears and even smaller nose was devoid of expression. Many Prison Corps staff were Bermians, a race known for following regulations and orders. They were of medium height, but tough, their stout bodies ideal for dealing with disorderly inmates, as new prisoners testing the boundaries often found out. They lacked humour, as Brell remembered from her Bermian Corps colleagues, but they were dependable and solid, but not great fun on a night out.

Sitting to the side of the desk was a man. A man! There were no male guards in this female prison. He appeared Elytian with his light yellow skin, and appeared roughly sixty years old, unfit, with a second chin trying to break through. His face had both charm and weariness, but his loud, colourful patterned, short sleeved shirt was interesting, made of some kind of basic fabric.

"Prisoner Sturlach," the Overseer's voice boomed out in an emotionless accent, though a slight high trill betrayed her age. "The breakfast business this morning has been dealt with; though it isn't the first time you have been stunned for fighting."

Being in front of the Overseer must mean bad news, Brell considered as she rested her cuffed hands on her lap. The hard beam collar felt stiff and uncomfortable, but it only took a button press from the guard standing behind her to deliver a stun ten times worse than her implant. She licked her lips and tried to relax her shoulders.

"This is Williams from the Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company. It is easier if he explains."

Yes, Elytian, the colour of his skin gave it away. It was unusual for anyone from there to stoop this low and visit a prison. Elytia, the Association capital, where all major technology and media companies were based.

"Hi, Viva! I'm Williams." He held up the palm of one hand as if in greeting, and then fiddled with his multi-coloured beaded necklace. The Overseer glanced at Williams impassively.

"Interesting name," Brell said.

"It is a kind of foreign name."

Brell shrugged.

Williams, paused, leaned forward, and smiled. "I've put together a programme which is to be beamed all over the Association. It's got clues that you have to solve, and you are going to be one of the challengers."

"Challengers? I've just sat down here, my head is hurting, and you are talking about what, a children's clue hunt?"

"Well, it's more than that, actually. It's a whole show, clues, keys, but most importantly," he waved his hand, "the winner gets their freedom."

"Hold on, what ... out of here, prison? I'm incarcerated for the rest of my life." Brell darted her eyes around the room as if to emphasise her point. What was this man going on about?

"Okay, I will slow down a bit. Have you ever heard of or seen 'No win No return'? It was shown a while back."

"Wasn't that a race thing involving some Rackskin losers who ended up killing some locals and causing undue political damage? Remember it, great show."

Williams wriggled in his seat and rubbed his jaw.

"Okay, okay, what do you want from me? Is this a joke or something?" Brell glanced at the Overseer. Her face remained blank.

"We are going to run an updated version called Convict Challenge. There will be seven prisoners to start with. It's set on a holographic version of Planet Inhab-47, an inhabited world only a few decades from Association first contact."

"And if I lose?"

"Well, there is only one winner. The others don't make it." Williams lightly rubbed his chin.

The Overseer nearly smiled.

"Oh, I see. A chance of freedom or death on a live beam show for the entertainment of an Association-wide audience. Sounds great."

"There's no choice, you've been signed up already by the Overseer. Also, I believe you are due for a voluntary termination interview soon." He glanced at the Overseer, "You could always choose that option."

Brell swallowed, her throat dry. This had already been decided. Talk about getting notice.

"Look, I got a life sentence. It's taken me years to come to terms with that, and now you suddenly come up with this, this game show, as if I'll go on and suddenly, bingo, I'm free."

She went to run her hands through her hair, forgot about the beam cuffs, and flinched as the cuffs knocked against her chin.

"Watch this cube." Williams held up a small metal box. "It's got your fellow challengers and an overview of how the game will run. It's being beamed cross-Association from today, as well."

"May I?" Williams took a quick look at the Overseer.

He walked out from the table, reached over, and placed the cube in Brell's hand. She became aware of his body heat and perfume; it was the closest she had been to a man for several years. Nevertheless, she knew what nerves looked like as his hand shook a little. Was he afraid of prison or inmates, or just one of those media types who lives in a virtual world? Surely, he had every type of enhancement and media implant such as retina screen, thought transmitters, and gland improvements?

"I am not sure about the idea, but as this has come from on high, I like to follow my orders. Return to your cell. In two weeks, you will be transferred into custody of Prison Corps officers at the studios. The Challenge starts in four weeks. Say your goodbyes; you will not be returning," the Overseer said finally.

Brell could not be sure if the Overseer was pleased, grateful, or just being truthful, especially after the bust up this morning. Whilst being ushered out of the office, she heard Williams say, "She will make good viewing ratings."

"We'll see," the Overseer said.

# Chapter 4 – We Proudly Present

Brell gnawed on her fingernails. The daily prison grind would end soon because of some ludicrous game show. Was she just being toyed with, a Carac prank? Perhaps she could gain her freedom, but more than likely it would end in death. If nothing else, presumably, she will be free for a while during the contest. Saves the voluntary termination chat.

Pressing the edge of Williams' cube caused a screen to materialise a metre in front of her. Better technology than her old picture cube. Buttons and symbols displayed near to her hands, so she sat back in her chair and pressed "Play."

A blue planet came into view together with low throbbing background music.

"Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company proudly presents Convict Challenge." The words Convict Challenge curled and rotated around the planet.

"It's back in a new format, refreshed and updated. Seven prisoners, all murderers, released on our Holo version of an alien world. Their aim, to solve the clues and be the first to get back to the studio. There is only one winner: their prize, their freedom. The losers: well, just let's say they won't be coming back."

"Hi I'm Flip C'hundai, one of the main hosts for the show." A male Elytian wearing a sparkly green suit appeared on screen. His greased back hair had a single gold line running through the middle. Typical Elytian show presenter, false hair, and permanent smile.

"Where will the contest take place? For older viewers, we have learnt our lessons of the past." Serious face. "That is why we are going to use a holo version of the planet. There will be no repeat of last time." A close-up of the planet appeared.

"Inhab-47 is several decades behind our technology. Many of its inhabitants live in basic communities spread around the planet." An image showed some black skinned people with children sitting outside dwellings seemingly made of tree leaves. The children filled water containers from a small dirty pond situated nearby. Brell had not seen anything like that. Basic dwelling pods, synthetic water, solar powered auto chefs, yes, but nothing that basic. Would she have to learn jungle skills?

"Many communities are permanently at war. Others have accords and peace agreements. Most of the population mainly live in family structures, no central birth systems, or birthing tanks. Sadly poverty, famine, early death are rife."

Further images appeared of some children, thin faced, insects buzzing around them.

"There is basic communication technology and transport using the planet's limited resources. No anti gravitation transport." Various types of transporters and vehicles appeared, all with wheels, travelling on the ground. There was a quick glimpse of a rudimentary flying craft.

"They believe they are unique in the known universe. Deep Space Corps actually mapped their location years ago."

Flip faced the camera. "Throughout the challenge, you can vote for your favourite contestant and experience real surround holo scenes. Behind the scene specials have been created to see how the programme was put together. There will be many interviews with the challengers and you can also enter a draw to become a virtual audience member."

A blue screen appeared for a second, then Flip's magnificent teeth returned. Probably space for a commercial break when shown on beam channels, Brell considered. How about that, a show where lives are at stake but with adverts for the latest frothy milk mix. Mind you, it involves convicted murderers, who on another day, could have all been terminated. Let's not go there. Flip announced the challengers. Seven faces appeared on screen, the images from when they were initially booked into prison.

"Here they are, what a pretty bunch. We will meet them all in good time, and you can read up on them via our beam and stream channels, but here is a brief overview."

"They are all incarcerated for murder. We've got ex Space Corps and Police Corps." Brell's face, together with a lizard-like man, appeared on screen. Have to get used to this exposure again.

Further faces filled the screen, "Also, we have a smuggler, an ex-farmer, a nun, an assassin, and a Corporation First Executive."

"Crap, fotting, fragging bastard crap!" Brell shouted and stood up, trying to find something to damage or throw. She chose instead to hit her punch bag for a full minute before pausing for breath.

"No, not him."

# Chapter 5 – Corporal Sturlach

Brell was a corporal on Grab, a back of beyond planet rich in ore and minerals. One night duty, she drove a Police Corps ground patrol skiff around the entertainment district. The area was a jumbled collection of ramshackle shacks, basements, bars, and shops that had grown up over the years. It serviced the needs of miners, haulage crews, dockers, scientists, and the occasional off-duty security and Corps personnel. The mining activities on the planet meant that most static objects had a thin layer of dust; the entertainment district was no different. Many workers wore face masks whilst inside the many establishments to protect their lungs.

Her partner, fresh out of the Academy, busied himself by scanning parked vehicles for any trade and licensing offences. A typical Bermian, Brune sat upright staring at his screens, his white, starched shirt a counterpoint to his brown, leathery skin.

Brell, on the other hand, continued thinking about how many days remained until the end of this duty rotation. Her next posting should be to a busy urban precinct on another planet, giving her a chance to gain promotion. She nudged the skiff slowly around the parking area; it would soon be time for a meal break.

"Hang on. Over there, a drunk, I think walking towards a conveyance. Body scan shows signs of intox. We can intervene before he gets into the transporter. It's a Section Five offence right now," Brune said, trying to hide his excitement.

"Wait a moment. Hold on," Brell said.

"If we let him drive off and he causes an accident, we will be blamed for not preventing it. My tutor always told me that ..."

"Look, you have to follow your gut instinct sometimes, not just rules and regulations."

Brune said a not very convincing, "Okay," and went back to monitoring his screens.

The drunk got into the transporter and soon after, there was a low whine as the anti grav kicked in. The vehicle rose a metre off the ground, and gathering speed, it swayed over to the right of the parking lane, then back to the centre. Ahead was a tight left turn, and then an exit to open highways.

"He's not going to make the turn. Get the stinger ready."

Brune made some finger movements. "Stinger locked on," he said, his voice growing louder, disguising his nerves.

The transporter lurched to the right, and just as Brell said, "Stinger away," the vehicle accelerated and skewed across the roadway smashing straight into the side of a parked truck. Plas-steel and glass showered everywhere. The stinger somewhat belatedly entered the engine compartment, shutting off its power.

Various warning and crash alarms sounded.

"Frag it," Brell said scratching the back of her neck. This was going to take time to report.

The driver was sitting upright, legs pinned lightly against the seat by a twisted metal control console. A strong smell of intox wafted up towards Brell. The driver stared straight at Brell with a thin smirk on his face, his head bobbing due to the intox effect. He had white blond hair, white skin, a high forehead, square jaw, and blue eyes.

"Are you ill or injured?" Brell said.

"Never felt better," the male said slowly and seemingly mockingly.

"We need to get you out in case the power cell has a leak. Can you get out yourself?"

The driver stared back at Brell and paused before saying, "Ah, a blue skin? You must be from Celeste, then. In the Corps as well? You are not very blue, though."

The man slowly manoeuvred his way out of the wreck, his feet slipping as he tried to keep control of his drunken legs.

Brell stood stock still, legs apart, and folded her arms.

"Brune, get him in the skiff and start the intox procedures."

"I would prefer it if gorgeous here did some tests on me rather than old fresh face here. Missed your wrestling match, have we?"

Brell, used to insults, considered there was something arrogant about this man. In addition, he had abused Brune. Okay, he was a young Corpsman doing everything by the book, but that did not excuse the attitude.

"Brune, follow the steps exactly, as per your Academy lessons, okay?" She shot the man a glance to make sure he had heard her.

"Certainly will," Brune said as he led the unsteady man to the back of the skiff. When satisfied that Brune explained the procedures correctly, she pressed her neck and started communicating with control to sort out the mess.

***

"Do you know who Carac Montil is?" Without waiting for a reply, the Commander continued. "He is the First Executive for Grab. He runs all the mining business here, a political top dog."

"But, he was drunk in charge of a transporter," Brell said.

Brune stood to attention, staring ahead.

"Yes, but he and his Legal will argue that he should have been stopped before getting in the transporter. Public safety, heard of it?"

"Experience shows that once he has started the engine, it is better for the judiciary and courts. Gut instinct." She stopped talking and swallowed.

"Yes, when it is an unknown Jon Alien, but not a first executive. We have dropped the intox driving case. He paid a drunkenness fine instead and the damaged transporter owner has been paid off. Case closed."

Brell shook her head showing her annoyance, but she restrained herself from saying anymore. It was a done deal, and shouting at the commander would not be in her interest. It wouldn't take much for her duty on Grab to be extended. Play along, don't make a fuss, and finish your work here.

Brell walked slowly back to the skiff; the cool night air a welcome relief from the warm Commanders office. Perhaps a weed smoke may help, or some intox, to forget that creep. A drink, every now and again, helped cope with the tedium of Grab, she told herself, it was quite normal. Her gland enhancements recently had not been calming here enough.

She had aimlessly started to clean the intox testing equipment when she smelt thin wasps of smoke. Peering around the rear door, she saw Brune standing by the perimeter beam wall, finishing off a weed smoke. Wonder if he has a spare one?

"Hey, smoking won't make you feel any better."

"Got a new enhancement. I can smoke all I like, no after effects. Helps my addiction!" He laughed.

He is certainly less tense now. Brell had considered him an uptight new recruit, well he was, but she didn't think he would have any vices, yet.

"Got a spare one?"

"Sure." Brune went to get his case out of his pocket, but then looked up and paused.

"Well, here they are. Moxy and Doxy, a right pair of Corps corpses. Perhaps you need to go back to the Academy to learn the Association Laws again. You know, the ones you swore to uphold." Carac said purposefully over in their direction.

He was standing on the other side of the security beam wall, his two aides trying to motion him to keep walking.

"We did our duty. You were the one who had been driving whilst drunk," Brune said.

"Don't reply, just let him go," Brell said.

"Ah very sensible Corpswoman Officer Sturlach. Keep your young boy on the leash. He may attack at any time. Pity, bluey, it could have had a better outcome. Told you to do the tests on me. Never mind, it is a small matter now. I have a mining planet to run. You no doubt need to go and terrorise some poor old transporter captain to check if his medical kit is up to date."

Brell pressed Brune's arm. They both kept silent, impassive.

"Ha, ha, never mind, never mind. Perhaps I may see you again, bluey. I bet you are a pretty thing underneath that uniform." Carac nodded to one of his aides and with chin held high, he strutted off towards his limo transporter.

"Fughead, I'll get him again," Brune said, taking another drag on his weed.

"Leave it. It's not worth it, believe me. I've been in the Corps for long enough, plenty of fugheads around. There's a whole universe of them!"

Brune laughed. "Yes, suppose so. Where I come from, they say, everyone suffers from a privy breakdown sometime in their life."

Brell understood the expression, which no doubt Bermian's thought hilarious. Even Carac cannot guarantee that the privy works every time. He will get his just desserts in the future.

She laughed, partly at Brune's attempt at humour, but mainly as a release from the stress of dealing with that man. If she had known how her future life intertwined with his, she probably would have shot him there and then with her laser pistol.

# Chapter 6 – The Prize Giving

Three weeks after the intox driving incident, Brell attended a prize-giving ceremony with her unit Commander. It was a handshaking, back-slapping event with free drinks, food, and a miner's band playing live. The Commander had wandered off to do some networking whilst Brell stood by the side of a food table at the back of the hall. She had a brief conversation with Carac in the company of her Commander. In amongst the polite talk, Carac's eyes never left her; she felt them moving up and down her body. She shivered when their meeting ended.

Biting into another crispy-coated meat piece, she sipped a fruit juice and people-watched. A mixed group, many off-worlders, a few locals, and some miners with dirt inground faces wearing dress suits. The high-powered players, the Carac types were networking away and plotting their next moves or promotion.

A side door near Brell opened.

"Quick, officer, problem here," someone said sharply. No face appeared just the open door and the room inside.

Putting down her plate but keeping her drink, Brell hesitantly walked towards the door. It was dim inside, but no one made themselves known.

"Help," the voice said again.

Brell went inside. It was an anteroom with another door on the far side. The door slammed shut. Carac stood there, smiling at her.

"Help," he said in a low voice. He grinned and tilted his head. "Hello, blue skin, remember me?"

Brell swallowed and stepped back against the wall. Carac stretched his left arm across the door. Brell saw a small movement of his right hand, which was reaching for something behind his jacket. She stiffened her legs and body in a defensive position. He brought his hand upwards and started to spray a substance towards her face.

Instinctively, she threw her glass at his head. It skidded off his forehead and smashed on the floor, but it made him stutter. Bringing her fist down, she connected with his wrist and he dropped the spray tube. She kicked it across the room.

The mist had sprayed onto Brell's trousers and shirt; she could smell and taste it. Feeling slightly woozy, she pulled at his fingers and hand to unblock the door. Carac laughed and shook his head. She punched out again at his face with her left hand, but he pulled his head back in time, like a practiced boxer. He slapped the side of her head and laughed.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Everything okay, Mr Carac? Prize giving soon."

Carac smiled.

"Run out of time. Pity, I was going to save you for later."

Reaching forward, he grabbed Brell's belt with his left hand and pulled her body towards him. He kissed her neck and rubbed his right hand inside her thigh. Then he shot his hand up to her left breast and squeezed it hard.

Brell gasped, but his grip on her was strong, and she felt powerless as he bent his neck back to stare into her eyes. Dead eyes, the eyes of a man that had power, who believed he could do whatever he liked.

Flinging her away, Carac straightened up and after adjusting his tie he opened the door.

Brell retrieved the spray, wiped down her uniform tunic and trousers with shaky hands, then sat on a table for a moment. When ready, she walked back into the main hall. Carac was standing on the stage, master of ceremonies, centre of attention, giving away prizes to loud audience applause.

Afterwards, in her quarters, she spent an hour in the beam shower, and then incinerated her uniform. Sitting in her dressing gown, she drank a litre of intox as the scene played over in her mind. How could she have been so stupid, so duped? What happened to her Police Corps training? She picked up a glass and threw it at the wall.

People would construe any allegations against Carac as being vengeful. He would say that she was drunk, infatuated by his power, and a way of getting credits out of him. The feeling of violation and helplessness never really left her. Images would float into her mind in the middle of the night or during a meeting. She found herself becoming more controlling at work, particularly when restraining and arresting male prisoners. It took time before she felt ready to have a steady relationship with a man.

As the days passed, she got back on with her patrol duties. A tech at Corps HQ confirmed that the tube contained a type of incapacitant spray, often used by the military to overcome targets who later woke up in a controlled interrogation building.

A short while afterwards, Brell got her next posting, an urban city centre on a planet mid-Galaxy. At least, she believed, that was the last of Carac. However, it didn't stop him sending messages.

***

Brell gave the punch bag a final hit and stood back, in her cell, breathing heavily. Grabbing a towel, she wiped the sweat off her hair and stared at Carac's image. Years later, despite all his wealth and political influence, he received a life sentence for corporate homicide. He had filtered credits, bought cheap equipment, and when the mines collapsed, two hundred staff died. He could not wriggle out of his involvement, despite trials, appeals, and retrials. She enjoyed watching the events unfold from the comfort of her cell. He had only been in prison properly for a year.

Missed me? Good luck in prison. I believe you will be there a very long time

That was just one of the messages she received from him.

When incarcerated himself, more messages arrived.

From one cell mate to another. Happy birthday.

So it went on. His influence in prison allowed him to send messages outside of the normal prison filters. He was always present, deep in her thoughts or on her media cube, like an infatuated ex-boyfriend stalker.

At the end of every note, it said, "blue skin", "bluey" or similar.

She walked around in circles, calming her breathing, shaking out her shoulders and arms, then hit the punch bag four times. It was time to view her own profile.

***

She found her image and paused the screen. A dispirited, dejected ex-Corpswoman, a Deep Yellow and intox addict stared back at her. It was the lowest time in her life and took no effort in remembering stepping off the prisoner transport ship in beam cuffs. Passing through each successive secure entranceway, she felt a growing realisation of never seeing freedom in the outside world again. The processing guard smirked when Brell was officially booked in, a convicted Corpswoman in for life as well. The indignity of the body scans whilst standing naked in a small room was one thing, but did it need that many guards to observe the procedure? It was unlikely that she would cause a problem or try to escape, but they all wanted to have a look at her. Her case had been a popular news item across the Association.

Time to get it over with.

"Play."

"Born on Celeste to an indigenous mother, Brellinane Sturlach grew up without knowing the identity of her father. After a problematic childhood, she left home and joined the Police Corps. Working on various inner cities as well as mining and pleasure moons, she rose up the ranks, making Captain with hopes of becoming a Skiff Commander."

"However, after a Deep Yellow and intox session, she stole a Command Skiff, flew over the Inter Association Hotel, and fired into the penthouse suite, killing a hotel guest and seriously injuring his family. Extensive damage was caused to the hotel." Images of the dead man, his family, and the hotel appeared on screen.

"The Judiciary Corps threw the full force of the law at her. The Police Corps were embarrassed, the hotel had to be re-built, and the family was devastated. Appearing at a real Assizes court, she received life imprisonment for Association Homicide with yearly voluntary termination interviews. She has currently served five years. Could she be our winner?"

Her profile had many items, galleries, images, and streams to view. She pressed "Holo psyche interview 4."

"Well, Brell, you have been incarcerated for six months now. How are you settling in?" the prison psyche analyst said.

"What do you want me to say? Wonderful, everybody is being so helpful. The taunts, snide remarks, pushes, punches, etc, are just my fellow inmates settling me in."

"That's to be expected, though, isn't it?"

"Look, I've been stripped of everything: pension, promotion, enhancements, self belief, and status."

"How is the Deep Yellow treatment coming on?"

"The psyche and holo treatments have helped." Brell's voice trailed off.

"Any virtual or real visitors?"

"Not my mother, obviously. Gorst has made a holo visit. That's it. As soon as I was arrested, all my friends suddenly had something else to do."

"So settling in okay, then?"

"You've been really helpful," Brell said. She sat back and crossed her arms.

"See you in six months for your first voluntary termination interview."

"I look forward to your visits. Always full of joy."

Brell paused the programme. She had seen enough. Actually, her father was a drunken itinerant cargo pilot whom she could not remember seeing as a child. He could have originated from anywhere, as her skin colour is a lighter blue than most Celestians. Her mother was an intox drunk whom she couldn't wait to get away from.

All thrown away; her job, Gorst, and family life. Threw it all away. Glancing back at the screen, she navigated to "Brell's Gallery". There must be something good here.

She stood outside a Police Corps building with a senior officer, being awarded a trophy for performing a diligent weapon smuggling investigation. Confident, relaxed, and smiling, a fulfilling career ahead of her. This was just before she discovered Deep Yellow. That was the old Brell, where has she gone?

She snapped herself back from the introspection, and without giving much thought, her weak side had already made up its mind.

Opening the back lid of her sculpture, she took out the ampoule.

# Chapter 7 – Inhab-47

Williams spent some time in his office going through the various schedules and actions en route to the studio and holo worlds where the challenge would take place. It was an untidy office, holo logs, cups, intox containers, and weed smoke packets strewn across his desk. Images and sculptures were hap-hazardly placed around the shelves.

It had been a long day already, what with working his way around the prison security and performing the final viewing of the inmates with the Overseers. None of them had any problem releasing their prisoner for the Challenge; in fact, they wanted him to take a few more as reserves. He felt relieved to be away from the prison planet, even though being escorted by guards the whole time. A recurring feeling came over him that he would be accidently locked in a cell and forgotten about. However, he was happy with the choice of challengers, a good mix to keep the audience interested.

Turning off his constant stream of holo and implant communications, he picked up one of the Inhab-47 artefacts that he had brought back.

"Inhab-47 playlist one," he said and swivelled around to face a wall screen set to a live stream of the view from his main office on Elytia. Skiffs, tugs, trucks, and cabs skimmed along the sky lanes curling their way around the capital. The tall, thin towers and spires a silhouette against the yellow evening sky. A glowing Police Corps vehicle flitted in and out of the traffic, screaming to another emergency.

Opening a carved wooden box, he took out a wrapped weed smoke, touched it on the lid to light it, and placed it in the side of his mouth. He relaxed back and traced the artefact's outline with his index finger, whilst thinking about Inhab-47.

***

Though requiring various node jumps and hyper sleep, it was worth the effort. Inhab-47 was the best of the listed inhabited worlds, most of which were just moons with swamp creatures or insects. The definition of 'inhabited' was loose. Inhab-22 consisted of warring tribes, too dangerous to study and many years from First Contact. Obtaining Association permission to study Inhab-47 at close quarters had not been too difficult due to the worlds flourishing technology.

The inclusion of First Contact specialist Soohan Klastriyx on the crew had been a good decision. She would become invaluable to Williams. An Elytian, she studied community behaviour and had been involved in First Contact missions. Tall, with fading blonde hair, natural wrinkly face, not the type for cosmetics, she was in her mid-sixties and enjoyed rock climbing. Together with her historian husband, they frequently took on projects in some of the furthermost parts of the Vorsan Galaxy or just outside.

She was good company, as well, often regaling Williams with stories from the journals of early First Contact specialists. For example, when Thracia received its first beam propulsion engine, they immediately raided all of their own moons, eradicating the indigenous population. Most of the population of Fracard left their own planet and headed for richer places, like Elytia, which eventually had to bring in strict immigration controls.

Their first job involved making sense of the huge amount of data that flooded out of Inhab-47.

"We need to get our first experience out of the way. Just for an hour in a safe city, lots of people around where we won't stick out," Soohan had said after two days of research into the planets inhabitants and communities.

Williams found a "Government Warning" information page regarding the safest places to travel. Once compared with maps, news channels, and images, they had a good idea where to go first.

Their craft docked around the back of an empty moon and immediately dispatched space security probes. Once the captain was satisfied that there were no immediate threats, the planetary probes were launched. The probes were of military quality with full invisibility. Returning data suggested little capability of space travel, and planet weaponry was basic. Gravity readings confirmed it was virtually the same as Elytia. The captain relaxed, stood down weapon techs, and communicated to Williams that space and planet zones were safe for travel.

***

Williams and Soohan went about creating clothing, refining their language skills, and turning off their implants. He had chosen a plain shirt, trousers, and black shoes, with Soohan picking a female shirt, casual trousers and black boots. She had stood by, whilst Williams removed all jewellery, gadgets, and anything else from their home worlds. He had to satisfy her that he was wearing the correct style of underpants. Their "look" was finished off with a hat and sunglasses in order to take someone's eye off their faces. Being from Elytia, though similar in appearance to the city people below, they had more yellow skin pigment than seemed the norm.

"Remember to use their main language and call me Soo. I'll call you Ward. If we lose each other, use the hand gesture for immediate transportation. The sensor team will be continually scanning our movements."

Once the captain gave permission, they travelled in an invisi shielded craft near to the planet's atmosphere and transported down into a small area behind some trees.

***

Williams tried to take it all in, but felt overwhelmed. They were standing in a small grassy area, the light appeared gloomy and the air quality poor with an acrid smell that he could taste. There was a humdrum of noise; engines, the rustle of leaves, beeps, hoots, and voices. The buildings appeared old and worn out. Some packaging and containers lay on the grass near an empty receptacle bin. Williams glanced up. Nothing flew in the air, no AG skiffs, or glide scooters, just ground cars and wheeled contraptions. Loud engine scooters buzzed by, chugging out smoke. Everything worked at ground level. It appeared chaotic.

He took a few breaths, aware that his shoulders were tense and his jaw tight. Have to remember this is real, there are no bots, anti grav drive or weather and air control systems.

Soohan had also not moved. She glanced around, her wide, staring eyes hidden behind the dark glasses.

"Ward, everything okay?" Soohan said in main Inhab-47 language.

"Yes, err, Soo, just realising that I am standing on an alien planet, untouched by the Association."

"Just breathe normal. We are safe, no scanners here. People just going about their business, ignoring us, unless we just stand here gawping."

"Okay, let's walk. Our beverage cafe place is just over the roadway."

As they walked across the area, Williams stopped, placed his hand on a tree trunk, and ran his fingers between the bark. Soohan joined him.

"Yes, interesting. If you close your eyes and felt the tree, it's no different from some of the trees on our home world. Ward, we can't touch everything, it will look odd. Blend in, remember?"

"Okay, let's get to the beverage cafe and try out our paper credits."

They reached a paved area that ran on each side of the thoroughfare and looked for a place to cross. Vehicles zipped around. It seemed too dangerous to walk out in front of the traffic. They walked along a short distance, trying not to stare at everything. People, old, young, dark skin, light skin strolled around, taking no notice of them. Clothes varied as well; colourful, drab, shorts, long trousers, short dresses, shirts, and so on. Williams glanced down at his and then Soo's clothes. Not bad at all. He relaxed a little and again felt grateful that Soohan was with him. She had a subtle confidence about her.

"We can cross here," Soohan said pointing, "we just follow what other people do, watch."

Williams saw that people waited at the roadside until a signal appeared, then they walked across the road. Another signal appeared and the traffic started up again. They waited patiently, but nothing happened until a person came up beside them.

"Hey, press the button," a man said.

Williams just nodded in shock that someone had talked to him. His stomach tightened waiting for something to happen, like planet security or Police Corps suddenly appearing.

"Thank you," he said. He recalled part of the briefing: remember your manners, saying "thank you" a lot, helps.

They walked across the road whilst checking that the man who had spoken to them had left on his own. Continuing along a line of buildings Williams looked through the windows studying the clothing and food inside.

"The shops?" Williams said.

"Not yet. Beverage place first."

After a short distance, Williams said, "Here we are."

He stood outside the beverage building, unsure whether the door utilised automatic hard holo technology. No, you pushed it with your hand, as the person leaving demonstrated.

It felt warm inside and there was a wonderful earthy smell of roasted something or other. Numerous tables and chairs were dotted around a large low-lit room. Some tinkling background music played as people sat in groups or on their own. One person tapped a keyboard with their fingers whilst staring into a hinged screen, another wiped their finger around a small hand-held device. A long counter on one side of the cafe appeared to be where customers obtained drinks. The workers standing behind it all wore identical coloured shirts. Items of food were set behind glass cases.

"Remember, we queue and order, pay with paper money, then take our cups to a table, okay?"

Williams nodded and followed Soohan to stand behind two people. He stared and gaped at everything without moving up the queue until Soohan tugged at this sleeve.

"Hi, what you having?"

"Thank you. Two cappuccinos, please. Drink in." Soohan said.

"Anything to eat?"

Soohan quickly pointed to two small soft food items, which were promptly placed onto a plate. She got a large paper note out of her pocket and held it ready.

The worker took the money and returned some metal coins and paper notes.

"Thank you."

Williams watched in fascination as a worker pulled levers and pushed knobs to create the frothy liquid. They found seats at the back, where there were less people. The brown liquid, though bitter, had a deep creamy taste that lingered on the tongue. It was real, not synthesized.

"How did you know what to order?"

"Same order as the people in front of me. Our paper money worked okay. That's good. We made it here no problem, let's just take it easy."

Williams sat forward in his chair, becoming sensitive to the quality of the air and germs. Their table had an empty cup on it and dry, spilt brown fluid on its surface. He held his coffee cup, uncertain whether to put it on the dirty table or keep it in his hand. Soohan had placed hers on the table.

"We're okay with germs and alien diseases, air borne or from surfaces, aren't we?"

"Yes. Go with the flow. The probes provided us with enough knowledge regarding diseases. We've had all the health inoculations. Sit back, relax."

"You do this for a living?"

"Nerve-wracking at first, but once you get a feel for the place, it's okay."

Williams sat back in his chair and took it all in whilst he sipped his coffee, realising that his implants were back on the cruiser. They provided a stream of information updates from his assistant, but now all he could hear were general background noises and the screech of the door opening. Images hung on the wall, none of which he could make sense of.

He finished his coffee and ate the small cake. Bit doughy and crumbly, but okay. Guess they have a lot to learn in this area. An auto chef would have produced something special.

He knew it would be difficult to stop comparing everything with what they had back home, but in time he rationalised that things may seem "normal". It is what it is, get on with it. Another gem of knowledge from Soohan.

"See that small black globe high up the wall? It's a crude type of camera." Soohan said.

"Any cause for concern?"

"No, it's really basic. No image ID scanning or anything like that here. We are just two normal people as far as everyone is concerned. I think we should take our sunglasses off, though. Others have done that."

Williams removed his glasses and hat. Nothing happened. He rubbed his face a little, but no one took any notice. Soohan had done the same.

"All finished? I would suggest that we visit the privy facilities here and get used to them. They are over there," Soohan pointed to a nearby corridor. "Men and women are separate here, check you go into the right one. I'll go first. Just sit here and smile."

Williams nodded, hoping that no one started talking to him. A while later Soohan returned smiling.

"All good. Interesting, bit dirty. Remember, no auto beam technology here. They use water for washing hands."

Williams found the door and went inside. It had a strong smell of cleaning products and something nasty, so he pulled at his nose. Hesitant, he watched a man peeing into one of two low ceramic basins. He couldn't move and just gaped at the man until he finished. He heard a zipper being pulled up.

"Hey buddy, you okay there? Want something, or just looking?" The man walked over towards Williams, then started washing his hands.

Williams lost his concentration and didn't fully understand what the man said.

"On holiday. Thank you," he said, smiled and went over to the low basin.

"Jeez. Well, tell you what, you have a hell of a sun tan," the man said as he left the privy.

Williams finished peeing, then remembered to zip up and wash his hands. He giggled when placing his hands under a heat blower. Certain that he had caught more germs, he walked back to Soohan who appeared to be talking to a couple at the next table.

"Hi, Ward. Ready?"

"Yes," Williams said, smiling back at the couple.

"Have a good trip," the couple said.

"Thank you."

They ambled along the street for a short while.

"Trip? What did they mean?"

"Told them we were travelling around the area. Our accents are different from the locals. Told them I came from a Greenland, it seemed to work."

"I've got a sun tan apparently. Have to increase the skin colour tablets."

They continued walking and Williams stopped when he saw a man sitting in a chair with large wheels on the side. The man pushed then let go of the wheel rims, propelling himself along the paved area. Nearby, a woman with hunched shoulders pressed down on a round wooden pole as she walked along.

Soohan noticed Williams staring at the two people.

"Not something you normally see."

"No birthing pools, pre-birth DNA, artificial remedies, or anything like that?"

"They have only basic medicine here and we are in a wealthy part of the planet. Long way to catch up. But the people know no different, it's just you making a comparison."

Satisfied that people still ignored them, they headed back to the grassy area and made their signal. A short while later, the area in front of them started to tremor. The air became denser and it had become silent. A door slid open, revealing the inside chamber. A bystander would have rubbed their eyes in disbelief, as the transporter tube was invisible. They would have just seen an internal seating area, half a metre off the ground against the backdrop of trees and grass.

Williams and Soohan stepped inside and sat down. The door closed and the transporter tube ascended along its location beam to the waiting craft, just outside the atmosphere. Auto scanners and invisi shields meant that local people never saw or suspected anything, and its directional beam ensured no conflict with any air-flying craft.

# Chapter 8 – Mapping the alien world

After a debrief with the Captain and security staff, Williams and Soohan made further visits until they relaxed enough with languages and customs to start transporting others down. Williams, in cahoots with some engineers, had created a small device with which to obtain some real paper money. Soohan had reluctantly agreed, but understood that it lowered risk of discovery from an observant shop worker.

Once able to access paper money, Williams booked a large hotel suite and with Soohan's assistance, they brought the engineers down to the surface one by one. Soohan assessed their skin colour, habits, language skills, and personal characteristics. She ran them through a series of questions in the main Inhab-47 language before letting them out into the alien world. If anyone answered her back in Association language, they would be left in the hotel room for the day.

"You have an interesting accent there, where are you from?"

"The Greenland."

"Are you here for long?"

"On business, International Exports."

"Gradian circenta."

"Ghan."

"Stay in the hotel room and learn the language a bit more. You fell for an old trick by replying in Elytian."

"But no one here knows Elytian, do they?"

"Walls have ears, we can't take the risk."

Only allowed outside in pairs, the engineers were given a verbal communication device to use for contacting the base controller in the hotel room. The controller was forbidden to leave the hotel room, unless accompanied during the cover of darkness and only then back to a transporter pickup area.

"His grey-white skin, spiky teeth, bad breath, and staring eyes would freak out the locals. Culturally, he is used to standing very close to people. Too much of a risk. Base controller duty only," Soohan had said to Williams.

The only advice Williams could give which Soohan had not covered was, "Boys, don't stand and gawp at other men when you are in the privy." Soohan raised an eyebrow but she understood what he meant. However, when he said, "Any problems and Mr Scotty will beam you up." She had no idea what he was talking about.

Williams gained confidence and got back into his schmoozing ways. He found that if he kept the hotel staff supplied with paper money, they all received good service, twenty-four hours a day, whichever hotel they were staying in. The front desk also enjoyed receiving money, and Williams hired and paid for vehicles through them, meaning that he didn't have to interact with the drivers too much.

One of the technicians drunk too much local intox and ran up and down a hotel corridor naked. Despite his body shape, the hotel staff didn't think anything of it and quietly just popped him back inside his room. They must have thought he had an accident at birth, plus they probably weren't expecting someone from another galaxy to be running around naked in their hotel.

They had all been watching hilarious alien encounter films together in William's suite. The technician couldn't resist a little showing off. However, Soohan was not happy, so the technician was sent back up to the cruiser.

"We got too complacent," is how she phrased it. Williams made eye contact with her and she rolled her eyes, giving a slight smile. They tightened all their procedures after that, but there were some narrow escapes with the aliens.

One episode occurred when Williams and an engineer visited a city square. Williams wandered around admiring the buildings, leaving the engineer to calculate any scanner obstructions, which he scribbled into a notebook. Williams glanced back at the engineer and was unsettled to see a Police Corps type officer approaching him.

"You are taking a lot of interest in the buildings here. What are you up to?"

"I'm from Greenland," the engineer said, swallowing audibly.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"International exports."

"Got a right one here. Hey," the officer gesticulated to his colleague, "come over here a minute."

Williams looked back at the engineer standing between two officers. Remember what Soohan had said: "Do not panic. Just talk and smile." If it became a real problem, he would have to call for an extraction. If he did, it was all over, back to the cruiser and a solemn return journey to Vorsan.

"Hello, officers, he's with me." Williams approached the officers with his best smile whilst taking off his sunglasses.

"Is he with you?"

"Yes." Williams gave the engineer a reassuring nod. The engineer froze, turning his head back and forth not knowing whether to speak or run.

"What are you, his carer or something?"

"Yes, that's right." Williams said. He racked his brain for carer. Care giver? He understood.

"He has a thing about buildings; looks at them, then draws them. You know, keeps him occupied. He's fine. I will look after him."

The officers exchanged glances. One of them scratched the side of his neck. A tinny voice suddenly emitted from the little black box fastened to his shoulder.

"Got a call, got to go," the officer said to his colleague.

"Harmless delusions," he said back to his colleague, who nodded.

"You take good care of him. Keep him out of trouble. Have a good day." With that, the officers walked off at a fast pace.

Williams waited until they were out of earshot.

"You can breathe again. No problem, they've gone to deal with something."

"What did he mean by 'harmless delusions'?"

"Don't worry about it, it's an alien thing." Williams blew a breath out, went back to the hotel, and reported what happened to Soohan. She was okay with it. The Police Corps here had little technology to assist them, no ID scanners for example.

Over the days, they made a list of prospective locations for holographic reconstruction. They had to be places that were not too large, but enough for the audience to take an interest in. Williams eventually drew up a physical geographic outline of the places he wanted captured.

They had to abort from three of the suggested locations. Skin colour aside, they stuck out as being too different, and all the locals zoomed in on them trying to do things for money. They couldn't walk down a street without being approached by someone in a wheeled contraption asking if they wanted a lift. The hotel staff continually ran around trying to offer assistance, when they both wanted to be left alone. Soohan became the subject of glances continually from the men, and as calm as she normally appeared, Williams detected her discomfort in crowds. They transported back up and took stock for a while on board the cruiser.

After a quick revisit to their favoured locations, Soohan went back up to record her findings for the Association's First Contact library and Williams organised the engineers.

Back on the cruiser, a technician transferred the geographical outlines into wire diagrams and then transposed them onto a grid mapping system. Next, he programmed the co-ordinates into their first class military grade invisible scanning cameras, which the engineers released into the air. Flying silently around external and internal locations, the "sense-around" cameras recorded smells, sounds, and images. Any problems, obstructions, or unnecessary bumps would cause the device to self-destruct. Quite a few were lost in various locations, but self-vaporisation meant no fragments remained behind.

Working with a creative engineer, they designed some scenes to be played out whilst the challengers were inside the worlds. For example, Williams had seen some people performing a mock fight outside a popular tourist location. This would add some interest, a bit of culture in between the death. The finer details such as the hard or soft beam people requirements and the scope of the security bots would be worked out later. The Twins were employing a military experienced holo engineer who would head up some of this work.

One day, the captain, being bored with space docking and all the tales of the alien worlds, transported down to check on security issues after giving stern warnings to the rest of his crew to stay put. Williams laughed as he remembered pulling the captain out of a renowned nightclub they had visited together. Williams had smoothed it all over with the club staff by giving out some paper money. He had got the captain back to his hotel suite, sobered him up, changed his clothes, and then got him transported back on board the ship. "Once Deep Space Corps, always Deep Space Corps."

Williams could not resist transporting up some artefacts, well quite a few actually, which he intended to put into the holo scenes. He always left a large pile of paper money behind.

During their final two weeks, he invited Soohan to go on a holiday on her own, as she had mentioned reading about some ancient historical sites. She went off on her own adventures, and so did Williams.

Coming back to the present, he felt around his backside. The tattoo had healed well. Could not resist it. How about that for a keepsake from an alien planet?

What a planet, small but incredibly mixed in terms of culture, language, health, and technology. Though ripe for First Contact in a quite a few years yet, it was the raw, chaotic nature that he enjoyed. There was no reliance upon implants and virtual technology, etc. In amongst the disarray, and as basic as the place was, people just got on with it. He knew of many Elytians who lived their whole lives in virtual holo worlds. Puffing on his smoke, he savoured the taste, then blew the smoke out across the room.

Soohan was a wonderful source of knowledge, calm and respected. Despite the serious outer personality, Williams saw a softer side who liked a little intox every now and again. It was refreshing rubbing shoulders with an academic rather than the vacuous airheads in the beamcasting business. A little older than him, Williams knew that her holiday had been fruitful, judging by the amount of time she spent logging her findings.

"Similarities," she kept saying.

His last memory of her was when she was sitting in her cabin, hunched over a desk with three displays screens on the go. With a furrowed brow, she dictated instructions and commands whilst tapping at a keyboard.

He took her death badly. Selfishly, he thought how she could have been the show's "expert" sharing her experiences of Inhab-47 and explaining about the inhabitants' culture and life.

She had accompanied her husband to a far-flung planet, re-visiting a community that had shunned First Contact. The Elders had turned their back on all the health and technological benefits. News channels suggested there were disagreements between the young and old. It was likely that the Elders felt threatened by outside influence, whereas the younger members of the population wanted to embrace change. Soohan and her husband were part of a team sent back to discuss the Elders decision. Their skiff had crashed whilst flying across rocky terrain on the way to a key meeting. There had apparently been an engine malfunction. An investigation revealed no evidence of tampering but conspiracy theories remained.

He was saddened just thinking about it. She was a bit like the older sister that he never had.

# Chapter 9 – The Twins

"Soward Tslus, um, sorry ... Williams, we will land in thirty minutes," Williams's virtual assistant said.

Since returning from Inhab-47, Soward had assumed the name of Williams for promotional purposes. It added an "alienness" for the audience, as well. He had changed his assistant's appearance to a tall, white-skinned male with wavy black hair wearing white patterned clothing. His round face had facial hair and he wore a large pair of silver-rimmed sunglasses.

"Thank you," Williams said. Inhab-47 man faded.

Williams changed into another one of his colourful alien shirts. It helped to rebel every now and again; well it was expected if you were in the beamcast business, he laughed. His producers didn't approve, but they didn't approve of anything unless it made credits and upgraded their status. The terrible twins, he called them. Ayleth and Mayleth Lkardis were born and bred Elytians who lived in the Platinum District. A plush, expensive area with full security and butler services. They were always happy to let everyone know of their presumed superiority. In their fifties, they were identical in looks, dress, and mannerisms. Mayleth, though, spoke with a softer voice than her brother, but the vocal tone and attitude were the same. She could be discerned as the female twin because she wore neck jewellery, had her hair severely pulled back into a tight knot, and there were a couple of slight bumps in her chest area.

Despite their pinched looks, lack of humour, and other attributes, they always managed to provide credits to back beamcast shows, many successful, which Williams reluctantly appreciated. Importantly, they had backed Convict Challenge. The costs were enormous, but the payback would be worth it.

***

After negotiating the ramps and walkways of the dock, Williams made his way into the maze of corridors and offices. The Beam Casting Company had rented out a huge military Holo World facility on a planet not far from Elytia. Space and Police Corps used the facility for training purposes such as rehearsing pirate raids and running command scenarios. It was shaped like two different sized round plates. The smaller one, "The Hub" sat on the surface and was the centre of all functional and technical operations as well as staff quarters. They had restructured some of the briefing rooms into a studio and a cell block. Deep underneath lay four cavernous rooms used for projecting the holographs. The "rooms" were over three kilometres long.

The twin's four assistants, two men and two women, met Williams in the lobby outside their temporary offices. Identical facially, in body shape and features, they wore the same black business suits with grey cravats. Williams was used to their "personalities", they didn't have one.

"Director Tslus,"

"you are,"

"one minute late,"

"please come this way," the assistants said, one after the other.

Williams found it easier to have a fixed grin when visiting; best way to cope. Their office was a work of art in itself, with dark moulded ceilings continuing to dark wall panels. There were a few antique oddities, statues, and a stuffed Heelly, a kind of domestic cat, in one corner. No holos, pictures, or anything colourful; it was dark, drab, and cold.

The twins sat behind their sparse desks, peering at him from the moment he entered. They had sharp, pinched faces. In fact, everything about them was pinched, Williams would say if asked.

"Ah, Soward, please sit down."

A hard beam chair appeared and Williams sat down. The seat was uncomfortable, not meant for visitors to spend much time there.

"I've viewed your latest technical meeting," Mayleth said.

"All seems in order," Ayleth said.

"Holo worlds, studios, guests, cameras, security, transport, it is all coming together. The holo worlds look and feel great," Williams said.

"Any other predicted problems ..."

"... or technical issues?"

Williams waited until they had finished each other's sentences before replying.

"There are bound to be some small technical issues, normally happens, but the tech people are all in place. We are using a mixture of soft and hard holographic technology to cut costs. Loads of cheap utility robots have been remodified and the expensive intelligent bots are only being used for security."

"The contracts?"

"I've just arrived from Crin. I spoke to all the challengers there, and the Overseers have signed the contracts. As you know the Sanctuary signed their contract last week via beam signatories, they were very amenable. We are set to start in four weeks."

Williams expected the next question. He let the silence hang in the air.

"I presume ..."

"... you are happy that there will be no repeat of the problems with No Win?"

Williams shifted in his seat. "Yes. The challengers will be accompanied by Prison Corps officers when being interviewed, but are free during the challenge itself. In fact the Corps guards presence will add a 'danger' element to the show." Williams paused for a moment and as there was no response, he continued.

"The challengers on this show are much better than the previous ones; less violent and more intelligent. You made a good choice. Now that I have seen them personally and examined their background history, I believe that they all have something to offer. We have the 'powerful but innocent' man, addicted ex-Police Corps, a loser, a typical thug, a murdering nun, etc. The viewers will love the different characters." Williams looked for a sign that his flattery had got him somewhere. Slight smiles appeared on their lips, so it must have worked.

"The clues and the locations of the keys and rooms ..."

"... have you told anyone where they are?"

"I am still refining the clues. I'm working on having a link to prisons and execution, that sort of thing."

"Well when you have selected the clues ..."

"... let us know. What if something happened to you?"

"I will record the information, don't worry," Williams said, affecting his practiced smile.

"Please see that you do."

There was a short cough-like sound behind Williams. He turned to look at the four assistants standing next to each other. Had they been there all the time?

Ayleth glanced over towards one of the assistants and nodded. Williams knew that the twins had advanced implants, allowing them to interact by thought with their assistants. He had tried it, but didn't like it. Once, when his thoughts had strayed during a boring meeting, a pleasure holo appeared behind him, to the laughter of his colleagues.

"We have a wonderful solid team in place, thanks to your backing. We will get busy living rather than getting busy dying," Williams said finally.

The twins just stared at him, confused.

"I, um, it's an expression on Inhab-47"

"Were you ..."

"... down there a bit too long?"

Williams considered that an attempt at humour, so he laughed slightly.

"Well thank you Soward ..."

"... we will see you soon in the studios. We are travelling back to Elytia shortly, but will return soon."

There was a pause, which he took as a signal to move on. He stood up, the seat faded, and he walked towards the door. The assistants had reformed by the twins' desks. The female ones were with Mayleth and the males with Ayleth. Talk about straight-laced. They must have been a right pair in school, if their parents allowed them to go, that is.

He had long got over his disappointment that the twins had decided to set up offices here by the studios rather than staying back on Elytia. They would get in his way, no doubt, but it was their credits, after all. Williams begrudgingly gave them that. If they hadn't financed Challenge, he would still be turning out rubbish like "Who Should We Execute Tonight?" and "It's an Interplanetary Knockout."

Time to check on the studios and Holo Worlds before the journalist's visit.

# Chapter 10 – The Tinker

The limousine swooped down into a lower lane in readiness for parking. Elytia Old Town was exactly that; where the original city had first developed. Its dull brown river weaved around the hotchpotch lines of ramshackle buildings and dwelling pods. The colours of the letters in the holo advertising blocks were faded and blinking. After centuries of building and expansion, it had become the place to avoid. No quaint old place to visit for the history books, it was where the deadbeats, failed gamblers, drinkers, tech heads, drug inhalers, and addicted Deep Yellow users ended up.

Police Corps tried their best to keep things in line, but often gave up. Once, they implanted a convicted thief with a tracker and happy serum, then sent him into an intox drinking shack. By the end of the morning, he returned to the Corps HQ planted with false information. It took excited Corps investigators days before realising they were being duped.

Ayleth and Mayleth stared out of their windows with disdain. It was a long time since they had left their bubble of existence in the Platinum District and beam studios. Ayleth mumbled something about why the meeting needed to be held in person and not on holo stream. Mayleth turned up the scent diffuser. It was raining, dreary and overcast, the dark buildings adding to the gloom. People in dowdy-coloured clothing sauntered or shuffled along whilst ancient anti grav sleds, stacked high with impossibly balanced goods, slowly slid along. All the community viewing screens were covered in glowing graffiti.

The limo came to a halt as the security officer announced that they had reached their destination. After performing a quick-scan, she got out of the limo, walked around to the rear door, and nodded at the blacked out windows. Ayleth pressed a beam button, sliding the door open, and together they were swiftly escorted across the walkway and into a restaurant. Mayleth held her nose the whole time.

Robo chefs and waiters flew back and forth, as a holo Maître d' worked the tables. Steam and smoke swirled up from the cooking decks. The security officer led the way past the tables, casting her eye on the scanner every few steps, then along a narrow corridor and through a door that had slid open.

The large, oval-shaped room was sumptuously fitted with red carpet, wall panels, tapestries, and old wooden furniture, all inlayed with fine white motifs. Embedded within the room were code jammers, stunners, tech weapons, and ex-military holo assistants. The twins stopped just inside the room. They could not fail to notice the smartly dressed, obese man sitting on a tall red lined couch at the end of the room.

The Tinker.

He sat upright looking directly at them with his small, dark blue eyes, plump cheeks and three chins. Wearing a three piece suit, he sucked at a small pipe, the smoke wafting and curling around his face before being drawn up into the ventilation system discreetly behind him. It was silent except for the loud tick coming from a large antique clock. Standing in the shadows to the side was a short, balding man who held and scrutinised a double page holo pad.

The Tinker rested his pipe on a small pot on the couch beside him and focussed back on the twins.

"My dear Mr. and Miss Lkardis," he extended the "is" like a hiss, "it is good to see you. Please, take a seat."

He motioned to two plush seats, placed a discreet distance in front of him, outside of his invisible security field.

"If I recall, our last bit of business went well." He paused, studying their faces, then continued. "So, your show is starting soon, is it not? Lots of gambling opportunities, I believe?"

"Yes, it starts in just over a couple of weeks ..."

"... everything is organised, we are ready."

The Tinker looked from Ayleth to Mayleth as they spoke. His smile did not quite match his eye contact. "And the gambling opportunities?"

"We predict that it will become popular."

"It is being beamed and streamed Association-wide. Maximum exposure, advertisers are onboard. It's a challenge show which ..."

"Yes I am aware of the show," the Tinker cut off Mayleth mid sentence.

"Now," he fixed his gaze directly at Ayleth, "how are you going to ensure that my challenger wins?"

"We will do all we can, of course. Your suggestions for challengers was very useful," Ayleth said.

"We have the clues for the exit keys that the challengers have to find. We just have to be careful how the information is passed on. Many people and organisations will be watching what we do," Mayleth said.

"I'm sure that the funding I have provided will ensure a satisfactory result for both of us?" the Tinker said slowly.

The twins nodded.

"We understand, Mr. Tinker." Mayleth said.

"Good, I'm sure you do. How is my representative coming along?"

"He is very experienced, fully involved. The perfect man for the job," Ayleth said.

"Good. He will give me regular updates. Now, I'm sure that you have a lot of work to do."

The Tinker re-lit and puffed on his pipe whilst maintaining eye contact with Ayleth. The meeting had ended.

Once inside their limousine and communication cocoon, Ayleth said, "We don't have the clues."

"No, but he doesn't need to know that. We need to work on Soward."

"Mayleth, we have to make sure this all goes well."

"Don't you think I know that? Whose fault is it that we have to engage with him, anyway?" She made brief eye contact with him, turned up the scent diffuser, and stared out of the window, relieved that they were ascending and getting out of the area.

***

She thought back to when Ayleth told her of his gambling problem. Despite sharing everything with her since the womb, he had not told her about it for some time. He had started by making small bets on the Miglaff races, renowned for its robot jockeys. Part of the appeal were the bizarre outfits worn by the robots riding on the back of an anti grav sled. The unfortunate remote control operators of the sleds had to stand on a trapdoor over a pool of hungry flesh eating fish. Coming last was not an option. The races had become more popular than traditional animal-based ones.

Ayleth was given full hospitality, with plenty of intox and other substances. He would win some bets, lose others, then started losing more, and had to accept a credit agreement. The Tinker was more than happy to oblige. All hell broke loose when Ayleth told her that he was so deep in debt that the Tinker would be financing and profiting from any upcoming beamcast shows. Mayleth promptly visited the Tinker to discuss the matter.

"If we got some collateral, we could pay you back over a short period at a fair percentage rate," Mayleth said.

"No. I like the idea of investing in the beamcasting business," the Tinker replied.

"Ayleth was stupid, he knows that. I'm sure we could come to an agreement."

"Got any shows that involve betting? We could come to an agreement then."

"We could look into that," Mayleth said slowly.

"Good," the Tinker puffed on his pipe.

As the limousine swooped around the Elytian cityscape, Mayleth glanced at her chronometer. It was not too late, there was enough time for a proper session tonight with her "people". Whilst Ayleth reduced himself into a semi-conscious state with his sprays and potions, she would entertain herself with a couple of her specially programmed pleasure bots. Whom should she pick tonight? The thought raised her spirits for the remainder of the journey.

# Chapter 11 – Deep Yellow

Oblivion. Euphoric, thoughtless oblivion. Floating free of emotion, painful memories and doubt. Detached, disconnected, a beautiful liberation.

As Brell drifted within her vacuum, the guards patrolled, inmates talked, autobots swept, and daily prison life went on.

Her body was free, her mind released, nothing mattered, the cell, and prison did not exist. Then a slight kink occurred within the beautiful void, colours greyed slightly. Unwanted conscious reality slowly returned. Deep Yellow users talk of differing experiences when coming around; for Brell it was an awareness of the weight of her body, in particular the sense of feeling in her fingers. Brell rubbed her hands across the stiff bed fabric, trying to remember where she was. Within a locked bedroom in her quarters? On a space cruiser on way back to Corps HQ after a leave period on a vacation moon? In prison, in her cell with nothing to look forward to? With eyes still closed, she had no choice but to allow the present back into her mind. Prison. Mind numbing prison. She remained relaxed for as long as possible and when real life could not be rejected, she opened her eyes. Groggily, she got up and splashed water on her face.

"Welcome back to the world." She said aloud, to her unsmiling reflection.

She sat on the privy and propped her head in her hands. Deep Yellow whilst a wonderful drug, it was also a curse, a ruination of many a career. As her Police Corps instructor once said, "As soon as you take Deep Yellow you are on a collision course."

***

"Good morning recruits. This morning we will examine one of the Associations most popular, but illegal substances, Deep Yellow." The class instructor said.

Brell was eighteen, a new Police Corps recruit, and sat in a classroom with her colleagues at the Academy.

"Watch this," the instructor said.

The lights dimmed and a holo screen appeared. A man dressed in a white coat held a bottle of yellow liquid and looked towards the camera.

"Seconds after drinking Deep Yellow, its nano filaments swim through the bloodstream, forming a small, powerful mass of nerves, which latches onto brain cell receptors. After a brief interval, three words form and appear in the users mind. If the user opens their eyes at this point, the words would be visible as if displayed on a transparent screen. However, it leaves its mark on the brain and nervous system. Many users claim that they live a normal working life whilst taking DY occasionally. However, it is risky. Constant overuse can lead to brain freeze, where the user does not know if they are in the real or Deep Yellow world."

A beam clip appeared, showing various people being led into a doctor's room by a relative. Whilst their eyes were open, the drug users were not registering any outside stimulation.

"Does anyone know the basic three menu words that appear after someone has taken DY?"

"Sir, there is 'thought' for contemplating a single thought or idea. 'Sensual' for visual and internalised body sense stimulus. 'Oblivion' for a euphoric experience where no stray thoughts can interfere."

"Thank you, Jensen, good answer, you show a lot of knowledge regarding the subject."

"Sir, my given mother works in a Police Corps laboratory."

"That's good. Now, during your career you will undoubtedly meet a fellow officer who has or is about to take the substance."

"Why would they do that?" Brell said in a low voice to her colleague, who nodded back.

"What was that, Sturlach?"

"Sir, I was wondering why Corps officers would destroy their careers by taking Deep Yellow, or any illegal substances, for that matter."

"You'll be surprised. I have seen a few good officers brought down by Deep Yellow abuse and intox amongst other substances. Stress, relationship difficulties, and work problems are just a few reasons why someone would take it. Use your gland enhancements and legal highs as necessary, but as soon as you take Deep Yellow, you could be on a collision course to forfeit your pension and everything else."

"Yes Sir, I'm not going to waste my career away by taking that stuff," Brell said.

"Good. Let's have a look at the drug itself."

The scientist appeared again, and a smaller image screen opened in the top right of the screen. His voice was boring on its own, so someone had added images for interest.

"Deep Yellow also known as Deep, DY, Yello, Yell and Mellow was discovered years ago when an apothecary working within a brain injury research unit mixed yellow bark root with nano psyche technology. Instead of detecting brain abnormalities, the swarm became a powerful drug. The apothecary's line manager dismissed it as an unnecessary by-product. Realising the benefits of the substance, the apothecary manufactured it for a local crime syndicate. Expensive to create, it soon became the must-have drug, if you could afford it. Deep Yellow dealing and usage soon came to the notice of the Police Corps, and it was added to the Association's list of illegal substances."

"The ingredients are processed into tablet, spray, or liquid form. Whilst small liquid ampoules are a handy size, it is not as powerful as the distilled bottled version. Two years of room temperature storage is the optimum time for the best vintage, as the menu option gives a fuller visual and physical experience. Serious users have their own menu options, created by skilled chemists for various visualisations of the darker aspects of life and death. Those users tell us they prefer the personal inward experience rather than immersion in Holo Worlds." The scientist finally ended his speech, to the relief of many in the class.

"Quite a bit to take in," the instructor said, snapping the class back to the present. "It is useful to know how the drug is created so that when you are on a drug raid, you have an idea of what to look for. It could be you find bottles of the stuff, under floorboards, where it has been left to ferment. Read your holo assignments for more information, in particular the clips of real drugs raids taking place and the Corps anti- drug school programmes which you will be involved in."

***

Brell sat down on the bed, back against the wall. She was probably the subject of an anti-drug case study. Fresh faced Police Corps recruits would be warning school students about the dangers of Deep Yellow and the damage it can do to a career.

Of course, nothing could beat that first hit, the first immersion into oblivion. And all because of a couple of lazy detectives in an old dwelling house.

***

She was working on a busy inner precinct within the capital city of Velen Two. Newly promoted to sergeant, Brell found herself in charge of a small team of uniform and detective officers. Her stress implants worked overtime as everyone expected her to make decisions and get things done. Comms control were constantly calling her up, other sergeants were ducking their responsibilities, and her team was difficult to manage. In particular, two grouchy lazy detectives, who did not like to be supervised. She had worked the last three months with few days off. Local crime problems and visits by dignitaries meant that leave was constantly cancelled. No wonder the previous sergeant had moved on for a quieter life. Intox often became the sleep aid of choice.

Brell's team were tasked with searching a large, decrepit block building used by members of a local criminal gang. Nothing sold, virtual or real without it going through this particular group. After a tip-off, they had been arrested that morning by the Laser Tactical and Technical Arrest Unit. Some of the unit hid themselves in an underground storage unit, whilst others dressed as staff. When the gang opened the unit door, instead of finding a cache of credit receiver units, they were at the receiving end of laser strikes and vacuum bombies. When the dust settled, a Corpswoman had been vaporised and three gang members were lying in bits. The remainder of the gang were netted and taken to HQ for processing.

Despite the moaning from her team, Brell would not enter the building until it was scanned and sniffed. Both detectives munched wormweed whilst rolling their eyes. Once inside, Brell's team methodically searched each room whilst the holo assistants logged evidence. Various stashes of intox, chips, Deep Yellow, MK, and other drugs were discovered, but after the first sweep, Brell was not satisfied.

"There is more here, these are just a few stashes to put us off the big stuff."

"Nah, they're just stupid, that's all," Detective 1 said, spitting some wormweed on the floor.

"Got enough evidence to keep the bosses off our backs. Time for lunch, eh?" Detective 2 said and scratched his stomach.

Brell thought it over. The easiest thing would be to give in and walk away with what they had, keep the team happy. The holo assistants waited for a decision.

She went with her gut feeling. There was something about this dusty, stinky old house.

"We do it again. Be more thorough this time, hand held scanners into nooks and crannies."

The team mumbled and grumbled as they trudged back into the building. Brell walked around the front and back of the building again and then went back inside to check on progress.

"Waste of time," she heard someone say over her implant comm channel.

Then she heard, "Hey, sarge, got something you should see." Her heart beat a little more as she ran up the stairs.

"What have you got?"

"Just found an old stuffed bird inside a wall cavity."

There was a snigger of laughter from the others who had wandered upstairs to see what had been found.

"Ha, ha," Brell said slowly and picked up the dead Puffer bird and threw it across the room. A holo assistant glided over to scan and log it.

"Who was the old stuffed bird?" someone muttered from within the group of officers. Brell ignored it.

"Come on, one last sweep, let's get on with it." She paused and waited until the two detectives started scanning the rooms. She knew as soon as she left the room, they would sit down and just instruct the assistants.

As she went back down the stairs, she thought about the walls. Wide enough for someone to put, unbelievably, a stuffed bird inside. Being an older building, its construction was dated, unlike most modern dwellings and living pods which had thin mixed-material walls, millimetres thick, which gave ample sound and thermal protection.

"Holo 1," Brell said. The supervisory level assistant appeared in front of her. "Have you scanned the building structure?"

"Yes, sergeant. Fully completed."

"Any anomalies?"

"No, sergeant."

"Floor by floor on view."

Holo 1 projected a floor scan of the structure in the centre of the room. Brell stepped back, scratched under her protective helmet, then reached forward and rotated the image. She was clutching at straws. May be best to call it off, the team would be delighted. The gang lived here for some time and a Corpswoman is dead. Concentrate.

"Top down. Bottom up. Main view." She spun the image around; there was something about the top floor. The two internal rooms seemed narrower than the rooms below. A couple of minutes later, Brell walked back up to the top of the stairs and stood on the small landing, two room doors either side. Turning around, she stared at the wall at the back of the stair space, the wall that a lazy officer would not bother to reach up and scan. Inside both rooms, the scanner readout was clear when pressed against the walls at the rear.

"Jherzery. Bring the extension pole up to the top of the stairs."

Brell heard footsteps coming up the creaky stairs, with more joining in; this was obviously becoming the final show in front of the team. The sergeant's last job before letting the team do whatever they wanted, as long as their overtime requests were authorised.

Jherzery duly arrived, carrying the pole. The faces of the team, now bunched together on the floor below, gazed up at her. Even the holo assistants had joined them. Attaching the scanner to the pole, she went down a few steps, then reached up and placed it against the wall above her.

" _Beep, beep_." Lowering the pole, she reset the scanning density amidst the low muttering and laugher from below. Checking the device again, she held it up against the wall.

" _Bong. Bong. Bong._ " The screen glowed red.

"Get the cutters," Brell said as slowly as she could manage.

"Yes sergeant." Jherzery ran back down the stairs, pushing the mumbling team out of the way. An awkward few minutes followed, waiting for the cutters, but when Jherzery lasered through the back wall of the main room and revealed the large cavity, Brell felt elated. She took off her helmet and rubbed both hands across her head, her hair damp with sweat.

Brell enjoyed watching the two detectives scrambling around in the small room, which groaned with chips, memo streams, comm links, and stolen property.

"Get logging."

The two detectives silently got on with their work.

What happened next changed Brell's life. Happy that everything was scanned and bagged, she informed the team to reassemble at the front door whilst she completed a final room sweep to check that equipment had not been left behind. Such was her trust. One of the second level rooms was full of furniture and assorted old gadgets piled on top of each other. Around the back of one pile, a broken table with a small drawer lay on its side. It took some determination, but Brell managed to pull the drawer out. Her fingers curled around a small bottle. Deep Yellow, another item to add to the list. This is one of the detective's rooms, too lazy to get on his knees or direct the assistants. There was nothing else inside the drawer, luckily for him.

She went over to a window and held the bottle up to the sunlight. As she turned the bottle in her hand, the golden liquid cascaded slowly inside, the nano flecks twinkling as it caught the light. It was mesmerising.

Breaking her gaze, she reached up to call Holo 1, but stopped herself. Almost unknowingly, she put the bottle in her pocket and made her way downstairs.

"Well done, everyone a good haul found. Back to base."

She felt oddly excited talking to them with an illegal substance hidden in her pocket. Did they know what she had done? If she did not log the bottle as evidence soon and it was found on her, it could be a career-ending move.

The bottle stayed in her pocket.

***

The thing was that after taking her first Deep Yellow, the following two weeks at work were easier. She was so relaxed and confident that the team gossip was that she must have a new boyfriend. Of course, after two weeks, things went back to normal and her thoughts turned to whether she could get away with taking more Deep Yellow.

She laughed at the memory, a new boyfriend? Her relationships were often disasters, but that was another story.

Rubbing the back of her head with both hands, she knew that a thought was trying to emerge. Something recent.

"The Challenge," she said aloud and clapped her hands.

# Chapter 12 – Reports are good

**"** Drink. Whit beer, large." Williams took his beer out of the auto chef and sunk back into his seat. Time to view some of the reporters' beamlogs. The day had gone well. Whilst there were many questions regarding security, such as "will we see a repeat of the previous challenge when the inmates got out?" all reports were positive. More importantly, they were awestruck by the holo worlds.

Williams took a few sips of the intox, rubbed his eyes, and made a few commands to watch some of the highlights of the day. The reporters all had small drone cameras hovering around so they could make comments directly whilst walking around. The reporter from one of the religious channels did not ask any questions and appearing bemused at the whole thing.

"This is Xerica Bnieeder reporting from the main stage of Convict Challenge."

Williams remembered working with Xerica years ago; solid reporter, not given to easy frippery. She went up to the door at the back of the stage.

"The winner will arrive through here and then be welcomed in front of the studio audience. The audience, who are yet to be picked, will appear as their virtual selves, via their surround equipment from home."

Walking to the front of the stage, she paused, then pointed out the area where the audience would appear.

"The cell block is situated behind the audience. The whole cell and security area is contained within massive diamond hard glass walls and ceilings backed up by hard beam technology. Let's hope there is no repeat of the security problems at the last Challenge." She looked into the cam with a quizzical face.

"Well, one of the murderers will win and be given their freedom, but hopefully they will do it on the Challenge, not by digging a tunnel." Williams groaned and hit fast forward.

"This is one of the inmate's cells. I'm told it is slightly larger than their normal prison cells. I don't have any direct experience of this obviously."

Williams laughed. He remembered years ago when Xerica had a run-in with the Police Corps when a journalists party got out of hand in Elytia Central. She had been stunned, bagged, and tagged by the Corps and spent a few hours in the cells sobering up. Over the next few months, she hunted down and erased virtually all images of the incident. Still, he might invite her to the wrap-up party.

"The inmates have also been allowed auto chefs inside their cells. This is a better one than I have in my office. Apparently it took a lot of persuasion before Prison Corps allowed it, but hey, all bar one of the challengers will use it for their last meal." Xerica looked sideways into the camera.

"Let's see if it works. Meal, Garmuldi Steak, small, well cooked." The auto chef lit up, hummed and a short time later, it chimed ready. Xerica slid open the meal compartment.

"Smells good. Let's have a taste." She took out the meal and, using one of the safety knives, cut into the steak and took a small bite.

"Tastes good. A little bit of luxury for our inmates. I know that it doesn't serve intox, though. However, they do have auto chefs with intox dispensers in some of the rooms in the holo worlds. So a challenger could drink themselves to death."

Williams shook his head. It was all light-hearted, nothing serious. Xerica was more than capable of doing serious journalism when required. Perhaps we could do a little spot on the inmate's favourite meals, what they have missed over the years. He emptied his beer.

"Whisky, ten year malt, small," Williams said as he lit one of his favourite smokes.

Williams fast-forwarded through Xerica following the inmates' "last" walk from their cell doors along and then down the lift to the room containing the entrance doors to the holo worlds.

"We've just walked out of the lift and have entered a beautifully decorated room with four doors set in each wall."

The Living Room was a medium sized square room with the lift set in one corner. The walls were covered in ornate green and white detailed patterns. A large multi-faceted glass light hung down from the middle of the ceiling and the floors were of dark wood. Furniture, including a table, chair, and a low cupboard, all had slightly bowed legs. The four "doors to the worlds" each had an ornate design that matched the wall patterns.

"My media note says, 'In amongst all the wars taking place on Inhab-47, there are examples of a high culture in the safer parts of the planet.' This room, the furniture, and the paintings reflect some of that culture. So what do we have here?"

She wandered around the room, admiringly, if her stare was anything to go by, and trailed her fingers on the furniture whilst reading from her notes.

"This is one of the paintings. The cloth has been brushed with organic elements. Let's have a closer look. Well, it is of a woman, presumably a typical person from Inhab-47. She has a plain face, plump lips, and I am not sure whether she is smiling. It is static, no moving elements or holo technology, very basic but yet intriguing." She walked across to another painting.

"And this one looks like some flowers in a pot in different shades of yellow." She rubbed her finger across the painting canvas. "You can feel the thickness of the organic material."

Williams took a drag on his smoke. He often used his thumb and forefinger to hold the weed smoke, something he saw on Inhab-47. Xerica appeared impressed, probably would be asking if she could buy the whole room after the challenge; it suited her, though. He had brought back as many original artefacts that he could, or created a sharp enough image for holographic re-modelling. He made sure that the artefact's extraction did not cause any damage. The doors, for example, came from one of his favourite hotels.

It was Xerica's reaction when the holo world activated that Williams would remember for a long time. He had ushered all the reporters inside one of the cavernous rooms, but had not turned on the holo beams. Explanations were given regarding holo beaming, landscape modelling, perspective and the hard moveable walls. Also. that there were limitations, due to the size of the holo rooms, so some areas were truncated to make the area more reachable and entertaining for the audience.

He had then given them a sensor helmet to wear. Williams stood to one side whilst communicating with Technician 22 via one of his mobile screens.

"Technician 22. Okay to start?" Williams glanced to one side, envisioning the huge bank of screens and databases that always surrounded the technician in his work pod at the back of the technical and mechanical command centre. Of medium height with grey skin, large eyes, and spindly fingers, his birth colony were all beam specialists and he gravitated towards Police and Space Corps holo programming. The Twins thought he would be the perfect choice for this assignment. Williams wasn't so sure. Technician 22 lacked character or personality.

Williams kept smiling whilst waiting for the technician. He seemed to be taking his time. The reporters were becoming restless, as all they could see was the inside of their helmets.

"Okay, ready." He had a thin voice to go with his personality.

Williams turned to the reporters.

"Get ready, everyone. Turn on the holo world."

Xerica gasped.

# Chapter 13 – The others

Brell waited a while before viewing the other challengers to make sure she felt fresh enough. It sometimes took a while for her mind to clear itself after a drinking Deep Yellow. She expected to receive a message that the whole show idea was a joke of some sort, but no smirking guards arrived.

The first challenger, inmate, murderer, or whatever, was Kellsa. From Colony 09, like Brell's favourite inmates at the eating table, she had olive skin, an athletic build, a tribal tattoo on her right cheek, and knotted hair twisted back over her scalp.

"A tough street skirmisher who murdered a politician for credits," the commentator said.

Images showed her fighting with inmates and being restrained by Prison Corps guards, certainly a handful. She had been in prison for four years, so was prison tough, as well.

Brookko, who was born into smuggling, had killed port officers during a raid. Obviously a dangerous man with issues. Several images appeared of him arguing, or being zapped by Police Corps, court officials, and prison guards. Brell laughed. It was unintentionally funny. He seemed to have difficulty just standing still. A loose cannon, no doubt.

Grock was a typical Tserian. Light green, lizard-like in appearance, small raised bumps on his head instead of hair. He had an athletic lean body, black eyes but no smile. His lack of emotion and emphasis on planning everything would have been perfect for his previous role in the Space Corps Special Forces. A distinguished officer who led various pirate base raids during his service. He made a mess of things after he retired. Brell nodded. Couldn't deal with life outside, probably; Corps life would be ingrained on him. He went into personal protection and took an occasional assassination job on the side. Found guilty of premeditated murder; the case seemed to Brell like a job gone wrong. At the time of his arrest, the Police and Judiciary Corps dug into his past, discovering that Grock had been involved in the so-called Steel Town incident. Libertarians had claimed for a long time that the incident was a Space Corps cover-up. Subsequently convicted of another murder, he ended up serving life. Definitely one to watch.

The last two challengers must have been included in the challenge for a bit of light relief. Perhaps they were trying to soften the programme after all the violent thugs they had used last time.

Ooma was a farmer who got in with a load of drug dealers and grew some special herbs in an isolated corner of one of his huge harvest fields. The herbs form the basis of the instantly addictive drug MK. Ooma did such a good job that the harvest ended up purer than normal and had changed its chemical structure. When the lab mixed Ooma's batch with the usual dilutants, the MK had become too potent.

"Hundreds of people including sons and daughters of well-connected people, became seriously ill. Sadly, many of them died."

That would have made it a life sentence, and no doubt, Ooma took the full blame with the drug bosses never caught. Brell watched images of him in prison. Unfortunately, his squat, round body was shaped like a punch bag. He had served three years.

Then there was Meren, the murdering nun, which sounded like a headline for a new holo drama show.

There were still images of Meren kneeling in front of a small statue within a circular room, walking in a garden and sitting in a library. Then a couple of faded images of her smiling when she was a youth. She was tall and thin and had a calm, slow manner about her. Hairless, in keeping with Jayzan articles of faith, she had off-white skin and soft blue eyes. Are they serious about her in the challenge? Brell turned on the commentary.

"As you may be aware, Jayzan monks and nuns often assist problem communities with their charitable work. However, she was not very charitable herself when she hit a monk with a large metal bar, killing him there and then. Sentenced by The Guild's religious court to corrective religious learning for the rest of her life, she has been within the walls of the Jayzan Sanctuary for the last ten years."

Brell vaguely remembered the case at the time. It made the news channels because it was unheard of for a nun to commit murder. A relationship with a monk, nun, or local, yes, but not murder.

"The Guild have given their permission for Meren to take part in the Challenge to show the Association how a Guild of Jayzan follower can rehabilitate themselves."

Yeah, right. More like they are still embarrassed by her and thought this was a good way of moving on. At least there were two other woman on the show; whether the nun would talk or just stare into space would be another thing.

"Keep watching, we will be right back."

If nothing else, she had something to do now, Brell considered. How long she would last in these challenges was anyone's guess. At least she would end her days in a different environment. No more voluntary execution meetings with an uninterested psyche interviewer. For a moment, she thought about being with Gorst and putting the past behind her. If she won that is. There was no chance, everything was being decided for her. She was only on the show to add a bit of interest.

She rubbed her chin. Would she be able to get some intox or Deep Yellow from the guards to help her sleep? On the other hand, did it matter anymore? How many times had she said that? She lay down, placed her hands behind her head, and stared at the ceiling.

# Chapter 14 – New horizons

Sitting on the bed, Brell took another glance around her cell, her home for the last five years. The holo world helmet lay discarded on the table.

The last two weeks had, thankfully, passed quickly. Every day she had to put up with the meal-time talk, discussing when and how she would die during the Challenge. One of the Colony 09 women declared herself a bookmaker and started taking credit and weed smoke promises off her fellow inmates.

Williams sent through two "homework" cubes with streams, sleep audio, and details about the Challenge. There were some images of the Inhab-47 holo worlds, how they worked, the Living Room, and security arrangements within the studio complex. Language lessons were also included, as the people inside the worlds were able to respond to basic questions in their main or local language. It gave Brell an excuse to stay in her cell.

She received three messages. One from her mother, who hadn't been in contact for a long time, and Brell believed, just sent because of the Challenge show. Gorst, on the other hand, had left a brief message of support, which she replayed many times. Carac anticipated meeting up with her.

The guards made a special visit that morning. "Just making sure it looks good for the show," she was told. Other guards just happened to pop their heads around the doorway. Brell ate her last prison breakfast in her cell, as the Overseer did not want any last-minute trouble from the other inmates.

She stuffed a few of her belongings into the one allowed bag. Hesitating over what to do with the messages from Carac, she held them in her hand for some time, before reaching a decision to throw them in the corner of the cell for the cleaner bot to dispose of.

The chime sounded and the door beam disengaged.

"Prisoner Sturlach, stand to," the guard said in a more pronounced way than normal. A woman with a cheesy smile appeared.

"Hello, I'm Argenta from Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company. I'll be following your movements from here to the security doors."

Brell looked at her. Was she a virtual holo or real? She looked like a clone of Flip, with her black straight hair, orange/white skin, sparkly teeth, a sparkly blue jacket and dress. She was certainly sparkly and already annoying.

"Now, when we go live, the door opens and you are to be brought out of your cell, through the prison, and into the transport carrier. After a short journey to the dock, you will go on board our cruiser, and when everyone is collected, off we go to the Challenge studios. Takes around eight hours. It won't do any harm to smile and wave. You didn't comb your hair much this morning. Ready in a couple of moments, then?"

Brell ran her hands back through her hair. She wasn't listening and was relieved when Argenta left the cell. She sat down and bit her nails, not knowing what to do with herself.

"Prisoner Sturlach, stand to," announced a guard. The door disengaged, revealing the Overseer, the annoying reporter, and assorted prison staff who had assembled in front of the cell. After the hard beam cuffs were applied, she was taken outside to a gaggle of people and floating cameras silently capturing everything.

"So Overseer, we are just about to send Brell off on the first part of her journey, your thoughts?"

"The staff and inmates wish her the best." Argenta paused, waiting for something else to be said. Silence.

Argenta looked into the camera and raised an eyebrow, "Brell, these are your first steps of a new journey, any thoughts?"

"No."

"Okay then, shall we ..." She nodded to the Overseer, who motioned to a guard. A narrow half-crescent band was placed behind Brell's neck. The guard seemed to take her time. Was she enjoying this or just playing to the audience? A small beam emitted out of the crescent ends, connecting together around the front of her neck. This was a failsafe hard beam device, which could send the inmate into instant unconsciousness if they tried to escape.

Argenta gave a running commentary, which included reminding the audience that Brell would be regarded as a convicted inmate serving her term, albeit on another planet in a game show.

"Police Corps, together with Prison Corps officers, will take care of all security arrangements."

Brell peered around at the cameras that flitted around. Were her mother and old colleagues watching? How about Gorst? Pushing her feelings aside, she walked slowly down the stairway and took a quick glance back at her cell. There were guards and staff in front and behind her. No doubt, Williams was communicating via Argenta's implant, giving instructions to choreograph this as much as possible. A few guards were in the free association area standing near to some selected inmates, Brell noted. They had locked up the Colony 09 inmates. The small crowd clapped and cheered Brell as she slowly descended step by careful step. She did her best to nod towards them, despite the restriction of the neck bracelet. There were only a few inmates that she could sensibly talk to; she would miss their humour. If nothing else, today gave the girls on Wing 90 a break from the normal drudge.

They stopped by the security door.

"Well, there we are. She gives nothing away. Will she be a winner or a loser? Who knows? Keep watching, we will shortly be joining Flip, who is with the next challenger." She paused, then dropped her smile.

"Thank you everyone. It went well." Looking at Brell, she said, "You could have smiled a bit more."

Brell just stared back at her. Argenta took a step back.

***

"Come, on let's go," said the guard pushing Brell forward. Eventually they made it outside and into a vehicle area, where Brell was placed into a prison transporter. As the van glided away, Brell watched the prison block disappear from sight with an unexpected sense of loss.

At the port, the guards transferred her onto the prison cruiser, which would take all the prisoners up to the _Good Grace_ star ship berthed in space dock. Up a ramp and after a right turn, she emerged into a narrow corridor lined with cells on both sides. As she approached the end of the corridor, Brell noticed that the end cell beam door was engaged, presumably occupied.

"In there and wait for the others."

Ushered into the cell next door, she stood still whilst the beam cuffs were removed, but the collar remained on. The holding cell was narrow with a long bench, a small privy and sink. The guard left, the beam entrance engaged, and there was silence.

***

Brell sat back on the bench, rested her head against the wall, and closed her eyes for a while. The beam gurgle of the privy and sink in the cell next door could just be heard above the hum of the air vents. She wondered who might be in there and tapped the wall a couple of times, but received nothing in return.

There were some footsteps and low talking in the corridor.

"In there and wait for the others." She heard the activation of the door beam, then a bench creak and the guard's receding footsteps. Over a period of an hour, others arrived, but Brell could not work out who was who.

Until Brookko made his entrance.

It started with the sound of more footsteps and a male voice shouting out.

"I smell a lady in here. Well, when I mean lady, I mean a Corpswoman, who has spent years in prison. Just seen you on the Beams. All that pent-up frustration. Don't worry, I'm sure there'll be some time for free association." He finished with a whiny throaty laugh.

"In there," the guard's voice said, more strongly than before.

"Alright, alright, winner coming through."

_P-zap_.

There was silence after that; he must have received a small jolt. If she had counted right, they had left him until last, did not want him to stay in the holding cell too long.

"Prepare for take-off," came the general announcement.

Brell felt the low rumble of the AG engines whirling into their first gear through her feet and body, something she had not felt for a long time. The vibration was pleasing; it reminded her of the times when she went on leave. Now it was a one-way ticket to the unknown.

# Chapter 15 – Locardum

Carac, two cells away from Brell, sat on the bed with his back to the wall. He breathed lightly and licked his lips as the engines changed sound in preparation for deep space travel. Though relieved to have left his prison cell, he did not enjoy space travel. Absent-mindedly, he brushed his hand on the bed sheet and settled back. Recalling one of his most memorable days always took his mind off space travel.

***

"Boss, we've found it," Jojo said, unable to hide his excitement.

"How much?" Carac said.

"Ten tonnes, at least."

"Best way to extract it?"

"I'll put Team 25 on it. They are not the brightest lot, but I'll tell them it is special ore. They are good workers, and with a pay bonus, they won't ask any questions. Be transported to surface in normal containers, but specially marked and coded."

"I will arrange the heavy transporter. Good job," Carac said, trying to sound calm. Locardum, an essential requirement in engine drives for space travel. Its value was huge, to the right buyer, of course.

***

"Drink up, everyone, you deserve it. I'm also making arrangements to transfer some extra credits into your accounts for a good job done," Carac said.

Carac sat at his desk speaking into a receiver cube. To his right, a screen displayed the interior of a space cruiser. It was a small one used for short space trips, basic but comfortable enough for a two hour journey to the nearest leisure moon. Team 25 members held up their drinks, toasting him.

"I've also got a present for you. Jojo, if you would, please."

"Okay, boss."

Jojo trotted around, handing out a credit chip to each man.

"A little something for gambling and other extras, if you know what I mean." Carac smiled, his teeth sparkling white.

"Thanks boss, the boys are very happy."

There was a loud thanks from the team and some more drinking.

"Okay, enjoy your trip, you deserve it," Carac finally said.

***

The next recollection he liked was the moment a news item appeared on one of his office screens.

"Reports are coming in of a mid-space accident. A pleasure moon transporter suffered a catastrophic hull failure after its engine exploded and disintegrated. All passengers and crew perished. Included in the dead were Mining Team 25 from Grab, who were on their way to a much needed vacation."

Finally, he remembered his meeting with the seller, a gnarly leather skinned man.

"Third-hand vapour explosive devices, always reliable, very reliable. Easy to detonate. No problem, no problem. Let me show you."

No problem indeed. The seller had been right.

***

Whilst the Locardum discovery was memorable in its own right, Carac remembered it for another reason. On that same day, he was sourcing parts for heavy mining machines on some out-of-the-way planet called Sabor. It was not something he tended to do, but it coincided with other business opportunities. The tour of the factory could not have been more boring and the food refreshments were inedible. However, he had negotiated a good deal; they were happy to amend the invoice for his share of the credits, and obtaining safety certificates was not a problem. A good day needed an even better evening.

As he walked through the hotel building, he saw a woman, standing on her own, near the stairs to his empty hotel suite. As the vibration of the hull was starting to make him sleepy, he smiled when he thought back to that woman and her blue skin.

# Chapter 16 – Into the studio

Flip peered around the space docks whilst puffing on his pipe. It was grey and cold; he should have put on his outdoor underwear. Hangars, heavy-duty machinery, and repair pods dotted the outlying area. A strong smell of fuel and grease filled the air.

Taking a last puff, he brushed his sparkly blue jacket with his hands and walked towards the landing pad to take up his position. Williams's voice droned in the background giving instructions.

Wrinkling his nose and coughing to clear his throat, he heard Williams announce the ship's arrival.

Flip stiffened, then posed in his usual relaxed stance and smiled.

"Here comes the ship. In a short while, our seven challengers will emerge from the craft and we will follow them into their new cells," Flip said.

He continued commentating as the Good Grace started lowering and manoeuvring its huge bulk with small engine thrusts and internal anti grav controls. As the craft gently lowered itself the last remaining metres, the huge landing struts compressed as they took the weight.

"And we are down. Soon our challengers will appear, one by one. We'll be back after this break."

Flip kept his smile going until sure the cameras were not live, then got out his pipe and had a quick puff, followed by another cough.

***

Brell had slept for some of the flight, but was wide awake when the _Good Grace's_ drive changed pitch as it slowed on approach. Guard activity picked up; it seemed they were physically checking the cells again. Nerves, probably. Imagine losing a convicted murderer aboard their craft before landing, let alone one of them trying to escape. Brell stood up, stretched her arms, twisted her neck, then touched her toes. Sitting back down, she waited for touchdown.

***

"And here is Brell Sturlach, the disgraced Police Corpswoman."

Brell was nudged forward a few steps onto the top of the pedestrian ramp. The outside air was at least fresher than inside the Good Grace. She had no option but to wait her turn, and listen as each inmate was taken out of their holding cell. Someone had mumbled something, which she couldn't quite hear, but there was foot shuffling, door sliding, beams disengaging, and then silence until the next one.

She noticed the cameras trained on her and a sparkly suit announcer commentating on events. The ridges on the ramp dug into her soft shoes as she gingerly stepped down it. Her recently applied handcuffs prevented her from holding the safety rail for balance. One guard walked in front, two were at the side, and one behind her. Some Police Corps officers were standing around by the hangar doorway.

It was a typical Space Corps port and dock. Repair sheds, platforms, huge hangars. Utility robots walked or wheeled around in amongst gigantic transporters. She headed towards a huge building with "EHBC – Convict Challenge" emblazoned on its outside wall. There were a few people watching, probably workers at the port skulking off to watch events. Away in the distance, auto cranes silently loaded and unloaded cargo.

"Here she is."

Brell looked around and then up at the grey sky, snatching a last glimpse of the outside world. Then it was inside the hangar, through some designated walkways, and into the rear cell area. Doors slid open, and beam waves reduced or disengaged as she made her way forward. Whoever was in charge of security here did not take any chances. The small group walked past guard desks, security hubs, then through a large communal area, and onto the cell corridor. All seven cells were next to each other.

After the removal of the cuffs and collar, she left alone, with the exception of millions of viewers watching her every movement. Pointless trying to find the hidden cameras. Could she use the privy in private? No idea.

A small pouch lay in the middle of her bed, containing her few allowed items from her cell on Crin. She wiggled a finger inside the back of the craft sculpture in case an ampoule had magically appeared. Wonder if the guards are up for a little bit of bartering. She felt okay for the time being. Well she had just gone two hundred days without any illegal substances; the small one in the cell recently was necessary, so didn't count. However, a small hit of intox or Deep would not go amiss. Remember the old Brell, a distant voice said.

She stretched her arms out. The cell seemed larger. Bed, privy, shelf, desk and an auto chef. An auto chef!

"Intox mix cocktail with pronberry topper."

Nothing happened. Brell read the auto chef display. _No intox available_.

"Worth a try," she said aloud, rubbing her head.

"Right, here goes. A thatchnut ice cream whirl."

The auto chef chugged away, and soon produced Brell's favourite creamy dessert in a tall glass. Her hand trembled slightly when she reached inside the machine. Sitting on the bed, back against the wall, she slowly ate the dessert savouring each spoonful.

***

The next day, Brell read a run sheet listing the planned events up to the first Challenge. There were briefings, interviews, run-throughs, and tomorrow there was a fun challenge. It was probably the first of many such embarrassing events; she legally belonged to the studio now. Idly browsing the Association news channels, the Challenge was being widely discussed and much anticipated. Betting odds had Grock first; with her fifth, behind the farmer and the nun.

"Prisoner Sturlach, stand to."

Without thinking, Brell took up the required position of facing the door, hands outstretched, wrists together. The door beam disengaged with the usual whoosh of air and the guard stood there holding a neck cuff.

"What's happening?" Brell said.

"Free association."

"Taking no chances, I presume," Brell said as the neck cuff activated. The guard made no reply.

"Say, if I needed something, would you be able to get it for me?" Brell said as confidently as she could.

"Not allowed. Association watching," the guard replied monotonously. Probably been asked the same thing by the others.

The guard stepped to one side to let Brell walk in front. She glanced through the corridor windows, squinting. The studio area was half-lit, with what looked like a group of technicians pointing at walls and nodding their heads. Then they went through the rear of the block and into a communal area, similar to the one on Wing 90. Seats, comfortable chairs, screens, a large auto chef unit, and domestic bots stationed around in standby mode.

Kellsa strode around, arms folded, staring through the plas-glass at the security guards. She was tougher-looking than the beam images; the muscle definition on her olive-skinned arms and legs showed a very fit person. Her face was a permanent scowl, as if she hated everyone. Meren sat upright, feet together, reading from a small cube screen, its green light reflected on her face. Over to the side, through a thick plas-glass wall, were the men.

Brell remained silent as she went over and sat next to Meren. Kellsa made brief eye contact, the considered look of someone eyeing up the opposition. Meren half-turned her face towards Brell, then went back to reading her text.

"Hello," Brell said.

Meren nodded slowly.

"Come here often?" Brell said, using a Police Corps greeting, often used when meeting up with a colleague in some crap hole derelict pod building.

Meren just smiled. Silence.

Brell looked over at the men. Carac was standing near the plas-glass screen looking in her direction. Her stomach tightened. Would she ever be rid of this man? She locked eyes with him briefly and disdainfully, and then peered over at the other men. Brookko leered at Kellsa, trying to catch her attention whilst grabbing his crotch. Just what the viewers wanted. Grock sat on his own, stiff, upright weighing up the others. Ooma sat on a chair, swinging his legs like a child's first day at a preparatory school. The guards kept their distance whilst their fingers hovered over the stun buttons.

Brell wondered if something contrived would happen to keep the audience amused. No, this probably allowed people to inspect the goods and decide gambling odds. Meren continued to read.

"Studying?"

"Guild text," Meren said, her voice warm and slow.

"You know, I never found religion helped me much. I just sort of got through life by myself."

Meren nodded.

"Well, I needed a bit of help every now and again. Haven't you ever taken any substances to help you?"

"No." Meren continued to read her text.

"But all that business you went through. The murdering nun. Didn't you drink or take a tab or something?"

"Meditation."

Brell brushed her hair and glanced around. A great talker is our Meren.

"We had various techniques at Academy which I used, but couldn't sustain. Intox was a quicker way of forgetting and then I found Deep Yellow." Her voice trailed off.

Meren calmly closed her cube, put it to one side, and rested her hands in her lap. Brell realised that this was possibly the first proper conversation Meren had had with an outsider for years.

They made eye contact, the two women assessing each other. Brell recognised the pain, embarrassment, and tiredness of a lengthy prison sentence. The look that said, "things could have been different." She diverted her eyes.

"I am able to go into a deep level of meditation to escape any destructive thoughts going on above."

"Oh, you speak more than two words, that's good. Any tips on the meditation thing?"

"Assist my enemy?" Meren smiled. "Give her an advantage? Was that enough words for you?"

"Okay," Brell said, "I'll leave it alone." She went back to watching Kellsa.

"Meditation takes practice. If we have any time left together I can help you."

"Thanks. No idea how much association we are allowed. Two of us," she glanced around, "will not be returning after the first challenge. Do you think about that?"

"No. One of Jayzan's beliefs is to accept what happens and get on with it. All things will pass."

Brell narrowed her eyes, thinking about what Meren had said.

A tapping noise started from the men's side. Brookko was banging on the partition screen with his fist and shouting at the women, his voice muffled.

"Come over here, if you know what's good for you."

He then started kicking the screen, at which point Brell could see a guard pointing at him and shouting for him to stop. Brookko kept kicking the screen and there was another verbal exchange. He then made a limping run towards the guard, but was zapped through his neck cuff. His body hit the ground and slid along a couple of metres, stopping at the guard's feet. The guard glared at the other men, inviting them to have a go.

When the fun was over, Kellsa walked over to Brell.

"You have no chance. You don't stand for nothing," Kellsa said. Her braided hair bounced around as she spoke.

"Well, hey, we're all going to die anyway," Brell said, and glanced at Meren, who started laughing. Kellsa pursed her lips and wandered off into a corner, her fists clenched, muttering obscenities. Meren continued to laugh. When was the last time she had done that?

# Chapter 17 – The Farmer

That evening, Ooma fiddled around in his cell for a while, then sat down, got another munch burger, and browsed some of the other challenger's biographs. One section's was titled "Court and Prison".

Ooma found the earlier free association stressful, no different from his prison experiences. Though he had hardened up in prison, the underlying fear of personal attack never left him. It was not in his nature to be aggressive; he was a farmer, a nurturer. He only spoke to a few of his fellow inmates, mainly the ones he helped to read. Often preferring to stay in his cell during free association, he would work on a new harvester engine design.

He idly skimmed through some streams.

One showed snippets of Grock's life in prison. On his first night, he sat on his bed, reading. On his hundredth day, he was sitting on the wing during free association reading a cube, when another inmate approached him.

"Hi. Reading anything interesting?"

"Yes."

"Fancy a game? The board's free."

"No."

That was Grock's most entertaining moment.

As for Brookko, there were many snippets and clips of his constant run-ins with everyone; he even seemed to pick a fight with himself. Ooma re-played one of Brookko's top voted moments.

"Hey, Brookko, your pudding is ready. It's got your favourite jam."

"Great. I like my milky rice mix. Has to be stronberry jam in the middle, though."

Brookko went over to the auto chef counter. A group of inmates watched nearby. He picked up his plate and nodded, then stopped.

"Hold on, which one of you fraggers put tomchup on my pudding?"

There was a burst of laughter.

"What's the matter, Brooksy, not your favourite jam?"

"Who put tomchup on my pudding?" Brookko picked up his plate, and placing his hand underneath, threw it at the nearest inmate. The whole thing then blew up. Everyone joined in, throwing their pudding plates at each other. Brookko's feet slipped on some milky rice, and when he stood up, two plates hit his chest. Slipping again, he rolled around in milky rice whilst trying to stand up as more plates rained down on him. Managing to get to his feet, he wiped his face in his sleeve whilst shouting and swearing, to the laughter of everyone, including the guards. They were laughing so much that they neglected to press the implant stunners.

***

Ooma could not understand what motivated Carac. He had seen every type of criminal on his prison wing, from men whose lives revolved around violence to crooked accountants. Carac, however, was different. He was a man of power with almost a serial killer coldness. He could smile and communicate very well, but his eyes said something else.

Ooma played through some key excerpts from Carac's legal proceedings.

Carac sat in a medium sized room, a semi-circle of display screens and holographic legal representatives stood to the side of him. Wearing a black suit, he sat with both hands resting on his lap.

"Were you at any time aware that the parts used in the machinery were at least third hand?" the prosecuting official said.

"I had certificates of authenticity."

"The certificates were fake."

"Were they? As far as I was told, they were officially authenticated certificates. I specifically asked for genuine parts to be used in the mining machinery." Carac slapped his knee as he spoke.

"Three excavator machines failed at the critical moment. Please watch these images."

A static camera view of a mining operation appeared. It was an ore mineshaft with a low ceiling. The huge mining excavator obscured most of the view. After the rock was ground down, extractors sucked it backwards into the rear area for the waiting glide carts. A strong layer of ceramic-based roofing material was sprayed onto the ceiling and walls, whilst strong roof props were placed in position. The machine slowly rumbled forwards cutting, then forming a tunnel on its route through the underground cavern. Men and women worked the machinery or stood back waiting for the next few metres of drilling. The crunching and gnashing of the excavator was audible alongside the occasional thud of a prop being placed in position.

Then, complete catastrophe. The shaft suddenly billowed with dust, followed by a high-pitched grinding noise, and panicked shouts from the workers.

"Do you accept that the parts you bought or sourced were inferior and caused the excavators to fail?"

"No, not at all. I made a good deal and was assured the parts were certified genuine," Carac said, a thin smile on his lips.

"So you feel no responsibility for the deaths of nearly two hundred people?"

"No. The engineers who fitted the parts are to blame. Not the boss."

***

Ooma ran his thumbs around the inside of his trouser belt. Who was the most dangerous man in the Challenge, Grock, Brookko, or Carac? The calm assassin, the manic fighter, or the stab-you-in-the-back type? He would have to avoid all of them, all of the time.

He had observed the women through the glass screen and didn't know what to make of them. Female killers were unknown on his home world. Kellsa was a world apart from the women born and bred on Agrier. Ooma liked the ladies, that's what led him into trouble at the hands of a drug gang. The harvest dances were fun, but it was an expectation that couples would get together, stay together, marry, and never leave their farmland. Born on the soil, die in the soil.

Back then, Ooma read many fiction stories describing life on other worlds, and with his growing interest in engine designs, he dreamed of tinkering around with flying engines and anti gravity drives. The lure of a more exciting world drew him to the Electro City quarter in Agrier's capital. It started when he became sidetracked during a visit to a machine shop. The women were more fun and not looking for stability or longevity. When Fyxen asked him whether he could plant some seeds for her, he was happy to oblige. Using fertile soil on a spare strip of land, he nurtured the young seedlings into full-grown pungent herbs.

Ooma stopped himself from viewing his own Court and Prison files; for now, anyway. He remained restless and did not know whether he wanted to eat just for the sake of it. Under Meren's image, there was a stream called a "Day in the Life." Perhaps he would watch it later.

***

Unable to sleep, Ooma sat up and felt reluctantly drawn to view some of his own files.

"Play."

There was a loud cacophony of noise in the common room where the boxing ring had been set up. Sweat, smoked root, and tension swirled around the place. The anti grav engine whirled into action and two men shot up in the air, trying to get an early punch in. The cheering and shouting increased at the same rate as the credits were changing hands. However, after a minute, the engine stopped working. The referee sent the two sweating men to their corners and leant over the rail to talk to an assistant and guard. Ooma wandered over to the referee's assistant, who was kneeling under the arena floor, inspecting the inner workings.

"Can you fix it?" the guard said.

Ooma hitched up his trousers, knelt down, and made an examination inside.

"Schematics?"

The assistant flexed his fingers and a small image of the engine floated in front of them. Ooma rotated the image around, leaned his head in to examine the engine again, and then said, "Have you checked the distration valve?"

The assistant shook his head. Ooma picked up a laser wrench and after getting an acknowledgement for a guard, he leant inside the engine compartment. A couple of minutes later the AG whirled back into action. The crowd cheered as the contest re-started. That wasn't the end of it. The image stream skipped to the part when Ooma was hauled, pushed, and dragged onto the AG arena by laughing inmates. He bounced upwards to a wave of cheers. An inmate jumped into the ring and grabbed Ooma's feet and pulled him down, letting go at the right moment for the anti grav to send Ooma back up again arms flailing. The cheers got louder. It carried on a couple more times before the guards felt obliged to stop it.

"Off," he said.

He paced around the cell, and drank some water. During his sleepless nights, he often recalled the look on his father's face when he witnessed Ooma's arrest. Ooma could still not come to terms with his life sentence. Four years in, he had a recurring dream of finding the cell door open and in place of the landing, golden fields stretched to the horizon. The Challenge had changed things, whatever happened, it would all be over. He knew he would have difficulty competing against the others; perhaps he was the fat, funny one for audience laughs. Well, it was better than life within four square walls.

# Chapter 18 – No one dies today

As the audience applauded, Flip and Argenta walked forward and stood together in the middle of the stage. They were smiling and relaxed.

"Hello, everyone at home, in the audience, or wherever you are. Welcome. Today is our Fun Challenge, where the challengers are put through their paces in a series of light-hearted games. It gives you a chance to study the challengers, perhaps you can pick your winner. Check out our beam streams and site for details of our competitions, you could win a big prize," Flip said.

"Thanks Flip. Now, unlike the real challenges, no one dies today; instead, the winner will be allowed to have a visitor, real or virtual. Our challengers are in their free association area where, one by one, the guards will escort them into the challenge room. Here they are." Argenta motioned towards one of the huge display screens. The challengers were sitting or pacing around, the men segregated from the women, as before, with guards standing nearby. "First, let's see the games. Over to our director, Williams, who will explain all."

Williams doffed his tall black brimmed hat to the camera. "Hello, everyone. Welcome to the greatest show on the Associated Planets." He wore a bright red long tailed coat, black trousers, black waistcoat with gold buttons, a white shirt, and a black bowtie.

"I am dressed like an artistic director on Inhab-47, as you can see. You can view my travels on Inhab-47 and the making of the programme on our beam site." He stepped forward. "This Challenge is about having fun. Inside here is a large area with three rooms in which there is a small task for each challenger to perform. Let's have a look, shall we?"

He opened a door and entered a semi-circular room with three doors set into the wall. The doors, numbered from one to three in Elytian, also had Inhab-47 main language numbers underneath.

"Each challenger is brought here from the communal room. They are dangerous criminals, remember, so the guards will monitor them."

He went into Room One. It was a dimly lit square room decorated with glowing neon-styled lights. A rectangular glass topped machine on four spindly looking legs and an upright back piece was set against the rear wall. A series of lights lit up at intervals behind the glass screens and the words "Outer Space" emblazoned across the back piece. Beeps and rings sounded from inside. Next to it was a fat, square machine with a long handle on its side and three small windows with symbols on show.

"This is called a pinball machine, and this one is a one armed bandit. Don't ask how they got those names, but they are one of the main forms of entertainment on Inhab-47. They were in many meeting and social places." Williams blinked twice then said, "I'll show you how they work."

He pulled the pinball plunger and shot out a metal ball, whilst commentating on what he was doing. Pressing the flipper buttons in a noticeably practiced manner, the machine binged, ringed and buzzed as the score counter whirled. He described how the gravity machine worked, then gave some tips on flipper and plunger action. Reluctantly, he stopped playing and demonstrated the other machine.

"This is a really basic gambling machine. You pull the handle like this." He grabbed the black knob and pulled down the arm. The symbols spun around and audibly ticked into their final place. "The symbols represent Inhab-47 fruits. I have no idea why fruits, but you have to get the same three in a row. The challengers are allowed three attempts."

***

Brell paced around, rubbing the back of her head. Meren sat on a chair and Kellsa stood with her arms crossed, looking at the men through the plas-glass wall. All the challengers wore bright red fitness suits. The long sleeved tops had a zipper and black trim along the sleeve and down the side of the trousers. On their feet were black sports shoes with white rubber soles and a white patch by the anklebone.

Brell watched Williams showing the audience the fun things that they would be doing shortly. He stood inside a room that had a long rectangular shape marked on the floor. Inside the area was fine sand, and at the far end there was a small orange coloured ball. Williams picked up some larger silver balls and again with a practised motion, threw the ball, aiming it at the orange one.

"Five balls are thrown in whichever way is best to get as near to the orange ball as possible. We have an overhead camera measuring how many balls stop within fifteen centimetres of the orange ball."

Brell wondered if Williams was going to play any tricks, on them, like a trapdoor opening or a game involving a sudden death. As much as this was an entertainment show, she did not believe that Williams intended to make fools of the challengers like in other beamcasts. The setup, the studios, and everything so far suggested a sensible challenge programme; involving death obviously. She remembered a termination beam show a while back where a competition winner threw a bucket of custard over a prisoner during the termination procedure.

However, when Brell saw Williams enter the third room, she wasn't so sure.

***

"This is a model of a large beast on Inhab-47. You sit on this," he patted a leather saddle then stood to one side. "Start her up," he said. The beast, fixed to a central pivoting metal mechanism, started to revolve and buck up and down slowly.

"Our challengers sit on the saddle and try to stay on the beast for as long as possible. It gets progressively faster." He laughed whilst walking back to the door entrance.

"So there you have it. The challenger with the highest aggregate score will be the winner. We begin shortly after the break."

Williams held his smile for a moment until his assistant in the director's chair told him that the cameras were off.

"Great. Flip and Argenta, back to you." With that, he returned to the director's room to take charge.

***

The Tinker sat in his command room situated in his restaurant basement. Seated on a large couch, wearing a purple robe, he studied the huge semi-circular screen in front of him. It displayed a chequer board of mini screens, views, and monitors all connected with his empire. He munched on a delicacy whilst dictating instructions to his assistant. Low stringed music played in the background.

"I see that the ore markets are up. That's good. Regg, make a note, Locardum value is rising. Need to get our hands on this soon."

Regg lifted his head up from examining his pad. "Yes sir."

"Bring up Mack's raid, will you? Looks like something is about to happen."

A small display enlarged and centralised itself on screen. It showed a large office room with a meeting in progress. People sat around a table whilst holo assistants flitted back and forth. A small sub screen showed the view of a door from a body-worn camera device. There was no sound as the office door burst open and Mack's gang ran in, laser and bullet guns blazing. Holo assistants disappeared as the startled people cowered beneath the table. A concealed auto laser activated and cut down two of Mack's crew before it was destroyed. The laser fire continued, and one man made the mistake of standing up and firing off a couple of shots at the raiders. He was cut straight down, having only shot two holes in a wall. Mack stepped forward and took control, stopping all firing. The raiders were dressed identically in black with holo changing face shields, to blur their faces. Mack's height and width was easy to distinguish among the others, his face a dark scarred distortion.

"Let see if he can get this right this time," the Tinker said.

Mack grabbed a woman out from behind the table and pushed her towards the entrance door. A raider stepped forward and thrust a device up to her face. He then nodded towards Mack.

"That's her. Positive ID. I can see the readout here. The one who queried our work contracts." Tinker said.

"Boss. All okay?" Mack said aloud.

"Regg, comms link please." He briefly paused. "Mack, yes go ahead." Tinker replied directly to Macks comms implant.

Mack nodded, then motioned for the woman to walk back to the table, and join the others, who stood with their hands up, uncertain what would happen next. He spoke to a raider, who pulled some metal objects out of his shoulder bag.

"Mmm, explosives. Interesting. I asked for maximum impact. Looks like he's going to blow everything up. Sound on." Tinker said.

"You fraggers are all going to fragging die. All those fraggers watching, this is what fragging happens if you fragging mess with us!" Mack shouted at the group.

He then swiftly lasered the identified woman in the chest and walked back to the exit doors. In the meantime, his colleague threw the explosives towards the group, and a short while later the screen view was lost. The body worn camera showed the raiders exiting down a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony, where an AG skiff waited for them.

"He has a lovely way of talking, but the job was done. What do you think?"

"Mack achieved the objective. However, he lacks subtlety. Sir."

"Yes, astute as always, Regg. The woman is dead; not very messy, though. Perhaps a bit more torture next time? It will keep the sector quiet for a while, anyway. When he is safely back to base, send him the credits."

"Will follow their progress, sir."

"How is Mrs. Tinker doing?"

Regg, who had not lifted his head for some time, flicked his fingers, and another small display screen enlarged.

"She has just arrived back at the compound sir."

Mrs. Tinker, who was a large as the Tinker, but with four chins, waddled up the front pathway towards the main door of their residence. She had a wide-brimmed hat, a tight dress, and high-heeled shoes. There was a bevy of real and virtual assistants walking behind, ahead, and to the side of her. A bot brought up the rear, overladen with colourful bags and boxes.

Without waiting for a prompt, Regg said, "Hats. Five seven five credits, total spend."

The Tinker started loading his pipe.

"Junior Tinker?"

"Safely inside the compound. His friends have left with their musical instruments."

"Missy?"

"In her bedroom talking to her virtual animals. Compound now secure."

"Good."

"Let's have a look at the Challenge."

The Tinker puffed on his pipe and cast his eye over the challengers as they waited in the communal room.

"Who do you think will win?"

Regg spent a moment studying the men and women.

"Difficult to tell, sir. Some nervous, some reckless, perhaps. This challenge is for fun. I go with the woman with knotted hair, she will concentrate. Like a killer."

"Good choice. Hmmm. I go with the old veteran lizard man. Older, wiser, he will take it slow." Tinker shifted in his seat and puffed on his pipe. "Regg, display the viewing figures for the show and let's see what those Twins are up to."

"On screen now, sir."

"Thank you." The Twins were sitting next to each other behind a large table, watching their screens. Their communal quarters consisted of a large room with a kitchenette and a sitting room. Four assistants stood at the rear, partly in shadow, awaiting instructions.

"Creepy, but they will do what they are told. Regg, put me down for a thousand credits on the lizard man."

***

The Police Corps Commander sat within his security dome conversing with his security team and the Prison Corps Commander. Though bemused by the "fun challenge" he appreciated that it gave security officers a chance of a dry run before the real ones.

"All ready, inmates secure," the Prison Corps commander said.

"Thank you. Inside and outside security all in place."

"Glad we persuaded the studio not to run the challenge with all of them in the same room. They've got the proper challenges for killing each other. The studio is happy if there is a little bit of punching and slapping; good for viewers apparently. But anything serious or threats to my guards, like Brookko last night, will get them zapped."

"Yes. I think the studio forgets what these people have done. Have a good night. Will speak later."

He ended the conversation and went back to his displays.

# Chapter 19 – Pinball

"We are back, and it's time to pick the first challenger. Hello, the Chorttle-as Clan from Colony 08." Flip was talking to a large holo side screen displaying a large family group sitting on a floor staring at their beam camera.

"Who do you choose?"

They all shouted out together, "Kellsa."

"Kellsa. Thank you. If Kellsa wins the challenge, the Chorttle-as Clan will win a large credit prize. Argenta."

"Thanks Flip. Guards, please escort Kellsa into the games room."

As she arrived in front of the three doors, a holo assistant appeared to remind Kellsa of the rules. The guard stepped outside and watched events on a discrete display screen.

Reminded of what to do, Kellsa pulled back the pinball plunger.

***

Brell drank water, sat down, got up, and paced around. She was not enjoying the waiting and would prefer to get the thing out of the way. She watched Kellsa nearly ripping the arm off the gambling machine and forcefully throwing the metal balls. No subtlety, all violent strong actions but her scores were good including riding the beast. Her face was flushed but smiling when she arrived back inside the communal area.

She came straight up to Brell.

"There you go, bitch, that's how it's done." She pushed Brell in the shoulder.

Brell planted a foot backwards and raised her hands in the ready position for a quick strike or defensive move.

"Come on, then," she said.

A guard tensed, but did not intervene.

"Not worth it now, see you in the Challenge." She put her hands on her hips and walked over to Meren.

"What do you have to say about this, miss monk, nun, or whatever you are?"

Meren sat calmly and looked at Kellsa.

"No fight in you. Should just stay in your cell, praying."

Meren remained silent. Kellsa folded her arms and went over to gesticulate at the men. The guard's hand relaxed.

***

After Kellsa, it was Grock's turn. It was clear to the audience and other challengers that he was a deep thinker. After bowling the first ball, he stood back, weighed the next ball in his hand, and practiced his throwing technique arm without releasing the ball. Then he swung it in an arc, landing next to the orange ball, but on the far side in order to leave room for the next ball. His wiry, athletic frame and seating position were a great asset on the rotating beast. He scored higher than Kellsa.

***

The Twins were a little confused by the fun events but gave the go ahead, weeks ago, mainly due to Williams's enthusiasm. They were both keen to get on with the live event, to get it done, but a gentle start to the show was perhaps a good thing. It settled everyone down.

"That was a solid performance by Grock," Mayleth said.

"Yes. He's got good potential," Ayleth said as he brought out two drinks from the kitchenette.

"Calm under pressure," Mayleth said as she watched her brother drop a tablet into his drink.

"Want one?" he said.

"No thank you."

They watched the next competitor, Carac in silence as he played the games through.

"Fairly dextrous, he didn't enjoy..."

"... the beast? No, he did not look happy."

"How's the betting?"

"Grock still tipped to win, even though the others haven't gone yet."

"Good," Ayleth said.

***

"Brookko, we choose Brookko. Go Brookko." A group of men, sharply dressed, sat in and around a high tech office. They were drinking intox straight out of the bottle.

"Brookko is next," Brell said.

"We'll get our turn, don't worry," Meren said.

"Well, me, you, and Ooma left. At least the Beam Company seems to be playing things straight."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I presume you didn't have access to much media, but there are loads of beam shows these days where they get people onto the show under false pretences. They then pull an unexpected stunt like driving everyone to a desert location and leaving them there for a few days."

"Interesting," Meren said.

The conversation fizzled out, so they both watched Brookko's attempts at playing pinball. Frustrated after losing the first ball, he flipped the next one and lifted up the machine; immediately there was a "tilt" sign flashing so he slammed it down. The ball went past the flippers again. Buzzers went off, making Brookko even angrier. He flipped another ball and punched the top glass whilst pushing the flipper buttons. Managing to flip the ball back up the table, he shouted out in triumph. The holo assistant was calmly trying to give advice despite Brookko swiping the air around the holo to shut him up.

"He is a volcano, one to avoid," Brell said.

"He is a volcano with a daughter," Meren said slowly.

"A daughter?"

"Yes, did a bit of reading about everyone. Brookko's daughter is a teenager. His female birth partner spirited her away. Brookko has had no contact with her."

"So, what did you read about me?"

Meren shook her head and laughed. Brell moved her eyes and gestured her hands upwards, then smiled.

For some reason, Brookko was at home on the beast and stayed on it for the longest time compared to the others. He whooped whilst riding the beast and scored third behind Carac.

On returning to the communal room, Brookko ambled in looking around for eye contact with his fellow challengers.

"I am the man, the riding man." He slapped his chest.

"Hey, lizard man, better watch out." Brookko went up to Grock who was sitting down, staring ahead.

"Yeah, watch out for the wily fox here, Brookko is the beast master." He wiggled his hips and turned his head to the others. "No ice cold blood here, lizard man. No Space Corps Special Forces here. Just good honest dishonesty. One hundred percent."

He wiggled his hips again towards Grock's face. With a speed that only replays would show, Grock punched into Brookko's thigh muscles causing him to hold his leg then buckle to the floor.

"Aahh," was all Brookko could manage. He held his leg, face in pain, and stayed on the floor. The nearby guards laughed. Grock rested both hands on his lap as if nothing had happened.

Ooma, having witnessed the episode, ambled over to the plas-glass screen whilst wiping his hands on his trousers. He breathed heavily.

***

"Brell is next."

She stood up, and rubbed her hands together. Meren smiled at her whilst Kellsa screwed her face up. A short while later, she was in front of the pinball machine, hand on the plunger, waiting for the holo assistant to finish the explanations. She stooped slightly in order to reach down and pull back the plunger. The ball travelled up and into the gravity machine, beeped its way down, and as she pressed the flippers, it ran straight through the middle. With the second ball, she got the hang of using the flippers, and laughed when she successfully flipped the ball back up the table.

As she played the other games, she realised it was, if nothing else, a distraction from cell life. The beast ride did not last very long, ending with her falling flat on her back. Many people would have enjoyed that one.

She ranked fifth on the scoreboard.

***

After returning to the communal room, Brell picked at some food whilst watching Meren. She was a natural at pinball, calmly stroking the flipper buttons in tune with the movement of the ball. After a good stint on the beast, she scored higher than Brell. As Meren returned, she just smiled and sat down.

"That was fun," Meren said.

"Have to watch you, bit tricky. Hidden depths. You are a pinball sorcerer."

Meren smiled.

"So what delights are the auto chefs providing you with?" Brell said in a change of subject.

"Ming beans, green shoots, grains, that sort of thing," Meren said.

"For frag's sake, Meren, you're not in your religious sanctuary now with those monks, no disrespect. Live a little. Ice cream, that's what it's all about." Brell shook her head. Meren didn't reply.

However, later that evening, after eating two choco whirls with mallow, crushed nuts, and sprinkles, Meren was content.

***

Ooma was the final contestant. Picked by an elderly couple who liked farming and gardening, they hoped he would become their lucky mascot. Flip and Argenta commentated on the unfolding events for the viewers watching via the single live feed. When Ooma stepped up to the pinball machine, they both found it difficult not to laugh, as he had to squeeze his belly up against the machine in order to reach the flippers The sight of him trying to get his bulk up onto the beast was also something to behold. His face flushed as he held the beast's neck, but after the first rotation, he fell off, face down on the surrounding mats.

"So there we are. Grock is the winner. You can watch the events again on our beam site. However, Challenge One awaits. There is no return to the cells for the losers on that one. See you soon." Flip ended the live portion of the show.

***

"Good bet, sir. Your winnings are coming through now."

"Thanks, Regg. Grock is a good man to back. What do you think of the others?"

"They all have strengths and weaknesses. From what I know of the challenges, it involves research and searching for a key and exit. Brute strength may not be enough."

"I agree. Now, Regg, please obtain one of those one-armed bandits, will you? I'll add it to my collection."

"Yes, sir."

# Chapter 20 – Space Corps Special Forces

Flip appeared on stage and after soaking up the applause, he took his seat a safe distance away from Grock.

"Welcome, Grock."

Grock nodded.

"This is your chance to tell us about your career and what happened to you."

Grock nodded.

Flip shuffled in his seat and waited for some inspiration from Williams via the comm implant. Williams gave him a question.

"You had a distinguished career in Space Corps Special Forces. What drew you to that part of Space Corps?"

"Making a difference," Grock said.

***

"Finally, to end this briefing I would like to hand over to Lead Officer, Grock."

"Officers, this is a dangerous raid, take prisoners only if safe to do so. Regroup in fifteen minutes."

Grock always enjoyed seeing the flicker of acknowledgment across the eyes of his colleagues whenever he said that at the end of a briefing. Many of his team were fellow Tserians, "lizard men" as they were called, but not to their faces. Not given much to conversation and emotion, they were ideal for certain Police and Space Corps roles. Grock's unit, a Special Forces team within Space Corps had many men and women from Tseri. Their lizard genes had mixed with off-worlders DNA over the centuries meaning that they were no longer "in the swamp". This became one of their favourite sayings.

***

They had disembarked in silence from their anti grav sledges and split into two teams, one for each cave entrance. Grock had his hound with him, a strong hill breed, which could carry scanners and devices to support the front line officers. Grock stroked its head and ears.

Scans, remotes, and drones had shown the smugglers were inside, their contraband still in situ. They were pirates who were raiding tugs, haulers, and sledges on the quieter part of the main haulage routes. Their piracy started with just disabling the craft, then boarding and transferring the load across. Lately, however, there had been an escalation of violence, with crews being tortured, killed, or taken hostage for a ransom. Often, the crew were more valuable than the cargo. Space Corps initiated a crime prevention programme by asking companies to pay for a more sophisticated tracker technology. One such tracker had led them to the caves.

"Team two ready?"

"Ready."

"Go, go, go."

Grock sent in the laser darts and sticky bombies. Paused, waited for the signal from the dart technician, and then ran in, his team following behind. The entrance doors just inside the cave were already twisted and laying to one side as they approached. Two mangled people lay nearby.

Grock was inside now, his helmet and visor simultaneously guiding him towards the tracker device whilst scanning for people, bots or similar. He fired some smoke gas pellets, and in the confusion ran forwards firing his laser rifle, scything through any resistance from person or machine.

"Pamshu, in," Grock commanded his hound. It ran off further into the depths of the cave whilst a technician followed its path. Grock stopped and craned his neck over the technician's shoulder, five targets, multiple armaments plus one hostage.

"Pamshu, out," Grock said. The hound's comms implant would pick up his masters voice. Nothing.

"Pamshu, out," Nothing.

"Ready. Go."

They went in and completely took apart the interior of the cave. Fortunately for Grock, the hostage was found alive in a small locked room, well away from the laser blasting. No prisoners were taken alive. Grock had exacted revenge for the destruction of Space Corps property, his hound.

***

"When your career ended, did you find it difficult to get used to normal life?"

"No, I kept busy."

"What jobs did you do?"

"Security jobs, keeping people safe."

***

The target needs terminating in a public area, Grock considered. Impregnable otherwise. Long distance, laser splash internal, delay of two hours is best. He immersed himself in the total surround map, flicking his finger as he moved around corners and alleyways, considering the route that the man would probably take. Firing angles, passing transport, weather, and parking areas were all examined. He rehearsed various strategies using his military planning software.

The following day, Grock was in position at the corner of a short alleyway near the Medical Zone. It was a mile from the city centre and contained all types of medical facilities, staffed, virtual, three-dimensional, and faith healers. There were an assortment of tall and low buildings, walkways, and thoroughfares. Numerous glide scooters zipped along the roadways with the occasional vehicle and people transporter.

Grock rolled a bin bot along a fraction and hunkered behind it. The target had arrived on time, parking his skiff in an upper grid park. Grock watched via his cams anticipating the target's next actions. The target got out of his vehicle and started walking in the company of a female roughly the same age. Grock honed in on the targets security guard, a semi bot with "eyes" plugged into the security sensors and cams. Grock watched the images with his right eye whilst gazing through the laser scope with his left.

The target ambled along, holding the female's hand; presumably, she was a partner of some sort, a limited threat. The target was, after all, just going to the dentist.

Grock watched the target turn the corner, disappear behind a series of pillars underneath a building, then come back into view approximately one hundred metres away, right across from his position. A clear line of shot was available for the next three seconds. Sighting the laser on the exposed skin of the target's neck, he locked on and fired. He could have withdrawn and left the area once the shot hit home, but he stayed to see if the target had noticed anything. The laser beam contained a minute capsule of molecules that passed through sweat pores into the bloodstream. Within minutes, particles would bind themselves around the brain stem and, when the timer expired, the blood vessels would melt. Death in seconds with very little trace left behind. Two hours was enough time to get off the planet.

Grock waited to see if the target felt the minute splash on his skin. If the target or security became aware of it, Grock's fallback was to send over a fatal laser lock on. He got himself ready.

"Stand still. I am armed, put down your weapon."

Grock turned to see a private security operative pointing a small blaster at him. Realising that he had dawdled too long, he feinted to the left whilst quickly reaching for his pistol.

P-zap.

He hit the operative in the chest. Reaching down, he ripped the operatives head cap off, in case it had recorded anything, then went around the corner, and hopped onto his scooter, joining the mass of city traffic. Once clear of the Medical Zone, he deposited the scooter and pistol in a large waste disposal bot. Happy that no one was following; he jogged a short distance to his unlicensed skiff.

Later, at his dwelling pod, he sat down and read the news channels whilst stroking his hound's head. An industrialist had died on his way to a dentist's visit. Grock nodded to himself. Job done, but, not as sharp as it should have been. He had missed the private operative's patrol route, believing that they stayed on the main thoroughfares not side roads. Should have considered that. The operative had to die, otherwise he would have made an identification.

A secure message arrived from the Agency.

"Satisfactory outcome, account credited."

Grock knew the client would be concerned about the additional casualty, so he took his hound to a neighbour and moved to one of his safe dwelling pods. A while later, he made contact with one of his old Space Corps colleagues.

"People saying, time for you to retire."

This was a blow to Grock as he lived for the job and the danger. Not long afterwards, he was arrested at a space port attempting to travel off-world. The Agency had contacted Police Corps.

***

"You were convicted of the murder of a wealthy businessman. What happened?"

"Undercover. Acting as security."

"But you killed him, didn't you?"

"An error."

Flip sat back, his face quizzical.

"We have seen clips of the street scene and your get away. A security man was lasered as well."

Grock's face remained passive; he stayed silent.

"Anything else you want to add?"

"No."

"Thank you. Grock, everyone."

The audience applauded. Flip was relieved and after Grock was led away, he took a long break.

***

Later that evening, Grock's received his visitor. He sat the hound down at his feet, stroked its ears, and patted its body whilst he thought back to the old days.

# Chapter 21 – Covering the basics

"In a few days you will face the first challenge. For the benefit of everyone we will run through how it works," Williams said as he took up his position centre stage flanked by Flip and Argenta.

The challengers, seated in a semi-circle on stage before him, were secured by a contact beam tether and the usual wrist and neck cuffs. The seats were set apart to restrict any problems between them, and an invisible audio baffle screen stopped any interruptions or outbursts. Brell, the first challenger brought out, watched as the circus unfolded. There were cheers from the virtual audience as each inmate arrived. The audience were sitting together in rows and the effect was well done, Brell considered. It all added to the carnival.

At least she wasn't sitting next to Carac. Whenever she glanced in his direction, he grinned at her. Brookko limped slightly as he walked slowly to his chair, eyes glassy, still subdued, or drugged. Ooma fiddled with his trouser belt. Meren sat upright, head raised, feet together, as if waiting for a religious story telling.

"Now, I'm sure you have all submerged yourselves in your beam casts and reading material."

Brookko came to life, mouthing the words, "The what?" He screwed his face up.

"We have put together the basics for you, Brookko, and others, in case you didn't understand anything," Williams said slowly. He turned his head towards another camera.

"Also, it's for our wonderful studio audience." They cheered and clapped on cue.

"Come on, Kellsa," an audience member shouted out.

"And for our Association audience." William raised his arms, milking the moment. "Flip and Argenta, please."

"Thank you," Flip said. Argenta nodded seriously.

"First, the challengers will be given a clue to the location of a key. A key, like this."

Williams held up a long metal shaped object.

"You hold this end," he put his thumb and finger onto the piece of flat metal. The letters EHBC were inscribed within the intricate design.

"You insert this end." He held up the other end of the key, a small square shape with finely cut notches, "into the lock hole and turn it." He turned the key around in the air.

"Keys likes this are used to unlock doors on Inhab-47. Your great, great grandmother may remember what it is." Williams stepped back to let Flip and Argenta take over.

"One of our production assistants is going to show us how to use the keys and doors."

Nep, a young, fresh-faced "volunteer" appeared on screen. He tried to hold a smile, but he blinked fast and he continually wiped his hands down his trousers. Behind him was a row of small oblong boxes secured to the wall. Each one containing a key.

"Having found the location of a key, the challenger uses the finger scanner to release it. The scanner ensures they can only take one key."

The assistant poked his finger into a small hole positioned underneath the key box thereby unfastening security clips. He held the key towards a camera.

Certainly stops the first challenger from taking all the keys, Brell considered. You could also conceal yourself somewhere, wait until you think a challenger has found a key, and then steal it off them. Quickly glancing at Grock, she knew he was thinking the same thing, his eyes betraying no emotion.

"Don't forget, there are less keys than challengers," Argenta added.

"The next predicament for the challengers is to find the exit door."

Nep now stood on a paved area outside a line of identical buildings. He approached a door, inserted and turned the key in the lock, then went inside.

"This room has the most important piece of equipment you will see. The de-activator."

Next to the door set in the corner of the far wall was a large countdown timer. In the centre of the room, there was a podium decorated in the Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company corporate colours with the words "Convict Challenge" written on its side. A large, glowing red button sat on top at waist height. The assistant stood in front of the console and pressed the button. A deep _dong_ sound rang out.

"The button press deactivates the challenger's deadly implant. The next thing to do is to return to the studio."

Nep opened the door in the corner of the room to reveal a single seated transporter, and, just after he sat inside, it silently whisked him away.

Flip paused and motioned with his hand towards the large, ornate golden doors at the back of the stage. A few seconds later, the doors opened automatically and a smiling Nep appeared, to the roar of the audience.

"Thank you Nep, for showing us how it all works. But don't go anywhere; there is one thing left for you to do." Flip smiled at Nep, who swallowed and shuffled off the side of the stage.

"Don't forget that you can re visit this and other aspects of the challenge via our beam network. So there you have it: the challengers have to solve a clue, find a key and an exit all within a time limit. Time for a break," Argenta said.

Brell was grateful for the juice drink handed out during the break. She was thirsty and found it difficult to remain calm. Her heart had beaten faster many times whilst watching the demonstrations. Thoughts raced from resigning herself to the ultimate ending, death, or the slimmest chance that she could win. The close ups of her and fellow challengers displayed on the studio screens did not help.

Whilst sipping the drink, she glanced around the stage area. Flip and Argenta were being buffed up by a makeup artist whilst Williams stood to one side, conversing with a virtual assistant. Brell watched as Williams dictated instructions to his assistant, who appeared in the image of a tall man wearing white trousers, a white patterned jacket with wide collar, greased back hair, and dark glasses. Williams was the creative driver behind the show, there was no doubt about that. His excitement in the beam programme "extras" regarding his exploits on Inhab-47, and building the holo worlds was tangible. How does he square the fact that this is a show where people will die in front of a huge Association audience? Brell knew it was not her place to argue, but this challenge was certainly better than "Death Factor" where inmates had to sing, dance, or tell jokes for prison favours or termination in front of a panel of virtual judges.

***

"Let's look at security. Police and Prison Corps have a strict security regime. Even I have to be identity scanned to get into the studio." Cheesy grin. "If our challengers attempt to get outside of the worlds, through a side wall for example or their behaviour becomes dangerous etc, well, they will have the security bots to deal with." Flip lifted his right arm up towards a screen. "Watch this."

An alien city street scene appeared. Holographic alien adults and children walked along paved areas either side of a central roadway, whilst ground transporters drove along on their four wheels. Nep appeared in view, wearing a cap, hesitantly walking along one of the paved walkways. The cameras followed him as he entered a building, which was a large shop with people milling around, examining clothing displays. Nep wiped some sweat from his forehead, tugged at his cap, and entered a small room at the back. He picked up a chair and thrashed it against the wall, causing a small fracture in the wall skin. Two more blows later, and the wall started cracking.

At this point, the camera view switched back to the street scene.

A silent ground transporter, the words _Security Together_ emblazoned on its side, glided into view stopping outside Nep's building. All four doors opened at the same time and figures emerged. The security bots were dressed in dark blue jackets, trousers, and peaked hats with a gold badge in the middle. Their faces were like a still image of an unsmiling male or female guard. After shutting the doors together, they trooped into the building; the people inside continued shopping as per their programmed routines.

Nep swung the chair repeatedly at the steadily growing hole when he turned to see the incoming bots. The lead bot took a tube-shaped device off his trouser belt and levelled it at Nep, who by now held his hands up, pleading innocence. An electrical beam charge hit him in the chest. He went limp and fell to the floor. A second bot approached with another device that spun fine cord around the stunned Nep's ankles. He was unceremoniously picked up and dumped into the back compartment of the transporter, which then glided along the roadway and out of view.

"Thanks Nep." Flip lowered his voice. "We didn't tell him what would happen," he pulled a face, "but no harm was done."

"Anyone restrained by the security bots is taken to a holding cell, to remain there for twenty minutes before being released. Will any of the challengers be able to afford twenty minutes of time?" Argenta said, looking at the challengers.

"Viewers can find out some fast facts on the buildings and streets on Inhab-47, which we have provided on one of our accompanying streams."

Brell saw Ooma's face drop. He hasn't got this yet. Grock, as ever, stared forward, assessing everything. His whole life must just be one big risk assessment. Brookko shouted out something, but, thankfully, it was inaudible.

There was a pause for advertising, betting updates, some message zaps sent in by home viewers, and another juice.

Brell shifted in her seat; she could do with a drink.

***

"We're back," Argenta announced. "We have seen the security bots, but what happens if a challenger doesn't find the key and exit door in time? They will be injected with a lethal timer implant, synchronised at the start of the challenge. If they do not press the exit room button in time, then it is game over. Watch this."

A Cruunpatch, a large bear-like beast, grazed and shuffled around a small grassy field. A life signs display and timer appeared on the top right of the screen. The count down from three minutes started, and the audience became silent. The Cruunpatch continued to graze; insects buzzed around, and it was quiet except for the gently throbbing background music. Nothing much happened until two minutes to go. The beast started moving its head from side to side, unsure whether to graze or walk. With thirty seconds to go, the beast moved slowly, shook its head a few times, and stamped its back foot. A few moments after the timer reached zero, the skin by its belly became dark orange, and then a black colour started radiating around the body. Hair singed just before the now black skin turned to ash, then into a fine dust that blew away with the light breeze. Two smaller beasts appeared, as if sensing something had happened. They wandered over to the beast's last position; there was a thin outline on the forest floor, which started to disappear.

"That, dear audience is what happens if our challengers don't get to the deactivation button in time." Argenta held her serious face.

Brell was lost in thought for a moment, seeing the likely method of her demise. At least it didn't look painful. She noticed that Carac rubbed his fingertips together whilst he stared at the screen.

"We hoped you enjoyed our sessions with our challengers. Don't forget you can catch up on snippets, zaps, and images on our beam network. After the break, we will answer some of your questions, like where is Inhab-46?" Flip, Argenta, and Williams gave a brief wave to the cameras, which they held until given a signal.

"Was that okay? The right tone, facial expression?" Argenta said.

"A-ok. Perfect." Williams said raising his hand and joining his thumb and forefinger.

The audio baffle turned itself off as the guards came onto stage.

"Lady, I could give you a better expression if you come to my cell tonight," Brookko said whilst trying to grin. Argenta shuddered and recoiled.

Williams stepped forward, but not too close to the challengers.

"Well, there you have it, everyone." Williams said finally. "You know everything is a risk, a gamble like roulette, but solve the clues and it will gain one of you your freedom." Williams said.

"Might as well have some fun before we go, eh, precious?" Brookko leered over at Brell at this point.

"In your dreams and holos," Brell replied. She glanced at Carac, who stared back at her. She shook her head.

"Don't forget to read up and surround yourself in the Inhab-47 holos. Tomorrow there are individual interviews, an implant test, and a walk in a holo world. Enjoy your evening."

***

Williams yawned. He hoped that the meeting wouldn't last too long. Police Corps Commander S'Tr-Hert and his Prison Corps associate were happy with security arrangements and that rules were being followed. Technician 22 went on about the Holo World intricacies, and the Twins just sat in silence.

"How are the clues and key locations coming on?" Ayleth asked.

Williams sat upright.

"Nearly there. The reason for this is that we have been working hard on the re-enactments and the little touches like the transporters, smells, and auto chef menus, as well as incorporating the artefacts we brought back with us from Inhab-47. Once we have that in place, the clues to the key locations will follow. I'm also aware that they have to be a closely guarded secret." Williams glanced at the Police Corps Commander, who wrinkled his brow.

"If someone found out the key locations, the betting and integrity of the show would be blown apart. Audiences will just turn off."

"Thank you, Soward. We understand, but our insurance regulator wants us to obtain an encrypted copy of the key locations in case anything happens to you," Mayleth said.

"I understand, bear with me, I will encrypt it for you soon."

"Thank you," Mayleth said.

Williams watched Technician 22 - he remained impassive throughout the last exchange.

# Chapter 22 – Smuggling

"Well, Brookko. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Flip. Where's your side kick?"

"It's my turn to do the interviews today."

"Shame, such lovely hair."

"What are your expectations for the forthcoming challenge?"

"Well, Mr. Flip, I'm going to win. Simple as that. If anyone gets in my way, then, bang."

"The viewers and gamblers like confidence, Brookko."

"They certainly do, Mr. Flip. You can bet on me, folks." He winked at the camera.

"Now, here's a question. You were born into crime, I believe. Is that correct?"

"My family was very law-abiding."

"But you have numerous convictions for smuggling, as do all of your family."

"Well, we just picked up contraband that people left behind."

"Like in the Customs Corps raid?"

"Precisely. We were just nearby at the time and got the blame for that one."

***

"Brookko, all I want you to do is take two men with you and go around to the back exit in case anyone runs out. If this happens, keep hold of them until I can get there. Listen, we want people alive, as we want their information. Next shipments, location of other warehouses, etc. Do not hurt anyone, do not kill anyone, and don't ask any them any questions. Okay?"

"Why can't I go in at the front? Drookko's going in the front."

"I need someone trustworthy around the back. Drookko is just acting as backup. I need you around the back, it's very important. Okay?"

"Okay dad," Brookko said reluctantly.

"Son, you're too impulsive. You have energy, that's good, but sometimes it is misplaced. We don't need to go in all lasers blasting. We take it easy, get the stuff, and get back alive for the next job."

It was a routine raid. The Custom Corps warehouse was in an isolated area of the spaceport, surrounded by utility buildings. As a result of staffing issues, it became known that building security was often lax due to lack of personnel. The warehouses often contained shipments of confiscated cargoes and drugs, as well as recovered stolen goods.

Brookko stood with his hands in his pockets and a laser rifle slung over his shoulder as he picked two men for his important assignment. It was early dawn and cold; the grass had a wet sheen which reflected the light from the fading moons. They had regrouped outside the spaceport perimeter for final instructions. His dad as always took centre stage and directed events, with his brother Drookko assisting. Brookko was never trusted to lead anything now, not after the previous incident.

"Frag and Fragger, are you ready?"

"It's Drag and Corbon, and yes, we are ready." Drag said, giving Corbon a sideways glance, who responded by shrugging his shoulders.

"The cams and sensors are down, let's go," a technician said.

Brookko grasped his rifle at the ready position and, with a wave back to his father, he led the two men off on a circular route to the back of the large warehouse. They trod carefully on the wet grass, checking for any mobile patrols. The concreted rear area was just a few metres wide and ended at the security fence, which they easily breached. There was only one exit door.

"Okay." Brookko looked down at the ground, finger in one ear. "That's the signal; they are going in. Fan out, give some space," He moved his weight from one leg to the other and scratched at his unshaven chin as the two men moved away from Brookko, taking up a position either side of the exit door.

"Don't know who is more dangerous, the Custom Corps or him," Drag said. Corbon nodded.

"Quiet," Brookko said, gesticulating with his rifle, his face grim and focussed on the doorway.

Corbon winked at Drag, who grinned in return.

There were a series of loud bangs from within the warehouse followed by light flashes pulsing out of the side windows. The exit door burst open; smoke poured out, followed by two coughing Custom Corps staff in uniform. The male held a laser pistol and the woman a small clutch bag.

Brookko rushed up and poked them with his laser rifle as they doubled over coughing violently. He kicked the officer's laser pistol away.

"On the ground, now," Brookko said shouting right into their ears. He hissed and laughed between his teeth.

The officers both got on the floor, face down, arms by their sides.

"Look, we know nothing. Just take the stash inside and we won't say anything," the male said.

"That's what you think. Where did the shipment come from?" Brookko said.

Drag and Corbon had stayed near the exit door, partly in case more officers came out, but mainly to give Brookko a wide berth. He started to get agitated, which was not a good thing.

"Where did the shipment come from?" Brookko now shouted at the pair whilst prodding them with his rifle. "Easy question; who wants to say something, eh, eh?" He strutted around now, face flushed.

"Brookko, your father said to just keep them here, that's all, no questions," Drag said.

"Frag my father. I'm just as capable of doing this."

"He's taken a high, hasn't he?" Drag said. Corbon nodded.

"We'll start with the lady here. Up you get and over here." He pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her over to a dark area by the fence. A dull sunlight appeared with the dawn, the rays mixing with the smoke still billowing out of the building.

"Brookko, look, just wait for your father. You don't want to muck up this job," Drag said.

"Again. You were going to say 'again,' weren't you?"

"No, just hold on, calm it down a bit. There's no rush," Drag said.

"You've got a problem with me, haven't you?"

"No, Brookko, it's just your father said ..."

"Your father said," Brookko said, mimicking Drag's accent. He pushed the woman against the fence. "Stay there."

The woman didn't move.

"You've always had it in for me, haven't you?" Brookko said, levelling his rifle at Drag who started to move backwards. Corbon looked back and forth between the two men.

"Brookko, calm down, calm down."

Brookko brought his rifle down. Drag let out a breath, but it was short-lived as Brookko fired into his foot. Drag gasped and fell down on his backside, holding the remaining shreds of his left boot, whimpering in pain and shock. Corbon ran to him, took off his backpack, and started fumbling around for an auto emergency kit.

Turning around, Brookko walked back to the female, muttering to himself.

Bangs, laser beam _p-zaps_ , and shouting came from inside the warehouse; it was taking time to subdue to the Corps.

"Well, honey, what is a good looking woman like you doing here?"

The woman had her back to the fence, her uniform dishevelled. Her cheeks were flushed and streaked with smoky dirt. Still holding her clutch bag, she held her hands in front of her.

"I asked you a question." Brookko placed his face next to hers." I asked you a question."

"I'm new here, I don't know anything. Please. We don't know anything."

Brookko rubbed the end of the rifle muzzle over her face, then down between her breasts.

"A good looking lady," Brookko said quietly, almost to himself.

Corbon attached a device to Drag's ankle to stem the blood flow whilst spraying the wound with emergency glue. The Corpsman on the floor lifted his head and looked around. He shifted his elbows and started a sideways crawl towards Corbon.

Brookko heard a thud, then felt a piercing pain scrape along the side of his waist. Turning quickly, he saw Corbon and Drag both lying on the floor and the Corpsman half kneeling, holding Corbon's laser pistol in his hand. Brookko instinctively punched the female, then aimed and fired at the Corpsman, hitting him in the chest. Running over, he checked the man was incapacitated and the two idiots were breathing. It was just him and the female now. He could hear his father and brother shouting instructions from inside the warehouse.

He returned to the female; she was holding her jaw. She punched out and connected with his mouth, then tried to run away. Brookko shouted and swore in her direction. Seeing his two colleagues still lying on the floor and hearing his father's voice shouting, he fired at the woman, slicing her down.

As he was standing by the woman's body, his father appeared out of the smoky exit. Brookko's brother went over to help Drag and Corbon. There was a heated exchange with his father, whose dirt-streaked face flushed with rage.

Then it happened, the thing that Brookko would never forget. His father shot him in the leg. Incapacitated and stripped of all weapons, they left him at the back of the warehouse by the two bodies.

***

"The security clips we have just seen are pretty conclusive of your involvement in the raid," Flip said.

"It's been changed by the Corps."

"We found out that you have a daughter."

"That is correct."

"Have you made any contact with her?"

"You don't have her here, do you?"

"No. Does it change anything, though, knowing you have a child out there somewhere?"

"Not really. Long time ago. Don't think about it."

"Well, Brookko, it's time for your best bits."

The screen displayed a montage of Brookko events, finishing with him riding the beast in the fun challenge.

"Thanks, Brookko."

"No problem, the pleasure is all mine." Brookko smiled and waved his hands at the audience, who clapped their appreciation.

# Chapter 23 – The Holographic World

A bot doc trundled around the stage, injecting each challenger with two implants. The first was a visual cortex adaption, enabling the challenger to "see" the holo worlds without having to wear a head cap. It automatically turns off when the challenger returns to the real world. The second implant, nicknamed "the furnace" was the substance that activated when the timer reached zero.

Flip then showed some brief interview clips of families, friends, and prison guards re-counting stories and anecdotes about the challengers, whilst the cameras relayed facial close-ups. This was just a warm up to elongate the show, a lot of the material had been presented during individual interviews already.

Brell watched everyone wriggle at some point when a relative or friend said something. Her mother appeared, and all Brell could think about was how dressed up she was, including a thick layer of makeup. The only word she remembered was "disappointed." There were a couple of old colleagues, both idiots, who said they had seen the signs of her addiction and behaviour changes and were not surprised she "lost it." Brell had recommended one of them for promotion. Fragger. One of her old prison guards came on and talked about one of Brell's fights; by this time, Brell was thinking about the beauty of slipping into oblivion. She came back to the present when Argenta said, "Isn't that right Brell?"

"Yes, probably," Brell said. She had no idea what the question had been. It was clear that the programme producers had examined everyone's life history, though.

Brell watched the others go through a similar experience and making one or two word replies to questions. Grock had not changed in appearance, Kellsa was very good at school gymnastics, and Carac's sister had disowned him, Ooma's father made a heartfelt speech about his son getting involved with the wrong people, whilst Meren sat and smiled through snippets of her personal life, seemingly unaffected by the vitriol spoken by the monks.

"Thanks, Argenta. Later we will test your holo world implants by taking you on a fifteen minute walk." Flip nodded to the guards.

***

Brell tried to take it all in. Was everything here alien? The people, buildings, everything. Nothing travelled in the air, no AG skiffs or scooters, just ground cars, wheeled contraptions and small two wheeled vehicles buzzing about, chugging smoke out of its rear pipe. A wooden style carriage rolled along the centre of the roadway, following a line of grooves. Its passengers sat inside or held onto a side pole. It all seemed chaotic. Rubbish lay on the floor, there were obviously no tidy-up bots.

The "people" were of various skin colours; white, black, brown, no blue, though. There were individuals, couples, and seemingly family groups of men, women, and children. The clothes were a mixture of styles and fabrics. Drab, multi coloured, long, short, a bit of everything.

Just a few paces inside the world she looked back and saw holo people and vehicles coming out of or disappearing into the wall behind her. There were numerous grey stone multi-floored buildings with metal stairways on the side. In the sky, the countdown clock was set to 00:00.

She had seen this before during her homework but immersion like this was at a different level. Whilst waiting her turn in the fancy Living Room, her expectations were low and she expected the type of holo world that she had used years ago on basic exercises with Police Corps. Blocky shapes, barriers, corridors, a few good baddy holos, open spaces, and empty buildings with broken signs suggesting it was a shop.

Williams welcomed each challenger, accompanied by a guard, of course, by opening the door and saying, "Welcome to the streets of San Francisco."

The guard nudged her in the back to move forward. A couple walked towards her and she moved to get out of their way but they went through her. Soft holos. A man held up a dirty cup; his clothes were shabby and dishevelled.

"Spare some money," he said as he shook the cup. He spoke in the main Inhab-47 language.

"Um, Electro credit, discs, um, coins?" Brell said recalling her phrases.

"Coins," the man replied.

Brell glanced in his cup; there were a few dirty metal discs inside.

"Spare some money," he said as he shook the cup.

Brell leant down, touched his jacket sleeve, then squeezed his arm; it was solid.

A hard beam holo generated around a plastic body wearing real clothing. Also, he could respond to a question, very useful to know. Brell continued on, spending the remainder of the time just taking it all in. Everything looked real, but was a clever mixture of soft holographs for people and vehicles. This was supplemented with plastic bodied, but cheap basic robots. The security bots must be of a higher grade, self thinking, possibly. What about the vehicles? She walked into the roadway allowing vehicles to run through her, until being struck by a small transporter. It wobbled slightly, before continuing its programmed path. She rubbed her leg, more from shock than pain. That was useful to know.

Despite the cuffs and collar, she felt free and unshackled. The air was warm with a city smell of people, sugar, dirt, and perfume? Bit like some of the grotty inner urban places she had patrolled.

There was no comparison with her holo world equipment in her cell on Wing 90. Police and Space Corps must have spent some serious credits on this facility. About time.

She had to pinch herself to realise that a deadly game would take place in these worlds. Following a semi-circular route, she ended back in the Living Room. Williams was standing at the door laughing. Then it was back to the cells, and hopefully no more interviews or audience questions.

***

Brell sat on her bed, cross-legged, listening to the main Inhab-47 language whilst eating ice cream. A quiet beep sounded in the background; it took a while to realise it was a recorded message.

"Messages on."

The holo screen popped up. It was Gorst.

"Pause." She wanted to savour his face. Hair short and neat, the square lines of his face aged a little bit, but his eyes still had that twinkle.

"Play."

"Hi, Brell. Yes, it's me and yes, I could have been in contact more. Time just passes by, and with my new promotion, I've been wrapped up in work, as usual. Look, I know you may turn this off, but I have been watching you on the show and I just wanted to say that I'm thinking of you. Many of your old colleagues will be cheering you on. Who could forget you? Don't listen to all the crap that they are showing, the interviews and everything. That's it." He paused. "Just wanted to add that I hope you are coping well, on your own. You show them what you are made of. See you. Bye." With that, he waved his hand and the message ended.

Brell replayed the message, analysing every word. "On your own" was a reference to Deep Yellow and many of their conversations before the bust up. "You have to cope with things on your own, Brell, rather than relying on Deep and intox," he used to say. It was starting to become too much for him in the end. Good to see his face, though.

Whilst eating another ice cream, Brell casually read some basic information about Inhab-47's version of the Police Corps. Their technology, weapons, and ID scanning were not a patch on that used by the Corps; some things were the same whichever galaxy you were in. Domestic violence was one such example. Brell laughed as she remembered attending an argument between two virtual assistants, left in charge of a dwelling, whilst the owner was away on holiday. Their loud arguments had disturbed the neighbours. She found a technician to turn a power console off and left a data note for the owner to sort out the character settings. It wasn't the most memorable domestic incident though, that occurred when she had been promoted to Inspector.

# Chapter 24 – Inspector Sturlach

"Zone 2 patrol. Please attend Pod 122, Sub Level 5, Zone 2, a fight believed domestic circumstances, laser weapons used. Corridor cam shows a male and female arguing outside. ID's unclear. No history of previous incidents."

"Received by Zone 2 patrol. On way. Out."

***

"Control from 2 patrol, urgent assistance, colleague hurt, lasers involved."

"Laser Response Team 2 and Duty Inspector, proceed to Pod 122, Sub Level 5, Zone 2. Officers injured."

"Laser Response 2 on way."

"Inspector Sturlach on way."

Brell's office consisted of a small command pod situated inside a mobile neighbourhood Corps station. Every week, the mobile station was hoisted onto a transporter and driven to an adjoining neighbourhood. For the last two days, it sat at one end of Association Square, a concreted area surrounded on all four sides by tall dwelling tower blocks. The neighbourhood was occupied mainly by workers and their families, due to the huge factories nearby. Factory managers and clerks tended to live in the greener, safer areas situated a few kilometres away.

Brell buckled on her belt, checked her equipment, and turned off her screens. She opened the office door and strode across the public area. The virtual and real advice booths both had queues, and Brell quickly got outside before someone tried to ask her a question.

"Most of the neighbourhoods are shit holes here," the Corps Area Commander had said to Brell on her first day in the rank of Inspector.

"Just keep the lid on things, and that includes the officers as well as the locals."

As she approached her Inspector's Command Vehicle, it automatically unlocked and the glide engine started up. Once the location was locked in and the autopilot activated, the vehicle sped off. Brell sat back in her seat, reading all the information about the incident, its location, and the officers attending. The vehicle sped along, weaving in between the giant pillars of the tower block foundations and continued along a main thoroughfare, overtaking when safe to do so. The holo warning signs flashed in front and above the vehicle whilst its three tone siren whooped and wailed.

***

The vehicle came to a stop by the lower ground level entrance. Brell got out of the vehicle, but paused, weighing up the options. The officers were in trouble on Sub Level 5 and needed an immediate response, but rushing down there on her own could endanger herself. She would wait for backup.

"Control. Inspector Sturlach at ground level. Awaiting Laser Team."

"Received in control. Cam and comms have malfunctioned, there are no updates from officers. Medicos are on way."

The sound of a siren grew louder, and then around the corner came a Laser Team's transporter. It was basically a fully gliding rectangular box comprising of crew seats, storage, comms unit, and an impressive array of weapons. An armour-wearing officer stepped out of the front seat and approached Brell.

"Sergeant Ritsma, Laser Team 2, ma'am. Any updates?"

"Hello, sergeant. No updates. Need to send in comms and signal drones. Comms have malfunctioned. They can be a bit tricky in the deeper levels."

"Ma'am." The sergeant went back to the transporter from which several armoured officers appeared, carrying the largest laser rifles Brell had seen for some time. Sergeant Ritsma waved his hands about, and a balding, stooped male appeared. He had short stumps for teeth, three hairs on his head, and wore a stained blue jump suit. Not the usual type of technician that rode with the Laser Teams. However, he immediately threw two drones in the air, watched as they hovered, then flicked on his display screen, all the time smiling with his toothy grin.

"Worm. Standby."

Worm nodded his head. The team stood by waiting for a briefing.

"Ma'am, ready to send down the drones." Then he said, "Don't worry about Worm, he doesn't get out much but he is our best technician."

"Thank you sergeant. Let's do it."

Sergeant Ritsma nodded to Worm, and the drones flew off towards the underground entranceway. Brell took up a position behind Worm with the sergeant. A small crowd of onlookers started to gather; an officer told them to move away.

"Control, we are sending in the drones, follow us through," Brell said. She knew the control room had the ability to review the images in a calmer environment.

Within a short time, the drones descended the emergency stairs. They were dimly lit, wide concrete steps, the underground floor level number appearing at each level.

"Level 3. Place signal booster," the sergeant said.

Worm moved his little finger and the signal drone hovered in the top of the stairwell, out of arm's reach. He manoeuvred the camera drone around to check the signal booster stayed in its position. The camera then continued down to level 5.

"Pod 122," Brell said. Worm nodded.

It was a long brightly-lit corridor, punctuated by solid metal doors on each side. A haze of smoke could be seen further along the corridor as the drone flew past Pod 104.

"Stop. Hover and zoom. Heat scanner," Brell said.

The images zoomed into the smoke; the heat signal of one person lying on the ground appeared.

"Inspector, some verbal calls have just come through. The couple in 122 are a male and female who often argue, believed drugs involved. They have a child. All kicked off when the Corps arrived. Sounds of laser fire confirmed. Announcement made for all people to stay behind their doors for safety."

"Received," Brell said.

The drone continued and started entering the smoke. It slowly hovered past Pod 118, then 120. The heat signal showed the person lying outside Pod 122.

"ID shows it as Corpsman Drenne. No sign of Corpswoman Moyu. Check up the corridor Worm beyond the smoke." Sergeant Ritsma paused watching Worms screens. "Okay, nothing there. Back to Pod 122 and wait. The door is shut, presumed locked."

"Sergeant, get your tech and officers ready. We're going to affect an entry as soon as possible," Brell said.

"Yes, ma'am."

The sergeant went off to brief his team now that they had an idea of what equipment to take. Brell knew from previous incidents with the Laser Teams things didn't always turn out that smoothly. They would arrive, wander around the area posturing with their guns for a few minutes, then run in and cause chaos. More often than not, they would have to send someone back for more equipment. Once Brell watched, shaking her head, as they all stood looking at each other because someone had forgotten the door puncher.

***

"Ready, Worm," Sergeant Ritsma said.

Brell crouched behind the laser team, twenty-five metres from Pod 122. As the smoke cleared, she saw the Corpsman lying on the ground, unmoving. She had placed the Medicos back by the sub level stairs; as they were not combat trained.

"Worm, fire. Let's go."

There was a sudden, loud _p-zap_ and burst of dust as the wide beam lasers emitted from the drone fragmented the door. A Laser Team member ran up to the prone Corpsman whilst the others stormed through the door. Brell, seeing that emergency aid was being administered, went inside the front door. It was a basic sub-level dwelling pod, plastic steel construction showing signs of decay. The front door led into a small living room with kitchenette and three closed doors. These were for the regulation two bedrooms and privy. One of the living room walls had a full-size display screen showing images of sunny vistas. The architect called it "bringing the outside, in." There was a good chance that the architect did not choose to live in one of these pods, five levels below ground with recycled air.

Apart from the bloody mess on the floor, there was an overpowering smell of scorched human flesh from laser fire. The sergeant crouched by one of the bedroom doors waving for his team to be quiet. Brell also saw the bare feet of someone lying behind one of the kitchenette cupboards. A nearby officer looked at her and shook his head; the person had presumably been fatally injured.

The other bedroom door was open. Glancing inside, Brell saw a young girl talking to an officer, her face shocked and tearful. A picture of a white equus with two foals hung on the wall. She looked up at Brell, who smiled and waved. The girl smiled back. What must she make of us lot running around in armour, let alone of what she has witnessed here? It had all the signs of a domestic incident; officers called, tried to talk to the couple, the male became stressed, cornered, and ended up firing at everyone. Their daughter, thankfully, had run into her bedroom. She will need to be taken outside before any firing.

Back in the living room, it was silent except for the drone hovering about, scanning and capturing everything for the control room evidential records.

"This is Sergeant Ritsma Police Corps, put down any weapons, decease from violence, and come to the door," the sergeant shouted at the closed door.

Brell watched as he glanced at his wrist screen, made some secure comms, and then glanced back at his screen. The drone should be able to scan inside the room, as the walls were so thin. A team member moved forward, reached for a small device from a belt pouch, and screwed it into the wall.

Brell had no option but to keep back; her armour and weaponry did not match the Laser Team's equipment. Also, tactics were best left in the hands of the team leader. She had not seen him before, but he appeared to know what he was doing. Makes a change.

Muffled shouting and swearing came from inside the room.

The sergeant still crouching, shuffled back from the bedroom door, indicating for Brell to join him in the corridor. The Medicos were working on the Corpsman; she was relieved when their scanners showed signs of life.

"Ma'am. We placed a small probe in the wall to double check. One male and the Corpswoman inside. They are sitting on the bed, backs against the wall facing forwards towards the door. He has an arm around her neck in a tight grip, whilst holding a laser pistol with his free hand. She is subdued, possibly unconscious, blood running from her nose."

"Tactical options?" Brell said.

"Wait it out, storm in, bang pellets, etc."

"He's seriously injured a Corpsman, the woman in the living room is probably dead, and he's not going to want to come out, is he?"

The sergeant paused. Brell knew that he wanted the reassurance of an Inspector's authority before committing his team. She knew the sergeant's look; she used to do it herself, to see if the Inspector was capable of making a decision. If she had not been there, there may have been a quick comms conversation with the control room Inspector. Whether he or she would have been given a correct situation report was another matter. However, Brell was there, time was of the essence, and she felt the weight of rank on her shoulders. Soon it would all be over, one way or another and when back in her quarters, she could have a cool intox just to settle herself. She snapped back to it.

"Corpswoman safety is our first priority. The male is secondary," she said.

Glancing down, she watched the Medicos puffing something into the Corpsman's face and laser spraying a wound. She scratched the back of her head, aware the sergeant still sized her up and was getting an alternative ready if she dithered. A thought came to her.

"Do you have a thin laser zapper?"

"Yes, we don't use it much. What are you thinking?" The sergeant wrinkled his brow.

"Can you connect it to your wall probe?"

"Subtle," the sergeant said, "I'll ask Worm." He spoke into a secure comm link. "Worm says, yes."

"Any other weapons inside the bedroom?"

"No, scanners show only one in his hand."

"Three quarter laser zap to his weapon forearm, then storm in."

"Fatal laser to forehead?"

"No, I've seen that go wrong. One millimetre in the wrong place, still able to twitch their weapon hand."

"Yes, I agree. Too near to the Corpswoman."

"Also, get the young girl out, take her up to a Medico van."

"Yes, ma'am."

Brell noted that the sergeant's eyes softened; he was impressed with her thinking. Well, he didn't know much about her career and experience, she wasn't a desk serving officer moving up the ranks by just getting involved in community charity events.

"Let's do it, then, sergeant."

"Ma'am."

There was not much Brell could do now, just keep up her professional composure. She couldn't run around wringing her hands worrying about the Corpswoman. She was doing that internally, of course, but an intox would help later. Perhaps a Deep at the weekend? No, try and stay off it for a bit longer.

Within moments, a small laser pistol was connected to the end of the wall probe. The sergeant relayed instructions to Worm, after which the drone hovered into position. It became silent as the team waited for the officer with the laser to get ready. After a few hand movements, the officer gave a nod.

"Ready. It's going to be 'zap, door, then in'."

The team members stood back slightly from the door, tensed up and crouched forward, ready to move.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Sergeant Ritsma shouted and banged on the door.

A mumbled, "Frag off" followed by other language came from inside.

"Zap." The sergeant shouted out.

There was a buzz and a loud screech.

"Door." The door imploded.

"In." The team rushed inside.

Brell watched as four team members ran in; there were shouts and then it went quiet.

"Medicos into bedroom."

One of the Medicos disappeared inside. Brell felt tense; there was still no news.

"Scene is safe," Sergeant Ritsma announced.

Brell took it as her cue and walked past other team members, who had visibly relaxed and were chatting. It was crowded inside the room, which smelt of dissipated electrical charge and burnt flesh, but the Corpswoman was safe and alive. As for the male, his hand and forearm had been blown all over the bed sheets, on his face, and the wall behind him. It was a bloody black mess. The Medico had sprayed the male unconscious whilst he went about attaching a stauncher. The Corpswoman sat on the side of the bed talking to a team member who cleaned up her face. Brell left the room, she was just an observer and getting in the way. She went into the girl's bedroom and looked at the pictures on the wall.

The sergeant came in, a recording device in his hand.

"Good job sergeant. If you could start the scene scans, I will get a detective down to take over and deal with the ongoing investigation. I'll go up and check that the girl is okay."

"Ma'am."

***

The young girl sat in the back of the Medico's van, a blanket around her shoulders, sipping at some water. Brell jumped in and sat opposite her.

"Hello, how are you?" Brell said.

"You're blue."

"Yes, that's right, been blue all my life. See it doesn't come off." Brell wiped a finger down her cheek.

"How's my mummy and daddy?"

"Well, we have some medical people looking at them now. They are not very well."

"Daddy was very angry, he just lost his job. Mummy said he drinks too much."

"Some people are going to take care of you. You'll make some new friends."

"Can I stay with you?" The girl reached forward and held Brell's hand.

"That's not going to be easy. You'll be fine, promise."

The sergeant appeared at the van door. Brell smiled at the girl and climbed out.

"We'll get this one to local services," she said.

"Okay, ma'am. Both officers will be okay. Grateful for that these days."

Brell looked him up and down.

"I haven't seen you before, are you new to the area?"

"Been on the Laser Teams for a year. Just transferred over, needed a change of scenery."

"Well, good to see you ..."

"Gorst, its Sergeant Gorst Ritsma."

# Chapter 25 – The Assassin

"Welcome, Kellsa." Argenta waved to the cheering audience.

"Love you, Kellsa."

"You already have a fan."

"Yes. I'm getting a lot of zaps through." Kellsa said.

"I've got one here. It's from a girl on your home planet, Colony 09. She writes, 'I like your tattoos, which gang should I join?'"

"How old is she?"

"Eleven."

***

The girl was the same age as Kellsa had been when witnessing her first killing. Her early years were spent surviving on the boulevards and back alleys outside the city. The killing occurred during her school lunchtime; or it would have been, if she had gone to school that day. Preferring instead to hang around other teens and gangs, life on the streets was more exciting than school. Though good at gymnastics and bright by local standards, the allure of danger was too strong. Her favourite place became the bombed-out ruins of the Cathedral of Heights. Often climbing to the top to overlook the city, she would daydream about gaining enough credits to get out of the area. She climbed back down to the reality that she would always have to hustle and fight her way to get anywhere. The children's home would only ever be a temporary place, the staff unable to keep the teens in check were grateful for the day when the youths turned sixteen. As one exited, another would arrive. Kellsa knew that she would make the decision to leave on her own terms.

***

"What about your family?" Argenta said.

"No family. The gang were my family."

"That must have involved some nasty incidents."

"Nasty." Kellsa laughed, "very nasty."

***

The first killing she saw was only supposed to have been a robbery. She acted as lookout whilst Fleba and Bib hassled, then stunned a lone male who should never have stumbled into the area. He fought back, kicked out at Bib, so Fleba slid a knife in his back. The three of them watched the incapacitated man slowly bleed to death, transfixed by the sight. Once dead, Fleba searched him and divvied up the credits. The wallet contained an expensive holographic display of the dead man with a woman and two smiling children.

When compared to other cities around the Galaxy, Colony 09 was not a "go to" place. The Galaxy Traveller's Guide referred to the place as a "rebuilt bombsite."

Much of Colony 09's dwelling pods consisted of stacked portable containers placed amongst century old ruins. Shopping areas were located in concrete and metal underground bunkers due to crime problems. The Colony Elders had worked hard to make the city centre safe, in order to attract businesses and visitors. It became a walled city consisting of office blocks, hotels, dwelling apartments, and upmarket shops. Security inside and at the four gates was very tight with ID scanners, drones, cams, and regular Police Corps patrols. As the light started to fade, Kellsa enjoyed watching the tall blocks and dwelling towers lighting up against the dull lamps in the surrounding suburbs. The wall beam that snaked around the old buildings softly glowed as darkness drew in.

***

"We know from your Police Corps record that you murdered someone when you were fifteen. Tell us about it." Argenta said, her face tilted at a 'take me serious' angle.

"The Corpsters have it all wrong. I was there, but someone else did it."

***

By killing someone on her own, apart from testing her confidence, it would help improve her standing with the gang; otherwise, she would become an outcast. There wasn't anywhere lower than becoming outcast in the ruins of Colony 09. The death was quick though, as she used a guided pencil laser that a friend had loaned her. As the man stepped out of his transporter, she zeroed in on his heart area and pressed the button without pausing. He would not have felt much, and died in the time it took to walk over to him. One of the older boys, who acted as a witness to Kellsa's actions, pulled the body out of the way and took off in the man's transporter. After that Kellsa, became a fully-fledged gang member, able to hold some sway over the group. Her tribal cheek tattoo solidified her loyalty. She kept aloof, dangerous, and was not one to strike up a conversation. It created a certain aura and tension, which she enjoyed.

***

"As you got older, I believe, you moved into the city. What work did you do?" Argenta said.

"Freelance security work."

***

She remembered the scent used in the fake garden at the rear area of the cafe. Situated in an upmarket street, it was a drinking place used by bankers. He sat in the corner, drinking on his own, staring into the holo garden screens whilst tapping on his personal notepad.

"Hello." Kellsa said.

"Do I know you?"

"No. But my friend knows you."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

"I have a small dart in my hand. All I have to do is prick your skin with it."

"You what? Sorry, are you threatening me? What is this all about?"

"Yes, I am threatening you. Nishaa says, don't contact me again."

"Nishaa, that scraggy, sorry mistake for a woman." The man got up to leave.

Kellsa, stabbed him in the thigh.

"Ow, what? You stabbed me." The man sat down again. "What was it?" He breathed heavily now, rubbing his leg.

"A lethal concoction. Takes ten minutes. I have an antidote though."

"Lethal?" The man stood up and rubbed his thigh. His eyes were wide. "What did Nishaa say?"

"She does not want you to contact her or stalk her, by any real or virtual means, again, ever. Got it?" Kellsa got up and walked away.

"You, you can't walk away. I need the antidote, don't I? Unless this is all a joke?"

"It's not a joke. Eight minutes. Feeling sick yet?" Kellsa continued to walk.

The man held his head, then his stomach. "Okay, okay. I won't contact her."

Kellsa came back and stood directly in front of him.

"Say that again, like you mean it," Kellsa said whilst turning on her image recorder.

"Nishaa, I will not contact you again. Sorry, and all that." Outstretching his hands, he said, "Is that enough for you?"

"Again, but put more effort into it this time. Seven minutes. Bowels feeling loose?"

The man put one hand on his stomach and one on his backside. He then made a passionate promise to Nishaa.

Kellsa nodded and threw a plastic tube containing an antidote tablet on the ground. Before walking out of the garden, Kellsa glanced back to see the man scrabbling on the floor desperately trying to prise open the tube with shaking hands.

Gaining a name and respect amongst certain city dwellers, she became able to rent a small apartment. She dressed sensibly in order to merge into the city background and learnt to adapt her normally abrasive behaviour. Softening her voice when necessary, she also applied skin enhancers to hide her tattoos. A small real and hard holo workout centre kept her fit, only satisfied when her olive skin glowed with sweat. Relationships were difficult, preferring one night stands, but never with the same person.

***

"I just wanted to ask you about the politician's murder, the one you got your life sentence for. We have some stream clips as well. What can you remember about it?"

"Nothing much, I just helped out. The Corps blamed me for everything."

***

It was a double cross from start to finish. The request was from her usual agent, a shop worker go between, from one of the outer districts. The target was a woman, fifty years old, weathered face, from off-world, no visible security around her. Kellsa was uninterested in the reasons. It will be a nice big payout, perhaps enough credits to buy a larger apartment.

In the shadows of the cityscape and the only high-end real and virtual shop area, she tailed the woman. The target's life consisted of leaving the apartment and taking a glide bus to a tall office building. Lunch was eaten at an upmarket real person diner, then back to the office and later home. The instructions were that the assassination had to "look like an accident." Fine, but Kellsa was unwilling to shoot a medical drug at her in the street; too much security tech, her false ID implant could be a weak point. The apartment was the best location, make it messy then leave a note. Kellsa spent a few days watching the apartment at differing times of the day from the safety of an empty stacked living pod. Scanning the security systems, the best approach would be from the outside using a remote controlled silent laser dart.

The sun was setting as Kellsa kneeled on the hard roof surface. She had no problem getting the service lift, and cloning security codes was straightforward. It was windy with clear skies and no smog. She threw a remote drone over the roof and steadied it, panning for the window with the large-leafed plant on the balcony. The silent drone manoeuvred down and over the balcony rail, dropping a fraction to scan inside the window. The target sat in a chair, surrounded by multiple screens, holding an animated conversation. Kellsa watched and waited, whilst judging the woman, weighing up the right time to strike.

Setting the drone on auto, she sent the laser dart up in the air to follow the drones trail. When ready, she pressed a button. A thin arm extracted itself out of the drone and tapped the window repeatedly to gain the woman's attention. She saw her look back at the window, then towards the screens as if saying she would return in a minute. Kellsa zoomed in on the woman's forehead, locked it into the dart display screen, and hit "go."

As soon as the woman opened the balcony window, the dart detected exposed skin and flashed forward, burying itself inside the woman's brain. A small, limited explosion then detonated, and the woman was dead before she hit the floor. Kellsa continued to view the inside of the apartment in case anyone appeared. Someone on the display screen had witnessed it, good. Recalling the drone, she packed it away, checked around the roof area in case she had missed anything, and made her way to the security lift.

Unfortunately, as the service lift opened on the basement level, six laser rifles were aimed at her forehead. Quite a while later, she found out it was a set-up. The target was an off-world AidHelp activist trying to secure funding for the regeneration of Colony 09's poorer areas. If Kellsa had taken an interest in the news channels, she would be aware of local objections to the plan. Keeping the status quo was important to local crime gangs and some of their business friends. Many of the proposed plans were in Kellsa's old neighbourhoods. An off-world freelancer had been hired to spy on Kellsa. As soon as the contract was completed and Kellsa was packing up her equipment on the roof, they anonymously tipped off Police Corps. It suited the crime gang to keep Kellsa alive, being a local colonist from one of the poorer parts of the city.

***

"The politician was attempting to bring credits into your home area, if you had read the news channels, the credits raised would have helped rebuild the ruins and children's home where you lived. We've shown the clips of you on the roof and getting arrested," Argenta said.

Kellsa shrugged her shoulders. Argenta looked out over the audience and examined her notepad.

"Finally, what do you say to the girl who asked you which gang to join?"

"Go to school."

# Chapter 26 – The day before

The day before the first challenge arrived. The proposed "last supper" with all the challengers sitting together was cancelled in favour of free association and a buffet lunch. Not much association actually occurred, but the viewers, gamblers, and gossips used it to pick their favourites. A religious celebration was held, which only Meren attended. It wasn't Jayzan, but she politely listened to the preacher. Mostly, the challengers spent time in deep thought in their cells, eating favourite foods and recording or writing messages. Grock studied the homework cubes again, Carac recorded numerous messages, and Brookko paced back and forth, talking to himself.

***

Williams found some time to relax in his personal room whilst his assistant finished some mundane tasks. With a beer and a smoke, he watched the live feeds of the challengers settling into their cells for the last evening. The show had come a long way since the first discussions, especially regarding the list of potential challengers. Media consultants suggested just mad, bad argumentative inmates, as "that's what an audience wants these days." The Twins had made some initial suggestions, but once three of their "candidates" were accepted, there was little further discussion and left Williams to get on with finding the other challengers. They all had something to offer an audience, even before the actual challenges. Kellsa, for example, spent a lot of time in various stages of undress in her cell, which had boosted ratings. Brookko was entertaining enough just being himself.

Williams reclined his chair a fraction and blew a smoke ring up to the ceiling. Having long ago reconciled himself with the fact that six people will face termination, he remembered the shift towards these types of "justice" shows a few years ago. In the near future, it would no doubt shift back to more family oriented entertainment. At least on this show, one person would gain their freedom.

***

Brell was practising some last-minute language skills when the beam door chimed. She faced the door, wrists held up in front of her. As the beam disengaged, a stocky Bermian stood just outside. Brell looked him up and down; smart creased uniform, limited expression that changed into a slight smile. Brune! An older version of the young rookie with whom she had stopped Carac years ago. What was he doing here?

"Hello Brell, remember me?" he said in his monotone voice. Brell quickly adjusted her hearing back into Association language.

"Brune S'Tr-Hert. What are you doing here?

"I am in charge of Police Corps security; you know, the convicts and the studios. The cameras are off at this moment, just to let you know," he said whilst lowering his bulk into a small chair, its legs protesting. Brell sat on her bed.

"What can I say? A lot has happened since we were last working together. What's happened to you since Grab?" she said, trying to change the subject away from herself.

"After you left, I stayed on until finishing my probation, got a posting to Agger, and then promotion. I became involved in a big smuggling investigation with Space Corps, not involving Brookko before you ask. It was all good fortune and saw me right for further promotion. I worked here and there, steadily moving up the ranks, and now I'm a Commander. Plus, I have a couple of little Brunes running around at home."

"Well, good for you," Brell said.

"So it was interesting to see both Carac and yourself together again, but unfortunate circumstances, though." That was his way of trying to breeze over Brell's downfall, probably. Bermians did not approve of rule breaking.

"Look Brune, it is a surprise to see you. But I don't know what to say. When we last worked together, I was in charge of you, and now I'm in a cell. This could be my last night here."

"I'm not here to gloat or discuss rule breaking. I wasn't sure myself whether to visit you, but I wanted to wish you the best of luck. I know you have had your problems, but the Brell I remember would have made sure she was organised and got on with it."

Brell averted her eyes.

"I'll be watching the whole thing, but I'm not involved in any of the studio business. I'm just making sure that you convicts don't try and take the place over or run away."

"Very funny." Brell laughed.

"Okay. Well, Brell, I wish you good fortune." He stood up.

"Brune. It's good to see you. Good fortune."

After he left, Brell sat back on her bed. Brune, that big old oaf, fancy him getting promotion to Commander.

***

Mayleth was concerned. The Tinker had been in touch, wanting reassurance that everything would run according to plan. The show, so far, was going well. The challengers were shaping up as a very watchable group of people. Williams was doing a great job, but he avoided her and her brother. He had told them where the keys were for the first challenge, but not the others. Apparently, he was "working his butt off" and "busting his hump" whatever that meant, to finish the clues in time. It was not what they wanted to hear. She glanced around; Ayleth was asleep again.

***

Ooma thought often about the long, wide, sweeping fields of home and the feeling he had when piloting his silent harvester across the landscape. Back then, he would yearn for something more exciting; now, he would be happy to bring in the harvest for the rest of his life.

Just before leaving Crin, he had sent a fuel-efficient prototype engine design to his father. Engine design, apart from being a distraction from prison life, was a way of paying back for his shame. The brief high life in the city had been fun, but he never stopped regretting his actions.

***

Technician 22 stood in his low-lit office reading the latest encrypted message from the Tinker. He knew his role and did not need reminding. Another encrypted internal data zap arrived on his screen from the twins.

_All ready for tomorrow_?

He replied, _Yes_. then sent an additional message, _No problem, all will be fine_. He added the second message to reassure them. Amongst his people, you only said things once and it was understood.

_Okay thank you,_ came back the reply.

That must have been Mayleth, the female one. The male one was inept. For all their act of confidence, they were unsure of him, which he thought was not a bad thing. Kept them on their guard.

After the female twin had told him the location of the keys for tomorrow's challenge, he had easily worked out from the "tube transporter" layout where the exit doors would be. If the "special" challenger appeared in danger of losing, then he would create a clue message and display it secretively. Perhaps he might just send the security bots in.

_The audience must not find out_.

He actually agreed with the Twins on that one; they only needed to have said it once, though. Whatever the Tinker had on them was of no interest to him. As long as the right convict won and the Tinker paid up, that was all that mattered.

# Chapter 27 – The First Challenge

"Technician 22. Everything ready your end?" Williams said, whilst observing him working in the Tech hub next door. Technician 22 continued to stare at his screens, and then stood upright a little.

"Yes, ready," he eventually replied.

"Thank you. Okay everyone. Let's do it. Roll music and count in Flip." Williams said. He adjusted his seat a little. He had felt the mood change in staff as the challenge approached. The fun challenge had been an easy run through, but this one was real. Staff had become "fond" of the challengers personalities.

Flip and Argenta stood centre stage and looked across the audience whilst music blared out. Standing more stiffly than normal, they both held fixed smiles whilst their sparkly suits glittered in the stage lights.

"Welcome, everyone, to the first Challenge." Large round of applause and cheering.

"Come on, Kellsa."

"You've seen the Inhab-47 beam casts, the challengers, and the holo world itself. Now for the real thing."

"Seven challengers, five exit keys, and one clue. Who will be the winners and who the losers? Who out of our seven will not return?" Flip said, letting his voice trail off at the end. He allowed the silence to settle on the audience whilst glancing up at the screens displaying the seven challengers in their cells. They were sitting, standing, or pacing around.

Argenta stepped forward. "The first challenge is set in holo world Rome. A place of ancient history on Inhab-47. Many of the buildings survive today, despite all their wars. Remember, you can visit our special holo world beam streams at any time."

"First, let's set the challengers' timers. Doc bots away you go. Audience and people at home, are you ready?" Argenta motioned her hands towards the audience.

"Countdown to termination." Everyone shouted. A side screen filled with home viewers all shouting at their screens.

The doc bots, lined up outside each cell, sprang into action, rolling forward to initialise each convict's timer implant.

Flip held both arms up and said, "It's showtime." The audience started to applaud lightly, then started cheering loudly as the floor manager gesticulated at them. The screens around the stage came to life.

"Let the countdown begin!" There was a loud bong sound and the large studio clock started. It was synched with the implant timer, showing 60 minutes.

"Ready? Here is the clue. From a prison for execution to an arena of execution. The cross Emperor sat here. Train, anyone?" Flip repeated it.

"So, think about the clue. People back home and audience members can also research the clue. Your data zaps will be displayed on the screens here, once the prisoners have gone inside." Argenta said.

The stage screens showed most of the challengers studiously examining their holo screens. They all wore standard issue Association prison uniform, a grey jumpsuit.

"Let's see what they are up to."

There was a close-up of information searches being undertaken. Ooma examined still images of execution arenas, whilst Carac studied "cross emperors" and read a list of items for sale. Brookko wandered around his cell, swearing. Grock stared at his screens without blinking, his fingers slowly working the holo info links. His feed showed that he had found references to an emperor and executions in a variety of places, many of them in Rome. He studied the clue again.

***

"Our first challenger had gone inside," Flip said staring at the side screen. "It is Brookko. He is obviously relying on his instincts, having done no research whatsoever."

"Flip, we are getting lots of data zaps about the location of keys. Betting is changing constantly, with the main credits on Grock, then Kellsa, with our favourite nun Meren at the bottom," Argenta said.

As soon as Brookko emerged into the warmth of the holo world, he forgot about finding keys and looked around for two things: women and intox. He found the intox first at a cafe with an auto chef, near the main road. Remembering, somehow, the Inhab-47 word "beer", he downed three glasses in quick succession. Then he made a few attempts to grab women, but kept falling through their holo outlines. Eventually he found a hard beamed woman with a solid body. He tried talking to her first.

"Hi, baby, want some fun?"

"Buona giornata," she said. Completely unintelligible as far as he was concerned, but it made no difference.

"Love those aliens."

He pulled her towards him and attempted to kiss her whilst placing his hands on her arms. Ignoring the other people walking nearby, he pushed the woman backwards, upsetting her balance and put her on the ground.

"Baby, you won't forget this."

"Buona giornata."

As Brookko knelt down, some security bots arrived. Six bots in three ranks of two appeared from the rear of the cafe. Dressed for combat, they wore knee-length tunics and armour plates around their shoulders and midriff. Light metal helmets with earflaps were perched on their heads and open sandals on their feet. The leader had a tall, crescent-shaped plume atop his helmet. Within moments, Brookko was stunned, netted, and pulled back behind the cafe. The hard holo female got to her feet and moved her head from side to side. She continued on her programmed journey, oblivious to what had taken place.

"Buona giornata."

***

Brell examined, for the second time, the picture of a man standing in what looked like an arena area with a person probably dead on the floor next to them. The armoured man held up a sword in the air in triumph. It was a place called the Colosseum in Rome. Emperor; a man sitting in a prominent seat. He had a white sheet wrapped around his body and some leaves on top of his head. It would make sense that a leader would oversee large arena events; it was similar to the Hablar Games. Having spent too long watching Brookko's activities on the live feed screen, she went back to reading some information about crosses, her shoulders becoming tense. Glancing up she saw Ooma standing in the Living Room, opening the door to the holo world. Time to get a move on.

Standing up, she drank some water, and motioned with her hand towards the door. Somewhere, an invisible guard pressed a button and the door beam disengaged. If nothing else, it felt good to be without wrist or neck cuffs and, to a certain extent, free.

Hearing a cell door beam disengaging behind her, she quickened her pace along the corridor, as she did not want to take the lift with another challenger. Peering around the lift doors, the Living Room was empty; she went straight ahead and entered Rome.

The door shut behind her and it was silent, dark, and musty. She was inside a circular basement of some sort, with exposed brickwork and a smallish round hole in the ceiling. A stone table was set into a wall. It was a not a joyful-looking place. Striding up the stone stairs, she heard the door swinging open down below. Keep going, stay out of the way of the others.

The outside felt warm, the air was fresh, and she shielded her eyes for a moment against the glare of the bright sky. Walking quickly, she made her way to some nearby pillars and turned to see who was behind her. Carac. She hid behind a pillar and looked around to get her bearings. The map and still images had showed the arena as being very large in comparison to the old buildings nearby. Some people walked past her, examining maps.

Her knees suddenly gave way and something squeezed her shoulders hard.

"Hello. We meet again," Carac said.

She was spun around, momentarily becoming unsteady. He smiled at her as if examining a museum piece, his white hair slicked back.

"Frag off, Carac."

"Well, well, bluey is upset," Carac said. He sniffed the air whilst keeping hold of her shoulders.

"Would love to stay longer having this chat, but I need to know where those stupid keys are so I can get out of here. Where are they?"

Brell's thoughts were settling now, but she was revolted by his touch, let alone his breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kellsa, who glanced over, smiled, and ran off.

"Carac, I know where the keys are. Do you want a hint?" She said whilst transferring her weight onto her left leg.

"We can get the keys together, how about that? It will be ..."

Carac didn't finish his sentence; Brell had kneed him hard in the groin. He bent over, clutching his crotch.

"There's a hint for you. Leave me alone."

She ran off to put some distance between herself and Carac.

***

"We have about thirty five minutes left and all the challengers are in the holo world," Flip announced.

"Ooma has just arrived at the entrance to the arena, closely followed by Kellsa and Carac. Meren is trying to follow Carac and Brell appears lost. Grock seems to be searching in a different place from the others, and Brookko will be out of gaol soon."

"Let's have a look at the betting stakes and audience reactions."

"It shows Kellsa first and Brookko now demoted to last; his security bot episode has affected his ranking."

"Most people point towards the keys being in the large arena and the exit nearby. Let's return and see how they are getting on."

***

Brell did not want to say that she was lost. Carac had thrown her concentration and she had lost her bearings. She believed she was far enough away from him, but kept glancing around just in case. Looking at the sky countdown timer didn't help. It felt hotter and her mouth was dry, no temperature-controlled clothing here. Certain that the arena was nearby, she looked at the horizon and saw what appeared to be one of the rounded edges of it poking out behind some ruined buildings ahead. A pathway leading to the left should take her back to the main thoroughfare in case the route ahead through the ruins was blocked. After a short walk, she saw the main roadway ahead with a café situated nearby.

"Tourist stop," she read out aloud.

A drink, perhaps some water, would help. People milled around; some sat on benches and seats holding cups of liquid or eating a colourful mush inside a cone- shaped object. Walking through a couple of empty holo people, she reached a counter inside. A gleaming auto chef, its company logo in large letters on the side sat, on top of the counter.

"Gelato?" One of the hard holos said to her. Brell was taken aback at being spoken to. The accent was very thick and in Rome language. He wore real fabrics.

"Just getting myself a drink," Brell said in main Inhab language. She turned to the auto chef.

"Gelato, good," the holo said.

"Do you know where the Emperor used to sit in the big arena?"

"Caesar, Emperor. Colosseo. Crociera, Cross," the holo said.

"How about the train?"

"Metro?"

"Metro? What's that?"

"Gelato?"

The holo had gone back to the beginning of its routine, but as basic as it was, the answers might be useful. Now for a drink.

"Real water."

Beep. Brell reached in and took a cup of water. She drank it straight down then paused and frowned.

"Intox straight."

Beep, beep. "'Not available." Brell stroked her hair and glanced around the cafe. There were paper adverts on the wall. Soft drinks, Gelato, oh, it's ice cream. Beer, Whisky, Chocolate, Coffee, Tea. Her eyes stopped on the word whisky. Of course Inhab-47 drinks and food only.

"Whisky?"

Beep, the auto chef whirled into action. Seconds later, Brell reached in and took out a cup of golden liquid. Not quite Deep Yellow or her normal choice intox, but she downed it in one. Wow, strong, wood flavours. She put her cup down.

"Whisky, large."

Beep. The auto chef delivered a larger cup. Brell sipped it, allowing the intox to flow through her more steadily. It had been a while since she had drunk intox properly, apart from a swift small illicit one during free association. She held her cup up in the air and made a mock salute.

"Here's to all the girls back on Wing 90." She took another swig.

"Carac, you are a fragging bastard."

A small group came into the cafe and one of them asked for "caffe" and sat down. Brell wandered outside and sat on the grass, watching the holos walking by. She extended her arms behind her and leant back. It was quiet, calm, and warm. Sitting forward and draining her cup, she sat back again. This was the perfect place away from the cell, prison, and her own life. She could have another drink, a large gelato and go out in a blaze of glory at least believing it was on her own terms.

But no, frag it all.

"Frag it all," she said, shouting it out at the holos, who made no reaction. She got up and walked back inside the cafe.

"Coffee, err, Caffe"

Beep. It tasted bitter and gave her a jolt. No intox, but stimulant?

"Coffee, caffe, large." She ordered another one. The Arena, Colosseo, should be just up the road.

# Chapter 28 – Gladiators

Grock was unsure. Since emerging into the sunshine, he found himself walking around a circle of ruined columns near to the entrance building and well away from the main roadway. He had taken the clue literally, as if it was a Space Corps Special Order. _From a prison for execution to an arena of execution._ This must mean a place in-between. Strategically, it would be best to explore the ruins first, before going towards the arena.

Giving no thought to the other challengers, he was satisfied that he had guessed correctly that the door into Rome was in or near the prison shown on the map. He set out to find a set of stairs where history records showed that executions took place. His thoroughness whilst researching the clue in his cell had taken quite a few minutes. "Fail to plan, plan to fail," the Special Forces used to say. If the clue was about guns, planning security operations, or assassinations, no problem, but all this cryptic crap.

Shielding the sun from his eyes, he licked his lips, never comfortable in warm climates. He continued searching around the area, rationalising that it must be checked in case the clue setter had written a double bluff. Having not found anything useful, he moved onto the next strategic point by walking at a steady pace towards the main roadway. There was more than enough time to reach the arena.

***

Ooma wiped the sweat off his brow, not used to walking fast or as far. The arena was nearly two kilometres from the Living Room. A large open concrete walkway surrounding the arena came into view. There was an increasing sound of a crowd stamping, cheering and clapping. Glancing back up the main road, he could thankfully not see any of the other challengers in their grey jumpsuits, but they may be obscured inside the crowd. He may be in with a chance.

Lines of people wandered towards a queue which, Ooma guessed, must be going into the main entrance. He admired the building and the use of arches to displace weight. There were some arches in a building in one of the old towns on his home planet. This arena was small, though, compared with the mega stadium at Hablar.

He passed people wearing white sheets folded around their bodies. Next to them were a group of men in rounded metal armour with face helmets. They were clashing their swords in a mock fight. A couple of people stood next to the men, whilst someone else held up a metal case towards them.

Ignoring all the activity and people showing a paper ticket, Ooma went straight through the entrance and into a low tunnel. A quick look around, showed no one behind him. He quickened his pace. Walking straight through some holo people, he bounced off a couple of solid ones. He recalled the internal map of the arena that he had read in his cell. It was similar to a basic engine power node schematic. Through an oval tunnel, he could see the religious emblem at the end of it. He felt a lightness in his chest. The cross symbol, where the Emperor sat. As he walked forward, he saw all the key boxes lined up. He was the first one there.

"Yes," Ooma said aloud and raised his clenched fist to no one in particular.

Hitching up his trouser belt, he leaned forward and poked his finger in the security device.

Click.

The key felt heavy in his hand, and as he put it in his pocket, he became more aware of the crowd noise. With his sole attention on finding the key, he had not looked into the arena itself.

The arena floor was full of people, clashing and fighting like the men outside, but this appeared more realistic. Gladiators in armour were striding around, threatening unarmed men, women, and children with their swords as if it were a game. One type of gladiator had a net and a long three-headed spear. The helpless victims ran around haphazardly trying to avoid tripping over unlucky ones lying on the ground, covered in red blood. Other pairs of gladiators were attacking each other with menace, trying to kill each other. A large audience filled the upper tiers of the arena.

"Emperor."

Peering over the parapet, he saw a gladiator standing over another man in armour lying on the ground. A foot was firmly planted on the prone gladiator's chest whilst he shouted up towards Ooma.

"Emperor."

Ooma realised he was the one being shouted at. The gladiator held a short sword to the throat of the prone man whilst his other hand gesticulated towards Ooma.

"Emperor?"

"Hello." Ooma said and gently waved his right hand at him. At this, the gladiator slipped the sword into the throat of the prone man who went limp. Ooma gulped and quickly walked away. They are only holos he said to himself. Better get out of here, find the exit door. He decided it would be safer to find an exit out of the arena away from the entrance.

***

Williams remained tense but relieved. The challenge was working well, judging by the audience's reactions and the data zaps coming in from live viewers across the Association. The clue had not been too difficult, though he was surprised that Grock had gone off track. He had him as a definitive finalist. As for Ooma, just goes to show all the reading, research, and sleep hypnosis programmes must have worked. The holos were holding steady and the re-enactments worked well.

He felt relieved that a challenger had found a key. In the planning period, weeks ago, he had held a "what if" session.

"What if the challengers kill each other on the first challenge?"

"What if none of the challengers find a key or exit door within the countdown period?"

"What if a bot goes berserk and sets fire to an auto chef, causing an explosion which burns a hold in the floor through which the challenger then falls, thereby, denying them the right to take part in the challenge?"

Williams and the technicians had already considered many of the suggestions. If it appeared unlikely that anyone was going to find a key, then with fifteen minutes, left, the exit door location would be revealed. This, backed up by security bots, would cause a frantic, yet exciting, race to the door.

One of the earlier versions considered was a race format, but in Williams' mind it lacked subtlety and interest. Might as well just line up some convicts, give them a weapon, and see who get past the finish line first. Other shows were doing that already.

The image quality was excellent in all beam and stream mediums, including the immersive "sense surround" which was first rate. Static and floating cams were virtually everywhere except on the challenger themselves. Enthusiastic audience members could dial into any camera, auto follow their favourite, and see the vital stats, as well. People watching from eating and intox houses could view the show in the background via a single edited stream.

Williams had come up with the idea to beamcast two versions of the Challenge. Apart from the live feed, they would have another with a built-in five minute delay that younger audience and families could watch. Any extreme events and deaths would be edited out. The Twins were happy with that option, as it encompassed a wider audience, which meant higher ratings.

Williams rubbed his chin; perhaps it may be time to grow another Inhab-47 style beard.

"Flip, Argenta, good job. Keep it up," Williams said directly to their comms implants and sat back, waiting for the events to unfold.

***

Technician 22 was satisfied that the security bots followed their programming as per his instructions. It was a useful exercise and the incapacitation of Brookko had been efficiently carried out and an audience pleaser. The clothes were ridiculous; one of Williams' jokes perhaps, security bots in skirts? Turning his attention back to the Challenge, he sent the bots off towards the arena and placed them on standby. A backup, just in case the "favoured one" could not find a key or exit door.

***

Meren had waited for the others to go into the holo world first. Her intention was to follow Ooma as he seemed sensible and harmless. The research was difficult for her. It was one thing reading Jayzan and library texts, but delving into ideas and concepts based on an alien world was complicated. Racing against the clock did not help. Emerging from the prison building, she saw Carac rubbing his groin and shaking his head. What's he been up to? Keeping her distance, she stepped lightly along, following him to the main roadway, staying behind groups of people as best as possible. She had an idea that the keys were in the arena, as she had found some information about a cross representing a religious symbol. That made sense at a place of slaughter. Half running, half walking, she kept her eye on Carac. Not difficult to notice, with his white hair, grey jumpsuit and athletic style of running. By controlling her breathing, she used only as much effort as was required. The surroundings and people were interesting to look at, but she had closed the inquisitive part of her mind. Find a key; she owed herself that, at least.

***

Kellsa was fast on her feet and saw Ooma a distance ahead, as he negotiated the Arena entrance. Good boy. There were numerous people milling about, many of whom had the same skin colour as herself. This was just like a hunt, but within a different type of environment and only one main objective. She would step over, kill, or do whatever it took to win. No problem. In fact, she could wait for that fat oaf Ooma and just steal his key. Problem being that she had no idea where he would exit and didn't want to waste time. If correct, she was second or third behind fatty. She could actually get a key legitimately. Finding the exit door was the next thing, but she would hide and follow one of the others.

Moving through the queue, she reached one of the brickwork tunnels. Instinct took her through the corridors and the patterns of where people were going to and from in large groups. Having turned a corner, she paused for a moment looking around then re traced her steps. Entering a tunnel entrance she had previously walked passed, she came to a platform overlooking the arena by the cross symbol. The chanting from the crowd gave it a realistic atmosphere, and most people were dressed in cloth sheets. She honed in on the key boxes. One key had been taken; Ooma. She poked a finger into the sensor and took a key. Ooma must have found another way out of the building. Time to get out of here and find the exit door.

***

Carac found the keys a while after Kellsa, but doubled back to the entrance as he did not want to get lost inside the arena. Like the others, he calculated that the door would probably be on the edge of the holo world, as the arena had an open area all around it. He stopped outside the arena entrance and considered which way to walk. To his right, six security bots stood to attention in a single row, their backs against the wall.

He could just make out someone in a grey jumpsuit, running away from the arena. They appeared briefly in a gap in the crowd. Was that Kellsa? Whoever it was, they were moving purposefully away from the arena. Definitely worth following.

There were two keys left with twenty minutes to go.

***

Meren had ducked behind a pillar as Carac walked past. Following the crowd through the tunnels ahead, she ended up by the cross and secured a key.

One key left and no sign of Brell. She made her way quietly back to the entrance, wondering if the exit was nearby.

# Chapter 29 – Entrance and exit

Brookko awoke in a cell. He tried to remember what had happened and groggily sat up rubbing his head.

"What is this?"

It was a small cell, two sides of which consisted of vertical metal bars from floor to ceiling. A security bot wearing a large hat, neck chief, chequered shirt, waistcoat, rough blue trousers, and boots stared at him from the other side of the bars. A shiny badge was pinned to his waistcoat.

"Howdy, partner."

Brookko stared at him, mouth open.

"What are you fragging on about?"

The security bot paused, as if awaiting instructions.

"Time's up," the bot said then made a motion by the cell door lock and swung the door open. Brookko walked out of the cell.

"Fragging Police Corps."

"You have a nice day, now."

"Fragging Police Corps."

He strode past a large wooden desk and through a couple of doors until re-emerging back inside the dark basement room where the holo world started.

"Here we go again," he said, rubbing his hands together.

***

Brell found the main roadway and saw another challenger trotting up towards the arena. By the running style and light green skin, it must be Grock. Having previously seen Kellsa, that meant Carac and Ooma were well ahead of her. Meren was probably still meditating in her cell and Brookko may be out of gaol. There was a serious risk of becoming ash. Her stomach made a little turn; the coffee mixing with the whisky, perhaps? Come on, come on.

Steadying her breathing, she started running towards the arena. A distinctive figure in a grey jumpsuit was running across the road, away from the arena. It was Carac. He negotiated his way around the metal ground transporters and two-wheeled noisy scooters, heading towards a wide entrance with five square doorways inside. "Colosseo" was written above, and a large red letter M was fixed to a nearby wall. Brell, not a natural when it came to languages realised, that the Inhab-47 main language was similar to Elytian. The auto-sleep learning programme had helped with some of the Rome words. She stopped in amongst a group of people and watched him go through the entrance without coming back out. Carac was the last person she wanted to see, but he had obviously found the exit. Still need a key, though.

It was going to be close. Perhaps, just go back for a whisky and sit in the sun. A hand touched her shoulder. Meren!

They locked eyes. Brell sensed the warmth of her touch.

"Have you got a key?" Brell said.

As Meren nodded, Brell realised that the grip on her shoulder tightened.

"Hold on. Brookko." Meren said turning her head.

Brookko came into view, running as fast as his limp would allow, chasing after Grock. Brell could see from his fixed gaze that he had not seen herself or Meren.

Brell realised she must now be the last challenger to reach the arena. As she slumped her shoulders, Meren released her grip and shook the top of her arm encouragingly.

"Through the arena entrance, first left, tunnel second right," Meren said.

"Exit over there by the red M." Brell said and pointed to the other side of the road. She ran towards the arena entrance, not looking back.

***

Ooma had almost hopped his bulk out of the tube transport as it arrived back at the studio. A show runner motioned him to a marked position behind the large stage doors. He could hear Flip commentating on stage. The doors silently split apart, the studio lights shone on him, music boomed, and wispy smoke appeared.

"It's Ooma, everyone."

There was thunderous applause that got louder as Ooma shuffled forward. He raised his arms up and smiled, may as well milk it. He remained centre stage in the bright lights for a while until motioned into a seat by Argenta who had turned her attention back to the live feed. As soon as he sat down, the seat tether activated, the guards taking no chances. His heart pumped and he continued to sweat, but he was safe. He was first in, the farmer they tried to write off. Bet the gamblers have lost a packet.

Gradually, becoming calmer he watched Kellsa and Carac arriving. He was unsure who would be next.

***

The Tinker kicked off his slippers, wiggled his toes, and selected one of his special delicacies.

"Good. All going well. Message those Twins will you? As follows: 'Good show. Presume all in place for the next Challenge?'"

***

Grock eased himself into the entrance, senses on high alert. He cursed the holo alien world. A professional would have spent time acclimatising himself to the geography, people, and landscape to ensure they could get in and out without being caught.

The cross Emperor sat here.

He read the signs inside the tunnels and listened to a couple of holos speak in Rome language. Being fluent in Inhab-47 languages, he knew where they were going and adjusting his stride, he followed them right to the cross. One key left. Amateurs. He leaned forward and reached out to insert his finger in the sensor.

Whack.

His right hand lost its feeling. Brookko stood just behind him, breathing heavily, a short sword in his hand, which he had prised from a soldier re-enacting a fight.

"No, no, that's for me. You didn't look around. First rule of smuggling," Brookko said.

He grinned as he tapped Grock's arm with the sword edge a couple of times. He motioned for Grock to stand up and move to one side, whilst snorting under his breath.

"Thank you so much."

Brookko took a step back towards the parapet to give Grock some room to stand up. Grock moved slowly, and then suddenly heaved himself up and towards Brookko's chest. Brookko dropped his sword in surprise and attempted to push Grock's head and torso back. Feet planted firmly on the ground, Grock pushed again. It sent Brookko backwards until his thighs dug into the edge of the parapet, the arena surface below them. As the punches rained in, Brookko started falling backwards and grabbed Grock to steady himself. However, their momentum was such that they both toppled over the parapet together, falling onto the sandy surface of the arena. Brookko punched out, quickly uncoupled himself, and got to his feet. Walking backwards, he kept Grock in his sight. Grock planted his feet wide apart and put his hands into a defensive stance.

***

Brell wiped her forehead with a sleeve and kept running. There was still time, well just about fifteen minutes, but she knew it was desperate. Following Meren's instructions, she rounded a corner, and through the tunnel she saw the two intersecting poles, one set firmly in the ground. If there was no key, then possibly there was a chance to get the exit before Grock or Brookko. Nothing to lose.

Her attention became drawn to the noise and activity in the arena. As she peered into the arena, she did not expect to see Grock prodding a spear at Brookko, who was attempting to defend himself with a small sword. Taking a step back, she glanced down; there was a key still in its box. Placing her hands on her hips, she let out a long breath. The stupid sods, male aggression; whatever, the key was still there. Releasing it, she ran back out towards the entrance, leaving Grock and Brookko still going hard at it in the arena. The crowd cheered, as per their programming, unaware of the two real men fighting for their lives.

Out through the entrance and to the red M. Nine minutes to go. Enough time.

***

Grock made his move, feinted left, and thrust the three-pronged spear into Brookko's ribs. It had the effect; Brookko let out a yell as Grock pushed and twisted the spear handle, followed up by a punch to the face. Brookko fell to the ground clutching his chest. Grock immediately sprang up the side of the arena and vaulted over the parapet.

***

Her stomach felt a little warm; was it the whisky or the timer? Brell ran through the Metro entrance and up to a door with a keyhole. Once inside, she slapped her hand on the red button numerous times and breathed again.

***

Flip realised that he had not spoken for a while, as he was getting too caught up in the live event. Argenta was the same; it was quiet in his comm implant as well.

The sight of the large doors opening and Ooma standing there smiling to loud applause would not be forgotten for a long while. The loser in the fun challenge was the winner in the first challenge. The others had followed in behind him and were watching the final few minutes. Brell could not have appeared more relieved as she took the last seat.

The audience were transfixed.

***

The key had gone. Grock ran through the corridors out into the sunshine.

Six minutes.

Where could the exit doors be? The clue, "Train, anyone?" had confused him and he had spent a while researching the words. Had to be on the outside of this arena. First, he scanned the crowds for any signs of grey jumpsuits and different skin colours. Nothing. Strategically, he needed to find the exit door and take the key off another challenger. Best option was to find an outside wall, as the tube transporters ran along the interconnecting walls near power and technical cabling. Turning left, he ran towards some buildings behind the arena, up a slight incline. His insides felt warm; he ignored it.

Four minutes.

At the top of the slope, he scrutinised a long line of buildings, looking for any doors with keyholes. There was a "Tours" sign in one of the windows with pictures of a long line of box shaped transporters travelling on two lines of metal tracks. A train?

Two minutes.

With both hands on the window, he quickly realised that this place sold travel tours. The door had no keyhole. It was not the right place and there were no other challengers around.

He sat on the ground, propping his back against the wall realising that the strategy of thorough research had become his undoing. Perhaps his instincts had slowed during his incarceration. Well, time to return to "the swamp".

***

Brell was tired, a tiredness she had not felt for some time. A physical and mental fatigue from one hour of stress. But she was alive by luck, judgement or whatever. The others appeared confident but relieved.

She watched the instant replays of Grock and Brookko's demise. Grock was sitting still, staring into the distance, as if replaying a Space Corps memory, when the orange-grey combustion appeared on his clothing. Brookko limped and staggered around, laughing at the gladiators before collapsing.

"We have our five winners. See you after the break," Flip said extending his arms. There was a vague ripple of applause despite the studio manager's energetic arm waving.

# Chapter 30 – Lulu

Brell had been a Captain for six months when she became a mentor to Lutet Malm-ert, a new Corps recruit. Lulu was from a different district from where Brell spent her childhood. Celeste people were renowned for their sewing and tapestry skills, not Police or military-type roles. Mentoring, especially by an officer from the same community group, became a way of retaining personnel.

They held regular stream chats, and Brell read Lulu's progress reports. She was pleased with Lulu's progress, though in the early days it became apparent that Lulu needed to toughen up.

"Hi, Lulu, this is your first month on patrol, what have you been up to?"

"Hello, captain." Lulu's cheery smiling face appeared. She had changed her hair colour since they had last spoke; it was now blonde and tied in a bun. "Very exciting, we had a chase, a ground level transporter used as a getaway vehicle in a theft from a shop. Marvelle, the driver, was very good, stopped the vehicle and he told me where to search, and we found the stolen property, bot parts and some drugs in a rear compartment."

"Takes me back a bit, chasing offenders. How was the evidence and processing side of things?"

"Marvelle helped me with filling out the various forms and organising the first holo court hearing. I was nervous, but it went okay."

"Good, we can cross that one off your list. How about dwelling searches or raids?"

"Tomorrow, early start, ha ha, I'm going on a raid. Local criminal into cloning and unauthorised DNA sampling. Should be fun."

Brell made an effort not to reveal any emotion. Lulu was young, and not long ago lived with her family, who were all weavers. She resided in the Weaver Farm area, where the local trees, bushes, and organic plants were processed into distinctive blue weaving thread. Lulu's uncle, going against family convention, had joined Police Corps. On one of his yearly family visits, he filled Lulu's head with stories of excitement and glory, the life of a weaver's wife was not for her.

Brell remembered the time when she conversed with a Police Corpswoman who was investigating a series of thefts at the docks. Brell had left school early and took on a boring job, logging the movements of haulage road transporters out of the dock area. The conversation had triggered feelings of needing to get off planet and do something useful.

"Fun, indeed. In time, things may seem mundane; you know, after you have dealt with the same thing a few times," Brell said.

"Well, it is exciting at the moment."

"Everything okay otherwise, no problems with colleagues?"

"No, everyone is treating me fine. We are a mixed group of skin colours; red, black, white, blue, obviously, and green. It's great, really Associational."

"Any other Celestians?"

"Yes, a male. He's on another team, doesn't talk much."

"Okay, well, I'll beam you over another task list until we speak again."

"Thank you captain."

Brell closed the beam stream and sat back. Was she like that? No, she was a bit more street smart, having come from the manufacture and cargo district. Since leaving Celeste, she had never returned there. It was all plas-concrete factories, tall laser chimney stacks, and landing pads. That's where her drunken mother and her equally drunken father had met. He picked up weaved materials and hauled them across the Association, and her mother checked cargo manifests. Well, her father checked her mother's manifest, all right and when she declared she was pregnant, he suddenly had a "big job" hauling stuff on the other side of the star system. That was that, single mother on Celeste with a light blue child, not exactly a great start in life.

***

Brell read the stream message twice, before she could believe it. Lulu was found dead in her living quarters, having ingested Terminal Spray, a drug used by care homes. Last week, Lulu had celebrated her first year in the Corps. The death, reported on news channels, showed images of her parents standing near a landing pad on Celeste wearing their blue national costumes waiting for the unloading of the coffin.

Brell couldn't spend much time reflecting on the incident, as she had been booked to give a speech at a Women's Society lunch and in the afternoon serving a warning notice on the owner of a rowdy intox house. Police Corps work never stopped. It wasn't until later that evening in her living quarters that she was able to read more on the incident. Lulu's workplace was on Sabor, an unremarkable planet that most people travelled past on way to somewhere else. The place created plenty of work for Police Corps; the high rise dwelling estates had become a dumping ground for poorly paid citizens. Many of the huge machinery manufacturers had moved off planet, leaving a specialism in second or third hand machine parts and junk yards.

Brell asked Lulu's captain for a copy of the investigation record. It transpired that Lulu had celebrated her first year in the Corps by buying her team a drink after work one evening in a rear function room of a hotel that was Police Corps friendly.

Police Corpsman Hallette statement:

When I arrived, Police Corpswoman Malm-ert was standing by the bar, talking with other officers. She appeared in good spirits, relaxed, and was laughing and joking. She did not appear drunk, and I did not see her drinking to excess or taking any other substances.

Brell swigged some intox and skimmed down to the last paragraph.

When she re-appeared later, at about two o'clock in the morning, her dress was dishevelled, hair was messy, and her lipstick smudged. I asked her if she was okay, she said everything was fine, nothing to worry about, she had felt sick and had gone to the privy. I could smell intox on her breath; she was not drunk, but appeared under the influence of something. I left the party not long afterwards and went home.

Brell read some other statements. It seems that Lulu went out towards the privy and came back about forty to fifty minutes later looking scruffy. Brell replayed the last mentor interview.

"So, first year coming up, it's gone quickly hasn't it?"

"Yes, captain." Lulu smiled as always, but there was a harder edge. Her eyes were narrower, suspicious. She had also changed her hair back to natural black, like Brell's. "I spent some time undercover yesterday, basically hiding in a doorway with a colleague acting as a couple of homeless people. As you know, the blue skin shows out, so I toned it down with skin changers and wore a hat. We observed a suspicious man walking back and forth, then after talking to him, we found a rogue laser device in his back pocket."

"I read the report from your sergeant. Good job."

"Captain, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Well, yes, depends on what it is. I have to have some secrets, you know." Brell laughed.

"I'm comfortable in my blue skin, it's just that as there aren't many of us in the Corps, I stick out a bit. How did you deal with that?"

"Well, first of all undercover work is sometimes problematic. I often used skin changing tabs, like you, but I just got on with it, basically. I fended off a lot of men and women who were fascinated by my blue skin, though as you can see I am a lighter shade of blue. Anyway, Celeste is a small planet, and there are few blue skinned communities around the Associated Planets; people get curious. Of course, I had to put up with various derogatory comments, both on and off duty. But I've reached captain rank."

"I'm certainly aware of the fascination people have with blue skin; never occurred to me before on Celeste. Appreciate it, captain."

"Okay, speak to you soon. Keep up the good work."

She was upbeat, tougher, and growing in experience. What had happened?

***

Over the next couple of days, Brell read the complete investigation file without throwing any light on the event; until she made a simple check on who stayed in the hotel that evening. Carac Montil. Though booked in under a pseudonym, his image file confirmed his real identity. He occupied an expensive room on a private corridor linked by stairs to the rear hotel area near to the ground floor privies. In her mind, she did not need to investigate any further. Something happened that made Lulu so embarrassed that she had taken her life a few days later. She became too unwell for work the day before she took her life, so she must have spent her last hours in panic and desperation, worried that her parents would find out or image streams appear on social stream symposiums. Had he threatened her that much?

Her soft shell of excitement a year ago had slowly changed as she became street hardened. Was she unable to put up a fight? Brell had a lot of experience of dealing with assault crimes, especially against women. Sprays, psyche tablets, and remote bot injections were just some of the methods used for incapacitating people to make them more compliant. Brell did not need reminding about this. The victims invariably remembered nothing about the assault or had false memories planted. Had Carac sent her images of the assault as well?

Using diplomacy with Lulu's commander, she got Carac named as a person of interest, which at the very least meant he would be interviewed. A few days later, she received a copy stream of his interview.

"Mr. Montil, did you ever meet up with this woman?" The detective displayed an image of Lulu.

Carac sat upright and smiled as he craned his head over towards his solicitor, who whispered something in his ear. "I would have remembered a woman with blue skin. I saw a few groups of people in the hotel that evening, when I walked through to my private suite. She could have been amongst them, I suppose."

"Did you see the woman on her own by the privy area at the back of the hotel? It's near the stairs that went up to your private suite," the detective said, over- pronouncing "private suite."

"No, I would have remembered."

"Did you take her up to your room?"

"Detective. I am a First Executive for Grab, I run the mining businesses there. What on earth would I be doing with this blue skinned woman?"

The detectives shuffled their feet; the interview was not going anywhere.

"My client is being very helpful and clearly does not have any involvement with the matter. It is very sad, of course, but my client has work commitments; unless you have any more questions, we are leaving," the solicitor said.

Carac smiled whilst turning his head slightly to one side and looking at the lead detective.

The detectives exchanged glances.

"One last question. What did you do to her in your hotel room?"

Good question. Just as the detective sitting opposite Carac had done, Brell examined the body language. For a split second, Carac's eyes glared and he swallowed hard; was that stress?

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Your commander is a personal friend of mine, by the way, I'll recommend your efforts to him next week at the Miners' Ball."

The interview ended.

Forensically, there was nothing. Lulu had burnt her clothes and washed several times. Hotel security streams covering the corridors had been erased. Nothing. Brell had purposely not examined the images and room scan of Lulu's room. She wanted to remember her alive and smiling, not sprawled across a bed with half closed eyelids. Case closed. Suicide through work related stress.

A couple of mouthfuls of intox later, Brell viewed an official image of Lulu in full Corps uniform. A beautiful girl with a promising career ahead of her. Untouchable Carac, a man of power and influence. She finished the intox container and opened another.

***

Brell awoke very early in the morning, got up and drank some water whilst pacing around her cell. It was the "Lulu" dream again.

# Chapter 31 – Death equals profits

Williams remained upbeat and relieved in the days following the first challenge. Both deaths had gone well and viewer ratings were increasing significantly. Just like that, death equals profits. At least the method of death was fairly quick and painless. When it was all over, he would take a break and work on some ideas of a family-based version of the Challenge.

Flip and Argenta were doing a great job interviewing guests, experts, and family members. The streams of people's reactions to the last moments of Grock and Brookko were a hit, and surround holos of Rome world had sold well. Williams fiddled with his weed smoke before lighting it. He had just sent the Twins an encrypted message with the location of the exit doors for Challenge 2. He mentioned at the end of the message that clues could be tweaked the day before the challenge, in case of any technical difficulties. He did this just to keep some control. Call it a hunch.

***

"Thank you, Brell. Great interview," Argenta said and turned to the audience. "Brell, everyone." She raised her hands and the audience clapped. The first thing Brell did on returning to her cell was to order a cool fruit drink. Answering the audience's questions was draining, let alone watching excruciating interviews with so-called experts on the challengers' survival tactics.

"I think that Brell's instincts kicked in best when she was under pressure with five minutes left and found the exit almost by intuition."

Fragging idiots, they didn't notice that she had seen Carac running into the exit. Carac of all people! She had been lucky, fortunate, whatever, but she was here sitting in her cell, eating ice cream.

"I still remember Brell's first day at the education centre; she locked herself inside my transporter and wouldn't come out. I had to find a teacher to help me. Now look at her," Brell's mother had said.

Look at her? Your daughter is a convicted criminal, busting herself to stay alive on a crappy game show.

"I remember when Brell punched one of the ladies during an altercation in the common room. Got a good right hook on her. You go, girl."

It was one of her old "friends" on Wing 90, which thankfully lightened the atmosphere, and Brell had laughed. Hopefully, that was the end of all the personal interviews, the raking over of the intox and Deep Yellow years. More importantly, the second challenge approached.

*******

Ooma rubbed his legs, which still ached from all the running around in the challenge; had he lost any weight? He sat back on the bed and reflected on his latest studio interview.

"Ooma, a question from the audience."

"Yes, hello Ooma, I enjoyed following you in the first challenge. How are you preparing for the next one?"

"Doing lots of exercise and making sure I eat a balanced diet," Ooma answered, paused, then laughed.

The audience hesitated, unsure if he had answered seriously or not; but laughed along with him anyway.

"We have asked you numerous times about how you got into trouble with the whole drugs thing, and your prison sentence, but is there anything else you want to add?"

Ooma was waiting for this question, as he knew it was coming. Since winning the first challenge, people had read his story. Their attitudes had changed from seeing him as the demon farmer who assisted in killing people, to a foolhardy, intelligent person, who went off the rails. The Beam company had been approached by an Association anti-drug campaigner, who wanted Ooma to give a clear message about illegal drug manufacture.

"Yes Flip, a good question. I was a simple farmer, as you all know, on my family's farm. However, I believed I wanted more. I was seduced by the city and tales of getting off-world, I didn't realise what I had at home. Anyhow I got in with the wrong lot, grew the herbs and that's all I did. However, I knew it was wrong and because of the pure batch produced, it resulted in deaths and illnesses. I cannot undo that, but I am sorry for what I did. I urge anyone thinking of getting involved in drugs, manufacturing, growing, etc to think again. The credits may be good, but the results are bad."

"Thank you Ooma. **"**

"Best of luck in the next challenge."

The audience clapped and cheered loudly.

Later that evening, Ooma shuffled his legs around the bed whilst flicking through some media screens and found his favourite beam news headline.

"A simple farmer from Agrier outwits a Special Forces Space Corpsman." The news and gossip channels enjoyed Ooma's triumph and so did he.

He paused the images and drank some water, feeling cheerful that he could actually see his beloved home world again. He could win all the challenges, couldn't he? Glancing at his media cube, he considered that a champion in the making should study their opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Carac first.

"View. Carac's fight," Ooma said aloud, wondering if someone had managed to smack Carac's smug face?

***

It was an organised standing boxing event, sanctioned by the Overseer. The guards enjoyed it as much as the inmates did, especially with the amount of credits changing hands. A large square line marked out on the communal area floor. A loud cheering, jeering crowd of male inmates had positioned themselves around the square as the guards looked on. It was an unwritten rule that inmates must not cross the line, as it forfeited bets. Carac sat on a chair in one corner of a large square mat set within the marked area, gurgling water whilst being fanned by a lackey. Wearing just a pair of long exercise trousers, his upper body was sheathed in sweat and his white hair glistened. Face red with marks and scuffs from the fight so far, he stood up just before the bell rang. Smiling, he touched his boxing gloves together and stared at his opponent.

_Ding, ding_. The referee motioned for the assistants to move out the way.

Carac's opponent, a large, blubbery man, was not the brightest of boxers, but could pack a punch. They circled each other for a while, the audience cheering and shouting. Some inmates swung punches in the air whilst shouting encouragement at their chosen boxer.

Carac, his smile never leaving his lips, made two quick jabs on the opponent's nose. A heavy punch came back, just grazing his cheek. He ducked back, moving lightly on his toes. Then he darted forward with a sweeping left punch connecting on the side of the fat neck. The opponent rubbed his neck with his boxing glove, growled, and stepped back.

"Referee, referee," men shouted out, unhappy with the neck punch.

Carac put a foot forward and feinted with a right punch. As the opponent moved his head back, Carac hooked his left fist around and made another punch towards the neck. The opponent roared forward. Carac side-stepped him and circled back, both fists at the ready. The opponent breathed hard as he turned and centred himself, gloves up ready. Time was running out; it would come down to the last blows. Carac came at him again with a jab that struck one of the many stomachs, and then an upper cut, which only grazed the chin. The opponent flung out his right fist and connected with Carac's stomach. He stepped back, breathing hard, but held his composure.

They circled each other, the crowd reaching a fever pitch. Men started jostling and pushing. The opponent was tiring and readied himself for a last attack. Holding his feet firm, he enticed Carac into his punching range. Carac steadied his breathing and balanced his toes. He jabbed forward, trying to provoke a response, then jabbed with his left and right, his gloves bouncing off the stomach and cheek. He locked his eyes on the opponent and moved in again, into the punching arc. It was coming as if in slow motion, the right elbow bent, winding up for the final punch. Carac pulled his neck and upper body back, whilst standing still. The opponent moved forward adjusting his position in order to make the punch count. Carac moved his body weight onto his left leg and clenched his stomach.

The punch swung through and scraped against his upper chest. As the opponent followed through, Carac landed a heavy blow on the back of his head. With the force of the punch and the forward motion, the boxer could not stop himself. He fell forward onto the mat, head first, and didn't move. It was all over. The crowd became silent as the referee held his hand up, then pointed it towards Carac.

**"The winner."**

**Carac grinned whilst casting his eyes over the other inmates.**

**Ooma turned the screen off, he had seen enough.** A wave of fear overtook him.

***

Carac spent a lot of time in his studio cell, reviewing his tactics in the first challenge and enjoying the parts of the interview where the experts were praising his performance. He didn't take to the alien world; it was so basic and dirty-looking. Some people leaned on sticks to help them walk, whilst others were pushed around in a wheeled chair. They were still hitting each other with swords, how could people live like that? Brell was trickier than he had expected, she could certainly pack a punch; well, a knee. He must be careful.

***

Kellsa spent most of her time doing press-ups, showering, reading, answering message zaps, and doing more press ups.

Meren, on the other hand, meditated and ate ice cream.

# Chapter 32 – Tinker Holdings Ltd

The Tinker did not enjoy the journey between his restaurant complex and the family compound. It was, as his security people constantly told him, the weak point. He shifted in his seat inside the sleek anti grav transporter. With plenty of space within his compartment, there was enough room for a cosy couch, semi wall of screens, auto chef, and a place for Regg.

The Tinker scanned the displays.

"Stocks good. Twenty points up in Tinker Holdings Ltd. Down five points in Space Toys, usual seasonal dip in sales. Harvests good. Manufacturing output steady. Monthly drug sales has hit the target. No problems reported in Outer sectors. Your message has been read by the Twins."

"Good," the Tinker said and took another stomach tablet. He fiddled with his pocket and then sighed, "I had the jewellery piece for Mrs. Tinker here, I thought."

"Sir, it is secure in the hold with a safekeeping bot. It was left on your side table."

"Yes, thanks, Regg. In a bit of a hurry getting ready to leave."

"Incoming message from Mack. Onscreen now, sir."

Four raiders dressed in black combat clothing from head to toe stood behind two hooded people, each tied into a chair. The room was a bare-walled concrete sub-basement.

"Hi, hello, frag, are we live? Hello, smack the thing. Hello Boss, can you hear me?" Mack said filling the screen with his scarred face as he stared into the beam camera hovering two feet above him.

"You are on camera, loud and clear," Regg said.

"I have them boss, no problems." Mack said, pointing towards the hoods.

"Everything secure upstairs?" the Tinker asked.

"Yes, three others standing guard, we will not be disturbed."

"Good. Set up a display screen, will you."

"Okay, standby."

Mack patted his tech operator on the back, who promptly slung his laser rifle around his back and opened a suitcase that had been propped against the back wall. He set it up two metres in front of the seated pair, and within moments, a screen appeared in mid-air with a larger than life view of the Tinker smiling back.

"Hello, everyone," the Tinker said, showing the small gap between his front teeth. "Mack, would you mind removing the hoods from our two guests?"

Mack bent forward and pulled off the hoods. He then stepped back next to his colleagues, rifles and guns at the ready.

Tinker lent forward in his seat, examining the pair. The man and woman, who were natives of the planet, both wore standard brown business suits. The male stared back at the Tinker, dark red blood dripped at a corner of his mouth and his right eye was swollen.

"So, where are the credits that you took from me?"

The male started stuttering and coughed when slapped on the back of the head by Mack.

"Answer the gentleman." Mack nodded to the Tinker.

"Thank you, Mack." the Tinker said. "He can be very persuasive when necessary."

The woman lifted her head and glanced at the male. "Opened depository account, in child's name. Can get for you. Very sorry. Family first in our culture."

"Tinker first in my culture. Depository details, if you please."

"I have chip code in pocket."

Mack pushed her head down with his elbow whilst searching her jacket pocket. He produced a slim metal tube and held it up towards the screen.

"Validate, it would you?"

Mack gave the chip to his tech operator, who, after a few manipulations on a hand held device, said, "Decrypt code."

In the meantime, the man stared at the woman and shook his head. She started crying.

"The code is?" the Tinker said.

"No. Not giving," the man said.

"It is..." the woman said.

"No," the man said.

"Mack." The Tinker said flatly.

Mack swung the butt of his laser rifle across the man's head. He went limp.

"The code?" Mack said loudly into the ear of the now-trembling woman.

"Daughter name. Pernill. Numbers 4577. My eye scan."

Mack motioned his head towards the tech, who promptly came around the front of the woman and held a scanner towards her eye. There was a confirmation beep, and a few inputs later, he nodded to Mack. "We're in. Two million credits."

"Two million of my credits, indeed."

The Tinker sat back and waved his hand, cutting off the display camera and sound.

"Regg, does that tally?"

Regg's face lit up with the reflection of his green and blue screens. The Tinker waited, steepling his fingers together.

"Cross checked. That is the correct amount from that sector within a thousand credits."

"Enough for a few hats for Mrs. Tinker, eh, Regg?"

Regg smiled and nodded.

The Tinker re-activated the screen.

"Okay, that is correct. Mack, we need to make them disappear, no signs. Sends out a better message. Uncertainty."

"Okay, boss. Quick or slow?"

"Well now, I think we should have a bit of fun. Take away some of the boredom of my flight."

It became silent in the room, except for the crying.

"Now, Mack, who is the newest member of your raiding party?"

Mack's face became quizzical, and then he gave up trying to work out what the Tinker had in mind.

"That will be Katey."

"Good, now, where's Katey?"

A raider put their hands up and lifted off their black face covering. It revealed a young woman with short white hair, a contrast to the black clothing.

"Katey, over to you. The male first, in front of the female," the Tinker said, shuffling back in his chair.

Katey stepped forward, watched on by Mack and the others. The male was slumped forward in his chair, body weight held by the restraints. She slapped the woman, gained eye contact, then pulled out a laser pistol.

_P-zap_. The laser charge thudded into the back of the man's neck, forming a perfect, slightly burned hole.

"Good, quick and clean. Now for the woman," the Tinker said.

Katey, laser in hand, slapped the woman again. The woman tried to stand up in a last desperate attempt to save herself. Katey pushed the top of the woman's head, forcing her back into the seat. Mack briefly locked eyes with the other raiders and smiled.

Katey maintained eye contact with the woman and nodded at her. She then quickly lasered her twice, once in the chest then in the head.

"Fragging double tap," Mack said quietly to the others whilst nodding.

"Good. Now, make them disappear and clean the place up. Good job, Mack."

"Who is this Katey?" the Tinker said once the screen had turned off.

"From Grundine, left Space Corps after one year. Freelance. Financial problems. Recommended to Mack by one of his raiding group."

"Interesting. Insider, undercover, Association agent? Keep tabs, Regg."

"Yes sir."

"Channel to Mrs. Tinker."

A few moments later, Tinker's kitchen filled the screen. Mrs. Tinker was busy ordering all the assistants and bots around. She wore a large pink blouse, animal print leggings, and a small brimmed colour-changing hat perched on her head.

"Honey, nearly home. Happy anniversary," the Tinker said.

"Rocky. I have our special dinner nearly ready. Busy day?" She smiled, her chins wobbling.

"Usual business. Everything finished satisfactorily. I have something special for you."

"Rocky, you old charmer, see you soon." She blew him a kiss.

The Tinker waved back.

Regg glanced up and saw the Tinker sit back, brush his trousers, and order one of his finest fruit drinks. Regg smiled, shook his head slightly, and stared back at his screens.

# Chapter 33 – Sanctuary

Though secure in her chair on stage, Meren sat upright, hands in lap and waited for the next question.

"Meren, you of all our challengers are the one that our audience wants to know more about," Argenta said.

"Thank you," Meren said.

"We'll start with a viewer's question. How different is your studio cell and life now than you are no longer in the Jayzan Sanctuary?'

"There was no auto chef in the Sanctuary! Apart from that, it is very similar." Meren said.

***

Of course, it wasn't similar. Meren's daily routine incarcerated in the Sanctuary varied little over the ten years, except during Jayzan celebrations.

She would wake just as the morning light streamed through the small rectangular window in her cell. The white-washed cell walls were unadorned except for a single effigy of Jayzan. After putting her hands together and bowing towards the effigy, she would pad out of the arched door past a sleeping nun sitting on the chair outside.

The privy, like all facilities in the Sanctuary, was basic, only using local water; no sanitised soft beam technology here. Returning to her cell, she put on clean undergarments and a light brown day robe. After a solo morning meditation, she sat in her place, on her own, at the rear of the refectory. Auto chefs and many types of technology were shunned by The Guild, so a cook, washer, and assistant would serve the monks and nuns at stated meal times.

Meren ate in silence whilst a monk or nun read out a passage of Jayzan Text.

"Whenever I felt lost or in despair, I knew the answer would come from within. Not from technology or the latest gadget, but from the giving of free charitable work for others, the kindness shown to a stranger, or good deeds. Inside us all is a mirror of consciousness, where you can examine everything that has happened to you throughout your entire life." The monk always peered over at Meren when reading something he believed was pertinent to her incarceration.

Afternoons were often spent attending a sewing circle, where Meren was permitted to talk for one hour. With other nuns, Meren would sew Jayzan symbols into the corner of a large white sheet. Often, there would be light talk about the farm and the animals that inhabited the outlying fields. Once a nun mentioned that one of the older pigs was pregnant again.

"There's life in the old ones yet," another nun said, to polite laughter from the group.

They laughed again. The elderly nun sitting in the corner of the room narrowed her eyes, and the group returned to making an occasional comment.

After a solo meditation, Meren would eat a day's end meal and then walk around the square path in the Sanctuary garden. Stretching exercises in her cell followed, with a final visit to the privy before lights out.

***

"Were you allowed any visitors?"

"No visitors, real or virtual. It was a stipulation of my sentence."

"What about your parents? We tried tracking them down, without success."

"I have had no contact with them since I left home to join the Guild at eighteen."

"A lot of eighteen year olds join the Guild, don't they? Often because they are unruly in their teens. Was that true in your case?"

"It is not for me to say."

"So, how did you get by in the Sanctuary? With only low-level technology allowed, you probably didn't have any virtual friends or escape. It must have been lonely."

She did not answer the question at first, but the lack of touching and contact was difficult for Meren throughout the last ten years. As a tactile charity worker, she often put an arm around the shoulder of a child or mother to show support during difficult times. Sometimes, when a new nun became homesick, Meren would talk calmly whilst holding their hand or touching their shoulder. Nothing in Jayzan forbade touching other people for "charitable and wellbeing" reasons, but Meren sensed the monks' disapproval.

Meren remembered her journey from the Sanctuary to the studios. Before she stepped on board the Prison Corps transporter, she gazed up at the sun, letting the warmth play on her face. After being beam cuffed, the guard placed his hand on the back of her arm, guiding her into the cell. She had not been touched like that for a very long time; it was good, a welcome back to society.

"You get used to it," she eventually answered.

***

"How did you stimulate your mind?"

"I discovered an old text in the library from a little known monk, who formerly worked as a neural brain network specialist. He devised a system of dual meditation where a person, with practice, could split their mind in order to meditate on two things at once."

"So what did you think about?"

"I would pray and enjoy memories from my childhood."

"Such as?"

"Dancing. I liked to dance when I was in my teens."

***

"So you lived a life of meditation and purity?"

"Yes."

Actually, when the opportunity arose, Meren stole a piece of fruit from empty plates in the refectory before the servant cleared up. She also took news cubes from the library, which she hid in the end privy cubicle. These cubes had less viewing filters on them as the Guild expected her to read about Jayzan news, events, and texts, and nothing else. She enjoyed reading the news channels from around the Association, even reading about Brell's arrest. After two weeks, she would stamp on the cube and flush it down the privy. Sometimes, when feeling lonelier than normal, she would hide a cube under her robe and take it back to her cell. She read late into the night, ensuring that the screen glow was very low and the guard nun sound asleep. Every now and again, they searched her cell, but she was always careful.

***

"Is it right that a special herb is mixed into the meals of all Jayzan followers to ensure, shall we say, that monks and nuns do not feel any urges?" Argenta said.

"Yes, that is correct. Ghramun Jayzan, the founder, realised that though people were attracted to the simpler life, their urges, as you say, did not stop."

"What happens if you avoid taking the herb?"

"The herb forms part of a daily ritual and is strictly controlled. It would be a serious matter if a follower avoided taking it."

"What about the hair and clothing?"

"Acts of purity. All body hair shaved off, tablets do the trick nowadays, and simple garments that reflected the simplicity and devotion to the Guild."

"How about the charity work?"

Meren's face lit up. "Yes, I enjoyed that the most. You felt as if you were making a difference."

"This brings us to the big question. What happened that night when you killed the monk?"

"I had my reasons and it had to be done. His actions broke the Jayzan code."

"What had the monk done?"

"Things." Meren smiled

"What sort of things?"

"Actions that broke the Jayzan code."

Argenta sat back. From the prompts by Williams, there was an expectation that Meren would reveal everything and they were hoping for a scoop. Much had been written and speculated on by the news channels. She changed tack.

"You are free from The Guild here in the studios, they are not telling you what to do."

Meren nodded.

"So you can tell us about what happened? You know, dish it up." Argenta smiled and wiggled her shoulders.

"I could. But it is all in the past, why is anyone interested? I have moved on. It was ten years ago ..."

***

"Sister Meren. I need to tell you something, but I am afraid," the young nun said.

"There is no one here, sister, what is on your mind?" Meren said.

"Brother Marchantte."

Meren checked no monks or nuns were nearby then held her hand up to stop the young nun talking further.

"Has he hurt you?"

The nun nodded.

"When did this start?"

"Two weeks ago. He visits me at night and ..."

Meren again held her hand up.

The Jayzan Charitable Trust provided Jayzan charity and education to local impoverished people across the Association. Meren and her fellow nuns and monks had been living and working in their large ramshackle collection of buildings for some time.

Brother Marchantte joined them three months ago. The gossip suggested that the Guild often moved him around their charity locations, often at short notice. As serene as she appeared on the outside, Meren seethed with anger. Her thoughts were not in keeping with Jayzan code. She knew what Brother Marchantte was up to with this young girl. How could she forget? It had only been a month ago.

***

The hand pressed over her mouth had awoken Meren. The other trembling hand ran down her body and started pushing her legs apart. A heavy bulk climbed onto the bed, knees pushing hers further apart in a practiced motion. She was pinned down, unable to call out. At this point, she decided it would be best not to resist. Her memory of those few minutes consisted of his heavy body, pain, the bed squeaking, and hot breath smelling of intox. There were awkward silences the next day when someone mentioned that Meren was not as cheery as usual. She mumbled something about having a cold.

Praying continually to Jayzan over the next few days, she expected an answer, but none came. The shame and embarrassment meant she could not tell anyone; she was on her own. Brother Marchantte knew that.

For the next few nights, Meren sat in a chair, waiting for another visit, only sleeping when dawn approached. When he did return, she was waiting for him. Hearing the heavy steps in the corridor, she stood beside the door. It opened silently, and in the shadows, she saw him drunkenly stumble into the room. As he leant in towards the bed, Meren stretched forward and scraped her fingernails down the left side of his face. His hand sprung up to his cheek in shock, then he saw Meren and laughed. She pushed out at him causing him to topple onto the bed and then ran out along a couple of corridors until reaching the night wardens office.

"Are you okay, sister?" Old Brother Jordelle said. He sat hunched over a textbook, his head trembling.

Meren looked at his gnarly hands and smiled.

"Brother I could not sleep, just getting some fresh air."

Brother Jordelle nodded and returned to his text.

The next day at breakfast, Meren felt calmer than the previous few days. Jayzan had not given her an answer; she had found the best response herself.

"Are you okay, brother? The marks on your face?" someone said at morning breakfast.

"I was in the fields and a wild cat was scaring a cow. I lost the fight with the cat," he said, laughing. The group laughed as well. Brother Marchantte was believable, a likeable personality.

He did not approach Meren again.

***

"What is your cell number, sister?" Meren said.

"Fourteen."

"Say your prayers, be peaceful."

Later that night, Meren situated herself inside an airless privy. There was a strong smell of antiseptic burning her nose, but it was next to the young nun's cell. Pressing her ear against the wall every few moments, she heard nothing; perhaps the monk was sleeping tonight. Then, there were some muffled sounds, the bed squeaking and some heavy breathing. She tensed her grip on the long metal pipe that she had taken from the farm outhouse.

Slowly creeping out of the privy, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim corridor light, she stood by the cell door. Door locks were not allowed, so she gently pushed the plain wooden door open a fraction. Through the gap by the hinges, she saw brother Marchantte on top of the nun, grinding his body downwards, an outstretched hand clasped over her mouth. Meren padded, barefoot, three steps inside the room, the grunts, and groans muffling the sound of her footsteps. The sister locked eyes with her for a moment; she was terrified. Deliberately lifting up the pipe, Meren paused before bringing it straight down onto the sweaty head. There was a dull thud and a groan. Two strikes later, he went limp.

The sister pulled his hand off her mouth. "Sister Meren, Sister Meren." She said, turning her head from side to side whilst attempting to push him off.

Meren put the pipe down and pulled at the brother's robe with both hands until he rolled off the bed and bumped onto the floor. Blood flowed from the back of his head and his eyes stared somewhere else. He was dead. Unspoken eye contact passed between the nuns.

"Go get the Abbott," Meren said calmly.

The nun pulled her legs together and stood up, looking down to avoid stepping on the body. Standing for a moment acknowledging that her nightdress and face were covered with blood, she just ran out of the cell. Meren could hear the footsteps receding along the corridor. Remaining by the body, she waited and before long, there was a sound of people approaching the cell.

Meren, arms down by her side, head held high, watched the Abbott's incredulous expression.

***

The fact that the Abbott had opposed Brother Marchantte's posting to their charitable community due to previous questionable behaviour with nuns was not mentioned in the Jayzan Ecclesiastical Court hearing. Neither was the fact that he managed to avoid the effects of the special herb in his food, by using illegal substances. His assault on Meren was deemed a conflict of personalities. The judgement, given by a Jayzan Elder, was just a series of quotations from texts. The Guild tried hushing up the whole episode, but the locals, especially those who had worked with Sister Meren, contacted a local stream news channel. Unfortunately, the media were more interested in the "murdering nun" news headlines, than investigating what happened. Offers by private donors to buy Meren out of the Guild were made, but the sentence forbade it. She would serve the rest of her life in daily penance at the Sanctuary.

***

The studio interview continued, with Argenta becoming increasingly flustered and Meren more relaxed. Clips were shown, more questions put, but Meren added little to what was already known. She spoke about her surprise at being chosen as a challenger, considering the other, stronger people. However, when Argenta told her that the Abbott had contacted Williams before the programme had been officially approved, Meren could only say, "What has happened is history and for others to judge."

Finally, Argenta gave up and thanked Meren for the interview.

***

Later, in the interview debrief, Argenta discussed her frustration with Williams and Flip.

"I could feel the Jayzan hierarchy giving a huge sigh of relief when Meren did not reveal all. Why didn't she say anything?"

"Jayzan thoughts and beliefs are part of her life. This whole studio thing must be a shock to her system. Perhaps she doesn't see the point of the questions," Williams said.

"This is her last chance to put it straight," Argenta said

"Yes, I know," Williams said.

# Chapter 34 – Information received

The evening before the second challenge, Technician 22 finally received information from the Twins regarding the location of the exit doors. Lifting a foot off the floor, he rotated an ankle, and then repeated the exercise with the other. Preferring to stand whilst working, he mulled over the co-ordinates. As for the location of the keys, there was a chance that the clues would change the day before. Probably be Williams' attempts at keeping control over his little secrets. Liberal media types. The co-ordinates matched the holo world schematics, so there was a very good chance the information was correct.

The Twins were obviously feeling the pressure from the Tinker, judging by their increasingly panicky messages regarding the requirement for Carac to win. They probably did not consider that his credits were at stake as well.

He displayed a plan of the challenger's cells and the interlinking corridors. If he could pass over a message before the challenge, there would be less chance of Carac making a fool of himself during the live event. Considering the amount of time and credits wrapped up in helping him secure victory, Technician 22 did not consider Carac as being a grateful or reliable person. However, credits were credits.

Tracing one of his spindly fingers across the plan, he plotted a course from the technical area to Carac's cell, and a possibility emerged.

***

Near midnight, a cell tidy bot woke up, ran a self-check routine, and promptly reported itself as requiring a service. Off it trundled along the corridors, through security doors, and into a repair space on the far side of the service centre. A safety bot stationary in the next space opened its side panel and extended a pincer arm. Once the cell tidy bot had collected the item, it paused, ran a routine, and then started its journey back to the cells.

# Chapter 35 – Challenge Two

"Welcome to Round Two of Convict Challenge." Flip paused and scanned around the audience. "Greetings, everyone." He waited until the cheering stopped.

"Five challengers, three keys, and three clues. This time there are no key boxes to add a little spice to the mix."

Argenta took over from Flip.

"Following our theme, our holo technicians have recreated an old Inhab-47 prison set within a town called London, where prominent people were tortured and executed. Many had their heads chopped off. As always, you can follow the clues and solve them for great prizes."

"First, we have to set the countdown. Everyone. Are you ready?" Argenta placed her hand behind her ear and motioned to the audience as the words flashed on the screen above her.

"It's time to start the countdown to termination." The audience shouted out. The doc bots sprang into action.

"Forty-five minutes only for this challenge. Forty-five minutes," Argenta said pointing towards the countdown clock that started with its usual _bong_.

"Now for the clues. We will read them out and repeat them throughout the challenge. Ready?"

"First one. _Try shopping in the old jewel store_."

"Number two. W _here are the three queens now? Look near the sign outside_ _._ "

"Number three. _The arbalist by the old Police Corps tower._ "

"And finally, listen carefully, this may help you find the exit. _The Queen lived here or next door_."

"We provided the challengers with a copy of the clues, and there are some maps inside the world. Whilst our challengers are doing a bit of research, we will take our one and only break during this programme. Be right back."

***

Mayleth and Ayleth chose to watch events from their office, far removed from the studio. With her current levels of stress, Mayleth preferred the privacy with her brother. If they both visited the live floor during the Challenge, she knew they would just get in the way. Williams' body language would change, sitting upright and choosing his words more carefully. Mayleth was used to people's reactions to her and her brother. That is why she preferred virtual assistants and bots; they can be programmed not to judge.

She had agreed with Williams about the length of the second challenge; a big build-up ensuring everyone watched on live beam. Advertisers were falling over themselves to get involved, many showing the programme within holo advert display frames. Programme replays and challenger interviews could be spread across numerous commercial breaks, so it was all building up nicely for the longer third challenge. The big studio bosses were very happy, now that approval ratings and commercial income had exceeded expectations.

The deaths were not her taste. She had once hosted a termination party, where drinks and nibbles were on offer whilst invited guests viewed a series of live convict terminations. It was the fashionable thing to do at the time, but she didn't enjoy it. Her brother took bets on how long it would take the unfortunate convict to enter the chamber, make his or her last speech, be terminated, and then formally pronounced dead. Mayleth hid her feelings as her brother laughed, cheered, and guffawed his way through the executions with his male friends. Of course, he lost more credits than he won, as the Tinker knew very well. Perhaps after this challenge, she would breathe in one of Ayleth's "medical" sprays to help her relax.

***

Brune sat upright within his security dome, completing security sweeps of the landing areas, hangars, and general outside areas of the whole facility. He monitored several Corps officers on patrol to check they were acting professionally and diligently, in line with his initial briefing.

"Do not lessen your attention because you are patrolling a studio where they are hosting a game show. We must be alert to the fact that criminals may try to liberate one of the inmates or get a weapon through to them. Prison Corps are ensuring that the inmates do not escape or take a hostage. Ensure you perform equipment checks and keep your uniform smart as per regulations."

His door sensor chimed.

"Enter."

The hard beam door faded. Scrivvens appeared, his second in command. Though fresh-faced, he was keen and had picked up a lot of experience over the years. He also kept his uniform clean.

"Sir, all correct, I conducted a security check outside the studios and hub areas myself."

"Thank you, Scrivvens." Brune glanced back towards his screens.

"Has it started yet, sir?"

Brune leaned forward, as if to hide the fact that one of his security screens was showing the live challenge.

"They have just read the clues. Who do you think will win?" Brune said.

"Well, sir, me and the team have been betting on a winner and a loser."

Brune considered this. Betting was not something that he enjoyed doing. Hunting, yes, but not betting.

"Have a lot of the officers and staff put bets on the game?"

Scrivvens shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

"It is quite popular, sir."

"Who are the credits on?"

"Carac." He inspected the floor again, unsure whether to speak.

"Is he the favourite?"

"He is the gamblers favourite."

"Stand firm, Scrivvens. How so?"

"Well sir, the big gamblers back home have put all their credits on him to win. There are good betting odds on the other four, but it has not attracted many punters. Sir."

"Scrivvens, you obviously have a lot of knowledge about gambling. Make sure all Corps and security staff know it is just for fun and that it does not interfere with their work. Understood?"

"Understood. Sir." Scrivvens flushed.

After Scrivvens left, Brune sat back in his chair and wrinkled his forehead. He had not thought about the gambling side of things. It was just a game show with a random result, wasn't it? There would be regulators involved to monitor the show, and surely the beam studio would be playing fair, according to the rules. An inmate could easily run out of time, not find a key, or get lost, and bam that's it. But what if they did get help? He stared back at the screens, frowning.

***

Brell focussed fully on researching the clues. She gave herself ten minutes for research, then adding time for getting into the world, left roughly thirty minutes for finding a key and getting out. Having examined a Tower of London map, she saw that it was within a compact area. With no key box, someone could get more than one key; everyone will be alert.

First, she scanned the map to see if any locations jumped out at her. Of course, the Police Corps clue was interesting, but it didn't make much sense at the moment. She followed the onscreen almanac regarding London police history. Peelers, London police, and a reference to parish constables. Constables, patrolling police. Glancing back at the map, there was a Constable Tower. _The arbalist by the old Police Corps tower._ She knew that arbalist meant arc beam bowman, it was an ancient Elytian word. The Police Corps version was a heavyweight weapon used mainly during Police Corps raids. Brell had used one during a security demonstration. Once the auto tightener has pulled a span of stringed beams back, the energy bolt is placed in the stock. After the self-targeting system locks on, it can be fired through any type of wall. Very useful for taking out power conduits or individuals in a basement. A powerful weapon, but not for everyday use.

The Constable Tower was definitely worth a look, but what if someone got there before her? She acknowledged the time and gave herself five more minutes. It was pointless just running around the holo world. Brookko had shown that.

Three queens next. _W_ _here are the three queens now? Look near the sign outside_ _._ Executions were a theme, ha, ha Mr. Williams, so she searched on queens and executions at the Tower of London, viewing images of where the executions took place. The sign must be around the grassy area. The last sentence regarding the Queen's House must be something to do with the exit. Have to work that out on the move or follow Ooma. Her live feed display had not shown anyone entering the Tower. Were they waiting for someone to make the first move? Time to get on with it.

***

With twenty-eight minutes left on the clock, Brell entered the world. Immediately in front of her were two round, grey towers with an arched entranceway. Whilst walking underneath the towers, she realised that the walls were thick for protection. Old stone, basic building methods, but of no use against Police Corps weapons. Must have been impregnable for any Inhab-47 attackers trying to get in. The cobbled stone pathway felt hard on her soft prison shoes, and a few metres up on the right was a low wall. A large black gate was set back from it with a pool of water underneath.

"Traitors' Gate," she read aloud.

Taking a paper map from a pile stacked against the wall, she tried to orientate herself. It was a jumble of buildings, towers and walkways. Groups of people walked around her, oblivious to her orange jumpsuit. Orange coloured jump suit? No idea.

She heard loud blasts of an instrument and then a heavy clanking sound. Three men in colourful clothing, blowing long metal tubes, strode up from where she had entered the world. Behind them were six people, each encased within a metal-plated protective body. Their face helmets had small slits near the eyes. Following on, was a stout man wearing an elaborately embroidered gold jacket, baggy shorts, and leg stockings. He had a ginger beard, serious face, and a yellow metal crown on his head. Accompanying him were six women wearing long flowing dresses that had a tight bodice above the waist and wide sleeves. Their headdresses were rounded or box shaped and varied in colour like their dresses. The strange group turned and went under an arch into the inner area.

Another Williams thing, probably something to do with the history of this place. As interesting as the sight may be, it was a distraction from finding a key. With no sign of the others, Brell studied her map and ran off along the sidewall towards the Constable Tower.

***

Ooma and Meren had arrived separately just after Brell had gone off in search of the Constable Tower. Meren had become confused in her research, and though she wouldn't admit it, she had entered the world not long after Brell and just stepped to one side of the main entrance. Anyone watching carefully would have seen her face relax when Ooma entered the world; it seemed obvious she did not want to face the other two. His confident walk suggested that he had a good idea about the key locations and the exit door.

***

Kellsa, frustrated at her research attempts, defaulted to strategy number one. Follow one of the soft ones and take the key off them by whatever means. Waiting until fatty and the nun had entered the world, she made her move. Pacing herself steadily in amongst the crowd, she navigated herself towards the white tower building, which was roughly in the middle of the tower buildings. Its central location ideal for cover.

***

Carac strutted into the Tower, amused at all the people around him. Having performed a few searches on the clues, he actually had an idea where one of the keys may be. The fighter and blue skin would be tricky; best to let the fat one or that impossibly relaxed nun find a key and then use a bit of persuasion. Must scope out the exit doors first.

***

Brune continued to churn over what Scrivvens had said about gambling. After their encounter with Carac all those years ago, he remembered Brell talking about gut instinct, not rules and regulations. He activated his comm implant.

"Scrivvens, can you come to my office, please." Brune stepped across to a closet, and put on his dress uniform jacket. He was brushing it down as Scrivvens arrived.

"Monitor the internal and external areas, I'm going on patrol to check the studio areas."

"Yes, sir." Scrivvens sat down at the displays and synched his implants with the console so as not to miss any security warnings.

Brune realised that perhaps a visit to the studio during the show would not be a bad thing; keep all the Corps and security staff on their toes. Upon entering the live area, a staff member motioned for him to remain quiet. He nodded and stepped slowly behind the audience, trying not to bump into anything. Argenta and Flip were standing centre stage, giving a running commentary, whilst the screens relayed all the live action.

Continuing further into the rear area, he saw Williams at work in his director's room. It was a hive of activity, screens, gesticulation, and talking loudly. The adjacent room contained Technician 22's empire. He could see the back of Technician 22's grey head as he stooped over his screens, fingers flying left and right, screens flicking from one thing to another. Brune had never seen so many screens in one room, more than at major security events. The live action showed Brell standing in front of a stone-bricked entranceway eyeing up a sign. Brune had trouble understanding what he saw on Inhab-47, what with its basic alien equipment, buildings, technology, and languages. There appeared to be little in the way of rules and regulations.

Brell was working her hands around a man dressed in plain, stained clothing with a metal helmet on his head. He held a length of wood with a clumsy bow-shaped contraption attached. Taking aim, he pulled on a lever, and _thunk_ it fired a bolt. The man then put the end of the bow down under his feet and started pulling back on the fibres. At this point, Brell put her hand inside a small bag attached to the shooter's belt and, judging by her smile, she must have found a key. Despite the years in prison, her mind had not shut down. Well done.

As he moved his eyes off Brell, he saw Technician 22 pause, his body stiffening, and then there was another flurry of fingers.

Brune watched the live screens for a couple more minutes, and then thought about where he would patrol next. Perhaps back to his security dome for a cup of warm Danuth tea. Just as he was walking away, he glanced back at a live screen. A group of holos, one behind the other, strode out of the Towers main gate. Wearing long black jackets embroidered with bright red markings and Inhab-47 letters, a belt, trousers, and a black and red brimmed hat, they looked ridiculous. Their faces expressionless, they were the security bots.

Brune reflected that it was like sending in reinforcements at a security event. Did Technician 22's flurry of activity cause the security bots to appear? He had mixed feelings regarding the Technician. His kind were remote and unemotional; it was difficult to tell whether they told the truth or not. He scratched his chin. They have little rules within the game show. It was "all about the audience" as Williams often said during meetings. They were, after all, convicted murderers.

***

"Brell has the first key," Argenta said directly to the audience, who cheered and clapped.

"Come on, Kellsa."

"Brell is looking for the exit, could she be the first one back to the studio?" Argenta said.

# Chapter 36 – By the White Tower

Kellsa sat on a bench facing towards the grass area, with the White Tower behind her. There were plenty of holos walking about or standing around in front of her. A couple of youths walked past and, reaching forward, she ripped the black cloaks off both of them. They were wearing black jackets with puffy sleeves, black hosiery leg coverings, and had blond hair. Wrapping herself in the cloaks to obscure the orange jumpsuit, she watched the movements of the other challengers.

Her eyes played over the environment, seeking out areas in the shadows and monitoring crowd movements. Also, it would be wise to pick up something solid for a weapon. Kellsa had used her bare hands before, but preferred technology, however basic.

There were some audience-pleasing activities for the idiots that chose to watch the show. Colourfully clad holos with puffy three-cornered hats were throwing small balls in the air and catching them. Two people were fighting, one using a metal blade, the other a long spiked pole. If the sword swingers were hard holos or the swords were real artefacts, as Williams put it, she might be in business. There was something going on a little further into the green grass area; holos were collecting around a wooden block.

She folded her arms when Ooma and Meren came into view near the grassy area; from their body language and that they were looking around suggested that they had not found a key. Missy Police Corps was somewhere else, and Carac had wandered past recently, appearing too relaxed. At one point, he slowed his pace, and though she couldn't quite see exactly where, he definitely stared towards the dwellings in the far corner. Then his pace quickened and he went past her, mixing in with a long queue of people outside a large rectangular building. Glancing at the sky, the countdown showed plenty of time for a quick key grab and then find the exit. The doors where Carac had just looked was worth remembering.

***

Ooma had noticed Meren following behind. Though sure that neither of them would be capable of harming the other, he was determined to get a key. How the next few minutes played out would be anyone's guess.

After walking past Traitors' Gate he took the wrong left turn and realised that he had gone too far, so doubled back. Meren was standing by the arched entrance, so he just smiled at her. She waited and then followed him again. He felt confident about the "three queens" clue, now that there was a high wall on one side and the White Tower on the other. He stopped as the grass area came into view over to his left.

A group of people, some dressed in armour, stood by a thick wooden block. Whilst a man read aloud from a small book, a woman in a long dress stepped forward. She knelt down on her knees without stress or fuss and placed her neck on the block. A man wearing a black mask, standing beside her, swung a long axe backwards, and then pulled it straight down onto her neck. Her head rolled onto the ground. Everything was cleared up by men and women dressed in servant clothing, Ooma presumed. A few moments later, another woman stepped forward and the scene was re-enacted. As shocking as it was for Ooma, a quick glance to the sky drove him on. Near the beheading block and to one side of the main square area there was a building with high arched windows along its side and a set of white bricks on each corner.

"The Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula," Ooma said in a loud voice. "That's where the three queens were buried."

Meren stepped out from behind a group of people.

"Hello," Meren said.

"Saw you as soon as I got in here. You are not very good at hiding much, are you?"

"Not really."

"Okay, so the queens were buried in that religious building," Ooma said.

"Buried?" Meren said, "a Guild of Jayzan member would seek vaporisation by the sun at midday."

"Really? We like to bury our people in the fields so that their spirits ensure a bountiful harvest."

"I am denied the right to vaporisation, due to my deeds," Meren said whilst staring at the religious building.

"Look near the sign," Ooma said, re-reading the clue, moving the subject back to the present. "There?"

A short walk led them to a black signboard near a tree. Meren bent down and poked around on the ground behind the sign and the tree. Ooma put his thumbs in his belt and paced around the area. Nothing on the back of the sign or on the tree. He gazed across the grassy area. Perhaps there is another signpost.

"Got it," Meren said, holding up the key. She smiled and held it towards Ooma.

He picked up the key and felt its weight. For all of his desire to win, when he saw the expression on her face, he could not bring himself to snatch it off her. He dropped the key back into her palm.

"You must get to the exit. It's over there," he said pointing at a line of small houses. "That's the Queen's House, the large black door, try that one first or the blue doors next to it."

Ooma had not slept much, but had awoken realising that today he would win. Whilst lacking aggression, he made up for it in quick research and clue solving. He breathed in the pleasurable smell of cut grass; it took him back to early harvesting on his home world. His father would be doing his daily maintenance routines with the bots checking equipment and machines. "Bringing in the harvest", he would say.

Meren was talking, but he had not been listening to her. Some security bots had arrived and instead of continuing walking around, they formed a line and stood still. Had she seen something else? He followed her gaze back across the edge of the grass area; Brell was there, studying the area intently. Her pale blue skin, black hair and orange jump suit were unmistakable. Then Kellsa appeared.

***

Carac had stayed inside the moving queue of people. He found he could stay in the same position, as the holo people walked through and around him. It was enough to take the eye off his stupid orange suit. He watched Ooma and Meren bumbling about, but importantly, it appeared that they had found a key. He watched with a mixture of relief and growing confidence. Yes, the nun must have a key by the way she looked at something in her hand and then placed it in her pocket. Also, she had started walking in the direction of the exit door. He ignored the line of security bots that had just appeared.

This was a gift. Follow her, then a quick punch, get the key, saunter into the exit, and watch these idiots fight it out from the comfort of the studio.

He hunched down a little as he left the queue, but stopped suddenly when Ooma's large bulk waddled in front of him. Ooma was so intent on where he was going that he didn't notice Carac. Where is he going? Meren had stopped as well. Carac was confused. He nearly had this thing sorted, but something had changed. Where was Kellsa?

He walked a few metres out into the open to see if anything was happening. Across in the grassy area, Kellsa appeared to be attacking Brell. Hopefully, they would take each other out of the Challenge. Pity he didn't get the chance to meet Brell for one last time.

Meren was now running over towards them. Stupid woman with concern for others, always a weakness. He rubbed his nose. Ooma it is then. He turned around and went after the fat one.

***

Mayleth didn't realise that she had been squeezing her fingernails into the palm of her hand. The drink in the other hand had gone cold, and she had a growing feeling of dread. Carac was in danger of losing this thing. Her thoughts passed between a happy Tinker, an unhappy Tinker or being led away by Police Corps. She sent a quick message to Technician 22.

***

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.

# Chapter 37 – Traitors' Gate

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.

# Chapter 38 – You know your problem?

"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."

***

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."

# Chapter 39 – It's all going well

"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 ..."

"Well, I'm dreaming of sitting on one of the leisure planets on a beach by the sea with personal services on tap. Looking forward to it ..."

"Will Brell win? No chance. She is a weak substance abuser. Look at her in the Rome world; first thing she did was get drunk. Doesn't stand a chance against me. The nun, why does she bother to think about starting the challenge? How did she get this far?"

"Thank you for your insights. Well, that's Carac, everyone," Flip said to the audience.

***

Brell got all her answers during a debrief interview which had been anticipated for the last three days by hundreds of millions of people. Buoyant by the news that audience numbers had doubled during the second challenge, Flip and Argenta started in an upbeat fashion.

"Well, Brell, you are through into the final. You could be free soon."

The sessions took all day, what with advertising breaks, refreshments and technical breaks. Brell did her best, her emotions ranging from relief to anger. Argenta paused before showing Ooma's last moments. After being kicked by Carac, Ooma eventually got to his feet. The shock and despair that his key had gone dawned on his dirt-covered face. For the last four minutes of his life, he stumbled around, giving Kellsa's body a wide berth, as he visited the exit doors. As he glanced continually at the countdown clock, he started saying something about being sorry but sunk to the ground, his body turning grey as it was consumed by the "furnace".

She was fascinated by watching the action in ultra-slow motion and how the axe had nearly severed her neck. Just at the moment that Kellsa swung the axe, Brell had quickened her pace a fraction on seeing the dwellings. The axe glanced off the back of her head and sliced deeply into her flesh and shoulder bones.

The actions of Meren made her very humble. Here on a game show where winner takes all, a fellow challenger saved her after another one tried killing her. She tensed her fists when they replayed Carac's arrival into the studio. He triumphantly smiled and waved at the studio audience, then stood still, and bowed.

Flip asked about how she had first met Carac.

"Is it right that Carac was wrongfully arrested?"

"That's not quite right. He was drunk in charge of a transporter, it was a technicality."

"He sent you messages of support when you were arrested, didn't he?"

"No, not really. They were messages, but I threw them away."

"But he was someone that you wanted to kill, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He is someone who gets away with everything, but fortunately he got convicted of the mining thing."

"He made straight for you on the first challenge."

"Yes, that's the sort of person he is. Has a thing about blue women, I think. I wouldn't believe anything he says. He has a dark history."

"Your mother says ..."

And so it went on for a few more body-squirming minutes. The presenters were clearly trying to increase the aggravation factors between her and Carac. She found that she didn't want to talk about him, it only opened old thoughts, none of which were positive. Thankfully, they changed tack and asked her about Ooma.

***

"We hope to have the locations soon, but can't rely on the information. Williams being stubborn. Concerned that attempts to assist Carac will be noticed by Williams (and the audience). Options?"

On the evening before the last challenge, Technician 22 would have raised his eyebrows if he had any. He rotated his ankles and wrists a few times as he tested an instruction routine. It was aimed at slowing Brell down, but not fatally; that would be too much of a risk, the show could be cancelled or delayed. The nun was not worth worrying about.

Since the production meeting, the Twins re-considered the sniper and hunter options, now believing it was too risky. Instead, they preferred the long game, where opportunities could be created for Carac to be given some hints, perhaps supported by the security bots. He was in the process of making them more "independent" anyway.

The Twins were worried that if Williams, let alone others, found out about any "security breaches" or assistance given to a challenger, there would serious problems.

Technician 22 could voice what the Twins could not. If Williams became incapacitated and out of the way, then no one in the studios could or would interfere. Also, he was finalising methods of covertly sending messages to Carac during the challenge.

" _All options considered. Everything will be taken care of,"_ he replied.

***

"Any regrets?" Brell said.

"In life, perhaps. About the murder of the monk, no," Meren said.

"How so?"

"He deserved it. He was a humble, charitable monk during the day and a sexual predator at night. Attacking me and the other nuns, he needed stopping, so I hit him on the head with a metal pole as he was assaulting one of the younger nuns."

"You have a thing about hitting people on the head," Brell said. "Do you think about it much, now?"

"Not really."

"Don't you think about what you could have done in life?"

"I had a normal life until eighteen, when my parents sent me to the Guild. I was a bit of a free spirit, creeping out from home to attend the local dances." Meren's eyes became distant.

"Boys?" Brell said, a slight grin on her face.

"Perhaps." Meren smiled and raised a bald eyebrow back.

Brell took a sip of water.

"Any regrets yourself, Brell?" Meren said.

"Most things. Where do I start? I destroyed a family and deserved prison. I cannot do or say anything to undo what happened. The man who died was a financier for a large criminal gang. Doesn't make it any better, but he lived each day at a time apparently. I destroyed myself years before that. I threw it all away, a family, everything."

"You have more strength than you think," Meren said.

Brell drew comfort from Meren's eye contact. A stillness was there, an understanding deep inside those eyes. How could they compete against each other?

A guard walked in.

"Well, see you tomorrow, I suppose," Brell said finally.

***

As Brell walked into her cell, she nearly tripped over the stationary cell tidy bot. It came to life and slid underneath the bed, emitting a small beep. Bending down, she saw a small flap opening in its side and a small bottle clunked onto the floor. It then took itself off through a small disengaged beam "hole" in the cell door and out into the corridor.

Brell reached her arm in and grasped the bottle. She immediately went and sat on the privy and, hunching over, opened her hand.

It was a small bottle of Deep Yellow.

# Chapter 40 – Final Challenge

"Elytia Holo Beamcasting Company, proudly present, the final of Convict Challenge." A deep voice announced over programme highlights of the previous two challenges.

"Welcome, everyone, to the final challenge. Do not go anywhere for the next six hours. Where better to start than in one of Inhab-47's most feared prisons, Alcatraz. It housed some of the most dangerous and vile prisoners on the planet."

An aerial view of San Francisco appeared on screen. The camera swept over the city, across the stretch of water, and around the prison. After a brief fade, an image appeared of a long corridor with rows of cells on each side and two upper levels.

Flip and Argenta stood in the middle of the corridor, facing towards some cells, waiting for their cue. Both were dressed in contrasting coloured suits, without glitter this time, in an attempt to look more serious. Carac, Meren, and Brell were sitting in separate cells, dressed in black and white hooped patterned shirts and trousers. Guards and doc bots hovered around the side of the cells. The other cells in the wing were occupied by prisoners either sitting on a bed or standing up, holding onto the bars looking outwards. They were a mixture of ages and menace, all wearing the same black and white uniform. The quiet background murmur of voices was set at a low volume so that Flip and Argenta were audible.

"Only one key remains, only one challenger can make it out alive." Flip and Argenta took turns in speaking, each one trying to sound more dramatic than the other.

"Being the final challenge, we have changed things. There is one clue, but six worlds, including the one we start in. Also gaol time has been increased to thirty minutes."

"A Senior Assizes Judge is in the studio ready to grant the winner their freedom." At this, a live screen image appeared of an elderly man wearing a black suit, sitting bolt upright in a private office, reading some files.

"Now, don't forget you can experience Alcatraz for yourself as well as the other worlds being used today. See if you can solve the clue. Visit Elytia Beamcasting's beam and stream sites for more details."

"Flip, you know I did the Alcatraz surround experience, and I must say it was scary and exciting at the same time. It really stayed with me. Well worth doing."

"Thank you, Argenta, I will certainly check it out. Here is our director Williams to tell us a little bit about the worlds."

Williams appeared on the main screen, standing inside the Living Room, wearing one of his by now, signature short sleeved shirts, grey trousers, and red shoes.

"Well, here is the key, the one and only key that will give the finder their freedom. Which world will it be in?"

Standing by one of the doors, he pressed a floating holo button, and a menu option appeared.

"Unlike the previous two challenges where we only needed one door, today there is a selection of holo worlds. They are Washington, Paris, Las Vegas, Bangkok and Moscow. Once they have entered one of those worlds, the door shuts behind them; they cannot return to the Living Room. One decision, one door." He motioned around the room with his arms. "However, San Francisco is a free world, meaning that if anyone enters the Living Room, hesitates, they can return back inside to continue any research. But the clue could also apply to San Francisco." He tapped on the door marked San Francisco.

"Technically, before anyone asks, we have the five worlds ready and waiting. After making a selection, there is a brief pause whilst the world is enlivened. There are three doors available, one for each challenger. What if they pick the same world? Simple; a narrow corridor is created which takes the challenger around and into their selected world."

He walked back into the centre of the Living Room.

"We have added some hotel-style rooms with door locks in all of the worlds, so that the challengers can be safe from each other for a while. We don't want them to kill each other straight away." He pause and smiled, his face showing signs of weariness. "Watch for the transporters and vehicles; some of them are genuinely from Inhab-47, by the way, we just changed the engines. Everything you see is based on the alien world. You may not even realise what is 'real' or a made-up re-enactment."

He stood over by the image with yellow flowers.

"But which world will hold the real key?" He held a key up towards a camera.

"Thanks Williams. The holo worlds are waiting. Now everyone knows what time it is?" Flip looked up at the screen showing the audience.

"Well?"

"It's time to start the countdown to termination!" The audience all chanted "countdown to termination" together.

Flip waved his hand, and a guard standing at the end of the line of cells pulled a lever up and down and the three cell doors slid open. The doc bots slipped inside to set the timer implants. A large countdown clock appeared on a screen: six hours.

"The clock has started, it's time for the clue, everyone ready?" He paused for a moment.

" _The Obelisk and the King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise_."

He repeated the clue and then gave each convict a copy of the clue with a list of the holo world locations.

"That's the clue. There are no research facilities within this prison; the challengers will need to find an Inhab-47 image device, many of which have been placed around San Francisco city. For ease, we have provided a short bridge for them to walk onto the mainland. If you look at our original recordings, you will see that a boat trip is required."

"We will tell you one thing," Flip said, leaning over towards the challengers, "the door back to the Living Room is at the end of this cell block. It's marked 'Recreational Area.'" He pointed to one end of the corridor.

***

Brell yawned as the countdown started, but realising she needed to get her body and mind moving, she immediately left the cell and looked around for a weapon, but nothing came into reach. Flip and Argenta took a large step backwards, towards the guards, in readiness for their return to the safety of the studio. Best to get away from the prison, into the city and disappear. San Francisco was where they had previously walked around during their acclimatisation, so should not be too much of a shock.

As Brell went along the corridor, she heard Carac say, "See you later." She didn't speak to Meren. As she headed towards the end of the cellblock, some of the cell occupants were glaring at her whilst grasping the cell bars. Creepy. This must be a hell of place for a prisoner; made Wing 90 seem like luxury apartments.

Working her way through various doors and offices whilst checking behind her for Carac, she made it outside. There were craggy rocks on each side of the island and a narrow bridge at the end of a paved area. The city of San Francisco appeared on the horizon, with its mild slopes and variety of buildings. She stepped onto the bridge.

***

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.

# Chapter 41 – On the streets

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.

# Chapter 42 – It's only a gameshow

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.

It was certainly an unexpected turn of events, here in a beam studio office during a live show. Brune had plenty of experience of death, homicide, suicide, and robocide, so was not fazed by the investigation ahead. He would appraise his boss later, after the Challenge was over.

"Who found him?"

"The virtual assistant of a studio director raised the alarm. Security alerted Police Corps, who forced entry inside," Scrivvens said.

"So the room and body are untouched?"

"Yes, apart from the Corps officer and a doc bot, everyone else stayed out in the corridor. As the life signs scanner showed negative, the body has not been moved."

"Good."

Brune stood by the doorway, his bulk practically filling the whole doorframe. He kept still, just moving his head as he examined the scene in silence. It certainly lacked organisation and order. Empty intox bottles on a table in amongst solid holo books piled on top of each other. A square black box rested on top of a work desk. It had three rows of push buttons on its front and a rounded handle mounted on top. A black curly wire connected the handle to the box. Could this be anything to do with it? The shelves were stuffed with objects, none of which Brune could discern whether they were from Association planets or Inhab-47. He shook his head. How can someone be so untidy?

Williams wore a colourful shirt, trousers, and a string of wooden beads around his neck. He was sprawled face down on the floor as if he had fallen forward from sitting on the cot. His right arm underneath his chest, there were no marks or anything unusual apparent on clothing or skin.

"Scrivvens, prepare the scanner."

Brune stepped out into the corridor and joined Scrivvens, who opened an oblong case marked "Crime Scene Examination" in faded letters. Taking out what resembled a silver ball, he placed it into a dish within the case. A holo screen appeared, displaying various buttons, sliders, and graphics. Once programmed and thrown up in the air, the minute jets held its position. After self-calibration, the ball flew slowly along an invisible set of grids lines around Williams' office, performing a deep scan. He did this twice more and, after clearing the area of people, the ball was set free to roam along the corridors adjoining the office.

Brune watched the scanning process over Scrivvens' shoulder.

"He had a holo assistant. Do we know where this would have been controlled?" Brune asked.

"Yes, sir, there is a console link near his desk and on his comm implants."

"Have you got experience investigating holo assistants?"

"I've got some experience. I did a posting on Rhyll where you spent more time with holos than real people. I learned some techniques there, so when the scan is finished, I will examine the console. There are plenty of technicians here that could help."

"No, we keep this in house."

"Yes, sir. I've also tasked Corps officers to find witnesses and review the security streams. Do you think this is connected to the challenge?"

Brune rubbed his chin. "Yes. But we keep this to ourselves, okay?" he said, lowering his voice.

Scrivvens nodded, "Yes sir."

"When finished, get the body to the hospital for a death scan. I'll go and see the Twins."

Brune left the area. Definitely connected, but who and why?

***

The Twins were in a nearby office waiting for Brune to give them an update. Thankfully, he considered, their virtual assistants were not present. They were creepier than real people.

"What happened?" Mayleth said.

"Well, we will investigate to see if there are any suspicious circumstances. Was he in good health, do you know?" Brune said.

"Yes, as far as we know. He used to smoke, disgusting habit, of course but healthy weed, I think," Mayleth said.

Brune coughed into the back of his hand.

"Did he have any relatives, birth, life, marriage, virtual, or bot partner?"

"Not that we know about. He originated from a common birthing pool." Mayleth pursed her lips.

"Okay, we'll check central records. Need to know where to send his stuff."

"This won't affect the show, will it?" Ayleth said.

"My orders are to not interfere with the show. The death appears to have happened since the challenge started. We are going to carry out an investigation as per regulations."

After Brune left, the Twins left the office to appoint their new director.

***

Carac realised that he had rattled Brell. Shame their transporter had not crashed with both of them in it; would have left him on his own then. He nearly caught the nun, but she was faster than he first thought and had escaped the building through an exit door. Not seeing the door, he had run further into the building and fell over a few of the exhibits inside. One of which was a body wrapped in bandages, which became dust by the time he had finished with it. At least he could have reduced the competition to one. The nun was trickier than he gave her credit and should not be underestimated. As his anger subsided, he spent a while brushing his trousers and returned to the street. There, of all things, were the two of them trying to drive away.

He rubbed both hands through his sweaty hair then wiped them down his trouser legs. Back to the Challenge. He had seen various places to sit in back up by the bridge to Alcatraz. There must be one with an auto chef and a research machine. If it had a window, he could sit and wait for one of the women to walk back towards the bridge. He might even do some research himself, might get lucky. He almost laughed.

***

Ayleth and Mayleth watched their bank of holo screens with the lights dimmed. The new director was now in charge and doing a good job. Argenta and Flip were shocked but professional; the promises of extra credits and other beamcast opportunities seemed to help. All staff knew what had happened, and the gossip suggested it was natural causes, due to overwork, intox, and smoke weed intake. It had shocked everyone, but as it happened during a live show, staff could not just stop what they were doing.

"Work now, we'll celebrate Williams's life when it's all finished. Big party. Extra credits. The show must go on," the managers said.

Mayleth informed the Tinker, but received no reply. She would wait a while before asking Williams' replacement for the location of the real key. Ayleth, lately, would never be far from one of his special inhalers and today was no exception. Mayleth knew that the next few hours would be nerve shredding. Hopefully, the Corps Commander would not be too thorough.

***

Having monitored the state of the holo worlds, backgrounds, soft and hard holo people, and transporters, Technician 22 sat back and considered his next move. Pulling up another screen, he worked through some changes to the security bots programming. As a backup, just in case. His thoughts strayed for a moment onto what he would do with his Tinker-sponsored retirement fund. The "by the rules" Corps Commander would spend so long investigating Williams' death, he would be half way across the galaxy by the time they made any conclusions.

***

Brell managed to drive the transporter a couple of blocks away from Carac. She narrowly missed hitting a ground transporter full of people whilst, it seemed, that her driving improved the more she shouted "Frag it" or "Frag you." Nearly missing the large trundling vehicle in the middle of the road, she avoided this by shouting "Fotting bastard transporter."

Meren sat looking out of the window, hands resting on her lap. "Your swearing abilities have got better since driving," she said.

"Do you know any swear words?" Brell said, not taking her eyes off the road.

"Well, I heard some young men, the holos, swearing at each other just now on the pier."

"What were they saying?"

"Your mother is a fucker, something like that."

Brell braked hard to avoid some vehicles that raced across an intersection that had some coloured lights overhead.

"Your mother is a fucker," Meren said loudly out of her window.

"That's it, good girl," Brell said. "Fragging transporter drivers, what are the fragging Police Corps doing about it?"

Happy enough distance had been put between themselves and Carac, they looked around for a place to start their research.

"There." Meren said, pointing towards a large multi floored building with a signboard over its wide entrance that read, "Hotel California".

"A hotel. Safe, lockable room inside, perhaps?"

"Okay, will pull over, hang on." Brell knew the drill and parked up a side street, in case Carac spotted their vehicle outside the hotel.

The hotel foyer was a grand affair; wood panelling, paintings, smell of leather, and plush seats like some old pre beam stream production. Two people with fixed grins were standing behind a semi-circular desk.

"A room," Brell said, "with an auto chef and one of those computer things you call it."

"And a window," Meren said. Brell exchanged a glance with her.

"Yes, a window," Brell said.

"Room 101," The female said.

"Where do we go?"

"Room 101."

There were a few people in the foyer; a couple sitting on a seat reading from a large paper, a male constantly looking at his watch, and a hotel worker, judging by the uniform, idly standing by the front entrance. Brell noticed two men walking up the main staircase; perhaps that's where the rooms were.

They followed the men and found themselves in a dark corridor. The room numbers were clearly signposted, and soon they were inside. The large room had a king size bed, ensuite bathroom, a sofa, an old computer thingy, and a kitchenette with an auto chef.

"Do you think the doors are a similar shape to the ones used in the Living Room, you know, to get into the holo worlds?" Meren said.

"Williams. Bet you're laughing now. Good chance he stayed in a hotel like this on Inhab-47."

"Perhaps this became Williams' own cell when he was there, until he realised that he could walk amongst Inhab-47 people without being found out," Meren said.

"Yes, it is," Brell said and laughed. She noticed a couple of strong locks on the door and slid them across. Safe, for a while.

She then opened all the cupboard doors and found a small fridge. Taking one of the small bottles out, Brell held it up to the light and realised it was intox, which, after a sip, she confirmed.

"Not bad. Williams you old fragger. Girls," Brell said and held the bottle up in the air in mock salute. She felt its courage, finished the bottle, and looked for the next one.

"Want one?"

"No, thank you."

"Will your vows hold to the end?"

"Jayzan still guides me. I have nothing to fear at the end."

Brell stared at her and shrugged her shoulders.

"We have to solve the clue," Meren said as Brell fumbled around in the fridge.

Brell stood up holding two bottles of Scotch whisky.

"Yes. Killjoy," Brell said in reply, the laughter and fun of the last few minutes dissipating. She started to unscrew the top.

"The clue," Meren said, looking directly at Brell whilst placing her hand over the bottles.

# Chapter 43 – Whisky

Brune ordered another milky drink from his Corps auto chef. It was a particular Corps mixture that kept officers alert during long periods of duty. He was re-reading _The Rules and Regulations of Homicide Investigation_ when Scrivvens arrived, still looking fresh in a neat uniform, considering the hours worked.

"Sir, initial scans have been processed."

"Good, take a seat, we'll go through it. Milk drink or something?" Brune said.

"No, thank you, sir," Scrivvens said, uncertainly.

"What have we got?" Brune said, taking a sip from his glass.

Scrivvens opened up his cube and displayed three screens.

"Cause of death, sudden heart overload and electric shock, probably a beam of some sort. More or less instant. It is possible the beam was only meant to put him in an unconscious stupor, but its frequency had been set too high. The position of body suggests Williams had no notion of it happening, probably grabbed his chest as he fell. Apart from a deeply inked mark, of unknown origin, there were no other unnatural marks on his body."

"Unknown origin?"

"It had the words Route 66 written inside a shield shape. It's in Inhab-47 main language, we have no idea what it means, but it was on his backside. Believed connected with his time on Inhab-47 and not to do with this matter."

"Okay. Carry on."

"Nothing appears missing from the office. When last spoken to, he was in good spirits and had gone for a break whilst the challengers made their initial movements."

"Holo assistant?" Brune said.

"Nothing, console has been fried."

"A coincidence? What do your virtual experiences tell you?"

"This is not uncommon, actually. I am sure Williams would have had his assistant awake as he slept, to capture messages, wake him if needed, that sort of thing. The assistant would have been monitoring everything, awaiting a task or something. Consoles and assistants are often electrically overloaded to cover the criminal's tracks."

Brune nodded. "Yes. Okay, what about his last movements?"

"He left the directors booth and went straight to the office. His implants are all civilian, no military style tracking programmes, but his movements are not disputed. He had only been dead for ten minutes before the Corps arrived there. So it occurred well after the Challenge had started."

"Anything untoward?"

"Wheel tracks. The high-spectrum camera showed wheel tracks from the corridor into his office. It could be a safety bot which regularly visit all the offices."

"Anyone not where they should be?"

"No, all working on the Challenge. The technical monitoring office was busy, but everyone was there."

"Technician 22?"

"At his console at the time of death."

"And the Twins?"

"In their office, with their four odd assistants. Sir."

"Good work, Scrivvens. When all this is over, I will update your personal record. Thank you."

Brune took a few more sips. Key people all in their places, nothing to suggest holos used. The safety bots were similar to the cleaner bots that look after the inmates' cells. He sat back and checked the current situation in the Challenge. Brell had found some intox. Brune shook his head and went back to reading his guidelines.

***

Brell sat staring into the computer. Meren had hidden the bottles of whisky and positioned herself purposefully in front of the auto chef.

" _The Obelisk and the King are here. Look under the Tower, then for une chemise_ , _"_ Brell said aloud and examined the words again.

"Make any sense?" Meren said.

"There is something in the back of my mind, but I can't recall it. Let's have a look."

Brell started pressing buttons, reminding herself about the language they were using. It became easier just to type in parts of clue words and the holo world locations.

"Can I at least have a drink?"

Meren ordered a hot coffee milk drink and plonked in front of Brell. She took a sip and curled her lip at Meren. Back to the screen.

"Well, each of the worlds has an obelisk of sorts, a reference to a King, a tower, and _une chemise_ , need to look that up." Brell said.

"What's best? Start in this place and work our way into the other locations?" Meren said.

"I wouldn't put it past Williams pulling some tricks like altering the countdown or sending in someone to chase us. Let's go through it again. The obelisk."

Brell worked away, bringing up images, text, and historical reference materials.

"Okay. Here, most of them have an obelisk of sorts. Washington, Paris, copy of one in Las Vegas, Bangkok, all of them. The fancy tall building here in San Francisco is sometimes called an obelisk. Paris has an obelisk from ancient times whilst the one in Washington is very tall, but not as old."

"Let's look at King. There are people with that name, like Martin, or they had a king as a ruler, like Paris with Louie. Bangkok also has a monarchy. Moscow shot theirs. There is a tower here in San Francisco, it's on top of a hill, saw it from the bridge. All places have large metal towers of one sort or another. The clue is open to interpretation. I think."

Meren sat and watched Brell's screen, the images not making not making much sense to her. Stopping for a moment, Brell held her fingers above the keyboard and stared at the wall.

"Okay?" Meren said.

"There is something I am trying to remember, but can't connect with it. Perhaps I need more whisky."

"So, Paris has the oldest obelisk and tower, and they had a king," Meren said, moving the subject off intox.

"Hold on." Brell drained her coffee drink. "The theme involves prisons and executions, right? Williams loves that angle, doesn't he? Well, Paris had a large prison where they interred people, including the king and queen, before taking them off for execution by beheading. The site would be near where an obelisk is now. They also have a unique large metal tower. Rome, The Tower, Paris, all places of Inhab-47 history. Blood and gore. Death. Murderers. Us!" Brell rubbed her chin continuing with her thoughts.

"It fits in with all the other challenges. We should go there first. _Une chemise_ must be a clue to the exit. It is from a language used in Paris. It means, got it, this is so slow, here we are, it means a shirt, one shirt. There are shirt sellers near the tower and cafes."

Brell used an image manipulator to zoom images of the big metal tower, becoming used to the basic nature of the programming.

"Well, it looks like the clue points there. What other choice do we have?" Meren said.

"None. Time for a whisky." Brell said lowering her voice, and sauntering over to the auto chef. Meren just shook her head.

The auto chef went into action and Brell took a swift glug.

"Lovely. It's good for me, medicinal." Brell said, glancing out of the window. "Of course we keep saying we, Meren. How is this going to end?"

She stared at Meren, who looked down.

"It's the part that I didn't want to think about. I mean, are you going to hit me or something and run off? Or should I go away?" Meren said.

"Well, you're good at hitting people, so I should watch out for you."

Meren stared across the room, making no reply.

"Did you see anything, clue-wise, before seeing me in the vehicle?" Brell said, wiping her nose and changing the subject.

"No. I walked down the pier. Carac started chasing me into a building, but I ran out through an exit door." She laughed. "Then I hid in the crowd amongst some bald-headed revellers."

"Look, for a bald-headed nun supposedly just meditating all day long, you don't do too badly for yourself."

Meren smiled, reached over, and held Brell's hand.

"I cannot explain everything. It has all been a rush, like going from silence to loud 3D music. Touching was not allowed in the Sanctuary. Some older nuns would put an arm on my shoulder when no one was looking, but holding a hand like this would have meant a penalty, like no afternoon sewing circle." Meren maintained eye contact. "I am glad to have spent some time with you." She let Brell's hand go.

"Two things. That's the most you've said in one go, and sewing circle?"

"Yes, the sewing circle was where I could gossip for an hour."

Meren stopped talking and started laughing, her shoulders lifting. Brell briefly touched Meren's arm and smiled. She then took another swig of whisky. Meren went over to the window and bent down to see the countdown timer.

"Look, we both don't want Carac to win, so how about we get to Paris, find the key, take it from there and enjoy ourselves, if that is possible?" Brell said, holding the cup near to her lips.

"Okay." Meren said. She ran a hand over her smooth head.

"We need a plan and another whisky," Brell said, then nodded. "Clothes change for a start, put Carac off the scent. Then travel separately to the pier, over the bridge and to the prison. Carac will probably be waiting for us by the bridge. Get to the Living Room, and then through the Paris door. If we lose each other, meet up at the large metal tower. How's that?"

"As long as I can drive," Meren said. Brell laughed.

"Right. Clothes first." Brell emptied her glass and walked towards the door with a slight wobble in her stride.

"Let's have a looky outside. Shh." She held her fingers to her lips. Opening the door a fraction, she glanced up and down the corridor. Some couples were walking past.

"No. Soft holo. No. Not wearing that. Yes, here we are, come on Meren."

Meren reluctantly followed Brell out into the corridor. A male and female walked towards them. Both were casually dressed in a similar style to that of many Inhab-47 people.

"Hi, hey, you two. Where is your room?"

The two holos stopped. Brell touched the lapel of the man's jacket; it was made of real cloth.

"Room 222," the female holo said.

"We need your clothes."

"Room 222," she said again.

Brell grabbed the male by the back of his arm and pushed him towards the room. Meren did the same with the female, but clearly appeared uncomfortable.

"They are only hard holos," Brell said over her shoulder as she pushed the male into the room.

"Yes, but they are image copies of real people."

"Hey, we are hours from becoming ash and you're worried about hurting a holo."

Meren shut and bolted the door. The two holos stood silently in the middle of the room.

"Probably on some predefined loop, so in a while they may start trying to walk out of here back onto their path. Get their clothes off."

Brell started stripping the man. Starting with his jacket, tie, shirt, and then the trousers.

"It's a long time since I have done this for real," Brell said, smiling.

Meren gingerly took off the female's blouse. The two holos continued to stand, unmoving, staring ahead.

Brell pulled his trousers down, revealing his legs. She tapped one of them and it made a plastic, hollow noise.

"See, not real, just a type of plastic."

Brell giggled and laughed even more as she saw Meren pulling the females dress down. Soon both holos were just standing in their underpants.

"Think they will fit?"

"There's only one way to find out." Brell whipped off her clothes, stood in her underwear for a while then put on the shirt, jacket, and trousers.

"Not bad," Meren said "pull the belt in a bit."

Meren put on the blouse and knee length skirt.

"Wow what a difference Meren. You've got legs. When was the last time you dressed like that?"

"Before Jayzan initiation," Meren said slowly. She wiped around her eyes with her fingers. "Long time ago."

"You need a hat. The bald head is a little, you know."

"Not Inhab-47 enough?"

"Exactly."

"Blue skin?" Meren said.

"Well spotted," Brell said.

Meren continued to look at herself in the mirror, whilst Brell got another whisky in celebration of the clothing change.

"Room 222," The female holo said and started walking towards the door.

"Hang on," Brell said, "I've got an idea." A slight slur in her words.

# Chapter 44 – Courage

Carac tried his best with the basic computer, but the screen was small, the images grainy, and he his eyes were squinting. He had found a small cafe with a good view of the bridge and some research computers. After pushing and pulling the tables around, he sat down to read the screens whilst keeping a lookout. Having ordered plain water and a small clear intox chaser, he settled himself down.

He slowly typed in the clue words and world names, copying the words directly from the written clue. Frustratingly, various images and references were displayed that could relate to all the worlds. An image search showed some alien men wearing plain shirts. There was a tower in San Francisco though, and a man named King. What if the real key was there and Brell had it already in her pocket? He could not rationalise that. The influence of the Tinker would not let that happen, surely.

Perhaps something to eat? See if the auto chef could create some proper food. There were some food images on the walls.

"Beef burger." The auto chef chugged away. Carac bit into the burger and threw the plate across the room.

"What is this crap?"

He tried again. "Vegetables, cooked lightly. Milk flavoured drink."

Bit better, he mused whilst munching on a carrot. He thought back to those times in prison when he could obtain fine meals and wines. Having finished most of the meal and the milk drink, he tossed the plate over at some holos sitting at another table.

"Hello," one of them said, their face briefly smiling before going back to eating their meal. Carac grabbed the holo and threw it to the ground. Using his feet and hands, he tugged the sweatshirt over its head and put it on. At least it would detract the eye from the prison uniform, for the time being. What the wording, "Alcatraz, Swim Team" on the front referred to, he neither knew nor cared.

Glancing out the window, he considered his options. Check out the San Francisco tower himself in one of those transporters or wait for Brell, the nun, or the Tinker? He bent his head and glanced up at the timer.

***

_Should we send security bots to the hotel?_ The Twins had asked.

Will put them in standby mode. Carac may make a move soon. Will hold back and follow his actions for now.

Technician 22 returned to his attempts at finding the key locations. Williams must have used a scanner shield. The viewer's data zaps were useful, and it became evident that Paris was becoming the popular choice, with Moscow at the bottom. He concentrated on Paris.

***

"You don't get it Meren, it gives me courage and makes me forget."

"Forget what? You've been in prison long enough to forget everything."

"You may be able to put things out of your mind with your meditation and fancy-dancy religion. Everything's perfect in your world."

"You are losing control. No one is going to come down, stop the challenge and take you back home to a nice quiet life. This is it, unless we do something, we will die here." Meren said, slightly raising her voice.

"Sound like my mother. At least I'll go out having fun, by myself, not stuck in some cell. I was going to take termination next year anyway. May as well go out on my terms. My terms," Brell said, wiping tear streaks from her face with her left hand whilst sipping whisky from a cup in her right.

"Is this is how you want to end it all? Being drunk?"

Brell pointed her finger towards Meren, stumbled forward, tripped over her own feet, and fell on the floor in a heap. Slowly, she got onto her knees and crawled along the floor. After a couple of attempts, she managed to stand up, heavily supporting herself on the edge of the kitchenette counter.

Meren paced around the room, rubbing her chin.

"I will go to this Paris place, find the key, and when you are sober follow me there. Meet at the large metal tower."

Brell's hand lost its grip, and she slowly slid her back down the side of the cupboard. As she sat on the floor, the tears came. She wiped her nose and face on her sleeve.

"Meren, I'm useless to you. I'm a no good drunk and substance abuser, to be exact. Intox and Deep, now there's a mix. I can't go with you, at the moment, let me sleep here a while, I'll follow you." She hung her head, then looked up. "Sewing circle! Ha, ha." She laughed and cried at the same time.

Meren stood over her, hands on hips.

"Come on, Brell, still time for you to sober up. Come and find me in Paris, we will do the exit together. Never know, Williams may have a soft spot for us."

"Yeah, yeah, you must go. I am no help to you now. One of us must get through. Beat that fragger Carac." Brell moved her hands, emphasising each word. "Will you do that for me?" She turned towards Meren.

"For you, Brell, yes." Meren ordered a coffee from the autochef and put it next to Brell's hand.

"Now, go. Go. Give them hell," Brell said.

Meren bent down, put her hand on Brell's shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. She had run out of things to say.

"Love you," Brell said softly.

Meren turned around. Brell continued to look at her, eyes red, blue skin flushed, but smiling.

"Love you," Meren said as she placed her palms together and bowed. With that, she left the room. Brell hung her head.

***

As Meren slid into the seat of a transporter, she didn't want to think of Brell vulnerable and drunk up in the room. As they agreed, she would go to Paris, find the key, and wait.

Meren put her foot down and accelerated away, steadily driving in the direction of the pier. She had picked a larger transporter, one used for carrying a small group of people. Blue in colour, with windows all the way around and a large circular symbol on its side. She picked up a ring of flowers, left on the passenger seat, and put them on her head. Checking what her head covering looked like in the rear view mirror, she pressed a button on the console, and Inhab-47 music started playing.

The light, happy music was certainly different from the Jayzan flute and reed ensembles. The song was something about letting people go to San Francisco. A large passenger vehicle trundled down the middle of the road, people were walking around smiling, and the sun shone. Turning up the volume, she rested her arm on the window edge and was seventeen again.

***

Carac became increasingly restless and frustrated in his attempts to solve the clue. The risk of going into the wrong world and not being able to leave it again was too great. He inhaled the sea air whilst walking up and down the pier. The countdown continued silently overhead like a heavy weight pressing on his chest. The nearby tower, which he had previously seen up the hill from the main road, could have been checked by now.

The magician continued with his act, Carac had lost count of how many times he had heard "Abracadabra." He felt like punching the man, holo or whatever it was.

What the fraggle daggle. Must be kidding. Meren was trying to skulk up the pier. The ring of flowers perched on her head was not the best type of disguise, plus there wasn't that many bald-headed women wearing a skirt and blouse. The way she moved was graceful, elegant, and different from others. He jumped on the stage and stood by the magician, trying not to listen to the act. It provided good cover as Meren continued to walk slowly along past his position. He quickly thought of his options: attack, torture, follow, or ignore. Attack and torture would be the approach he would prefer in this no-rules world, but following might be more productive. He jumped lightly off the stage and followed behind her.

Meren's attempts at trying to stay incognito were not the work of a stealthy thief. She had reached the bridge by trying to blend in with people walking back and forth. Carac followed discretely by also using the groups of people. However, when she reached the prison, he knew he had to make a move. She must have a location in mind, but which one? Could he take that chance?

Having not received any clues, that he had noticed, anyway, he changed tack. As Meren walked lightly through the cellblock corridor, he quickly approached her from behind and placed an arm around the front of her neck. She attempted a back kick into his shins whilst pulling at his arm. Carac just laughed.

"Okay where are you going, where is the key?"

She continued to struggle and tried to bite his arm. Quickly pulling her sideways, he shunted her into an open cell, throwing her on the bed, blocking the cell entrance.

"Where?" He held the cell bars whilst standing in the entrance.

"Bangkok," Meren said, thinking fast.

"Too quick a reply. Where?"

"If you let me up, I'll show you."

"Where's the blue bitch?"

"Drunk. She probably won't wake up before the end."

"So it's just you and me, then?"

Meren made no reply.

He tipped his head backwards and glanced along the cell corridor. Empty. Taking a breath, he stared into the distance and exhaled noisily.

"You're not going to start fighting now, are you?"

Meren shifted back on the hard bed until squashed up against the wall. Carac approached her, and as he bent down, she kicked out with her feet, hitting the tops of his legs. Carac started laughing, scooped her legs aside, and slapped her across the face. He then leant in towards her.

"A nun, a new experience, I suppose. Now, where is the key?" he said quietly in her ear.

***

Brune swallowed a stomach acid pill. He was watching statutory offences against women, being committed right now on a live beam show, in a place not far from where he sat. The inmates turning to ash was interesting but he had seen terminations and deaths up close as part of his normal Police Corps duty. He felt helpless to do anything. The Association gave permission for the Holo Beam Company to terminate convicted prisoners on an entertainment show as long as there was no protracted torture. It also allowed criminal acts and behaviour between the prisoners. All that matters was that the audience and workers were safe from the convicts. Despite his personal thoughts about what was happening, like millions of others, he could not stop watching.

***

Meren could feel and smell the hot breath on her neck. Trying to shrink back into the wall, she turned her head away and tensed, ready for the attack. He started to kiss her neck. She attempted to punch and push him away, but he grabbed her right wrist and pinned it across her chest. Her left arm was squeezed against the cell wall. He then positioned his body weight in an attempt to hold her legs down with his right knee. Meren kept her eyes open defiantly and steadied her breath as she considered her next move. Best to relax and pick the right moment.

"Where is the key?" Carac said slowly between breaths.

With her legs pinned down, she could not move. Most of his weight was now on top of her. Shifting onto his left elbow, his right hand started groping around her neck, then he ran a trembling hand down past the side of her breast to her stomach, his fingers sliding and grasping through her clothes. Then his hand stopped, his head went limp and lay on her shoulder. Meren held her breath. His body moved backwards, head bumping down until it finally knocked into her shoes.

After watching the top of Carac's head disappearing down the bed, she looked up and saw the unmoving face of a security bot standing in the cell doorway. Its head moved around back and forth, locked eyes with Meren and then strode out. She sat up and, through the bars saw Carac being dragged along the floor by a netted cord around his ankles. His body was completely limp. Two bots then hoisted him up and walked him off along the corridor.

She slowly got up, adjusted her clothing, and stood in the cell entrance. All the security bots had gone. The prisoners in the adjacent cells were murmuring to themselves. Becoming more alert, whilst burying any thoughts of Brother Marchantte from years ago, there was no time for introspection. Straightening up and focussing herself, she performed a breathing pattern whilst imagining her golden light. She felt ready.

Reaching the Living Room, she chose the first door on the right and pressed the menu button. A "location select" option appeared. She pressed Paris.

***

Technician 22 had his reply ready for the expected message from Mayleth.

_Calculated risk. Looks less suspicious being detained. Sufficient time left. Can get an update message to him_.

He knew from working with the Police Corps that they had a tactic where an undercover officer was arrested on purpose to extract them from the scene, without revealing their identity. Drug undercover operatives did it all the time.

Whilst being detained, vital information may come through from audience data zaps. It all pointed to Paris, so it would be certain that Meren would find the key. However, she wasn't the fastest challenger, and would dither about waiting for Brell. That's when Carac would act.

***

Carac woke up, mumbled something, and started rubbing his eyes. The weird, screechy music playing in the background did not help his headache. A security bot sat on a chair, arms folded, feet up on a desk. More importantly, Carac could see a live screen of the Challenge; no sound, but it was of himself in his cell, looking at the screen, watching himself.

# Chapter 45 – The Obelisk

Meren stood in the middle of a short, narrow cobbled road with white brick buildings lining each side. Large, illuminated lamps hung on metal stanchions above high arched doorways. Behind her, the end wall of the holo world, and stretching ahead, a large open square area with a tall stone column at its centre. In the distance, a tall metal structure peeked out above some taller square-shaped buildings. First thing would be to get a bearing; the column definitely looked like the obelisk on the computer images.

Reaching the end of the road, she stopped and glanced back. Although Carac was in gaol for thirty minutes, she presumed he would be coming after her. Walking forward, a whole scene started to play out.

A large noisy crowd entered the square from her left. People were waving their arms, singing, and jostling each other. Flutes were blown, and drums banged at differing rhythms. Most of the men in the crowd were wearing drab-coloured long jackets with wide sleeves, loose fitting white shirts, and shoes with buckles. Their trousers didn't reach their ankles. Red, white, and blue coloured sashes crossed their chests. The women had long dresses, bodices, and white caps. The crowd parted at the same time that the cheering and shouting grew louder. A wooden horse-drawn cart appeared, the white horse pulling it unfazed by the crowd noise.

Intrigued by the spectacle, Meren had temporarily forgotten about the countdown.

A portly man, dressed in a white shirt and trousers, with a receding hairline, stood inside the cart. Crowd members walked on each side, jeering and shouting at the occupant. A second cart just behind the first contained a woman wearing a plain white dress and white cap. The lead cart made its way slowly towards the other side of the obelisk, the crowd swarming around it.

Meren strolled around the crowd towards the obelisk. The symbols on the tapering sides were picture like, matching the close-up images Brell had shown her. She moved her gaze to the gathering crowd in the square. A tall narrow wooden contraption, set in the middle of a square staging area, rose above the heads of the crowd. Uniformed men holding long wooden poles kept the rowdy people back from the stage. Some men wearing three-cornered hats, stood on the scaffold stage, and as the cart approached, a loud bang of drums rang out. Meren focussed on the wooden contraption; it had a heavy looking blade of metal at the top of the structure, presumably held in place by a mechanism at the side. As the portly man went up the scaffold steps, Meren started to walk away, realising that this was an execution. Similar to the Tower, but with a fiendish gravity device instead of an axe. The man and woman had travelled in separate carts, and the crowd reaction became heightened around them. He appeared to be a very prominent man. A king?

_The Obelisk and the King are here_.

It fitted perfectly with what she had seen. The crowd became silent, save for the drums and then a huge cheer roared around the square. Meren had seen enough, and did not look back; it was time to find the key. Ahead of her, she could now clearly see the metal tower. It had four large legs, fabricated out of a series of criss-crossing metal lengths, which intertwined upwards into platforms. Lights adorned the tower's peak. It was similar to the towers on Wrax, which she passed through once on her way to an outer world community.

Look under the Tower.

Pleasant smells of cooking wafted around, making her hungry. The single sun shone a beautiful yellow colour and the air smelt fresh. Green trees were dotted around near to the stylish low-level buildings. It reminded her of a meditative scenario she once created to deal with the tedium of the Sanctuary.

Halfway along a bridge, which traversed a river, she noticed the people walking around were similar to those in the other holo worlds. Also, they were wearing different clothing from the crowd at the obelisk. She could hear voices speaking with a different accent to that used in San Francisco. Small transporters were driving around, fast and very near to each other, horns blaring. No sign of security bots, though. She took a wide-brimmed hat off a holo woman walking nearby.

"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.

# Chapter 46 – Out and about

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.

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, Viva. I'm in 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 about 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.

# Chapter 47 – Security bots

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.

He won't be around to answer any questions, his transport was all arranged.

As to the exit location, he still had to work on this, as Williams had duplicated many of the tube diagrams. He started searching through Las Vegas world, following the edges and the power lines conduits. In particular, he focussed on areas around the tall metal Paris Tower.

***

Brune shifted in his seat, unsettled about the events occurring on the Challenge. He concentrated on the possible scenarios for Williams' death as he glanced at the Challenge on screen. Brell had taken down a security bot in the hotel corridor whilst naked. The sudden hot prickly, sensation at the back of his neck meant that his full attention focussed on the unfolding events. She looked good in the Police Corps style uniform and the car chase was exciting to watch, especially because she escaped from the security bots to reach the Living Room. But why were they chasing her? What had she done to merit this action? In addition, why Carac's sudden change of direction when he was standing still in the cellblock?

Brune remembered his briefing for this job.

"Make sure there are no embarrassing escapes by inmates or any release attempts by outsiders. Do not interfere with the Challenge Show, you are just to provide the safety and security outside of the game zones. The show is properly licensed for contained episodes of criminal activity," the Police Corps Commissioner had told him.

Brune had run his operation according to Corps Regulations, his officers had performed well, and there had not been any security leaks.

He became increasingly bothered by what he saw and the death of Williams. Security bots were pursuing Brell. His door sensor chimed.

"Yes, Scrivvens, anything?"

"Well, yes, sir perhaps. The same cleaning bot was used for the two cell visits. It reported itself requiring a service and returned to its power dock in the corner position, near a service lift."

"Easy for someone to instruct the bot?"

"The usual beam code and recognition systems."

"Would it need a person to visit the cleaning bot directly?"

"You can programme another bot remotely to visit another one. Drug dealers regularly programme a chain of bots to make several exchanges from bots to personal bots to road cleaners. Difficult to trace the route back to the original handler, takes days."

"Okay, you've been following the challenge, why are the security bots chasing Brell?"

"Part of the challenge, perhaps, to chase her out for staying in a hotel too long? It worked, she is on the run now. The bots did previously imprison Carac for attacking Meren."

"Yes, it's possible it is a rule change to ensure more activity. What about this, though?"

Brune replayed the beamcast snippet where Carac had ran back into the cell block and looked up before running back into the Living Room.

"There is something there he has seen, don't you think?"

"Sir, have you reviewed the previous images from that area? It is located where they first started the programme when they set the clue."

"Let's do it now. I presume you know a few shortcuts to do this quicker than me?"

Scrivvens displayed his own keyboard, which instantly connected to Brune's screens. First, he replayed the part where Flip and Argenta were introducing the programme and gave the clue. It focussed on the cell occupants and the ground floor cell area with the presenters.

"Let's have a look at the separate viewer cams. Here's one, it's situated on an end wall looking out along the main cell area." Scrivvens hands were a flurry of activity. "Yes, here we are, on the edge of the image is the landing above the inmates cells. Got it. I will just bring up the original floating cam images from Inhab-47. Hold on." He paused both images.

"Cell B-206, Al Capone."

"So that is the original image. How about from a few minutes back?"

"No problem, that was where those bots were helping each other to stand up." Scrivvens zoomed in.

"Cell B-206, Al Capone from Las Vegas."

"This information has been added since the challenge started, but Carac has only just noticed it."

"Yes. With more time, I could find out when it was changed. If it has just been added, then it was just after Brell selected Las Vegas."

"Not sure we have enough time. Whilst I think about it, Scrivvens, why was Carac netted and put in the holding gaol? The bots did nothing when Brell was attacked by Kellsa, let alone when Meren brained her." Brune sat back and crossed his arms. "Have you performed undercover work?"

"Yes, passed myself off as a waiter bot once. It worked well."

Brune stared at Scrivvens and continued. "One tactic is for an undercover officer to get arrested during a Corps raid to make it look like they are just one of the gang. Was Carac arrested on purpose to fool the audience? It appears he has been receiving outside help what with the tidy bots thing and that Las Vegas message."

"Williams was zapped by a bot."

"Yes, to keep him out of the way, do you think?"

"Perhaps, but they didn't consider Brell."

"No indeed. Now, bearing in mind that the clock is ticking, can you control the security bots? Stand them down?"

"Well sir, following Corps regulations, we would need a warrant from the on duty Assizes Judge to break into the Beam Companies matrix. It will take a few hours to secure the warrant."

Brune shifted in his seat, rubbed his chin, and placed his Orders and Regulations cube viewer into a drawer.

"Break into the systems, stop the bots. There is criminal activity going on, outside of the show. I take responsibility."

"Yes, sir," Scrivvens said uncertainly. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Call it gut instinct."

# Chapter 48 – Drive

The "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign was the first thing that Brell noticed; a man and woman were standing underneath it, holding hands. The woman wore an ivory-coloured dress, and a preacher situated behind them, spoke from a book. Two lanes of traffic flowed up and down the roadway, appearing then disappearing into the wall behind her. There was only one way to travel, at least, and that was straight ahead. Hopefully, the tower was not far away. She glanced up again into the sky; just under thirty minutes left. From her memory of the images on screen in the hotel room, there was just one long road.

She headed for a colourful, stylish-looking vehicle parked by the side of the road. Round metal lines and streaks of white were set against the red bodywork. As it had no roof, Brell jumped over and into the driver's seat. Accelerating away, she was careful not to knock into anything in case it was a hard beam transporter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall stone obelisk like the one in Meren's Paris and nodded to herself. This was good.

A wide intersection appeared ahead, so she slowed to negotiate it as safely as possible. Every minute counted. An old Police Corps saying came back to her.

_Best to get there safely a little late, rather than not at all_.

This was ground into her when driving fast response skiffs to emergency calls on teeming roads and skyways. Some of the Las Vegas buildings had huge display boards or advertising structures outside; one had a large animal's head. The pavement areas and overhead walkways were busy; this must be a relaxation place. It was like a basic pleasure city, which Williams, no doubt, spent a lot of time in.

Driving steadily, the tip of a tower peeked out from beyond some large buildings. Right direction, just up ahead. At that moment, a security bot transporter, travelling on the opposite side of the road, braked sharply, the bonnet tilting down with the change of speed. It swerved across the lanes, positioning itself right behind Brell's vehicle.

Bang

Brell's head snapped forward and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel narrowly avoiding a parked transporter. Accelerating harder, she weaved across the lanes, speeding through the empty holo transporters, being less cautious.

Ahead, she saw another bot vehicle coming straight towards her. Instinctively, she swerved her vehicle out of the way and, striking a raised kerb, she flew along the walkway through swathes of holo people. Scraping a street light, she just managed to keep the vehicle upright. Not far.

***

Carac ran out of the doorway, stopped, orientated himself, and continued running towards an empty transporter. There was only one direction of travel. Security bot transporters appeared behind, then overtook him. Just need to follow the Corps. That's a first.

***

Brell pulled back out into the roadway to get a better view of the tower. It was exactly as she had seen it on the image set in the hotel room.

Look under the Tower.

Oblivious of the large water fountains pluming ahead on her left, she tried to calculate the safest place to stop. Two bot transporters were behind her, taking it in turns to bump the rear of her vehicle in an attempt to make her veer off. She accelerated, gripped the steering wheel, then jabbed at the brake. The rear side bumper crunched as one of the pursuing vehicles bounced off it and into the centre of the road. Pushing hard on the accelerator again, she took a quick glimpse on the rear view mirror. A plain faced bot was leaning out of a vehicle window lining up for a shot.

One of the tower legs appeared ahead. Its crisscrossed metal struts jutting out onto the street. Without thinking, Brell aimed at it.

***

After finding the key, Meren ambled back to the area by the entrance door. She kept observation from a discrete vantage position, but there was no sign of Carac or Brell. Eventually giving up, she wandered around aimlessly and found a seat overlooking the river. The warm sun, fresh air, and disappointment had made her feel dozy.

It was the wrong key, over and finished. No going back to the Living Room to select another world. Brell would be staggering around, fighting Carac, or more than likely in a drunken stupor in the same hotel.

"Brell, if you can hear me, it's not Paris. Do not come into Paris," Meren said again in the vain hope that Brell may have access to the live Challenge screens.

She knew that stopping her entering Paris at the doorway would be difficult, or there would be some Williams invention like a double door to stop this happening. Her best choice would be to stay near the tower; at least they could turn to ash together. There would be no more incarceration, no more repetitive daily routines.

_All things will pass_.

With thirty minutes left, she walked back towards the tower, becoming sidetracked by the food stalls.

"Une crepe madam?" Meren nodded. As the auto chef cooked away, Meren browsed around an intox selection, the drink names written on bottles standing on a table. One caught her eye, though its name was unpronounceable.

"Border? Bordux?" An auto chef nearby switched itself on, and then paused as if working out the request. Then it chugged to life, producing a ruby-red liquid in a long-stemmed glass. Meren picked up the glass and examined the liquid in the sunlight. A swill and a sniff later, she held up the glass.

"Girls!"

The first sip was an interesting mix of fruit, intox, and something else. She sat back down on the bench, munched, and drank the wine whilst watching people go by. Finishing her wine, she set the glass down and ambled across the square towards the box-squeezing musician.

***

"Come on," Brell shouted, trying to clear her head. Thankfully, she could move her legs, but it took some effort pulling them out of the crushed transporter. The vehicle had skimmed off the tower struts and smashed into the casino entrance doors, coming to rest just inside. Having bent down under the windscreen at the last moment and though covered in plastic and plas-steel, she managed to climb into the back seat and out onto carpet flooring. The two security bots' transporters that were following her had smashed straight into the tower leg. Two broken bots lay on the ground, unmoving.

She found herself in a huge room full of people sitting, standing, or walking around. There were rows of machines, the front face of which was a series of blinking lights. All she could hear were _bing bing bing_ sounds. Several of the female tourists were wearing long, white, fancy dresses, their heads covered by veils. There were also women in glittery bras and pants with plumed headdresses walking slowly around the casino. A man's singing voice was audible, coming from somewhere near the middle of the room. The chair held her weight as she jumped on it in order to look over the bing bing machines. Yes, there was a stage and, would you believe it, a man dressed like Williams' assistant singing whilst being accompanied by a small group of musicians. She could not quite hear the words due to the background noise.

A clunk of boots and two security bots ran in, stopped, moved their heads, and locked onto Brell. She ran forward, around, and over anything in her way. Hunkering down, she hid behind a machine whilst reaching out and grabbing a nearby stool. Straining her ears, she waited and listened for footsteps. As the steady clank got louder, she stood up and slugged the approaching bot, sending it flying backwards, its body crumpling on the floor. The other bot, its netting device in hand, stopped and aimed at Brell. She ducked around the back of a line of bing bing machines, crept along to the end of the row, and crouched while looking back down both aisles. The machines, she noticed, were solid but not fixed to each other. The bot chose to follow her.

Brell waited, then crept down the empty row, and quickly peering over the top, she shoulder pushed a machine, toppling it over onto the bot. Its reaction was to press the netting device, which shot out across the floor. Checking back and forth for any more bots, she strode along the machines reaching a group of green-covered tables that had a spinning wheel set into one end. The singing voice sounded much louder now, and as Brell picked her way forward, she tried to understand the words.

"Viva, Viva," the man sang repeatedly. One hand held a small metal tube towards his mouth; a microphone? His other hand moved animatedly in tune with the music beat. Dressed exactly the same as Williams' assistant, Brell looked him up and down.

A key hung around his neck.

Again, no sign of any bots; the people meandering around obscured her view. She jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the key, breaking the linked chain necklace. The weight and look of the key felt genuine as she put it in her pocket.

Look under the Tower, then for une chemise.

The shirt. She stepped off the stage, whilst looking around for a something to do with a shirt by an exit door or similar. A blow from the side brought her heavily to the floor face down. She was pinned down, breath forced out of her lungs. Knees dug into her back and thigh, then hands moved down from her shoulders to her backside. Laughter.

"Well, well, Captain bluey, it comes to this," Carac said. He sounded elated.

"Not only do you have the key, but I get to hold another prize as well."

Face pushed into the floor, she tried to stare up at him.

"Nearly missed you, what with your uniform. You're not Police Corps now. You're nothing, just a blue bitch. A loser!" He continued to stroke her backside.

"You see, bluey, this is it. Just a few minutes to go. I would like to stay and play longer, but there are things I need to do, like winning this challenge. This damn challenge." He patted her thigh.

"You know, I hate these worlds. Who would want to visit Inhab-47? Dirty, backward, food, well you can't call it food. I am going off subject. Now, where is the key?" He moved his hand around her backside, closing his eyes briefly.

"Ah," Carac said.

"It's not the real key. A Williams joke, I was wrong," Brell said, managing to talk out of the side of her mouth.

Carac placed both his hands onto her back and pushed himself backwards so he could comfortably kneel on the floor. He kept hand pressure on her back with both hands whilst glancing around.

"Does it have any writing on it?"

"Check it for yourself."

She sensed Carac's hesitation as he shifted the weight on his knees. Her right hand had lain alongside her body throughout the confrontation. Now that he had moved his position, she moved her fingers slowly towards her belt.

"It's in my left pocket," she said.

Carac looked down as he started trying to feel around the front of her trousers.

Brell suddenly pulled her left knee up whilst rolling over. Carac, taken by surprise, reached forward. Brell continued to roll over onto her back, freeing her right arm. She swung the baton upwards, levering at the elbow to gain as much energy as possible. It struck his left knee, not too heavily, but it caused hesitation. Straightening her body she rolled back towards Carac, forcing her body weight onto his thighs, making him flop backwards awkwardly. Quickly getting to her feet, she kicked towards his body whilst he was still floundering, and connected with the side of his leg.

"Viva that!" she shouted back.

# Chapter 49 – Which way?

Come on, Scrivvens. Brune sat helplessly, watching the events unfold. An old colleague a few minutes from death on a live entertainment show. A show in which Brell was not meant to win. Was there still time to intervene? It all hinged on Scrivvens.

He knew his promotion prospects would be jeopardised if he did something to interfere with the show. What about his wife and children's future?

With ten minutes to go, it was unbearable to watch. Nevertheless, he clapped as he saw Brell kick Carac and run off. She had the key, but was it the right one? He had long given up trying to solve the clues let alone understand the Inhab-47 worlds.

' _Chime, chime_.'

A screen displayed Scrivvens' face.

"Yes," Brune said, trying, but failing to disguise his nerves.

"Sir. I've found Technician 22's communication code and pathways; the encryption is the usual military standard. Having difficulty reaching security bot core instructions. However, the Technicians attention is on the live action, not on any security breaches."

"Throw everything at it. Not much time left," Brune said, realising he had been holding his breath.

"Sir." Scrivvens display faded.

"Come on, Scrivvens," Brune muttered under his breath.

***

Mayleth had difficulty watching the screens. Carac had been kicked by the blue one and was seriously in danger of losing. Despite all the help, including being selected for the Challenge, it all came down to the last ten minutes.

Ayleth was asleep, having given up long while ago and taken a "knock out" tablet. Mayleth drank some lukewarm liquid and half-smiled over at one of her assistants whilst toying with her necklace. The next few minutes would seal their future. She glanced at the door. Would that burly commander be knocking on their door soon, or had the Tinker organised something for them? He must have others in his employ, not just Technician 22. And all because of her brother's gambling debts. At least the correct holo world location had been confirmed by Williams' replacement, but he had fended off giving the exit location. Must be some unwritten rule; perhaps she should have pushed him a bit harder. However, on a live show, though, it would always be tricky replacing the director of operations a second time. She thought that with Williams out of the way, they could ensure greater control over events.

Fiddling with her necklace again, she stared at the screens. Come on, Carac.

***

The Tinker crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. He glanced at the latest Locardum ore prices, Carac fumbling about, and then at the Twins in their office.

"Regg. Contact Mack, tell him to get his crew ready and await further instructions."

"Yes sir."

***

After striking Carac, Brell felt her pocket to make sure the key was still there. Where next? She felt sure that " _une chemise_ " was linked to this casino building due to the Paris language influences. Would Williams make the exit so far away from the key? She gained the impression that he did not wholly enjoy the idea of entertainment involving death, so ensuring at least one person survived would be his motivation.

Crouching, she moved around the winking gambling machines, working her way into the building itself. There was a loud _ching_ noise, followed by some cheers; someone was having luck. Carac had received a fair kick, but it would not stop him. Just past some more gambling tables with people peering at small cardboard pictures, Brell reached a wide walkway stretching left and right from her position. Two directions, nine minutes.

To the left was a cobbled street scene, with ornate street lamps and a large round water fountain. Beyond the street appeared to be shops, judging by the signs. To her right was a carpeted walkway leading to a large empty room and a long row of glass doors at the far end. It looked like an exit out of the building. The shops would be the best choice, rather than returning back through the casino floor or to an exit.

As she sprinted to her left, there was a loud crash and glancing behind, two security transporters crashed through the glass doors. Both vehicles drove straight towards her. Quickening her pace, she ran into the street area feeling the hard stone effect flooring underfoot. The water fountain was just ahead. Trusting it was a hard beam object, she jumped up towards the ledge, relieved when her feet settled on a solid surface. She scrambled up onto the second ledge; the water was just a light effect.

The first transporter, crashed into the fountain base, carrying it along for a few metres before smashing into a sidewall. Glass and plas-steel billowed everywhere as Brell toppled sideways onto the ground, wrenching her ankle. The transporter dug itself into the wall having skewed around, away from where Brell now lay. The second transporter stopped in time and disgorged its passengers. She pulled herself up and limped forward.

_P-zap_.

A hole erupted in the side of the wall next to her head. A team of security bots ran towards her, with zappers in hand, the sound of their clunking boots echoing off the walls.

_P-zap_.

She limped to the end of the street and into a "town square". Quickly bearing left, she leant against a wall whilst keenly examining everything for a clue, a shirt, or anything. It was a medium sized square lined with shops and unusually there were no holos walking around. In one corner was a small stage with velvet curtains at the rear. A short sturdy woman stood onstage singing emotionally in the Paris language. Raising an arm, she sang " _je ne regrette rien_ "; I regret nothing.

She dragged herself further along into the square, desperately looking around. The security bots appeared and spread out in a line. With their eyes locked onto her, they walked forward very slowly.

Across the square was her lifeline.

The clue, the exit door it must be. Might as well have Williams written all over it. Hanging in the window of a shop named, " _Soohan's Chemise Emporium_ " was a huge, colourful shirt, just like the ones Williams owned. In fact, it was a larger version of the shirt he wore during their first meeting in prison. He must have worn it when visiting all the others. The shop door had a keyhole.

_P-zap_.

Feeling an intense pain in her legs, she dropped straight to the floor, on her back. Apart from the searing pain in her unresponsive legs, she glanced down her body and saw her feet entangled in a net.

Carac stepped out from between the security bots and loomed over her, holding a zapper, smiling.

"Me again."

***

With five minutes to go, Meren danced. She had stopped looking at the countdown and instead enjoyed the moment. At first, she stood beside the people dancing, just holding the hem of her dress, swaying to the music. There were some men sitting, watching, and after waving her hand through the holos, she put her hand on the shoulder of a smiling man.

"Dance?" Meren said.

"Dance," the holo said.

Meren led him to the middle of the dance area. Copying the others, she held him around his waist and was happy when he did the same. He copied her dancing movements.

"What's your name?"

"Dance," the holo said.

"Can't have everything," Meren said.

She clung closer to him, letting the music, the movement, the fresh air release her from the growing warmth spreading in her stomach.

"I am free," she said softly.

***

Brell tried moving her legs, without success. Pushing herself up, she supported her upper body weight by placing both hands on the floor behind. She started to shuffle on her backside across the square whilst shaking her unresponsive legs, her stomach starting to feel mildly warm.

Just under five minutes left.

"Well, time to get the key and get out of here. Back to the studio, freedom, and some proper food."

Brell strained her back forward in an effort to unpick the netting.

"Found the exit door yet?" Carac said.

Brell remained silent.

"It's here, isn't it? Let me see, now." Carac looked around and across at the range of shops.

"Stage, no, sparkling jewels, no. Oh, yes, of course. You can't miss it. Chemise. That large shirt in the window. Williams wears them all the time, yes, that's what you were looking at?"

He stepped forward.

"Not taking any chances, now. Have a good sleep. You won't even wake up."

He pointed the zapper at her chest and pressed the button. Brell went limp, her upper body smacking down onto the floor. Working his hands over her, he smiled when he felt the key in her trouser pocket.

"Bye bye captain." He bent down, kissed her on the lips, then turned towards the exit door.

Brell opened her eyes and saw two things. Carac heading in the direction of the exit door waving at the camera, and the security bots. They were standing still, frozen in their last position. She knew that the zapper Carac used had run out of energy, as the zap felt like a mild static electricity jolt. Only her lower legs were numb. She sat up as silently as possible, wiped her mouth, and twisted the net off her feet. Shaking her legs, a slight feeling returned, so she grabbed the trousers of a nearby bot and dragged herself onto her knees.

She drew the zapper out of the bots holster and leaning on its body, pulled herself up some more. Raising the weapon, she aimed it at the bulkiest part of Carac, his chest. Was he in range? Time to find out.

A clear view of him came into sight. She fired, but he kept on walking. Missed. She fired again and this time the bluish bolt struck the side of his waist. He stopped, rubbed his side, glanced back, and hobbled towards the exit door. Brell levered herself up and staggered after him. Enough sensation had returned in her left leg to drag the right one along. Barely aware of the pain in her ankle, she pulled herself forwards by grabbing the clothing of a security bot, then hand by hand worked her way from bot to bot until reaching the last one. She snatched a zapper out of its holster.

Carac leant forward and moved his hand down to the door lock, the key glinting as he extended it towards the lock. Brell planted her good leg on the floor, and aimed again, this time at his legs. The blue bolt struck both thighs. His hand hesitated as his knees started to tremble and buckle. He fell to the floor, the key clattering out of his hand.

She walked forward attempting to zap his legs again, but the charge was weak. Carac pulled himself on his backside towards the key, then lay on his side and stretched out his fingers. The tip of his forefinger touched the key edge. Brell reached down and picked it up.

Two minutes left.

"Looking for this?" Brell showed him the key as she took two steps back from him.

He twisted his face in pain, but kept slowly inching towards her.

"Not this time," she said, grabbing his legs and pulling him away from the shop. Carac propped himself up on his backside as again Brell stepped back, out of arm's reach. She instinctively put a hand on her stomach.

"There is one thing, though," she said, breathing heavily, hands on her knees.

Carac narrowed his eyes.

"This." Brell quickly stepped forward, swung her arm back, and punched Carac square on the side of his face. Years of pent up frustration and hatred released in that one blow. He hit the floor and did not move.

Aware of the seconds counting down, she gathered herself and limped towards the door. She concentrated fully in order to keep a firm grip on the key and scraped it around the keyhole until it went into place.

_Click_. She opened the door, closing her eyes for a second.

Exhausted, the growing warmth spread itself around her stomach and chest as ahead was the red button.

"Come on, come on," she muttered to herself as she dragged her shaking legs across the floor. Careful not to trip or fall over, she leant her body weight on the podium. Raising her hand above the button, she held it mid-air.

Fifteen seconds.

"This is for Meren and Lulu," she said slowly, then nodded.

Brell slapped the button.

Three seconds.

# Chapter 50 – Making arrangements

Eighteen Months Later

The conditions were damp and drizzly as Brell landed the cargo transporter gently into its docking position. Having finished safety checks, she gave permission for the stevedore bots to start unloading the hold. Once all systems were off and the log completed, she unbuckled herself whilst looking at the still image of Meren. She was dancing in Paris, smiling just before the end. Next to it was an image of Lulu, taken when she first joined the Police Corps Academy.

She heaved herself out of the pilot seat, grabbed her personal valise, and exited onto a walkway. The valise helped shield the rain off her face.

"Hi, Brell, good journey?" It was the haulage operator, Holly.

He sat behind his desk, wearing a patched pilot's jacket, like always, even though he had not pulled cargo for years. Chewing on a large, unlit weed smoke, he gazed at Brell, awaiting her reply.

"Yes, all good, even better as it's the last one for a few days," Brell said, handing over her log.

"Got anything planned?" Holly threw the log on top of a stack of others.

"Gorst has some time off, so we thought we'd have some fun, go for walks, and relax. Nothing much, really."

Holly took the weed smoke out of his mouth.

"Okay, see you next week," he said.

"Thanks, Holly. Appreciate everything," Brell said and headed for the showers.

Often when showering, Brell would cast her mind back to the Challenge and the events thereafter. She spent many hours with Brune, reflecting on the challenges and the events happening back stage. His second-in-command managed to halt the security bots just after Carac zapped her. As much as Brune accepted the statutory investigation into his actions, he was pleased when his discipline hearing was overturned because of a public outcry. Williams' death had shocked her, including the fact he had died not long after the start of the final challenge.

The beam showers finished their cycle, and as she got dressed, her comms cube chimed. Gorst.

"Answer," she said.

A screen opened at head level.

"Hi." Gorst's smiling face appeared.

"Hi. What's up?"

"Just read some news channels; there is talk of another Challenge show being put together, so you may be called as their resident expert."

"We'll see," Brell said laughing, "perhaps they could pick the female twin as the first challenger."

"Perhaps. She is making yet another appeal against the conspiracy conviction, which she is unlikely to win. There is no news on her brothers disappearance and if they wanted to utilise Technician 22's skills again, they'd have to track him down first."

"I bet the female will be placed on my old wing."

Gorst paused. "Will you be home on time?"

"Yes, just finished the last load. Will get a ground craft, so back in time for the evening."

"Well, I've got it all arranged. Meal, Inhab-47 soft drink substitute, and the latest holo adventure. It's a good time of the month for you, as well, isn't it?"

Brell laughed again. Gorst concerned himself with her monthly cycles more than she did. She accepted it, yes, something may happen.

"Okay, see you later."

"Safe journey."

She could not have got through the last eighteen months without him. After all the congratulations, interviews, replays, and contractually obliged events, all part of the contract she had signed in her cell, apparently, Gorst had kept her strong. Relations with her mother were still strained; it didn't help that she had made up stories of Brell's childhood. She had even been a guest on an Inhab-47 styled cookery programme, for frag's sake.

Gorst had gently come back into her life, they had connected again, but it had not been easy. She had regular rages and threw things around her temporary living pod, whilst he quietly tidied up behind her. He put up with her behaviour in the early days after release, when she would not leave the bedroom for days. It was something to do with habit and incarceration. Gorst caught her watching Carac's final moments continuously.

"He has gone. Turned to ash," he said.

Brell just nodded. It took at least twenty viewings before believing that he must be dead. A few more replays and a lack of sarcastic messages eventually made her feel safer. Carac was history.

Gorst's interventions had kept her straight and, with the support of the Beam Company, she had successfully completed lengthy substance rehabilitation sessions. She had even won an award for the best punch of the year. Carac's last seconds and that punch became the most replayed moment from the Challenge. Once passed as medically fit, the Beam Company helped her get a basic cargo pilot's licence, and Holly had been willing to employ her. Not a Command Skiff, but it gave her something to do and she enjoyed the solace.

She walked out of the base and onto an elevated walkway. The grey sky threatened more rain. It didn't matter.

End

# Table of contents

Title page

Copyright

Chapter 1 – Commander Sturlach

Chapter 2 – Wing 90

Chapter 3 – Overseer's office

Chapter 4 – We Proudly Present

Chapter 5 – Corporal Sturlach

Chapter 6 – The Prize Giving

Chapter 7 – Inhab-47

Chapter 8 – Mapping the alien world

Chapter 9 – The Twins

Chapter 10 – The Tinker

Chapter 11 – Deep Yellow

Chapter 12 – Reports are good

Chapter 13 – The others

Chapter 14 – New horizons

Chapter 15 – Locardum

Chapter 16 – Into the studio

Chapter 17 – The Farmer

Chapter 18 – No one dies today

Chapter 19 – Pinball

Chapter 20 – Space Corps Special Forces

Chapter 21 – Covering the basics

Chapter 22 – Smuggling

Chapter 23 – The Holographic World

Chapter 24 – Inspector Sturlach

Chapter 25 – The Assassin

Chapter 26 – The day before

Chapter 27 – The First Challenge

Chapter 28 – Gladiators

Chapter 29 – Entrance and exit

Chapter 30 – Lulu

Chapter 31 – Death equals profits

Chapter 32 – Tinker Holdings Ltd

Chapter 33 – Sanctuary

Chapter 34 – Information received

Chapter 35 – Challenge Two

Chapter 36 – By the White Tower

Chapter 37 – Traitors' Gate

Chapter 38 – You know your problem?

Chapter 39 – It's all going well

Chapter 40 – Final Challenge

Chapter 41 – On the streets

Chapter 42 – It's only a gameshow

Chapter 43 – Whisky

Chapter 44 – Courage

Chapter 45 – The Obelisk

Chapter 46 – Out and about

Chapter 47 – Security bots

Chapter 48 – Drive

Chapter 49 – Which way?

Chapter 50 – Making arrangements

Dedication

The author

# Dedication

To mum.

***

Thanks to my wife Jayne for her help, encouragement and patience and my children for their love and support.

# The author

About the author

Stuart's career in law enforcement involved fights, drama, boredom, and working an unhealthy number of shifts.

The years passed, the family grew up and eventually he published his first novel in 2015. Many of his ideas are inspired by work experiences and travelling around Europe, S.E. Asia, and the USA.

Born in North London, England, Stuart enjoys family life, cinema, and swimming.

Also by Stuart F. Dodds

The Search for Locardum – (A Brell Sturlach Adventure) - published 2017.

The Fight for Locardum – (A Brell Sturlach Adventure) - published 2018.

Billie – an action thriller with compelling characters - published 2019.

Further information and contact

Website: www.stuartfdodds.com
