Deep Yellow (14 page)

"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.

"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.