Deep Yellow (38 page)

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.

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

Stuart was born in north London, England. His
interest in science fiction started with the first episodes of Dr
Who. Leaving school at 16 and after some part time jobs, he joined
the Metropolitan Police, enjoying a 30-year career. Bringing up a
family of four children with his wife combined with a full time
policing role did not leave much time for anything else. It was
only after retiring with more time on his hands that Stuart started
to write.

The ideas for Deep
Yellow came from many sources, including personal experiences,
movies, and books. Amongst recent experiences was a three-month
journey around India and South Asia. Sporadic plot ideas and
character outlines eventually turned into a solid story sufficient
for a novel. The intention was to write a book with a unique
storyline that people, who may not be avid science fiction readers,
would enjoy. 

He is currently
working on a second novel set within the 'worlds' and themes of
Deep Yellow.

***

Thank you for reading
the book. I hope you enjoyed it.

Any reviews via your
favourite retailer are most welcome.

Thanks.

Stuart F. Dodds

***

For more information,
please visit
http://www.deepyellownovel.com/home.html