The Brell Sturlach Adventures (Books 1-3)

By Stuart F. Dodds

Three books for the price of 1.

The Brell Sturlach Adventures (Books 1–3)
A science fiction action-adventure series. Intriguing storylines. Interesting characters. Humour. No romance.
Brell Sturlach, late thirties, former senior Police Corps officer, convict, and cargo pilot, is never far from trouble... but is determined to rebuild her life despite past regrets.

In Deep Yellow, she is in prison, after a career destroying incident, when she is selected to take part in Convict Challenge where she must solve clues, remain sober, and fight her way through a series of alien holographic ‘worlds’. Her challengers include ex-soldiers, a nun, and a man from her past, whom she previously tried to kill.
The first challenge takes place in the Rome world.

At the beginning of The Search for Locardum, Brell is piloting her cargo freighter when Police Corps demand she find a large, hidden stash of Locardum - a rare ore used in creating deadly laser weapons. If she fails, she will return to prison.
Accompanied by an undercover officer and an unusual android, she is immediately in difficulty. The person who may provide vital information is likely to die in the latest version of Convict Challenge and a psychotic criminal is also seeking the Locardum.

The Fight for Locardum starts with Brell attempting to liberate a previous enemy of hers, who is due to be executed. Together with her android assistant and unauthorised Police Corps support, they must transport the Locardum to safety before it falls into criminal hands. As usual, nothing goes smoothly. Cue shootouts, raids, fights, explosions, and Brell’s pursuance of the man who murdered her partner.

The three books, previously published separately, have been refreshed, re-edited and released in this new version series.
...Loved the characters and their backgrounds and the action. Thoroughly satisfied... (Amazon review)
...A good fast paced read that never got bogged down in detail... (Amazon review)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stuart F. Dodds
• Release date: Jan 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739878122

Stuart F. Dodds

Stuart is the author of a science fiction series, an action-adventure novel, and various short stories. Having retired from law enforcement with its fights, drama, boredom, and unhealthy shifts, he began writing. Inspiration for the stories include work experiences, video games, movies, travel, and life! He lives near London, England and can be contacted at stuartfdodds.com.

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Copyright

Copyright © 2015-2022 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: 978-1-7398781-2-2 (Smashwords edition)

This collection, first published (2022), contains re-edited and updated versions of the original novels.

Deep Yellow (first published 2015) fourth published edition (2022)

The Search for Locardum (first published 2017) third published edition (2022)

The Fight for Locardum (first published 2018) second published edition (2022)

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Cover artwork and design copyright © Rik Jackson

Colours by James Clarke

Artwork published with kind permission from Rik Jackson

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Table of contents

Deep Yellow

(A Brell Sturlach Adventure)

by

Stuart F. Dodds

Dedication

To mum.

***

Thanks to my wife Jayne for her help, encouragement and patience and my children for their love and support.

Chapter 1 – Commander Sturlach

Dockside was a crap hole, Police Corps Commander Brell Sturlach reflected, as she flew her command skiff around the area. Huge, dilapidated tower blocks supposed cities in the sky, were now the residence of poverty, crime, and the forgotten. Despite advancements in technology, people still hung their clothes on a washing line strung over their balcony.

It was early morning, the best time for a drugs raid. The gang members in charge would be in a state of oblivion, having taken the hallucinogen, Deep Yellow, or other illegal substances. Drug ampoules, bottles and tablets would be strewn around the apartment floors. Brell knew it well.

She checked her support crews; two ground transporters and another skiff, currently flying alongside. The vehicles, full of Police Corps officers, drove steadily along a grid road, one behind the other. A few people walked on the side-paved areas as auto sled cabs shuffled around the grids. Nearby, in the cargo docking zone, large craft manoeuvred into their final descent. Stevedore sleds would ready themselves to scan and store the shipments for collection, whilst security guards waited for the morning shift to arrive.

The target of the raid was the whole of floor 255, inside Tower Block Linear 51. Brell studied the console monitors and holographic screens within her cockpit and reasoned that the drug gang’s defences outside the building were basic. No sticky bombs, laser splashers, or heavy armaments were evident. Still, caution was needed, as experience informed her that gangs used surrounding buildings for early warning systems and gun placements. The front entrance and foyer of the tower block, unseen from the air or street, would be heavily guarded.

A signal chimed on Brell’s console; heat signals discovered by the community centre ruins. Attack guns were energising.

Take out the community centre, Brell said into her comms headset.

She watched the transporters trundling towards the building, remembering her time as a junior Corps officer in the back of a similar vehicle on the way to a raid. Two lines of Corps officers would be sitting opposite each other in dark blue uniforms. Their commander, positioned at the end, studied a series of screens. There would be the usual small talk, jokes, farting, silence, and faces unable to hide nervous tension. At least one officer would clasp and re-clasp their laser barrel, trying not to gain eye contact with the others.

The rail gun, in an armoured dome on top of the lead transporter, burst into life. From the air, the support skiff blasted several missiles into the building. After the dust settled, the heat signals had gone.

Good job. Into position for front entrance clearance.

Brell adjusted her breathing and calmed her thoughts as she spoke.

Command. Disengage auto.

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

Boom!

The craft suddenly dipped to the left. Brell compensated on the joystick as best 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.

Brell tensed her jaw and fought the shuddering joystick, her heart beating faster. The building loomed ahead. Shit, shit. She de-accelerated momentarily, felt a response in the controls, then fully opened the throttle.

The skiff responded. She tilted the craft, clearing the side with centimetres to spare. She let out a breath while watching the support skiff pelting the guns which fired at her wing.

Auto stabilise, she said in a firm voice.

Her skiff balanced itself, allowing Brell to fly around another block to check the craft’s response. Satisfied she was still in the game and in command, she swooped towards the target building. It was time to act.

The entrance was clear of pedestrians, so she descended to three metres above ground and swung her skiff onto a straight path. The roadways streamed underneath for a moment until she de-accelerated, balanced the brake and anti-grav drive and hovered in a ready position.

Laser fire burst out from a window of the gang’s hideout and fizzed against the craft’s shields. More shots erupted from an adjacent window. The combined laser power was deteriorating the armour shields.

An alarm sounded; temperature alert. She must make a strike now, otherwise the transporter officers would be in danger.

Command. Stun pellets.

A batch of pellets streamed into the entrance with a loud roar, quickly followed by a cloud of dust billowing back out of the doorway. Anyone inside, gang member or not, would have collapsed on the floor, unable to move. Upon waking and with their hands bound, a grinning Police Corps officer would be leaning over them.

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

As soon as the pellets released, Brell pulled on the joystick to head for safety, but there was no response. The craft hung in the air, vulnerable and at the mercy of the attackers. Laser fire burned and sizzled into the drive unit.

"Danger, drive unit fail. Danger, drive unit fail." Brell’s gaze flicked around the various warning lights.

A distinctive alert, seemingly from a distance, sounded out. Brell sat back, dropping her shoulders.

Frag it.

The Reveille ‘breakfast’ chime continued as Brell pulled off her ‘SurroundMe’ gaming helmet and placed it on the desk by the joystick and console.

She rubbed her face with both hands and 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, the old name for a toilet or bathroom, rubbed her arm and stared at the floor. Another day dawned, the same old breakfast waiting for her. Aside from the bed, chair, table, wardrobe, gaming/media console, and punch bag, she had little 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.

She stood up, washed her hands, then splashed water on her face. She straightened her clothes, yawned, scratched her backside, and ambled out onto the landing overlooking the communal zone. A smell of disinfectant and cooking wafted up. The area below, for meals and free association, comprised 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 observed inmates performing their stretching exercises nearby to one of the giant image screens, which displayed rolling 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 and those serving long sentences. Who cares a frag about this? The words had changed 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 help breathe. 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. She hooked a finger inside, pulled out a thin liquid ampoule, and weighed it in her hand. Deep Yellow. Two hundred days had passed since the last time she took the illegal substance. Though a weaker form of Deep Yellow than the original bottled mix, it was better than nothing. Brell tried offsetting the monotony of prison life with a drug-free health and fitness regime. Aware but oblivious, now, to the 24-hour cell surveillance and scanning, Brell returned the ampoule, then replaced her sculpture, while looking directly at the cams, smiling.

Frag it, the guards supplied the Deep Yellow, at a cost. Made their job 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 before making her way out of the cell.

Brell stood in line, collected her food from the large industrial auto chef, and took her normal 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 in space, may have been a weaver’s wife on her home world. She would certainly not be in prison.

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

Today’s breakfast was 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 she could afford a new action media game. Conversation around her stopped, and she felt the gaze of others.

What do you think?

What was that? Brell said, clearing her throat and glancing up to see who 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 conflict, hence the reason 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 get a washout or 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? the first inmate said sarcastically.

Old captain here knows all about that, don’t you, princess blue skin? The second inmate said. equally sarcastically.

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? The woman gave a mock salute.

Brell let them talk and bit harder into the root, frowning. The other women at the table did not speak, but gazed left and right, waiting for something to happen.

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 Corps women in similar circumstances, and all that, but the sergeant opted for voluntary termination. It was a tough 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 into the cup. There was a sharp bang on her head from a half-chewed vegetable, which fell onto 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. Nervous giggling started.

Hey, old Corpy’s getting angry. Watch out girls, she may try to run you in.

Brell ran around the table, grabbed the inmate’s shirt collar with one hand, pulling the other back for a punch. The last thing she remembered was the woman screwing up her eyes and turning her face away.

***

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

Aagh, frig 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 at her whilst talking to a supervisor via her comms implant. It was one of the new guards who was still 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.

Overseer’s office, the guard said, smiling.

Chapter 3 – Overseer’s office

The office was enormous, but bland. A guard plonked Brell into a chair three metres from the Overseer’s large metal desk. The only item of adornment was a large corner bookcase with Rule and Regulation book covers neatly stacked on the shelves. Holographic screens were positioned in a wide semicircle in front of the desk. Brell turned to see a huge checkerboard of display 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, a few screens blinked off.

The Overseer studied Brell, her round face with small ears and an 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, with 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.

At the side of the desk sat a man. A man! There were no male guards in Brell’s wing. He appeared Elytian because of his light-yellow skin, and was 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 the most interesting feature.

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. It isn’t the first time you have been stunned for fighting.

To be brought into the Overseer’s office 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 a palm towards her, as if in greeting, and then fiddled with his multi-coloured beaded necklace. The Overseer glanced at the man impassively.

Interesting name, Brell said.

It’s kind of foreign.

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 an entire show, clues, keys, but most importantly, he waved his hand, the winner gains their freedom.

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

Okay, I will slow down. 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, whose 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 scratched 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 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 ages to come to terms with that, and now you suddenly have this, this game show, as if I’ll go on and 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 works. 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 noticed 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?

The Overseer now spoke. 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 the custody of Prison Corps officers at the studios. The Challenge starts in four weeks. Say your goodbyes; you will not be returning here.

Brell was unsure if the Overseer was pleased, grateful, or just being truthful, especially after the bust up this morning. Whilst 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 at her fingernails. The daily prison grind would finish soon because of some ludicrous game show. Was she just being toyed with? A prank? Perhaps she could gain her freedom, but more than likely, it meant death. If nothing else, presumably, she will be free for a while during the contest. Saves the voluntary termination chat.

She touched the edge of Williams’ cube. A screen materialised a metre in front of her. This was certainly better technology than her old picture cube. Buttons and symbols displayed near to her hands, so she sat back 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 returned with a new format, refreshed, and updated. Seven prisoners, all murderers, released on our Holo version of an alien world. Their aim, to solve clues and be the first to return 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. He was a typical Elytian presenter with light yellow skin, permanent smile with a single gold coloured line running through his greased hair. His green suit sparkled in the studio lights.

Where will the contest take place? For older viewers, we have learnt our lessons from the past. Serious face. We are using holographic stages in the safety of our studios. There will be no repeat of last time.

The blue planet appeared again.

Inhab-47 is several decades behind our technology. Many of its inhabitants live in basic communities. An image showed families sitting outside dwellings made of branches and tree leaves. The children filled water containers from a small, dirty pond situated nearby to basic dwelling pods. Brell wondered if she needed to learn survival 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, and premature death is rife.

Further images showed thin-faced children with insects buzzing around their faces.

There is basic communication technology and transport using the planet’s limited resources. Various types of vehicles were seen driving along, plus 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. There will be many interviews with the challengers, and you can also enter a draw to become a virtual audience member. It’s time to see the challengers.

Seven faces appeared. The images were the ones taken when booking into prison. Brell sighed.

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. They are all incarcerated for murder. We’ve got ex Space Corps and Police Corps, a smuggler, a farmer, a nun, an assassin, and a Corporation First Executive.

Fuck! 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 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 cruiser 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 cruiser 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 officer 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 cruiser. When satisfied that Brune explained the procedures correctly, she pressed her communicator and began talking to control to sort out the mess.

A while later they were called into the commander’s office.

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 recompensed the damaged transporter owner. Case closed.

Brell shook her head showing annoyance but 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 cruiser, the cool night air a welcome relief from the warm 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. Though recently, her gland enhancements were not calming her enough.

She 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 aftereffects. 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 stood on the other side of the security beam wall with his two aides who tried 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.

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 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. Unfortunately, Carac approached her and the commander and held a brief polite conversation. His gaze roved up and down her and she shivered when their meeting ended.

The commander wandered off to network, leaving Brell by the snacks table at the back of the hall. She sipped a fruit juice, bit into another crispy-coated meat piece and people-watched. A mixed group, many off-worlders, a few locals, and some miners with ground in dirty 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 dark room inside.

Brell put down her plate, kept her drink and hesitantly went to investigate. No one made themselves known.

Help, the voice said again.

As Brell strolled in, the door slammed shut and Carac stood smiling at her.

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

He stretched his left arm blocking her exit and Brell saw his right hand reaching behind his jacket. Before she could assimilate the situation, he produced a spray tube and pulled the trigger.

At this, she stepped back, threw her glass at him, then punched down onto his outstretched hand. The glass bounced off his shoulder and the blow changed the direction of the spray. Instead of receiving a face full of the noxious liquid, the spray coated her jacket and trousers. Another blow made him drop the weapon, which she kicked across the room.

Mist particles hung in the air, making her feel woozy. Nevertheless, she tore at his fingers and hand to unblock the door. She punched out, but he dodged her fist, like a practiced boxer. He slapped the side of her head and laughed.

A knock on the door was followed by, Everything okay, Mr Montil? Prize giving soon.

Carac smiled.

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

Quickly reaching forward, he grabbed Brell’s belt and drew her body towards him. He kissed her neck and rubbed the inside of her thigh. Then he shot his hand up to her breasts and squeezed hard.

Brell gasped. He stared at her with the eyes of a man of power, who could do whatever he liked. He flung her to one side, ran a hand through his hair, and adjusted his tie before opening the door.

Brell retrieved the spray and wiped down her uniform tunic and trousers with a serviette. When ready, she walked back into the main hall. Carac stood on stage, the master of ceremonies and the 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. She sat in a dressing gown and 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.

She knew people would construe any allegations against Carac as vengeful. He would say she was drunk and seeking credits from shredding his reputation. The violation, his groping hands and helplessness never really left her. Images would float into her mind in the middle of the night or during a meeting. She became more controlling at work, particularly when restraining and arresting male prisoners. It took time before she was 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 the tube contained a type of incapacitant spray, often used by the military to overcome targets who later wake up in a controlled interrogation building.

A short while afterwards, Brell received 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 from sending messages.

***

In her cell, Brell struck the punch bag again and stood back, panting. She grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat off her hair, and stared at Carac’s image, still displayed on a screen.

A year ago, 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 his influence, trials, appeals, and retrials. She enjoyed watching the events unfold from the comfort of her cell.

Over the years, she received sporadic taunting messages from him. Like shit on a shoe, she could never quite cleanse herself of him. Unfortunately, his influence in prison allowed him to send messages outside of normal prison filters. He remained always present, deep in her thoughts, like an infatuated ex-boyfriend stalker.

At the end of every message, there was a derogatory reference to her blue skin.

She walked around, calming her breathing, shaking out her shoulders and arms, then hit the punch bag a few times.

It was time to view her own profile.

She studied her picture; a dispirited, dejected, sacked Corps officer, Deep Yellow and intox addict. It was the lowest point in her life. She could not forget stepping off the prisoner transport ship in beam cuffs and into the prison building. As she passed through each successive secure entranceway, she sensed a growing realisation of never seeing freedom in the outside world again.

The processing guard smirked when Brell was officially booked in; a convicted Corps officer, incarcerated for life. 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 see 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, including mining and pleasure moons, she rose up the ranks, making captain with hopes of becoming an air 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 guest and causing extensive damage. Images of the dead man, his family, and the damaged building appeared on screen.

The Judiciary Corps threw the full force of the law at her. 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 contained many items, galleries, images, and streams to view. She pressed Holo psyche interview 4.

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

What do you want me to say? Wonderful, everybody is being so helpful. The taunts, snide remarks, pushes, and punches 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, 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 was a lighter blue than most Celestians. Her mother was a drunk which is why she couldn’t wait to leave home.

All thrown away; her job, Gorst, and family life. She glanced back at the screen and navigated to Brell’s Gallery. There must be something good here.

There was one of her standing outside a Police Corps building with a senior officer, while 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 as her weak side had already given in.

She opened the lid of the sculpture and took out the ampoule of Deep Yellow.

Chapter 7 – Inhab-47

Williams’s office was untidy. Holo logs, cups, intox containers, and weed smoke packets were strewn across his desk. Shelves lining two of the walls were stuffed hap-hazardly with images and sculptures.

It had been a long week, what with working his way around 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. He felt relieved to be away from the prison planet, even though he was in no danger during the visits. A recurring feeling came over him of being accidentally locked in a cell and forgotten about. However, he was happy that the challengers were a good mix to keep the audience interested.

He turned off his constant stream of holo and implant communications.

Inhab-47 music style, he said. The fast-paced music with repetitive melody and a shouting singer began playing. He nodded his head in time with the beat and swivelled around to face a wall screen set to a live stream of the view from his studio office on Elytia. Skiffs, tugs, trucks, and cabs skimmed along the flight lanes, curling their way across 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.

He turned to a carved wooden box and took out a wrapped weed smoke, which he jabbed lightly onto the lid to light it. With the cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth, he relaxed back and traced the artefact’s outline with his index finger. Capturing the alien world was quite an experience.

Since the embarrassing failure of an earlier version of Convict Challenge, Williams considered a dramatic new direction was needed. Shows with fake holo worlds, with the same old games and battles, were commonplace these days. The strangeness and danger of using an Inhab-47 backdrop would provide fresh emphasis.

After many meetings and charitable donations, the government eventually agreed that probes could be sent to the planet, but no one could visit. The next job was to persuade the studios to finance the trip. His impassioned plea, with promises of huge profits, worked. However, before leaving to board the Deep Space Corps patrol vessel he was told, If it fails, find other employment.

With the threat of his forty-year career ending in a dumpster, he left.

During the long tedious journey, sprinkled with periods of hyper sleep, they arrived at the edge of Inhab-47’s solar system. Full invisibility shields were employed, and officers assigned to scan for any craft.

William’s stress was high and not helped by the ambivalent crew. In their minds, it was an unnecessary trip, involving potential unknown dangers for the sake of a beamcast show. The creative team Williams put together to gather and process information was hesitant and twitchy.

However, Soohan, the First Contact specialist, was a revelation. Tall, with fading blonde hair, natural wrinkly face, not the type for cosmetics, she was in her mid-sixties and enjoyed rock climbing. With her historian husband, they often took on projects to the furthermost parts of the Vorsan Galaxy.

She was good company and a drinker who regaled Williams with First Contact stories. For example, when Thracia received its beam propulsion engines, they immediately raided all of their own moons, eradicating indigenous populations. Most of the population of Fracard left their own planet and headed for richer places, like Elytia, which eventually led to strict immigration controls.

Williams brought the team together for a briefing. Amongst others, there were technicians, language specialists, holo world creators and scenario writers.

Inhab-47 was our favourite of the listed inhabited worlds, so we are expecting good things. Other planets were inhabited with swamp creatures or insects. Not the best for our challengers. Bit sticky. He paused for laughs but received silence.

From long range signals and transmissions, we know the planet is in its first flush of technology. And having examined these transmissions, including some rather interesting drama shows, we have chosen a few likely sites for scanning, which we think has a rich history, both modern and old, for us to discover. I can’t wait.

At the end of the meeting, Williams heard muttering and moaning from the audience. This did not help his stress.

Space Corps despatched an unmanned transporter, full of high spec cameras and drones to a specific location behind a moon. Along the way, it laid a series of relay beacons before making a brief space folding jump.

When ready, the cameras flew to their pre-assigned positions as slim tubes, full of drones, entered the atmosphere. Inhab-47 basic scanners would barely detect any movement. The drones containing long life batteries topped up by any light source deployed themselves into their plotted areas.

Invisible, bar a faint blurring to an astute observer, they silently flew along, transmitting their pictures via the space cameras back to the craft.

Four drones terminated immediately because of internal faults. Anyone finding the drone would see whatever remained of the self-vaporising components; usually a small mush of metal.

Williams popped a handful of tablets and smoked continuously as he waited for the first images to arrive. He looked over the shoulder of a technician at a blank screen. The screen fuzzed momentarily, then produced a rich high-quality image of a street scene. No one spoke.

The technician checked a list of symbols. Code is good. No problem with holo conversion.

Williams punched the air.

Over the next few days, the drones flew along their routes, collecting data. At times the drone operator hand steered the device and dipped a probe into unattended drinks, food, clothing or interior scanned other objects. Lines of unintelligible code were collected by a synthesis expert and soon an industrial autochef and printer chugged out alien beverages, meals, and clothes. Williams walked around wearing a colourful short-sleeved shirt, smoking alien cigars.

Is that a swagger in your step? Soohan said.

Williams raised his eyebrows and puffed on his cigar. Hasta la vista.

Soohan raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

Once the viewing of alien images moved from fascinating to the mundane, Williams worked on creating scenes and events to add interest to the viewers. He constantly involved Soohan to add a historical perspective to keep the scenarios realistic and fun. At night, he excitedly viewed images of the alien planet, taking wonder at the differences and similarities with his own world.

Within days, the technicians created a holographic scene for demonstration purposes and Williams and Soohan entered what was a large conference room, wearing special glasses. The blue coloured interior was empty except for a few randomly placed white blocks.

Okay. On, Williams said. He held his breath.

A frame outline appeared first, with ghost like people walking around. Colours were vague, but Williams could make out they stood in a small grassy area leading to a roadway. On the opposite side of the road was a line of old buildings.

There was a humdrum of noise, engines, the rustle of leaves, beeps, hoots, and voices. He glanced up. Nothing flew in the air, no AG skiffs, just ground cars and wheeled contraptions. Loud scooters buzzed by, chugging out smoke.

Williams realised his shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and that Soohan had also not moved. She glanced around, her wide staring eyes hidden behind the glasses. He walked forward and touched a tree. It was a solid object, but the definition, albeit grey, was very good.

Can you turn it off for a moment?

Back to the blue room, his hand held on to an upright white block.

Back on.

He walked to the side of the road and hesitated in the belief he would be struck by a moving vehicle. He moved forward, relieved the outlines were pure holos, as later in the process, solid vehicles will be added. They found their way into a coffee house in which the staff communicated clearly, asking for their order on a conversational loop. An autochef chugged out their drinks, and they sat down.

Soohan eventually spoke. My university would be very interested in this technology.

Williams was lost in his own thoughts and barely responded.

Do we have full colour?

A technician outside added a pallet of colours to the scene.

They both gasped.

Williams puffed his cigar. Yes, the travel and cost were worth it and, importantly, he had a warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Even the Twins were happy with the results of the trip.

Sadly, Soohan died not long after their return to Elytia. His last memory was of her hunched over a desk with three displays screens on. 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 knowledge of Inhab-47 and explaining its culture and life.

She had accompanied her husband to a far-flung planet, re-visiting a community which shunned First Contact. The Elders snubbed the health, technological and travel benefits, whereas younger tribe members wanted to embrace it. Soohan and her husband were part of a team sent back to discuss the Elders’ decision. Their skiff crashed whilst flying across rocky terrain on the way to a key meeting. An investigation revealed no evidence of tampering, but conspiracy theories remained.

She was like the older sister he never had.

Chapter 8 – The Twins

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

Since returning from Inhab-47, Soward assumed the name of Williams for promotional purposes. It added an alienness for the audience, as well. He 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; it was expected if you were in the beamcast business. 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 Ayleth and Mayleth Lkardis. They 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. Flat chested, her hair was severely pulled back into a tight knot, and she often wore neck jewellery.

Despite their appearance, lack of humour, and other attributes, they had a nose for selecting successful beamcast shows, which Williams acknowledged. Importantly, they backed Convict Challenge.

After negotiating the ramps and walkways of the dock, Williams made his way into the maze of corridors and offices. The Beamcasting Company had rented out a huge military Holo World facility on a planet near to Elytia. Space and Police Corps used the place 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 and included staff quarters. Briefing rooms were restructured into a studio and a cell block. Deep underneath lay four cavernous rooms, over three kilometres long, which would be used for projecting the holographic worlds.

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 any.

Director Tslus,

you are,

one minute late,

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

Williams found it easier to maintain a fixed grin when visiting; best way to cope. Their office was a work of art with moulded ceilings continuing to 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 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 chair slid out. 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, and 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, 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 re-modified and the expensive intelligent bots are only used for security.

The contracts?

I’ve just arrived back from Crin. I spoke to all the challengers, and the Overseers have signed the contracts. The Jayzen lot had no difficulty signing the nun away. We 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 interviewed but are free during the challenge itself. In fact, the Corps guard’s presence will add a ‘danger’ element to the show. Also, the Inhab-47 backdrop gives the show an edge. 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’ve seen them personally and examined their background history, I believe they can all offer something. We have the ‘powerful but innocent’ man, addicted ex-Police Corps, a loser, a typical thug, a murdering nun, etc. The viewers will love them. Williams looked for a sign that his flattery had got him somewhere. Slight smiles appeared on their lips.

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 devices and implants, allowing them to interact with their assistants by using basic thoughts. He had tried it, but didn’t like it. Once, when his thoughts strayed during a boring meeting, a pleasure holo appeared behind him, to the laughter of his colleagues.

There is 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.

Have you become ...

… too infatuated with the place?

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

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 slid back, 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 strait-laced. They must have been a right pair