Deep Yellow (24 page)

“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.

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 th
e 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.