Judge Dredd (12 page)

Hershey started down the aisle, hesitated, then stopped, and turned toward the side door that led to the small room off the Council Chamber. There would be people in the hallway, people she knew. Street Judges, maybe members of the news media. Cadet Olmeyer, probably. She couldn’t see Olmeyer now. He’d be mooning over her, offering his sympathy, unintentionally doing everything to make her feel worse.

The anteroom was empty. For a long moment, she stood there in the silence. It seemed a lifetime instead of only moments before since she and Dredd had waited there for the Council to consider its verdict. She couldn’t recall what they’d said to each other. Probably nothing at all. At that point, there was little they could say. Both of them knew that miracles only happened in legend, in the Way Back When. Not in Mega-City, not now.

She glanced at the two glasses on the table. A Cadet steward had brought them water while they waited. Dredd had taken one swallow. Hershey had finished hers.

She picked up Dredd’s glass. She was bone-tired, aching all over from the tension of the trial. The tissues in her mouth were parched. She raised Dredd’s glass, held it just below her lips. The faint, pleasant scent of lemon rose from the clear liquid, and she was struck by the sudden memory of dark, brown eyes and a soothing smile, a summer afternoon. Her mother had liked the taste of lemon, and often added it to the water at mealtime. Hershey hadn’t thought of that in years, and now her mother was—

Hershey stopped, stared at the glass and brought it closer to her nose. She set down Dredd’s glass and picked up her own. It was nearly empty, but there was enough there to smell. Nothing. No scent at all.

Judge Hershey’s hand shook as she set the glass down. The rage began to spread throughout her body, burning like a fire she could scarcely control. She clenched her fists in frustration, then grabbed up Dredd’s glass and threw it against the wall.

Hexxadol Nine!
It wasn’t the scent of lemon, it was a powerful tranquilizer drug. They had passed around samples of dozens of dangerous chemical compositions at the Academy. She had been proud of herself because she was extremely sensitive to smells. Most of the other Cadets hadn’t detected a thing when Hexxadol Nine had come around.

And Dredd hadn’t either . . .

The rigid stance, the frozen stare. It didn’t take much of the stuff to numb him to anything that was happening around him. They could have started a war right there and Dredd wouldn’t have noticed. There was enough of the drug in his glass . . .

Who? Hershey wondered.
Why
wasn’t the question, why was perfectly clear. Dredd would accept his own sentence, but he would go berserk when he learned of Fargo’s sacrifice.

Hershey’s rage turned to sorrow and she let it all out, didn’t try to hold it back. The scalding tears were for Dredd, but they were for Chief Justice Fargo as well. He had traded his own life for Dredd’s, but it seemed he had done more than that. He had made certain Dredd didn’t have to share his pain. He would, but not in the Council Chamber. Not in front of the others. Dredd and Fargo had both been spared that.

“T
his is Duncan Harrow with the news . . .

“I feel a little out of place, a bit uncomfortable, ladies and gentlemen, sitting behind the news desk today. In my mind, this desk will always belong to a man who was revered and respected by the journalistic community, and the Citizens of Mega-City, for a number of years.

“This is Vardis Hammond’s desk. And the tragic story unfolding before us today began with the brutal, senseless slaying of Vardis Hammond, and his wife, Lily.

“Why did the popular—the legendary—Judge Dredd slaughter two innocent people in the sanctity of their home? Some say Judge Dredd suffered from a serious mental disorder, a condition kept under wraps by Dredd’s powerful friend and long-time mentor, the former Chief Justice Fargo. One informed source reports that the Hammonds were killed because of Hammond’s continued criticism of the Judges, and Judge Dredd in particular. As our regular viewers will recall, Hammond long claimed that there was corruption within the judicial system, and that the increase in rioting and crime in our city could be traced to the moral decay within the hierarchy of the Judges.

“It’s a question that may never be answered, but the murder of the Hammonds, and the conviction of Judge Dredd for that crime, has led to another bizarre and startling development—the retirement of Chief Justice Fargo himself, and the commutation of Dredd’s death sentence to life in Aspen Prison.

“As I announced previously, the news media is not allowed to bring you live video coverage of the Ceremony of Retirement. We apologize for this, of course, but we must comply with the decision of the Judges. In lieu of live coverage, I will read you the text of the ceremony, as given to us by a media spokesman of the Judges.

“ ‘At sunrise this morning, retiring Judge Fargo was escorted by an Honor Guard of Street Judges to the City Gate in the Wall of Mega-City. Judge Fargo wore the traditional tan duster, traditional lawmen’s wear from a period dating to the Way Back When. A young Cadet, first in her class this year, read from the Book of Law, and a chorus of Cadets sang the solemn Judges’ Anthem.

“ ‘The cadet read: “Let him who has been written in our hearts and memories be struck from our hearts and memories forever . . .”

“ ‘At this point, retiring Judge Fargo hands a bundle containing his uniform, Lawgiver, and badge to the presiding Cadet. The Cadet hands Fargo the Book of Law, and the weapon he will carry to the Cursed Earth, a black-burnished Judges’ Remington pump. The Cadet salutes smartly. Judge Fargo returns the salute for the last time. The Cadet does an about face, turns her back on Judge Fargo, marches back to her post before the gathered command, and speaks again: “Let him go from us, from our city, from our protection, from our presence forever . . .”

“ ‘The city gates open, revealing the parched, empty land beyond. Judge Fargo walks through the gate, and into the Cursed Earth.

“ ‘He has gone from our midst, he has left us forever. May he continue his pursuit of the Right throughout his life. May he bring Law to the lawless, Justice to the unjust . . . as he leaves our sight forever . . .”

“At this point, ladies and gentlemen, the great city gate closes behind Judge Fargo. The Cadets and the honor guard of Street Judges come to attention, and the Judges’ Anthem reaches its stirring climax.

“This concludes our report on the Retirement Ceremony of Judge Fargo, former Chief Justice of Mega-City.

“As an ironic sidenote to this story, I can report to you that at virtually the same instant this ceremony was taking place, another, somewhat less
formal
event occurred at the Northwest Shuttle-gate of our city. Here, sixty-three men in chains and gray prison garb walked up the rampway to the Aspen Prison Shuttle Number Eleven. Some will be incarcerated for only a short time, some for many years. At least one among them will spend the rest of his life behind those forbidding walls for the crime of double murder. A prisoner named Joseph Dredd.

“Duncan Harrow here. Good night . . .”

The small craft whined above the city, catching the light of the sun on its crystal bow. It circled a tower that touched the morning clouds, hovered an instant, then settled gently into the magnetic lock that held it steady against the high structure.

A circular iris whispered open, and Chief Justice Griffin walked quickly out of the craft. The pilot saluted, but Griffin didn’t bother to respond.

The walls of his apartment were simulated oak, a perfectly polished imitation of a material that had long since vanished from the earth. The furniture was stark black and white, the pictures on the walls abstract slices of silver and blue. Replicated logs burned in the large fireplace at the far end of the room. The light flickered off the rich, golden walls, lending the stark decor a warm and comforting glow.

Griffin walked straight to the bar beside a heavy glass table. He reached for the familiar crystal container, changed his mind, and bent behind the bar. In a corner near the back was a bottle with a faded gold label, the printing nearly indistinct. He brought the bottle out and held it to the light. The liquid inside was the dark and smoky hue of old gold.

“Real Scotch whisky,” Griffin said aloud. “No simulations, not today.”

He reached for a glass. He heard the soft laughter behind him, jerked around and nearly dropped the precious bottle on the floor.

“Damn you,” he said, “what do you think you—”

Griffin stopped and sucked in a breath. The man stood in the center of the room, light from the fireplace glancing off the sharp planes of his face. But there was someone, something else—a darkness, a shadow that seemed to lift itself out of the substance of the floor behind the man, swell and grow until it nearly touched the high ceiling itself. It hissed and groaned, and steam rose from its dented metal joints.

Griffin recognized the monster at once. An ABC robot, a relic of some ancient war, A thing like that, here, in his
home . . .

“Are you out of your mind!” Griffin stared at the man in anger. “Why did you bring that . . . that
thing
in here? I want it out of here at once!”

Rico smiled. “The Scotch is good. I tried it before you arrived.”

“Anything else I can get you?” Griffin said darkly. “Anything you see, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Rico leaned against the fireplace and crossed his arms. “Chief Justice Griffin. It has a . . . pleasant ring to it.”

“Yes, that’s all very well and good, but we—”

Griffin stepped toward Rico. The massive robot creaked and slammed a heavy foot in his path. The room shook. Glass trembled in a cabinet on the wall.

“I don’t like this,” Griffin said. “You and that antique killer coming here. I said we’d meet somewhere safe. My home is supposed to be secure, but there aren’t many secrets in Mega-City anymore.”

“I prefer to choose my own meeting places, Mr. Chief Justice.” Rico swept his arm in a casual gesture. “What are you worried about? That fool reporter is dead. The beloved Judge Fargo has taken the Long Walk, and Judge Dredd is on his way to Aspen Prison. I do hope he gets my old cell. It’s quite special. So . . .
isolated,
so quiet . . .”

Rico looked into the fire. “Fargo was no trouble, I assume? Such a fine and noble man.”

Griffin made a noise in his throat. “With Dredd convicted his back was to the wall. He didn’t have any choice. He thought the Long Walk was all his idea. Dredd was the only one who could raise hell during the proceedings, and I made sure he kept quiet.”

Griffin shook his head. “I’m not happy with the disposition of Dredd. He’s an extraordinary man. I could’ve used him in this . . .”

“No. You could
not
have
used
him in this!” Rico swept Griffin’s words aside. “Dredd
worships
the Law, and he would have blown you away the moment he found out how much you’re pissing on it. Let him freeze his ass off in Aspen. Let him see what it’s like to be
me!
After all, he and I have
so
much in common, don’t we?”

Griffin looked at Rico. Rico’s eyes seemed to glow with a light far greater than the reflection from the fire. They were a deeper, more molten red, like the unblinking eyes of the robot that stood silently over Rico’s shoulder.

“I’m . . . sure you’re right,” Griffin said. “No use wasting time on Joseph Dredd. There’s a great deal of work to be done.”

Rico nodded. “Janus. Yes . . .”

“You’ll see it soon enough. In the meantime, I want
chaos,
Rico. The block wars were just the beginning. Now I want fear racing through every street.” He slammed his fist against the wall. “Then the Council will
have
to turn to me. And when they do, I’ll give them Janus!”

Rico rubbed a hand across his chin. “Fear, terror, panic in the streets. I think I can handle that . . .”

T
he air in the hold was thick and foul. The odor was of flatulence and fear, fury and the sour smell of sweat. The prisoners were chained to the hard metal benches. The guards stalked up and down the narrow aisle between them, mean-eyed men with big necks and arms like slabs of iron. They held their riot guns close to their chests, like lovers who might run away. They prayed to dark gods that they’d get a chance to kill someone today. Maybe a con would go mental and howl like a dog. Maybe a man would try to strangle his buddy with his chains. Maybe one or two men would try to escape.

No more than two. They never prayed for more than that. A shuttle guard’s worst nightmare was a hold full of desperate men, all coming at them at once. The guards never told each other, but they knew what they would do. They wouldn’t take a chance. They’d turn their weapons on themselves, blow off their heads in one clean and decent shot.

Fergie knew who the guy was. He knew, but he knew he wasn’t right. He wasn’t right because it didn’t make sense. There wasn’t a chance in hell that the man who had put him in this stinkhole was sitting next to him on the bench. Okay, it
looked
like the guy. A lot of people looked like someone, but that didn’t mean they were them.

He held his hands up and brought them close together. He peeked through the gap until all he could see were the guy’s dark eyes, a little piece of nose. He closed the gap, opened it, closed it shut again.

“Dredd?”
Fergie couldn’t believe it, but now he knew it was true. “Holy sh—Dredd, it’s
you!”

“So what?” Dredd didn’t look up.

“Wha-what are you doing here? You can’t be here you’re a—I mean you’re not a—Hey, you’re undercover, right? On the job. Watchin’ someone. Keeping your eyes open. Following a clue. I’m deaf and dumb, okay? My lips are sealed, I will not say a thing.”

Dredd looked up. Fergie felt the man’s eyes drill halfway through his head. “I was convicted of a crime. Wrongly convicted. That’s what happened. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone.”

“You, too?” Fergie slapped his head. “Hey, no kidding? That makes two of us. How about that?”