Judge Dredd (20 page)

Fergie looked at him with red and hollow eyes. “Forget it. I’m not really thirsty. I’ll wait until we find a nice bar.”

“Good.”

“You want my bug? You can have my bug.”

“I don’t want your bug.”

“Maybe I’ll keep it.”

“Fine.”

“Just in case, you know?” Fergie squashed the bug and put it in his pocket. Dredd would be sorry. Dredd would get thirsty and want his bug. Fergie would tell him, “Forget it, find your own bug, man.” Fergie grinned. It made him feel good to think about that.

“I knew you were out of your mind. I didn’t know how far, is all.”

“You can stay here. Nobody says you have to go.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

“Absolutely. That is exactly what I want to do.”

Dredd shook his head. “Just the answer I’d expect from the criminal mind. The habitual offender has no initiative, no will to survive.”

“Hey, nix on that. I got a will to survive.”

“Only if it’s not any trouble. If you don’t have to get off your butt you’ll maybe give it a try.”

Fergie mumbled to himself. He huddled on the parched ground, his knees folded under his chin. What the hell kind of world was this anyway? Five minutes before, the sun had been frying his head. Now, there was only a glow in the west and he was freezing to death.

Craning his neck, looking nearly straight up, he could see the broad stripe of gold, the dying sun’s reflection on the great Mega-City wall. The band of light was climbing fast; the sun was already far below the curve of the Cursed Earth.

In a moment, the stripe narrowed and disappeared at the top of the wall, half a mile high. Now, as the darkness began to gather in, he could clearly see the glare of flame low on the wall, not twenty yards ahead. A brief puff of smoke appeared, then vanished in the air.

“It’s a vent from one of the city’s incinerators,” Dredd had explained. “There’s a burst twice a minute. That means we’ve got a thirty-second interval to get through the tube before it flames again.”

“That means you are out of your mucking mind,” Fergie said.

“You thirsty?”

“Yes.”

“You got any water?”

“No.”

Fergie thought a minute. “The guys that went through, they made it okay. They got in, right?”

“Wrong.” Dredd shook his head. “They were droogs. Cursed Earthers. About as bright as Junior Head-Dead.”

“You’re saying, you’re saying they didn’t get in.”

“They got fried. But that’s because they didn’t figure it right. There is no reason it can’t be done.”

Fergie looked at him. “I’m stupid, remember? I’m a habitual offender.”

“Right. But you’re smarter than Junior Head-Dead anytime. Come on, get up. Let’s go.”

“No way, man.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Fergie stared. “Are you kidding? Wearing that pot on your head all these years has baked your brains, Dredd. You’re going to get me killed. You’re—oh, God, look at that!”

A fireball roared out of the vent, a tongue of flame thirty feet long. Fergie felt the heat on his face, smelled the charred remains of a million garbage cans.

Dredd waited until the flames died down, then walked up to the edge of the vent, keeping close to the wall. “Do what you want,” he said. “I’m going in, I’ve got things to do. There’s a maniac loose in Mega-City.”

“There’s another one loose out here,” Fergie said. He looked at the darkening sky, pleading with whoever might reside up there.

“Great time I’m having. I’m out of Aspen, I got a new life ahead, right? Wrong. I’m crashing in a shuttle. Cannibals think I’m the catch of the day. Now I got fireballs up my ass. And I owe it all to you. Thanks, Dredd.”

Dredd looked at him. “Me? You’re blaming me?”

“Of course I’m blaming you. If you hadn’t arrested me on false charges, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“That’s faulty logic. That’s lawbreaker talk, that’s—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the criminal mind.” He glared at Dredd. “Well, that’s it. I’ve had it.” Fergie slid to the ground against the wall. “I’m sitting right here. Someone arrests me, fine.”

“All right.”

“Or until you apologize, Dredd.”

Dredd looked at him. “Until I what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You heard what I said.”

“You’re mentally impaired.”

“Okay.”

“The Law doesn’t apologize, Ferguson. Do I have to remind you of that?”

“So? You’re not a Judge anymore. I gotta remind you of
that?”

Dredd looked tired. “Ferguson, what difference does it make? What if I was sorry, which I’m not. This is going to change your life or what?”

Fergie brought himself to his feet. He looked at the dark horizon, he didn’t look at Dredd. “I’ll bet you’ve never said the words in your life. Not ever. You
owe
it to me, Dredd.”

Dredd cocked his head and looked at Fergie as if he’d just dropped in from Mars.

“I’m supposed to say . . . exactly what?”

“ ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s it. That’ll do fine.”

“I’ll review your case, Ferguson. I will take the circumstances into consideration.”

The vent belched flame again, then retreated in a veil of foul smoke.

Fergie thought about that, then a smile spread across his face. “Review.
Review
is okay. Review is good. I’ll accept that. That’s a start, it’s a—huh?
Dredd!”

Dredd picked him up by the waist and tossed him into the chute.

“Go, Ferguson! Thirty seconds—run!”

“No!”
Fergie turned and started back. Dredd was right behind him. He stiff-armed Fergie in the back and sent him sprawling down the chute.

“Twenty-eight . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . .” Fergie said.

“Stop counting, droog,” Dredd shouted. “Move!”

“Twenty-two . . . twenty-one . . . twenty—where was I? Dredd, I’m going to fry!”

“Right. I’ll make sure you don’t.” Dredd racked a shell into the chamber of Fargo’s gun. Fergie looked over his shoulder, saw the weapon pointed at his head.

“Okay, okay, I’m
running!”

Fergie heard a low rumble, then a tremor he could feel through his boots, a thunder so deep it shook the walls. Something flickered far ahead. Something bright and red. The sight nearly stopped his heart. The fireball, coming right at him . . . God, he couldn’t be that slow, he still had time!

“Damn you, Dredd! You were wrong!”

“Maybe it wasn’t thirty seconds,” Dredd said behind him. “Maybe it was something else.”

“Oh,
shiiiiiiit!”

Dredd suddenly stopped. He reached out and grabbed Fergie’s collar and jerked him to a halt. Fergie stared. Dredd shoved him against the wall. He braced himself and fired the Remington at the floor of the chute. He pumped the weapon again and again. Fergie felt blood in his ears. Through a veil of dirty smoke, he saw the twisted grate at Dredd’s feet. Dredd kicked it with his boot. Kicked it again. The grate gave way with a clatter and vanished in the dark.

Dredd shouted in Fergie’s ear. Fergie couldn’t hear, but Dredd’s gesture was perfectly clear. Fergie jumped into the dark hole. Half a second later, he saw the fireball roar overhead, felt the awful heat, smelled the hair burning on his head.

Fergie flailed his arms in the air. Hit something soft, plowed through it and didn’t stop. Struck bottom on his knees, came up hacking and spitting black ash. Felt Dredd’s boots hit his back and went down again.

A dim light, from somewhere to the right. Dredd rose from the dark, his face black with soot.

“I’m alive,” Fergie said. “Hey, you are, too. How about that? We’re both alive!”

“Right. I can see that.”

“Dredd?”

“What?”

“Review’s okay, like I said. I mean, I’ll accept that. If you wanted to, you know, if you wanted to do any
more,
like actually apologize . . .”

“Forget it,” Dredd said. “I must have been out of my head. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

“You admitted you got it wrong.”

“I did what?”

“You said maybe it wasn’t thirty seconds. You said it was maybe something else.”

“So what?”

“So it wasn’t thirty. It was maybe thirteen.”

“It wasn’t thirteen.”

“You don’t know, you don’t know that. It might have been twelve.”

“Shut up,” Dredd said.

H
e shut out the fury, turned it aside. Cast a blind eye to the carnage, to the chaos, to the oily smoke from the city’s funeral pyres. A sky-lite bus had hit a barge head on, two-thousand feet above White Quad’s famous Crystal Dome. The explosion rocked the heights of the city. Twisted shards of molten metal, plastic, glass, and body parts ripped through the Dome, tearing, shredding, bringing razor-death to the naked fun-seekers below.

He ran down the alleyway behind Two-thousand-twenty-third Street, Fergie close behind. There were screams from the street, the sound of breaking glass. A looter with dragons tattooed on his face raced by with a holo set.

Now and then he saw Judges. Some of them were holding back the crowds. Some of them were dead. He used all the courage at his command to keep from jumping in to help, to fight beside his friends. He knew he couldn’t do it, that he had to stop Rico if he could. Besides, he was a fugitive. Even men who knew him might kill now.

That hurt. That hurt a lot. Almost as much as watching the people of the city tear his world apart.

Getting into the Hall of Justice wasn’t hard. Every veteran Judge knew how. Fergie didn’t want to come. Stay outside, Dredd told him, go anywhere. Fergie kept quiet after that.

The Judge in the locker room turned, startled. It was clear that he recognized Dredd. Dredd hit him carefully, a point below his neck. The man sagged. Dredd eased him to the ground and began stripping off his uniform. It wouldn’t quite fit, but that was fine.

“Oh, hell, why not?” Fergie rolled his eyes. “What else can they do to me? I’m dead already. They catch me, they can’t kill me twice.”

“Don’t count on it,” Dredd said.

THE SETTING:

The lighting is subdued in the Council Chamber. The massive marble carving of the eagle and badge of the Judges is almost lost in shadow. Perhaps this somber atmosphere reflects the mood of the Justices themselves. They know this is not a time for secrets or evasions, for half-truths and Council politics. This is a time of reckoning, of honest exchange, of sharing the strength, the wisdom, and the craft that brought them where they are. This is a time when they will perish or survive.

JUDGE ESPOSITO

This is the latest casualty report: Ninety-six Judges have been assassinated. I’m sure that’s a conservative figure. Our lines of communication are severely disabled. Property loss, civilian deaths . . . we can’t keep up with that.

JUDGE McGRUDER

Whoever’s behind all this is familiar with our every procedure. They have our security measures . . . they even know our scrambler frequencies.
Nothing’s
safe! They know everything we do!

JUDGE ESPOSITO

With only a handful of Judges on the street, riots are breaking out all over Mega-City. We don’t even have emergency personnel anymore—we don’t have anyone to send. The situation is critical!

[Judge Silver studies a sheaf of papers. He crushes them in his hand and lets them fall to the floor.]

JUDGE SILVER

It’s more than critical. It’s a
disaster!
We cannot
replace
these Judges. Even if we put the Cadets on the street—an action I cannot bring myself to think about—we would not be at full strength for years.

JUDGE McGRUDER

We don’t
have
years, my friend. I doubt very much we have days. And mark my words, with nothing to control them they’ll be up here, at
our
doors next. You can bet on that.

[The Judges glance at One another, then quickly look away. This is a horror that each of them has experienced, alone, in the safe and guarded havens of the Heights . . . the nightmare of the horde, the swarm, the Citizens of Mega-City free and unleashed, the havenots of the overcrowded warrens down below, thinking of the wonders, of the dream, of the beautiful toys of the few they have only glimpsed on their videos . . . Silence. The Judges can hear the hiss of sterile air. Chief Justice Griffin looks at his hands, stands, and turns to the others.]

CHIEF JUSTICE GRIFFIN

There is a solution, you know. It’s there. And perhaps this is exactly what it was designed for. Project Janus.

[The Council erupts in babble. The explosion of anger, astonishment, fear, and disbelief echoes about the vast room. Judge McGruder comes to her feet.]

JUDGE McGRUDER

Chief Justice Griffin. The mere
mention
of that name, that abomination, is intolerable—and grounds for impeachment!

JUDGE SILVER

No. It is unthinkable, sir. Out of the question. This Council tried to play God once before. It almost destroyed us then.

CHIEF JUSTICE GRIFFIN

And if this wholesale slaughter of Judges continues, then what, Judge Silver? We shall surely be destroyed if that occurs. What possible purpose would that serve? If we bring Janus into play it can—

JUDGE ESPOSITO

It can
what?
A new batch of
test-tube babies
won’t solve this crisis, Chief Justice. We do not need reliable Judges twenty
years
from now. If we are going to survive, if this city is going to survive, we need help this minute,
today!

(The lines of age and weariness are deeply etched into Judge Esposito’s face. The skin is dark and blotched beneath his eyes. Last night he heard the sirens wailing far below. When he finally slept, he dreamed of men with tattooed faces, men with blood in their eyes . . . )

JUDGE SILVER

I quite agree. With all due respect, Chief Justice, we have a desperate emergency here, a problem of the moment. This is not the time to speak of measures whose ends likely none of us here will live to see. If, indeed, we dared to consider such an action.