Judge Dredd (6 page)

Dredd turned as the door to the hallway slid aside. He came to attention and nodded his head in respect as Chief Justice Fargo walked into the room.

“Joseph, Joseph, no formalities, please.” He smiled warmly at Dredd. “You make me feel like an old man. Which is precisely what I am, by the way.”

“If we had a hundred men like you, sir, we could clean up Mega-City by morning.”

Fargo shook his head. “I’d call that blatant flattery if it came from any other man. Coming from you, I take it as a sincere compliment. A great exaggeration, but a compliment all the same.”

The Chief Justice sighed and lowered himself into a chair. “Sit down, Joseph, please. I appreciate you coming.” He glanced at his watch. “This won’t take long. I have to be in session in a few minutes.”

Dredd knew better than anyone else how serious the situation was becoming in the streets. He had been there and seen it, and he had an idea what this session was all about. Even if he hadn’t been aware of the meeting, he could not have missed the lines of fatigue around Fargo’s eyes, the deep sense of concern that seemed to slow his steps and weigh him down.

For the first time in a lifelong association with Fargo, Dredd saw past his image of a man who was indestructable, as strong and enduring as Mega-City itself. Now he saw a man who seemed even older than his seventy years, a man dragged down by the hounds of adversity that forever snapped at his heels.

Dredd had trained himself to bury those feelings that might intrude upon the task he had set himself to do. He did not want to experience love or hate. He did not wish to want or need anyone or anything. Yet, when he saw what was happening to Fargo, how the man was disintegrating before his eyes, Dredd felt a mix of sorrow, rage, and despair that he couldn’t cast aside.

“I think you know I have always taken a special interest in your career, Joseph. I also know there are certain others who—very much resent the fact. I do not regret my actions, and I do not apologize. I have always tried to do what is best for the cause that I serve.”

Dredd sat on the edge of the chair, his back straight. “I know what you’ve done for me, and I greatly appreciate it, sir.”

Fargo looked intently at Dredd. His body might be aging, but his eyes still mirrored the strength and power that had inspired two generations of Judges.

“Tell me, Joseph. The . . . Summary Executions at Heavenly Haven. Were they . . . absolutely necessary?”

“Unavoidable, sir.”

“Unavoidable . . .” Fargo glanced away, lost in thought for a moment. “We make our own reality, don’t we Joseph? The severity of those executions. Were they unavoidable, too?”

Dredd felt the color rise to his face. “With all due respect, sir, a Rookie Judge died out there today, too. Times have changed in the city. Life doesn’t mean much to some people anymore. You’d be able to see that if you weren’t—”

Fargo raised an eyebrow. “If I weren’t what, Joseph?”

“Always at the—Academy, sir.”

Fargo allowed the beginning of a smile to crease his features. “Don’t you mean at the Academy
wiping Cadets’ asses?
That’s what they say in the squad room, isn’t it?”

Dredd cleared his throat. “That’s irrelevant, sir. You set the standards, Chief Justice Fargo.”

“No, that’s not true.” Fargo wet his lips. “Now,
you
do . . . to the young Cadets you’re a legend.”

“I don’t feel much like a legend, sir.”

“We don’t decide what we are.
They
do . . . Do you remember your time at the Academy, Joseph?”

“I remember what you taught me, sir.”

Fargo studied the ceiling. “And I remember a Cadet who embraced Justice. The
ideals
as well as the lessons. My finest student—out of all the thousands I have been privileged to congratulate as a newly-appointed Judge . . . you are the best, Judge Dredd.”

“Thank you, sir. The compliment is undeserved, but I am grateful for your words.”

“Fine, fine.” Fargo pulled himself erect and glanced at his watch. He seemed to have regained his powers, called upon a new reserve of strength.

“I’m going to give you a chance to pay some of your debts to the Academy that made you what you are. I have found the experience most satisfying, and I’m sure you will as well.” He rested a hand on Dredd’s shoulder. “I have drawn a new assignment for you. Starting tomorrow morning, you’ll be spending two days a week at the Academy.”

“I would be honored, sir. Unarmed combat or marksmanship?”

Fargo grinned. “Ethics, Joseph. The moral code of the Judges, Article Twenty-two. I’ll drop by and see how you’re doing.”

Fargo placed his helmet on his head and lowered the visor. “Tradition has its purpose, Joseph. There are some of those old buzzards in the Council I cannot stand to look at anymore. And I’m certain many of them feel the same about me.”

Dredd didn’t move for several minutes after Chief Justice Fargo left the room. He had known and revered the man all his life. He thought he knew him as well as any man could know another who was much older in years, and held such an exalted position in the profession they had both chosen for themselves.

Yet, he had no idea why Fargo had given him Academy duties—especially at this time, when every experienced Judge was needed on the streets.

Even if he could make a wild guess at the Chief Justice’s reasons, Dredd knew he’d probably be wrong. Fargo’s mind was like one of those antique boxes. The secret in the first box was another box. And within that box . . .

Dredd thrust the thought aside. It was a waste of time to try to get one step ahead of Fargo. His friends and enemies—within and without the Judges—had tried it for years. Most of them were dead or defeated. And the Chief Justice himself was still there.

Dredd was aware that Vardis Hammond was still on the video behind him, still doing his best to look grave, intense, intelligent, and informed in the ruined street before Heavenly Haven:

“. . .
Some say that working these mean streets day after day is bound to have a dehumanizing effect on the Judges. But is it the streets or the Judges themselves that have created this atmosphere of savagery.

“As my special undercover report continues tomorrow night, I’ll take you behind the walls of the Hall of Justice for a disturbing probe into these recent riots and block wars. Coincidence or deliberate provocation? That’s tomorrow with Vardis Hammond
. . .”

Dredd glared at the screen. “What the hell do you know?” he said aloud. “You want to see a disturbing probe? Give me a call, I’ll show you a disturbing probe, pal!”

THE SETTING:

With a scarcely-perceptible sigh, a massive stone eagle and shield rise up from the floor of the Council Chamber. This symbol of Mega-City Justice was carved from a single slab of black marble thirty-seven meters high and twenty-eight meters wide. Its weight and dimensions were calculated to a fine tolerance by the architects to achieve the perfect spatial ratio of the Chamber itself.

Seconds after the great stone is in place, a table of carved ebony, a wood now worth its weight in gold, rises up before the high symbol. There are five chairs behind the table. On the high, ornate backrest of each chair is a carved replica of the eagle and shield, and below each emblem is the name of the High Judge who is privileged to sit on the Council.

On the wall opposite the Judges, a large holo flickers into life. The holo is a map of New North America.

There are three pulsing blue stars on the map: Mega-City One, which rests on the twentieth century foundations of New York City; Mega-City Two, a massive extension of the old city of Los Angeles, and Mega-City Three, Tex-City, which was once called Houston. All else on this map is a dull and coppery hue, the color of the sun-baked ground, the color of the land of Cursed Earth, the no-color of Death.

Finally, the members of the High Council file into the Chamber and take their places. Their uniforms are black, with scarcely any hint of their rank. They do not wear the traditional helmet of the Judges when the High Council is in session. Here, their heads are bare, their faces open to one another.

[Judge Griffin rises slowly from his chair. He is a man of sixty years, with silver hair and eyes the color of Arctic ice. Still, he is a solid, broad-shouldered man with the strength and passions of a man half his age. When he stands, he presses strong fingers against the black surface of the table and addresses his fellow Judges . . .]

JUDGE GRIFFIN

My fellow Judges, can it be true that we have forgotten the lessons of History? Can we not see that establishing a system of Justice is not enough—that we must constantly
maintain
that system with whatever action, whatever force becomes necessary?

It is quite clear that these block wars that erupt across the city are becoming an epidemic—an epidemic that
must
be dealt with immediately. The measures we are taking now can only contain this sickness that threatens our Society. Containment is
not
the answer. The only solution to our problem is a tougher Criminal Code—a code designed to show this filth they cannot run amok in Mega-City!

JUDGE SILVER

[Stands, and enthusiastically pounds the table.]

The situation gets worse every day—seventy-three Citizen riots in two months in, what? Sixteen different sectors.

JUDGE McGRUDER

Violent crime is rising fifteen percent every quarter. If we don’t
increase
our resources they will be inadequate in under three years.

JUDGE ESPOSITO

Three years? They are totally inadequate now!

[The Council is in an uproar. A gavel strikes the table, a sound that echoes like thunder off the high Chamber walls. Chief Justice Fargo rises from his chair. While Judge Griffin never fails to stir the Council, it is Fargo, with his dignity and iron will who brings instant silence to the room.]

JUDGE FARGO

My friends, my fellow Council members . . . As a city, we continue to grow. And growth is painful. Over fifty million people live in an area that was originally built for under twenty. It is not enough that they rely on us for clothing, food, water, and clean air . . .

[Judge Griffin comes to his feet. He spreads his hands in exasperation.]

JUDGE GRIFFIN

Chief Justice, with all due respect, this city is in
chaos!
Grand oratory—even yours—can’t help us now. Maintaining the social order calls for tighter reins. My curfew proposal should be implemented
immediately!

[Chief Justice Fargo turns to Griffin.]

JUDGE FARGO

Treat men like animals and they will act like them, sir.

JUDGE GRIFFIN

Perhaps you’d prefer we strip the Judges of their current powers and return to the antiquated system of trial and jury? No, I am certain you do not. But I tell you this, Judge: Incarceration has not worked as a deterrent. It did not work in the past and it does not work now. We can lock them up by the thousands and there will
still
be enough of them out there to destroy us all. There is only one answer:
We must expand execution to include lesser crimes!

[Judge Fargo cannot see the faces of his fellow Judges, but he knows them all too well. He knows that there is enough truth in Griffin’s words to sway them.]

JUDGE FARGO

This body is not the first assembly to think that more laws and fewer choices will bring peace and order. That delusion has been tried and has failed before. I was hardly in my teens when I put on this badge. When the time comes for me to take it off . . . let me do it knowing that it stood for freedom . . . and not for repression.

[Chief Justice Fargo takes his seat. The room is silent. It is clear that his words have hit home, that the awe and respect that elevated him to his position have once more turned the tide in his favor. No one is more aware of this than Judge Griffin himself.]

JUDGE GRIFFIN

Once more, sir, you have served as a moral compass for us all. I . . . I wish to withdraw my proposal. I hope my action is one for the good.

JUDGE FARGO

Thank you, my friend. Your strength and wisdom are always an asset to this table. Now . . . let us all work together to continue the task we have sworn to perform, to protect and serve the citizens of Mega-City . . .

[The Judges file out of the room. The lights in the Chamber dim.]

CURTAIN

I
t was the first winter storm of the season and the worst in twenty-three years. It began as a silent snowfall, a thickening curtain of white that masked the dark peaks, the grim and barren plains. For half a day, this small section of Cursed Earth looked like an ancient Christmas card. Then, the blizzard struck in full force, bringing howling winds and numbing cold.

The guard towers of Aspen Prison rose like skeletal fingers behind the white veil. A chill wind moaned through the razor wire atop the granite walls. And, though there were thousands of men behind these dark battlements, not a single light was visible through the storm. Anyone who has ever been to this tomb of the living knows it is a place of darkness, not a place of light. If the Cursed Earth is Hell, then Aspen Prison is the stairway that leads to the underworld below . . .

They made their way down the narrow maze of granite stairs, their shadows bent and warped, dark and misshapen on the cold stone walls. The public was familiar with Aspen Prison from the countless videos, grim and deliberate reminders of the fate of those who broke the Law. This was a part of that prison they had never seen, and never would—unless they became one of the two hundred nine incarcerated here, the elite, the monsters, the terrors, the men who had committed such unspeakable crimes they were sentenced to live instead of die. The Judges had decreed that every effort would be made to keep these men alive, that they could never deserve the merciful release of execution.