Judge Dredd (9 page)

As Hershey watched, too stunned to move, they drew their Lawmasters, made a tight left turn in perfect step. Everyone in the tunnel stood still. The Hunters walked past Hershey, past the other Judges—and stopped in front of Dredd.

No!
Hershey tried to breathe, but her throat went tight.

“Judge Joseph Dredd?”

Dredd was the only Judge in the tunnel who had completely ignored the group. He turned and gave them a curious stare.

The Hunters took a step back. “Don’t move, Dredd.” The leader held his weapon to Dredd’s chest. Another stuck a paper in Dredd’s face.

“You are under arrest, Joseph Dredd. We have the right to confiscate your weapon. We have the right to remove your badge. Should you choose to resist, we have the right to—”

“I know your rights,” Dredd told him. “What is this, what’s the charge?”

“Murder.”

“What?
Who did I kill?”

“We have the right to remain silent, we have the right to subdue you in any manner we may choose, including Greengas, Skidders or electronic restraint. Do you have any comments to make at this time, Joseph Dredd?”

“Yes,” Dredd said, “just one. You groons can go straight to hell.”

F
ergie couldn’t think of any painless way to die. There were a lot of ways to do it. People did it all the time. There were illegal shops in LA if you knew where to go. If you had enough bucks, they’d fix you up fine. If you had a whole
lot,
you’d leave your miserable life feeling like a thirty-ton orgasm blasting off for outer space.

The only thing wrong was, he wasn’t in LA any more and he didn’t have a Reagan dollar to his name. That, and the fact that he was down in a concrete pit somewhere, waiting for the shuttle to whisk him off to Aspen again. Other than that . . .

Someone threw up nearby. That inspired somebody else. Fergie didn’t care. There were sixty-two men in the pit and they’d been there crowded up together for twenty-nine hours or more. He’d done his throwing up the first three. He couldn’t get sick anymore, and there was nothing on earth he hadn’t smelled by now.

Fergie spent most of his time thinking up tortures for the guy with purple ears. He knew the droog was dead, but he was very much alive in Fergie’s head. Alive and in excruciating pain. Every time he died, Fergie brought him back again. Sometimes he thought about Dredd, and the good-looking Judge who’s name he couldn’t recall. He didn’t have any quarrel with them. Judges were simply a fact of life. You don’t look where you’re going, a truck’ll squash you flat. You stay in a cheap hotel, a rat’s going to bite you on the ass. When you’re in the law-breaking trade, you’re going to get caught now and then.

What drove Fergie nuts was the fact that he hadn’t done anything at all. That wasn’t right. Fate didn’t have any business pulling such a lousy trick when he just got out. If you steal you get caught, but they shouldn’t ought to cheat you like that.

When he got tired of thinking so hard he closed his eyes and slept. Sometimes the dreams were awful, sometimes they weren’t bad at all. One was a real good dream about him and Maggie. It was a real lazy day and they’d paid to ride up the Electric to the top of the LA Wall. They had a big railing up there but it was still real scary if you stood and looked down. The sign said the Wall was two thousand twenty-seven feet high. Who could get over that? Fergie wondered. Who the hell was dumb enough to try?

It was hot on the Wall, but Maggie leaned in close and trembled against his shoulder. Fergie didn’t blame her. It was an awesome thing to see. Cursed Earth stretched out to the east, the land disappearing in a wavy mirage that looked like a pig-iron sea. The sky in that direction was always brick-red from the dust storms that howled day and night across the Cursed Earth.

There were telescopes on the railing. You could put in a token and look out over the wasteland and bring everything up close. Hardly anyone did. And no one ever did it twice. There was always a chance that you’d see something more out there, something worse than the parched red earth. Something you didn’t want to see like a Krazy or a Cull. A Booter hopping on a single leather foot, or a Dusteater with skin the color of clay. Outcasters came up to the LA Wall all the time, especially at night. You weren’t supposed to feed them, but sometimes a guard would toss something off the Wall. Sometimes something would fall off a shuttle or a barge. A lot of the time, Fergie knew, an Outcaster came out of the wild just to look at the Wall, to see where he couldn’t be.

Fergie dreamed Maggie was beside him. He dreamed she touched his leg and slid her hand up his thigh. Fergie opened his eyes and saw the skinny con squatting over him, grinning with rotten teeth.

“You son of a
bitch,”
Fergie yelled, “get
out
of here!”

He knocked the man’s hand away, raised his foot and kicked him in the chest.

The con coughed, spat on the bare ground, and pulled himself up. He wiped a ragged sleeve across his face.

“You don’ have to get all heated up,” he said. “I wasn’t doin’ what you thought it was I did.”

“Yeah? What are you, then, the local massage parlor, or what? I’m going to get a free rub?”

The man smelled like he’d just won the hundred-meter cesspool event. Fergie wondered if he smelled as bad, and decided he didn’t want to know.

“I’m Dix,” the guy said. “Donnie Dix.”

“I’m not,” Fergie said. “Beat it, pal.”

“Listen, ol’ Donnie ain’t offended. I got a real thick skin. Don’t anything much bother me. Say whatever you want, it don’t mean anything to me.”

Fergie gave the con a curious look. “Nothing, huh?”

“Not a thing, friend.”

“If I was to maybe hit on something, you’d tell me, okay?”

Donnie grinned, showing jagged rows of green teeth. “I don’t just side up to anyone, mister. I been around the track once or twice an’ I can pick the right feller out ever’ time. I got an insight into people won’t quit.”

“And you picked me.”

“Right off. Minute I spotted you sittin’ over here.”

“What for?”

“What for what?”

“What did you pick me out
for?
What did I win, a free trip to Hell?”

Donnie looked puzzled, then his eyes lit up. “Well, say, I might’ve got you wrong, friend. It sure ain’t likely, but I won’t say I didn’t or I did. This
is
your first time goin’ up, ain’t it? I got to figure it is.”

“Yeah, first time up,” Fergie lied. “How can you tell?”

“Like I say, it’s a gift.” Donnie raised a dirty finger. “You got to look real good, is all. There’s a first-timer look and that’s what you got.”

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was close.

“You’ll learn about that once you get up there. I’m not supposed to say anything an’ I’d get in a whole lot of trouble if anybody found out I did.”

“Did what?”

“Told you about the ERP. That’s the Extra Ration Plan. Prisoners get extra rations on Sundays and holidays. The thing is, a new guy like you,
a fish,
the old cons, they’ll take away your ERP. Unless you join up with one of the guilds. You do that, you got
protection,
see? Nobody’s going to screw with you, you’re in a good guild. Am I coming through okay? You got any questions, you let me know.”

“No, I think it’s pretty clear.”

Fergie had figured the scam about the first two seconds the droog started talking, he just didn’t know the wrap-up, the end.

“So what do I do when I get to Aspen, I join one of the guilds, right?”

Donnie looked pained. “No, man, you get it up there, it’s going to cost you a mucking arm and a leg. What you want to do, you want to join
before,
you want to join
now
and save half of what you’d have to pay.”

“Half sounds good,” Fergie said.

“Sure it does. Now you’re talking, man.”

“No I’m not,” Fergie said. “I haven’t got any bucks and neither do you. Neither does anyone else in this hole because the Judges took everything away.”

“Don’t I know that? Don’t Donnie Dix know that?” Dix looked irritated. “The guild don’t expect you to have any cash. They know how it plays here, man. That’s why I’m authorized to take goods instead of dough.”

“Goods.” Fergie looked at him. “Like, what kind of goods?”

Donnie tried not to let it show, but Fergie caught the look, caught the hunger and the need.

“You got stuff, man. Like boots, okay? You got real boots and good socks.”

Fergie didn’t blink. “You want my boots? I’m going to freezing-ass Aspen Prison, you want me to give you my boots?”

Donnie waved him off. “Don’t matter. You can get some more when you get there. They got boots, warm clothes, anything you want. I mean, Aspen isn’t no vacation spot, I’m not about to tell you that, but it’s not as bad as everyone thinks. You keep your cool, they’ll treat you okay.”

“Forget it,” Fergie said.

“What?”

“I said forget it. Get your sorry ass out of here. Now.”

A vein began to throb on the side of Donnie’s head. “You don’t want to mess with me, pal. You don’t want to mess with me at all. You screw around with me, word gets back to the guild, and they ain’t going to be happy at all.”

Donnie scooted in closer, and Fergie smelled the fury and the fear, saw the light of the wolf in Donnie’s eyes.

“I work for people up there you don’t want to piss off. Guys that can do stuff to you you don’t even want to think about.” Donnie paused to let that sink in. “You ever heard of Jimmy Eyes? You ever heard of him?”

“I heard of him,” Fergie said.

Donnie showed him a nasty grin. “Yeah, I thought you maybe did.”

“What I heard is he’s
out,
he’s not in. He got in off the shuttle a couple of days back.”

Donnie blinked. “Where the hell you hear that?”

“Dinner last night. Before the Judges picked me up. It was a setup is what it was, I wasn’t doing anything at all. All I was doing was coming out of Jimmy’s house.”

“You was—huh?”

“Coming out of Jimmy’s house.” Fergie grinned. “You don’t get it, do you? You stupid groon, I’m Jimmy’s
brother.
I’m Fergie Eyes.”

Donnie went white. “No, you ain’t either.”

“You want Fergie Eyes’ boots? You want his mucking
socks?”

“Hey, forget it, okay?” Donnie shook his head and scuttled off like a crab who wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. “I don’t want
nothing,
man!”

“Right,” Fergie said. “Go straight to hell,
man.”

“W
hen the Judge Hunters came for you, Joseph. What did you say to them?”

“I think they probably told you what I said to them, sir.”

“I’m not asking
them,
Judge Dredd. I’m asking you.”

“I told them to go straight to hell, sir.”

“Joseph, Joseph . . .” Chief Justice Fargo ran a hand across his face, as if the gesture might relieve the great weight that seemed forever to drag him down.

The cell was scarcely large enough for one man. Dredd sat straight on the edge of the steel shelf that served prisoners for a bed. Manacles bound his hands behind his back, and another set held his legs.

The sight of this sent a jolt straight to Fargo’s heart. Even in his worst nightmares, he had never imagined something like this. Anyone else, perhaps—things could happen, things could go wrong—even among a body of men and women like the Judges. But not Dredd, not Joseph Dredd.

“I have to ask you this,” Fargo said. “I ask it as Chief Justice, not as a friend.”

“And I’ll be glad to answer it, sir. I’m innocent. I have not committed any crime.”

Fargo looked at his hands. “I have to tell you this. The Council is said to have irrefutable proof against you. That’s the reason this is not merely an inquiry. This is a full Tribunal, Joseph. I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

“No, sir. I understand. And with all due respect, sir, you shouldn’t be here. You’re a member of the Court. The Articles—”

“Damn the Articles, Joseph! If I choose to come here as your friend, then I will!”

Dredd was startled by the fury, the sorrow in Fargo’s eyes. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t do that. He could not dishonor the man like that.

“I’m sorry,” Fargo said, “I had to ask. I don’t
believe
the evidence, whatever it is, but I had to face you myself.”

“Yes, sir. I know that. And I’m grateful to you, sir.”

“Is there . . . anything you need, Joseph? Anything I can do?”

Dredd shook his head. “How could this happen, Judge? Something like this. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought of nothing else since they informed me. I’ll use every resource at my command to find out, and get to the truth of this. You know I’ll do that. I will fight for you, Joseph.”

“I know that, sir.”

Chief Justice Fargo stepped to Dredd’s side and squeezed his shoulder.. “We’ll see this through. We’ll get it over and done.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll do that, sir.”

Dredd stood when Fargo left the cell. He looked at the bare, white walls. Something was growing at the edge of his mind and he couldn’t say what it might be. It was something
different,
something he had never felt before. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it at all. He didn’t want it in his head anymore.

When it finally broke through, it came in upon him like a rush of cold, dark water. He closed his eyes and a cry stuck in his throat. He saw the unfamiliar feeling for what it was. He was alone. He had experienced that terrible emotion once before, when he had to weigh friendship against his vow to uphold the Law. He had tried to sweep that from his mind, to put it aside as best he could. And now it was happening once more. Now he knew the awful feeling of loneliness again.

The screen flickered, brightened. The video suddenly focused on a hallway, a closed door. Digital numbers raced across the bottom of the image, blinking the time and the day. For a few seconds there was nothing. Then, a dark figure appeared, a figure in the unmistakable black armor of a Judge. The Judge drew his Lawgiver and pressed the button inset in the door. The door opened. Light from the room flooded the hall.