Kontarsky fastened her rad-cloak at her neck and donned her helmet, settling herself in the pre-determined posture that Kadet instructors described as suitable for appearances before antagonists and foreigners. With practiced arrogance, she stepped down from the hopper's airlock and into the circle of Judges.
"You are here for me?" she said, before they could speak.
One of the SJS men nodded. "Come with us, Judge Kontarsky."
She started forward, but another Judge blocked her path. "I will require you to surrender your weapon. For the time being."
Kontarsky gave him a measured sneer in answer and produced her STUP-gun with a flick of the wrist. "Then let us proceed."
A pursuit model L-Wagon decorated with the SJS's characteristic skull symbol sped them across the cityscape and past the Grand Hall of Justice. Kontarsky glanced out at the plaza before the building, which was still cordoned off from the public. She saw the footage of Tex's cold-blooded murder in her mind's eye once again and felt a chill wash over her.
The flyer dipped sharply and circled down into a pad atop the Special Judicial Service's own headquarters building. It was a dark and gothic version of the Grand Hall, shaped like an Eagle of Justice with its wings spread, but where Justice Central's hawkish monolith suggested watchful integrity the SJS building promised nothing but fear. The dark-eyed eagle sat with claws splayed over twin skulls, each a dozen storeys tall and the entire construction was cut from drab grey lunar stone. It resembled the castle of some fanciful medieval warlord more than an institution of law enforcement. Kontarsky knew this kind of subtle architectural propaganda well; she could recall the oppressive, dominating shapes of East-Meg Two's Diktatorat Tower and the minarets of the Nu-Kremlin.
The trio of SJS-Judges took her to a small room lit with a greenish strip-light and furnished with a simple set of metal chairs and a table. A single security camera observed the chamber with a steady red eye. Kontarsky sat, removing her helmet and waited. She had played these kinds of games before and she would not allow mere lunarians to force unconscious clues from her.
She marked time by counting the panels in the walls. She was halfway through when the door opened to admit Judge Kessler and the SJS officer who had taken her gun. Kessler sat down opposite her and produced a data-pad.
"Judge Nikita Kontarsky. You are being held here as part of the Security of the City Act. You are required by law to give me the following information. One: the whereabouts of Judge Joseph Dredd. Two: a complete report on your recent lunar joyride. Three: a full statement covering all your activities since your first meeting with Dredd on Union Station." He laid the pad down in front of her and touched a key. "Begin now."
The Sov-Judge slowly folded her arms and met Kessler's monocled gaze. "I refuse to comply with any of your orders. Furthermore, under the articles of the Global Lunar Partnership Treaty, I demand you turn me over to my direct superior, Kommissar Ivanov of the East-Meg Diplomatic Korps." Kontarsky watched the irritation flare red along the forked line of Kessler's scar. If her timing was right, the SJS chief had arrived at exactly the right moment.
"I think you will find that things will proceed much more comfortably for you if you comply," Kessler cocked his head. "It would be a pity to blacken your record at so early a stage with something like this."
Kontarsky ignored the veiled threat. Such an amateur ploy, she told herself. He has none of the subtlety of my Sov teacher-inquisitors.
The other Judge tapped his helmet. "Kessler, it's Kommissar Ivanov-"
Kessler made a dismissive gesture. "She's not speaking to anyone."
"No, sir, you don't understand. He's just arrived. Kommissar Ivanov is in the building."
At that moment, Kontarsky very much wanted to give Kessler a smug smile of superiority, but she resisted. To give in to that impulse would have been a very un-Soviet response.
After a moment, Kessler stood up. "Very well. We'll play it your way." He smoothed the greying hair at his temples. "But I guarantee you will lead me to Dredd, one way or another."
Kontarsky kept her face utterly neutral and her expression stayed rigid even after the SJS men had left.
Kommissar Ivanov entered the interview room alone and gave Kontarsky the briefest of nods. She stood up and saluted and her superior returned the gesture. Ivanov removed a small conical device from a pocket in his greatcoat and placed it on the table. A blinking indicator light flashed green and he sat.
"The sensor mask is operating at full capacity," he said. "We may speak freely now."
Kontarsky remained on her feet. "Sir, thank you for answering my signal. I had not expected you to come in person."
Ivanov gave a slight smile. "It was the least I could do for one of my former students, Nikita. Besides, I so rarely have good reason to leave the Irkutsk." An interplanetary light cruiser rechristened as a "diplomatic courier", the starship Irkutsk was East-Meg Two's orbiting embassy above Luna-1 and the kommissar's base of operations. "I have been keeping an eye on your progress here on the Moon, but I must confess I was surprised to get your message."
"I apologise if I caused you any inconvenience, sir."
"No, no, my dear," he waved her comment away. "In fact, our meeting comes at a most opportune moment."
The Sov-Judge's face creased in confusion. "I do not understand. I requested assistance as part of the investigation that I have been conducting with Judge Dredd-"
"Dredd, yes," Ivanov said the name like it left a sour taste in his mouth. "Your reports on his activities have been most thorough, Nikita, but I have become concerned that you are allowing yourself to identify with this American." He waved a finger at her. "That is a dangerous trend to follow. I need not tell you what the monitors at the Diktatorat might think of such a thing."
Kontarsky's jaw worked. "I..."
The kommissar indicated the other chair. "Sit, please. Do not be afraid, my dear. I have edited any references in your reports that might have reflected badly on you before forwarding them to the Kremlin. I can understand how you might see something to admire in Dredd... Even our enemies can teach us something, eh?"
She nodded as she sat. "I believe that Dredd may be correct in his suspicions that a rebellion is being fomented here on the Moon, possibly by the escaped criminal capitalist CW Moonie."
Ivanov raised an eyebrow. "That is an interesting hypothesis. And what would you propose we do about it?"
"Assist Dredd, of course. Kessler and his SJS believe he is responsible for Judge-Marshal Tex's murder, but I can vouch for his innocence."
"Ah yes, a sad event. And yet, as our history teaches us, such a thing can sometimes be the tool of political change for the better."
Kontarsky stopped short. "I do not follow you, sir."
"Oh, come now, Nikita, you are not the naïve Judge-kadet you were when you were in my classes on ethical interpretation. We both know that there are freedom loving peoples on the Moon who yearn for a government by the workers and not by the imperialist Judge system. You yourself have said this."
"Yes, but to place the blame for murder on an innocent man-"
"Do not forget, Dredd is responsible for many transgressions against the Motherland," Ivanov replied. "And regardless, often one man must suffer for the good of the many. Think, Nikita. Is it any wonder that Luna-1 is on the verge of revolution? The so-called United Cities of America bled this planetoid white. Even after they allowed other nations to stake claims here with their mealy-mouthed partnership treaty, their Triumvirate ties us up in endless bureaucracy. If their control of the Moon ends, will it really be such a bad thing?" He leaned closer. "A free Luna-1 would welcome East-Meg Two as a partner for all time, not as a poor beggar at the table as we are now - and you, Nikita, could be a part of that. A heroine to the Sov people, just as you were before."
Kontarsky found she couldn't look away from her old teacher's face and she gave a robotic nod of agreement.
The kommissar smiled. "We'll talk more about this later. For
now, though, I find myself wondering. Where is Judge Dredd?"
13. NO ESCAPE
Dredd picked his way quickly and carefully through the silent gloom of Kepler Dome's interior, concealing himself behind wreckage whenever a security drone buzzed overhead. As he had expected, the Justice Department had pulled whatever officers they were using to guard the dome and sent them into the city proper to quell the riots. That meant that the Judge had just a few robot patrols to avoid while he worked his way through the streets. Dredd knew the capabilities of the old Mark II spy-in-the-sky flybots - they were poor with infrared, which meant he could conceal himself behind a lunacrete wall or the frame of a groundcar with a good chance of escaping detection.
With the dome's systems on standby, the air inside was frigid. There was a thin layer of frost on everything and Dredd's breath emerged in small wisps of vapour. The wintry cold chilled his exposed flesh and the smells of decay and smoke still lingered in the air.
Rounding a corner, a flicker of movement caught his eye and Dredd froze. A troupe of four-legged worker droids ambled across the cluttered pavement, followed by a slow-moving cargo wagon and a lifter-bot. As he watched, the machines paused and began to sort through the debris, picking out the few remaining corpses of the Kepler incident's victims. He moved closer. The worker machines were no threat to him, none of them equipped with anything more than a dog-smart computer brain. The droids moved around him, unaware of his presence, quietly gathering up the dead and preparing them for removal. The lifter gripped the body of a Judge in a Cal-Hab uniform and carried it to the wagon. Dredd saw the dried smears of blood across the dead man's studded helmet and noted the corpses of eight more rioters gathered nearby. The Scottish Judge had clearly fallen taking on all-comers. Something glittered as it fell from the body and bounced on the ground. Dredd knelt and scooped it up - it was the Cal-Hab lawman's silver-grey shield. He weighed the badge in his hand for a moment, considering it and then tucked it in a belt pouch.
He had ditched his e-suit in the airlock, unwilling to risk wearing the bulky gear in a normal gravity environment. If he was called upon to use his weapon, Dredd wanted to be sure that he would have every advantage his years of training had given him. Secluded in the lee of a building, the Judge drew his STUP-gun and checked the charge. The pistol's battery pack was in the green and he dialled the beam setting down to level one. If he got in a firefight with other Judges, a stun blast would be enough to dispatch them without risking a more permanent injury. He ignored a brief flash of annoyance that rose in his chest. Damn Kessler for forcing him into this!
Dredd crossed the skedway, ducking low to minimise his silhouette and vanished into an ascent shaft that led to the crest of the dome. With power switched off to everything but minimal life support and the grav-plates, the elevator was inactive, but an emergency ladder inside the tube led upwards. He followed it into the dimness above, where he could make out a circle of faint light. Dredd holstered his weapon and began to climb.
Like everything else inside Kepler Dome, the oxy-station was an empty half-ruin, consoles and panels smashed without rhyme or reason and myriad fragments of shattered glasseen underfoot. The bitter stink of stale smoke was strong up here and black soot stained every surface where the fumes had filtered into the control centre. There were no corpses; the oxy-station workers had been quick enough to abandon their posts the moment the rioting had broken out. The wholesale destruction of the place had occurred at the hands of maddened citizens, who had mistakenly assaulted the facility believing that they could simply turn their air supply back on. When they found the controls locked, the rioters had turned their anger and fear on everything around them.
Dredd brushed a drift of plastic shards off one of the few consoles still intact and hit the activation icon. A stylised glyph in the shape of an old mechanical key appeared. "This panel is secured. Please consult your supervisor for further information," it said, the synthetic voice garbled through a broken speaker.
"Justice Department override," Dredd told the computer. "Open records."
"Ident code required. Please submit key card for scan."
Each employee of the Oxygen Board wore an identity card around their neck that would automatically give their security codes to the consoles and Judges used a similar method with officer-specific ident chips - but with his name on the SJS watch list, any attempt by Dredd to use his code would appear immediately on a Justice Central scan grid. Instead, he took a gamble, drew the Cal-Hab Judge's badge from his belt and waved it over the console. The console's scanner read the micro-miniature chip inside the shield.
The panel gave an answering beep. "Ident code confirmed. Welcome to Oxy-station four-seven, Judge Vandal. Command over-ride accepted."
"Lucky for me this isn't a voice recognition system..." Dredd said aloud. "Computer, open last day log entry. Replay shutdown incident."
The screen unfolded into a series of data windows and a camera's-eye view of the control room. Dredd watched as Moon-U's face flickered over a few of the console screens and the outbreak of panic among the oxy-workers, before the crimson alert lights flashed on as the airflow ceased. He studied the oxy-station's second-by-second breathing gas monitor, scrutinising the sine-wave pattern of air filtering through the feed pipes and out into Kepler Dome. The display blinked past, almost too quickly for the eye to register.
Something tugged at the edges of Dredd's investigative sense. Something was wrong here, something that J'aele and the Tek-Judges had missed. He ran the replay a dozen more times before he finally saw it. "Computer, enhance airflow pattern display. Show me where the oxygen feed was coming from."
The screen changed to show a simulated view of the pipe network. "O2 feed at this time index switched over from dual flow to secondary source."
"That's not possible." Dredd knew from J'aele's report that Kepler, being a low-rent dome, took most of its air from the cheaper recycling plants out on the lunar surface, using only a little of the more expensive atmospheric gases brought in by astro-tanker; but according to the screen, just seconds before it had shut down, the oxygen flow had switched from a mix of the two to just recycled air. "Security locks are supposed to prevent that from happening. Explain!"
"Cause unknown. Conjecture - human error."
"Someone cut off the air remotely..." he breathed. "It wasn't an accident after all." Dredd tapped in a series of commands and brought up a citywide map, highlighting all the incidents of disorder and violence prior to the Kepler riot. Every one of them was in a sub-dome or an outlying conurb complex, each a poor neighbourhood without the high-cost pure air that most of Luna-1's population enjoyed. "What's the source of the recycled air for all these domes?" Dredd asked grimly.
A logo appeared on the screen. "LunAir Recovery Incorporated," said the computer. "A division of MoonieCorp."
In spite of himself, an angry sneer formed on Dredd's lips. "The guns, the air... Moonie's planning to strangle the entire city!"
And then without warning, the oxy-station's windows were flooded with brilliant, blinding white light.
The L-Wagon's floodlights poured a million-candlepower glare into the platform, enough to overpower the polarising anti-dazzle lenses in the Judge's helmet. From the cockpit, the pilot called over his shoulder. "Full beam! I see him, in the control room!"
"Hold station!" snapped Judge Hiro, one of Kessler's senior SJS officers. "Give me laser cannon control!"
The pilot gaped. "Sir? Our orders are to arrest Dredd, not kill him!"
"The lasers!" Hiro growled, a warning in his voice. "Or else I'll charge you with obstruction of justice!"
Reluctantly, the pilot switched the L-Wagon's gun controls to Hiro's console and the SJS man locked the cannons on the oxy-station. Hiro's partner Judge Wright watched him take aim. "Dial down the power, man. If you shoot wide you'll punch through the dome."
Hiro grinned savagely. "It's just a warning shot." He thumbed the fire control and twin bolts of energy flashed out
and cut through the oxy-station.
Inside, Dredd fell into a tuck-and-roll as the las-blast tore through the control centre, ripping open the walls and turning the computer console into scrap metal. Hot semi-molten fragments spat into the air, turning his breath acidic in his throat.
"Dredd!" The SJS-Judge's voice bellowed over the L-Wagon's public address system. "By order of the Chief Judge-Marshal, you are under arrest!"
"How the drokk did they find me?" Dredd growled, fumbling for his pulse gun. "Can't get captured now... Kessler's gonna lock me up and throw away the key!"
He rose up from behind the cover of a ruined desk and sent a brace of shots out through the rent in the wall. The pulse blasts sparked off the L-Wagon's hull and the airfoils.
"He's aiming for the stabilisers! He's trying to bring us down!" yelled the pilot.
Hiro leapt from the laser station and sprinted into the cockpit. "Wright, take the lasers!" He grabbed a handful of the pilot's uniform. "You! Get out of that chair!"
"What?" the pilot blinked. "You're not authorised to fly this-"
"I said get out!" Hiro shouted, smacking the pilot aside with a hard right cross. The other man recoiled, dazed and the SJS officer shoved him out of the control seat. Hiro grabbed the joystick and throttle, turning the L-Wagon to face the hole torn in the side of the oxy-station. The flyer's floodlights picked out Dredd as he sprinted for the lift tube.
"Oh no you don't!" grated Hiro.
The pattern of the spotlights shifted suddenly as the L-Wagon lurched forward. Dredd had a moment to see the nose of the flyer looming though the broken wall before he was knocked off his feet by a colossal impact. The front quarter of the L-Wagon penetrated the interior of the oxy-station, cutting through desks and consoles like matchwood. Dredd rolled, his STUP-gun spinning away from him, dodging falling girders and pieces of ceiling.
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