The Cold Light of Day

by Michael Carroll

  The taller mutant’s blade-on-a-chain was also a blur: it whipped out at Gibson’s left arm, knocking the Lawgiver from his grip.

  Joe fired a shot at the sword-swinging mutant—the bullet struck home, right in the centre of the mutant’s bare chest, but barely slowed him.

  The mutant grinned. “Me an’ me brother got bullet-proof skin, Judgey! What do you say to that, eh? You—”

  Joe shot him in the mouth. The bullet transported a good chunk of the back of the mutant’s head into the shadows.

  From the far side of the warehouse, behind the wooden and plastic crates, Judge Ruiz’s voice called out, “Aim high!”

  She’s on the ground, Joe told himself.

  He was about to launch a volley of shots through the crates when another voice called out, “No! Hostages here!”

  At the doorway, Rico was standing over Hieronymus Planter’s twitching body. Nearby, Gibson had taken down the other bullet-proof mutant by kicking him in the groin—the mutant was on his side now, groaning and clutching at himself.

  Rico was looking back out through the doorway. “More coming... Lots more. Me and Gibson will hold them off. Go find the boss, Joe!”

  Joe nodded and kept to the side as he approached the crates. There was no telling who or what else might be lurking. He guessed that Ruiz couldn’t see where she was—if she could, she’d have warned him about the other hostages.

  As he passed the nearest of the crates it erupted in a shower of wooden splinters and metal fragments. Joe threw himself to the side, automatically putting his arms up to shield his face. He hit the ground, rolled and landed in a half-crouch, to see Mayor Genesis Faulder aiming a shotgun at Judge Ruiz’s head.

  Ruiz was lying on her side, wrists and ankles tied, stripped of most of her uniform, a cloth sack over her head. Nearby, sitting up against the wall, was a chained man wearing the familiar coveralls of a Mega-City One scavenger. Beyond him, four other scavengers—two women, two men—were huddled together, being watched by three more mutants, all carrying automatic rifles.

  “I’ll puree her head and my men’ll kill the others if you take one more step, boy!” Faulder said. “Grud-damn, but you city-folk are a lot harder to kill than you look.”

  From the far side of the warehouse came the sound of heavy gunfire.

  “Tell your friends to stand down,” Faulder said. “Right now!”

  Joe lowered his weapon, but held onto it. “You haven’t shot Judge Ruiz yet. That tells me you need her alive for something...”

  Faulder viciously jabbed the muzzle of his shotgun into the side of Ruiz’s head. “Just drop your drokkin’ weapon!” He kept glancing past Joe toward the front of the warehouse. “And order your men to stand down!”

  “You don’t know where the rest of the squad are camped,” Joe said. “You can’t take the chance that there’s not a hundred of us.”

  “Gun on the floor, boy! Right now or—”

  Joe flipped his wrist and fired three shots. The first ripped through Mayor Faulder’s gun-hand, the others took out his lower knees.

  Faulder collapsed, screaming, on top of Judge Ruiz, and the remaining three mutants whirled around, swinging their guns in Joe’s direction.

  He put a bullet through the nearest one’s eye, another through the second one’s throat. The third, partly shielded behind the second, threw his gun aside. “I surrender!”

  Joe knew it was a feint—even before his rifle hit the ground, the mutant was reaching for the sidearm on his hip. Two shots through his chest, less than a centimetre apart, assured that the mutant’s pistol didn’t clear its holster.

  The man in the scavenger’s overalls sagged, visibly relieved. “Thank Grud! They ambushed us and—”

  “Shut up and stay put,” Joe said. He crossed over to Ruiz, grabbed Faulder by the arm and hauled him off the Judge. He slapped a set of cuffs on Faulder’s wrists, then crouched next to Judge Ruiz and pulled the sack from her head.

  She blinked up at him through swollen eyes. “Good save, cadet.”

  “How many others?” Joe pulled out his boot knife and began to saw through the ropes around her wrists.

  Ruiz shook her head. “I’m not sure. Three, at least. One of them had a grip like steel—It was like being strangled by a robot. Small guy, mutant. Smells like warm garbage.”

  “Think I got him,” Joe said. With Ruiz’s wrists free, he flipped over the knife and handed it to her, hilt-first. “You’re injured. Stay down—I’ll see if the others require back-up.”

  He turned as he straightened up, and on the edge of his vision he saw the scavenger grabbing Faulder’s shotgun.

  Still sitting, the scavenger was aiming the shotgun at the Mayor. “He damn near killed me! I ought to—”

  “Drop it!” Judge Ruiz said.

  “I heard them talking... The guy you came here to stop—that’s him! Genesis Faulder is Ynex!”

  “Drop the gun!” Joe roared, his Lawgiver aimed at the scavenger’s grip.

  Faulder suddenly spasmed. Joe spun around to check—and at that moment the scavenger fired.

  The shotgun blast tore Mayor Faulder’s head from his neck.

  Joe snatched the shotgun from the scavenger’s grip and drove his boot into the side of the man’s head. He tossed the weapon on the ground next to Ruiz. “Watch him. He moves, shoot him.”

  As he ran back to join Gibson and Rico, the thought briefly crossed Joe’s mind that he’d just issued orders to a street Judge. He didn’t think that Ruiz would make anything of it, but it wasn’t generally considered proper conduct for a cadet.

  WITHIN AN HOUR, the body count was in double figures and the town of Eminence was in need of a new mayor.

  Out on the street, Joe told Gibson to return to the camp: “Send McManus and Ellard back toward the city—they’re to ride without stopping until they can get a clear signal through. We need a med-team and transport for thirty prisoners and hostages. And bring the rest of the cadets back here.”

  He turned back to see the hostages emerging from the store, two of them half-carrying Judge Ruiz. In full daylight, the extent of her injuries became clear: her left ankle was broken or fractured, unable to support her weight. Her right shoulder looked to be dislocated—her arm dangled uselessly by her side—and her limbs and torso had been slashed dozens of times.

  Joe and Rico rushed over to them and grabbed the Judge, gently lowered her to the ground.

  “Damn... they tortured her,” Rico said. He looked up at the hostages. “If you’re not hurt... Go inside, find a medical kit, blankets, clean water. Rip the place apart if you have to.”

  As the hostages ran back into the store, Ruiz coughed, then winced at the pain. Her eyes fluttered open. “Status?”

  “You’re the only one of us injured,” Joe said. “I’ve sent Gibson for help.”

  She nodded slightly. “Good work. You get them all?”

  “Reckon we did,” Rico said.

  Joe straightened up and looked around. More of the townspeople had emerged from their homes and stores, and now there was a semi-circle of nervous on-lookers. Joe strode toward the man who appeared to be the oldest. “What happened here?”

  “’Twas the mayor,” the old man said, leaning a little to peer past Joe. “Him and the others useta send out raiding parties to plunder the other towns. Then they got wind of the scavengers an’ they figured it’d be easier just to take the stuff offa them.”

  “But the mayor’s the one who called the city for help.”

  A woman nearby said, “No, that was me.” She looked normal, except that she had a second set of small ears in front of the usual two, and beneath the fresh bruises on her face Joe could see a family resemblance with the boy, Lamb. “I work for him. Worked. I sent the message in his name. When he found out, he...” She faltered. “Thank you for coming.”

  “More help is on the way,” Joe said. “But it could be a day or two before it gets here.” He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the fi
rst hostage—the one who’d shot the mayor—approaching.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said. He was still trembling, clutching the side of his face where Joe had kicked him. “They ambushed us. Wasn’t the first time we came under attack, but usually the raiders just take whatever we’d managed to find and let us go.”

  Joe nodded. “Makes sense, from their point of view. You can only steal from a dead man once.” He turned back to the townspeople. “Show’s over. Disperse.”

  A man in the crowd said, “You can’t tell us what to do! This is our town—you have no jurisdiction...” The man faltered as Joe stared at him, then fell silent.

  “Disperse,” Joe repeated.

  In a few seconds, Joe and the scavenger were alone on the street. As they returned to Judge Ruiz, Joe asked, “Name?”

  “Chalk. Percival Chalk. I’m sorry,” the scavenger said. “I wasn’t going to really shoot him, but then he moved and I thought he was getting up and so I just pulled the trigger.”

  The other hostages had found blankets, a very basic first-aid kit and even a pillow, and were now tending to Judge Ruiz.

  Rico stood next to Joe. “The crates in there? They’re full of guns. Old stuff, mostly, but a few newer weapons too. They look like they’ve been wiped clean, serial numbers burned off. In a few days those guns would have been in the hands of Mega-City One’s perps.”

  One of the other hostages—a stocky blonde woman—said, “We found them; most of them, anyway. About forty kilometres north of here there’s an old farmhouse. I figure it belonged to a survivalist—the cellar was packed with guns and ammunition.”

  Chalk nodded. “That’s why they send us out here,” he said to Joe. “Properly oiled and wrapped, a good-quality sidearm can still be functional after a century. Same with the ammo, if it’s kept dry.” He looked pleased with himself. “Yeah, that cache is one of our biggest hauls yet. We get a bonus for each functioning gun we recover.”

  On the ground nearby, Judge Ruiz called out, “You...” She was looking at Chalk. “You’re lucky Dredd didn’t just shoot you the second you picked up the gun. He was well within the law to do so.”

  “That’s true,” Rico said, “I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “I didn’t hesitate,” Joe said. “I assessed.” He turned to the scavenger. “Percival Chalk, you’re a citizen of Mega-City One and subject to the city’s laws. You were ordered by a Judge to drop the gun. Your failure to do so resulted in the death of a suspect.”

  The man stepped back, eyes wide. “What? That’s insane—I was defending myself!”

  “You grabbed the gun before Faulder moved. Five years in the cubes.”

  “No! No, you’re just a cadet—you can’t issue sentences!”

  Judge Ruiz said, “He can, in this circumstance. I was out of commission—the cadet took over. I stand by Cadet Dredd’s judgement.”

  Mega-City One

  2080 AD

  Twelve

  DREDD POUNDED ON the apartment door with his fist, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the TV inside. “Judge. Open up.”

  The TV was muted, and the door slid open a few centimetres. Scarred, meaty-looking fingers grabbed the edge and pulled it open the rest of the way.

  Riley Moeller was a big man. As tall as Dredd, but broader across the shoulders. His pale-skinned face and dark-rimmed eyes told Dredd that he didn’t get out much. “What? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Dredd moved closer and Moeller stepped aside. The apartment was small, but relatively neat. A main room that served as kitchen, dining room and lounge, with two interior doors, one leading to a bedroom, the other to a bathroom. Against one wall was a narrow floor-to-ceiling bookcase, its shelves packed with old books. “You got receipts for all those books, citizen?”

  “What? No, not all of them. Most of them are fifty, sixty years old. That’s what I do—I trade old stuff with other collectors. I do sell some stuff, but I have invoices for everything I sell or buy. You can check with revenue. I don’t deal in stolen goods, if that’s what you’re thinking. Look, what’s this about?” He gestured toward the TV set. “I’m watching the race.”

  In the corner of the main room, the TV was tuned to Channel Epsilon. On screen, a long vehicle—riding on six wheels, one after the other—was accelerating past a century-old refurbished Dune buggy.

  “I want Percival Chalk. You’re going to tell me how to find him.”

  Moeller frowned. “Chalk? I barely know the guy, these days. What do you want him for?”

  Dredd stepped further into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “You visited Chalk’s block four weeks ago. Why?”

  “I heard he got out. Just wanted to check on him. We used to work together. He was a scavenger, I was an assessor. They’d bring in stuff they found out in the Cursed Earth or the undercity, and we’d figure out whether it was junk or something useful. That’s where I got interested in old stuff. The scavengers would sometimes bring in books or old videodiscs.” Moeller sat down on the edge of an armchair. “Look, man, I don’t know what you want Chalk for, but I’m telling you it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  Dredd crossed over to the dusty bookcase. Here and there, spacing the books out, were small ornaments and old toys. There was a gap between a fraying, hardcover volume of Princess Pony Tales for Boys and an eight-centimetre-thick paperback called Flail and Crown Volume Four: Lore of the Marauder’s Maul, Part 2. In the gap was a clear circular impression in the dust. “What was here?”

  “A coffee mug. Traded it at a collectors’ fair a few weeks ago.”

  Dredd turned back to Moeller. “Coffee’s illegal, citizen.”

  “I know that. But mugs aren’t. You’d have liked that one. It said, ‘World’s Best Judge.’ It was made back in the twentieth, for a high-court judge.”

  “What did you and Chalk talk about?”

  “Just, you know, stuff. The old days. He’d had some interest in collecting back then. That’s why he got into scavenging. He was always hoping to get a big score. They were allowed to keep anything they found, as long as it wasn’t illegal.”

  Dredd stared unmoving at Moeller for a few seconds. He knew how imposing the uniform could be, especially the dark visor that hid the Judge’s eyes. Hardened perps had been known to crack under nothing more than a Judge’s stare.

  It wasn’t working on Moeller. Dredd decided to take a more direct approach. “This morning Percival Chalk entered the Funex Eaterie on Bevis Wetzel Plaza, sector sixty-three. He shot dead seventeen citizens and two Judges. You are the only link to him that we have.”

  Moeller shook his head. “No. No way! I had nothing to do with that!”

  “Five years ago you were suspected of being involved with an illegal weapons deal.”

  “Yeah. And I was innocent. Check the reports. An undercover Judge heard I collected antiques and he got the wrong idea and thought I was a weapons dealer. He interrogated me for six hours before he realised he was wrong. That’s all that happened. But because I was a suspect, I lost my job. I...” He stared at the Judge’s badge. “Dredd. That was you, wasn’t it? Chalk told me. A cadet called Joe Dredd sentenced him to five years just for trying to save his own life!” He looked away, disgusted. “So now what? You’re going to lock me up just for knowing Chalk? Yeah, that figures.” He looked back at the TV. “If you’re going to arrest me on a made-up charge, at least wait until the drokkin’ race is over.”

  Dredd reached out and grabbed Moeller’s arm, hauled him to his feet. “You’re hiding something.”

  “I’m not, I swear!”

  Still holding onto Moeller’s arm, Dredd kicked out at the man’s leg and forced him face-down to the floor. He planted a knee on the small of Moeller’s back and quickly cuffed his wrists behind his back. “Riley Moeller, on the charge of failure to report a potential crime, I sentence you to two years in the iso-cubes.”

  Moeller tried to squirm free. “No! You can’t do that!”

  “Struggli
ng. That’s the same as resisting. Three years.”

  “Damn you, Dredd—you’re a fascist! All you drokkin’ judges are fascists!”

  “Sedition. Ten years.” Dredd grabbed hold of the man’s hair, and pulled up his head. He leaned closer. “Want to go for twenty?”

  “I don’t know anything!”

  “Why’d you go see Chalk?”

  “Because I used to know him, that’s all! I heard he was out and I just thought it’d be the right thing to do, to check on him!”

  “I’m not buying that, Moeller. No one else from Chalk’s old life came to visit him. Why you? You make it a habit of visiting ex-cons?” Dredd stood, and took a step back.

  Moeller rolled onto his side, stared up at the Judge. “Look, I promise you I had no idea what he was planning!”

  “But you knew he was planning something.”

  “No, I thought he was just venting. I mean, yeah, he said that he was going to make amends, but people always say stuff like that when they think they’ve been wronged. They never do it.”

  Dredd said, “Amends... Then his attack on the diner wasn’t random. He was targeting someone.” He activated his helmet radio. “Control—run a check on the victims of the Funex Eaterie shooting. Flag anyone who had a past association with Percival Chalk.”

  “Sector Chief Mendillo has already ordered that, Dredd. No known connections. Though forensics are still trying to identify some of the bodies.”

  “The victims of the concussion grenade?” Dredd asked.

  “Right. They’re filtering the remains for teeth, came up with four upper-left canines so far. So that’s four victims at least. Still waiting on the DNA results.”

  If Chalk was targeting someone, Dredd said to himself, it seems likely he’d use the grenade to make sure of the kill. “Acknowledged, Control. Send a H-wagon to my location. We’re taking in Riley Moeller for a complete particle-scan and interrogation. He knows something, but he’s not talking.”