The Final Cut

by Matthew Smith

  The crowd went nuts. The air was suddenly thick with whistles, catcalls and cheers. Flashbulbs exploded like concussion grenades and the evening lit up in staccato bursts as pressmen all yelled at the woman at once to pose for them. She looked startled at first, as if it was a reaction she wasn't expecting. But that expression held for only a split second - imperceptibly, her professionalism kicked in and a calm, bland serenity came over her face. She tightened the shawl around her slim shoulders, smiled and waved, eyes only occasionally blinking at the barrage of cameras popping off from every direction. She made a seductive effort to play the journalists' game, adopting modelling stances with an ironic degree of detachment, but all the while she was gently guided up the red carpet by her chaperone who was intent on keeping her under public scrutiny for the shortest possible time. Interviewers pointed microphones at her, shouting questions which she gracefully declined to answer. Ordinary citizens held out their hands as if they were hoping to touch something angelic. Throughout the spectacle, her smile never wavered, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.

  "She knows how to make an entrance, I'll give her that," Dredd grunted.

  "If you think this is insane, you should see how they go crazy for her in Euro-Cit. Almost made her birthday a national holiday."

  "Control not working you hard enough, Geest, that you've started taking an interest in pop music?"

  Geest shrugged. "Pays to know what makes the citizens tick," he said. "First time Vanessa Indigo visits the city, and there aren't many people that don't know who she is."

  "There are still a few of us with more important things to do," Dredd replied. "Just keep your mind on the job. Crowd's getting a little too restless for my liking."

  Geest sighed inwardly and tightened his grip on his daystick. By grud, attempting small talk with Dredd was hard work. He wondered how the man could stay uptight twenty-four-seven and not feel the need to relax once in a while. That wasn't to say he didn't respect him - how could you not admire the living legend that had led the fight against War Marshal Kazan and Nero Narcos, who had returned from exile to defeat the Dark Judges, whose very teachings on enforcement of the Law were required reading at the Academy?

  When Geest was a cadet, the name Joe Dredd had been the byword for greatness. He represented everything a Judge should aspire to be: morally beyond reproach, rigidly disciplined, supremely confident and have an unshakeable faith in the Judicial system. To the young boys and girls training to be the city's protectors and regulators, Geest supposed, Dredd was himself a kind of celebrity, a Justice Department pin-up, not that any of them would have admitted as much. That degree of hero worship implied you weren't fully devoted to your duties.

  And, of course, no man could live up to such a reputation. As much as the stories of Dredd's deeds circulated amongst the cadet dorms, so too did rumours of a darker side: of his doubts in the very Law he espoused so fervently, of clashes with former Chief Judges and, most worryingly of all, of a possible defect in the Dredd DNA dating back to the Father of Justice himself, Fargo.

  Dredd's clone-brother Rico and the ex-Judda Kraken - all from the same genestock - had exemplified a leaning towards evil and corruption that seemed to have bypassed the old man altogether. But who knew if there was something in the blood, some rogue element waiting to surface, unchecked by Tek Division? It was a scary thought, to imagine this man, whom Mega-City One had relied upon so much over the years and would no doubt continue to do so in the future, was essentially a mystery to them. He wasn't even human, in the conventional sense, just a blueprint from a past life. He had no parents, no memories from before the Academy and could simply be described as a tool created for a job, a weapon engineered to combat crime. Nobody knew him, not really. And now Justice Department scuttlebutt had it that there were other Dredd clones being developed, the programme accelerated to meet the demands of the citizenry, and all presumably equally humourless with the same rods shoved up their backsides.

  Geest sneaked a glance at Dredd standing at his side. Close-up, you could see the signs of age etched on the senior Judge's face. There was no doubt he was probably fitter than rookies that had just graduated onto the street, and that set-in-stone jaw showed scars and crags wrought by experience. Eleven, twelve years ago, following his battle with the Sisters of Death, Dredd had undergone rejuve treatment to get him back up to strength, yet the man clearly couldn't go on forever. The presence of the clones suggested that the Council of Five knew it too, and were taking pre-emptive measures to groom his replacements. Even legends had a shelf life.

  "Vanessa, I love you!" a gimp in the crowd suddenly shouted, clambering up onto the barricades and waving an obviously home-made banner depicting a crude picture of the actress, assembled from magazine cuttings. Dredd strode forward without hesitation and used his daystick to sweep the fan's legs from under him, knocking him back into the crush.

  "Behind the barriers, all of you," he barked, "or else I'll start making some arrests."

  "How much longer are we going to have to stay nursemaiding these creeps?" Geest asked.

  "Probably go on all evening," Dredd replied, constantly watching the hordes of autograph-hunters and photographers. "Some of these cits have been camped out here since yesterday. A personal appearance by a supposed megastar always brings the crazies out of the woodwork."

  "Seems to me this sort of thing should be kept under wraps, not paraded in front of a bunch of infatuated halfwits."

  "Two words: Matheson Peat. You can bet he'll be wanting to get as much media mileage out of this as possible."

  "You reckon he's cut a deal with the Chief Judge?"

  "Councillor Peat makes some very generous contributions to Justice Department funds," Dredd answered carefully, finally looking at Geest. "He gets a little leeway now and again. But Hershey's smart, she can see right through him and knows what a fame-hungry, self-obsessed creep he is. It just happens that he's also a very well-connected and extremely rich creep. Plus he seems to have the city's best interests at heart."

  Geest peered up at Fred Quimby Block, stretching above them into the night sky. "I guess it is something to be proud of, giving people a new start, a new home..."

  "For the few," Dredd muttered tersely. "It's the many we have to worry about."

  Despite appearances, Peat was nervous. Usually, this kind of social gathering was his bread and butter, a chance to shine amidst the upper strata of Mega-City's artistic community and allow his ego to expand that little bit further as it absorbed every insincere word of praise. He was under no illusions that his guests were particularly interested in his work, or indeed even liked him that much, but they needed the oxygen of publicity as much as he did. It was a relationship that served all of them well, allowing Peat to bask in the glow of assorted luminaries. But right now, even he was apprehensive at meeting Vanessa Indigo.

  She had the bestselling album of the year, her latest movie Baring Bloody Teeth was wowing audiences all over the globe, and she was currently dating Evan Frick, the aeroball player who was presently on tour in Hondo City. Peat's PR agency had performed a minor miracle to get her across from Euro-Cit to open the building tonight - though he wouldn't be surprised to learn that she was in town for reasons of her own as well - and he was unsure on how to handle her. The scandal rags, which he trusted more than any studio spokesperson, said she could be difficult. He would just have to rely on the old Matheson Peat charm when he finally met her.

  He glad-handed his way across the hospitality area, warmly welcoming those he plainly didn't recognise as if they were old friends. The turnout had been exceptional and if all went to plan this evening, it would be another benchmark in his remarkable career. He reached the exclusive VIP room and knocked gently on the door. A goon in a tux opened it a crack, looking him up and down, and for a moment Peat thought he would have to embarrassingly identify himself as the host of the party, but he was admitted without a word.

  On first impressions, he wished he was back outsid
e amidst the celebrations. The room was dour, with a stultifying atmosphere, the few celebrities present whispering amongst themselves and trying too hard to enjoy themselves. That old ham Harry Hartley was here with his bimbo wife, talking with a couple of ancient, besuited executives, and a vaguely infamous rock singer--whose name escaped Peat--was drinking himself towards unconsciousness. Vanessa sat on a chair against the wall, cradling a glass of water, while another of her meatheads hovered at her shoulder looking uncomfortable, his shirt collar straining to contain his six-inch neck. She seemed bored out of her mind.

  It was a peculiarity of the celebrity animal, Peat knew from his many years throwing bashes like these, that the higher you moved up the ladder of fame, the more miserable you became. At any function, A-list stars would insist on having their own private corners, where they demanded to be left undisturbed, and consequently spent much of their time silently on their own, feeling too self-important to venture outside their bubble of sycophants and hangers-on. It never looked as if their fortune had bought them much happiness, but rather it had trapped them in a self-deluding circle of anxiety and vanity. Whilst Peat spent much of his life rubbing shoulders with household names, he regarded them only as a means for his own ends. Most of the time, they were no use to anyone.

  The councillor cautiously walked towards Vanessa and coughed lightly, perhaps a little too theatrically. She gazed up at him and he wondered if she'd taken something; her eyes looked glassy and her movements appeared cumbersome, as if her senses were dulled. He got the immediate impression that she didn't know who on earth he was.

  "Ah, Miss Indigo?" he said slowly. "I'm Matheson Peat, the organiser of tonight's event. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you coming here this evening. No doubt you saw the crowd outside. The whole of Mega-City One is going crazy for you, and we're all very excited to have you here."

  "Hmm?" she blankly looked up at him.

  "I'm sure Miss Indigo thanks you for your kind welcome," said a voice behind him. Peat turned to see a squat, rotund man returning from the buffet balancing a plate of finger food in one hand and a flute of shampagne in the other. He had a thick moustache, complete with a sprinkling of crumbs, and his thinning hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. He performed a quick juggling act with the cutlery, and extended a free hand, which Peat shook. "Maurice Lubular. I'm Miss Indigo's manager." He, like the actress, had an accent that was difficult to place; there was a lilt to it that Peat found pleasantly musical, if unrecognisable.

  "I was just saying what a great honour it is to have you here." The councillor lowered his voice. "Is she OK?"

  Lubular glanced to each side, as if to check no one was in ear-shot and cleared his throat. "Can you be discreet?"

  "Of course." Peat nodded.

  "Miss Indigo has, um, a slight addiction to FX," he said quietly. "Nothing life-threatening, of course. Just a little escape route from reality."

  "She needs an escape?"

  "If you had her life, screaming fans throwing themselves at you day and night, you'd want to get away from it as much as possible too. As I said, it's not serious. She's probably just imagining gremlins are eating the sausage rolls. But she's developed quite a habit for the hallucinogen. I think it helps her come to terms with the real world when she's sober."

  "Jovus, I had no idea..."

  "Why should you? It's not something we're planning on releasing to the press. But Miss Indigo is the perfect professional. She will not let you down."

  "She'll be OK to cut the ribbon?"

  "Oh yes. I will be there to guide her, have no fear. What time do you want us?"

  "In about fifteen minutes. I'll start rounding up the rest of the guests, then make the announcement to the baying hordes outside."

  "No problem."

  Peat cast a worried glance at the star, who was staring into her water enraptured, then headed back to what he hoped was normality.

  Dredd threw the perp into the back of the catch wagon and slammed the doors. It was his tenth public order arrest of the evening and he had a feeling that there were going to be plenty more before the night was over. The crowd was becoming more boisterous by the hour, stoked by constant announcements from the block's PA system that Vanessa Indigo would shortly be making an appearance to officially declare the building open. Right now, the cits were chanting some inane countdown.

  Like Geest, Dredd was impatient for the whole farrago to be over. In fact, he was beginning to think that maybe Hershey had played this one wrong and underestimated just how easily this gathering could spiral out of control. Peat had been given too much room to celebrate himself at the expense of the Judges' rule.

  Dredd was ambivalent towards the councillor. The man was charismatic and fanatically pro-Justice Department, but there was something about him that you couldn't pin down. On the couple of occasions that Dredd had been introduced to Peat, he was left with the impression that the councillor saw everyone around him as suckers to be used at his whim. Every meeting was a photo opportunity, every publicity stunt stage-managed to attain maximum exposure.

  Peat's past too, was a strange mixture of genuine bravery and revisionism. During the Apocalypse War, Peat had led his local Citi-Def unit against the invading Sovs and had won some significant victories, with McGruder personally commending him for his actions once the conflict had ended. But in his early steps into politics, he made some extremely controversial, right-wing, anti-Sov speeches that upset many and he later had to apologise for offending anyone in the more enlightened, hands-across-the-ocean times. Of course, there was a section of the populace that thought he'd gone soft and felt no apology was necessary as they agreed with his statements that it was about time somebody destroyed East-Meg Two as well.

  Dredd wondered what the real Matheson Peat truly believed. Did he change his opinions to fit with the political mood? Did Peat have so little faith in his policies that they were something to be picked up or dropped depending on which way the wind was blowing? The man seemed to be pure artifice.

  And now there was this Phoenix Campaign of his. His intentions were laudable, but again it was a case of style over substance. Rather than genuinely solving the chronic housing problem, the campaign merely reinforced the divisions between the wealthy three or four per cent of the Big Meg's population and the struggling remainder of it. Because only those with serious cash could afford to live in these new blocks of his, it simply ghettoised the poor, driving them ever further into the margins of society. Peat never did anything that didn't benefit himself directly, and by creating these new homes for his rich peers he was ensured of their support come election day.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," boomed the PA. The crowd roared in response. "Tonight is a special night for Mega-City One, for tonight we are playing host to one of the most famous women on the planet. You cried along with her in Twilight of the Dead, you made 'Twenty-Second Century Blues' number one for eleven consecutive weeks, you voted her the person you'd most like to be stranded in the Cursed Earth with, and now she's here in the flesh. Put your hands together and give a huge Mega-City cheer for Vanessa Indigo!"

  Dredd was sure that the technicians up in Weather Control heard the roar that erupted from the mob; it was thunderous. Flashbulbs started popping again as Peat emerged from the front doors, leading a confused-looking Indigo, the tubby guy and the two minders to a podium that had been set up with a microphone. Beside it were two small posts with a length of red ribbon tied between them. The other celebs filtered out behind the main attraction, standing in a semi-circle to the rear, trying hard not to look envious of the reaction Indigo provoked. Tri-D cameramen moved closer as Peat raised his hands pompously for quiet, which his audience roundly ignored.

  "This..." He winced as he struggled to make himself heard against the chants of Indigo's name. "This is indeed a special night. This building behind me is a symbol of the indomitable Mega-City spirit, growing from the ruins of the past and refusing to be broken. I am very grate
ful and honoured to be involved in such a project that brings hope to the citizens of this illustrious metropolis, and it seems fitting that it should be officially declared open by someone who means so much to all of you. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to hand you over to Vanessa Indigo."

  Peat stood back and allowed Indigo and fatman to move towards the mic. Fatman was whispering in her ear, guiding her with his hand as if she was incapable of acting without his support. She bent forward, not looking at the crowd, and said, "Hi."

  It was enough for the fans, who bellowed back their approval. Dredd watched as one of the Tri-D cameramen adjusted his position, circling around to Indigo's side, though strangely he wasn't paying much attention to what he was supposed to be recording. He kept looking behind him, as if he was checking the distance between himself and the nearest Judge. Something was up, and Dredd was moving before his brain had even assimilated the information.

  "T-thank you so much," Indigo was mumbling. "I love you all..."

  The cameraman suddenly took his video camera with both hands and cracked it open, retrieving a small blaster from the hollow interior. He pointed it at the actress.

  Dredd's Lawgiver was clenched in his fist within seconds as he ran forward. "You!" he shouted, his voice straining to rise above the background noise. "Drop the gun! Now!"

  The man had heard him and was clearly panicked, swinging round to bear down on Dredd. Indigo's entourage immediately became aware that something was going on, and the actress's chaperone pulled her away from the podium, the woman emitting a sharp yelp of surprise. Her bodyguards both pulled hand cannons from shoulder holsters and levelled them at the perp. The crowd had gone deathly quiet.

  "You two!" Dredd snapped at the bodyguards. "Lose the weapons or you'll be going down too!"

  "Drokk you," one of them spat, with a thick burr of an accent. "We were gene-engineered to protect her."