by David Bishop
The cult members were now gathered atop Maurice Waldron Block, waiting for the end of the world. All were resplendent in their purple and gold robes, specially purchased for Judgement Day from the proceeds of baked goods sales. Everyone had said their goodbyes to the non-believers in their immediate family and friends. It wasn't easy to mentally prepare yourself for salvation, knowing so many were not be spared the full horrors of the apocalypse, but Sharona counselled her followers not to fret. The creator might take pity on associate members and upgrade them to full redemption status.
So the one hundred waited, their hands linked together. They recited a fervent prayer over and over again as the moment of destiny approached. "Creator of all things, hallowed be thyself. Thy kingdom is nearly come, thy will be done, in the Big Meg as it is wherever you hang out. Give us this day our ticket off this stommhole and forgive us our hoverbus passes. Lead us not into a cul-de-sac but deliver us from bad stuff. For thine is the kingdom and the glory and stuff like that, now and forever and a day. All right?"
Sharona smiled - she was fond of the prayer, it struck just the right note of reverence and informality in her opinion. You could be too drokking pious, you know?
It was ten minutes after midnight when the prayers began to falter. Everyone still believed the end was nigh, but they were starting to get a little impatient. A half-hearted chorus of "Why are we waiting?" was stifled by a harsh glance from Sharona.
"Do not goad the Creator!" she shouted. "If, in his or her infinite wisdom, he or she chooses to be a little late, that does not mean we should be any less respectful of our saviour."
By quarter past it was obvious something had gone awry. Sharona did her best to conceal the disappointment from her followers. "Perhaps we have misinterpreted the signs and portents," she allowed.
"But you seemed so sure," her main disciple insisted. Gunther Beck had been the first to join the cult, admitting to Sharona his life was a barren, soulless existence since his mother died two years earlier. The fact he believed in her, had a small personal fortune and was also eager to pleasure her with oral sex had in no way influenced Sharona's decision to make Gunther a disciple. Well, the belief and the credits had perhaps played a small part in the decision, but the erotic encounters were just a bonus.
"Well, everybody makes mistakes," she admitted. The cultists groaned, some mumbling that they had been duped, others wondering about how they could get their old jobs back. Sharona realised events would spiral out of her control unless she exerted some authority.
"Everyone, listen to me. I am experiencing a vision!" She fell to her knees and pointed at the full moon overhead. "I can now clearly see what we must do. If the apocalypse will not come to us, then we must go to the apocalypse!"
"Err, Sharona, you're not making much sense," Gunther whispered.
"It's simple. The Creator will only save us if we deliver ourselves to him!"
"And how do we do that?"
"By killing ourselves, of course!"
Riff Maltin had been wondering where his next story would come from when the call came through from Channel 27's news editor. Yablonsky wanted all his correspondents to investigate anti-alien sentiment in the sector's Citi-Def squads. Riff had glowed inwardly with pride at being referred to as a correspondent. But there was no time to savour the moment. Yablonsky was already handing out assignments, sending his best reporters to those blocks with the most rabid Citi-Def squads. Riff knew he couldn't leave this to chance.
"I want Oswald Mosley!" he shouted when the news editor paused.
"Why?"
"Call it a hunch," Maltin replied.
"Fine, whatever. The new boy's going to Oswald Mosley. Next..."
Riff had more than a hunch backing his request. He had returned to Robert Hatch after Dredd left and witnessed the survivors being loaded into hoverbuses. Creeping closer, he had overheard Judge Stammers directing the driver droid to deliver its cargo of aliens to Oswald Mosley. Riff had already seen what strong feelings the offworlders aroused. The residents of Mosley had a reputation for being notoriously anti-alien. The arrival of their new neighbours was bound to cause more trouble and that meant news.
Riff caught the midnight zoom train across Sector 87, luckily avoiding the traffic caused by the Anton Diffring pile-up. As a result the roving reporter reached his destination ahead of the hoverbus. He approached Oswald Mosley with some trepidation. It was a typical citi-block, one hundred storeys of con-apts and support facilities providing homes to sixty thousand residents. Residents could be born, live their whole lives and die without ever leaving the building. It contained shops, recreation areas and a medical centre. None of that worried Riff. But the scrawl emblazoned across the entrance to the block: ALIEN SCUM STAY OUT! attracted his attention. If the Judges were planning to relocate survivors from Robert Hatch to here, there wouldn't just be trouble - there was going to be a riot.
Riff smiled. Why was he worrying? A riot was exactly what he wanted. Grud knows, it would make good viewing on tri-D. It wouldn't be long before the hoverbus arrived. Now was his chance to alert the residents to what was coming, and stir them up a little. Maltin remembered the lecture Yablonsky had given him at the audition. "You can't always break the news. Sometimes you have to manufacture it - by any means necessary."
The reporter hurried into the block's entrance, encountering a surly juve inside picking his nose. "Do you know who runs the Citi-Def squad here?"
Ramone Maguire peered at the stranger. "Why do you want to know?"
"My name's Riff Maltin, I'm a reporter for Channel 27." He gestured at the hovercam just above his right shoulder to prove his identity. "I've got news about a threat to the security of this block and its residents."
Ramone shrugged. "You want my mom: Conchita Maguire, con-apt 729. But she won't be happy about you waking her up at this time of night."
"She'll thank me when she hears what I know."
"Have it your way." The juve jerked his head towards a phone on the wall. "You can call her from there. But I'm telling you, she won't be happy."
Riff soon discovered the juve had not been exaggerating. It took several minutes of cursing and swearing before Conchita calmed down enough to hear what Maltin was trying to tell her. "Offworlders? Coming here?"
"Yes." Riff heard the telltale hiss of a hoverbus stopping outside the entrance. "I think their transportation has just arrived outside."
"Those freaks aren't coming into my block!" the fiery Maguire vowed and slammed down the phone.
Riff smiled, the reason he had been sent to Oswald Mosley long forgotten. He could smell trouble and it was coming at his command.
Dredd and Miller screeched to a halt outside Maurice Waldron Block. A crowd of bystanders had formed around the building, many of them pointing upwards and discussing previous suicide jumps they had witnessed. Up above, a line of people could be seen standing on the edge of the roof, their figures silhouetted against the full moon overhead.
"One of us will have to stay here on crowd control until back-up arrives," Miller observed, frowning at the ghouls gathered on the ground. "If the cult members do decide to turn themselves into street pizza, we don't want them taking out the bystanders as well."
"Agreed," Dredd growled. "You stay here. I'll go up."
"Hey! Why do you get to go?"
"Trust me. I've dealt with more leapers than you. I'll get these punks down, one way or another."
"Have it your own way," Miller said. "I'll contact the block maintenance droid, make sure countermeasures are available if the worst happens."
"That's a roj." Dredd dismounted from his Lawmaster and strode into Maurice Waldron, checking he had a full clip of ammunition loaded.
Miller watched him go in before looking up into the air again. "Drokking full moon, always brings out the crazies," she muttered.
On the roof Sharona Moore had convinced her acolytes that suicide was definitely the way to nirvana. "Just before we reach the ground the Creator wi
ll reach down and scoop out our souls, preserving us for all eternity," she announced with a smile.
All one hundred of the cult members were standing in a line along the edge of the roof, gazing out across the city. To Sharona's left, Gunther was having second thoughts. "Are you sure you've got the prophecy right this time, my darling?" he whispered from the side of his mouth. "I don't mean to question your wisdom, but earlier you were saying the entire world was coming to an end. Now you think it's just us who have to die."
"Do you doubt me, Gunther?" Sharona asked.
"Well, frankly, yes."
"Can't say I blame you," a gruff voice interjected. Sharona and her disciples swung round to see Judge Dredd emerging from the rooftop access door. "Seen a lot of religious types in my time and few of them have got any proof to support their claims of divine guidance."
"Unbeliever!" Sharona shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Dredd. "You know nothing of what you speak!"
"Maybe, but it doesn't sound like you've got a hotline to Grud yourself, or whoever you believe in."
"We believe in the Creator of all things," Gunther said, trying to be helpful.
"Uh-huh. This creator says it's a good night to fall a hundred storeys before going face-first into a rockcrete grave, does he?"
"The Creator does not have a gender," Sharona snapped. "They are beyond such worldly concerns as gender and sex."
"I know the feeling," Dredd replied. "Well, off you go."
"Sorry?"
"Jump. I'm not stopping you."
Sharona was perplexed. "If you're not going to stop us, why did you come up here?"
"Justice Department requires I try to talk you out of it, but I can't be bothered tonight. I haven't eaten in fifteen hours, I haven't slept in nearly twice that time and I couldn't give a flying drokk whether you jump or not." Dredd put his Lawgiver back into its holster. "Makes no difference to me."
"Oh. Err, okay." Sharona turned back to her disciples. "Well, if everybody's ready, we'll go on a count of three. One-"
"There's just one thing," Dredd said.
Sharona sighed in exasperation. "And what's that?"
"I can't let you take all these people with you."
"Why not?"
"You want to kill yourself, be my guest - one less kook to put in the cubes. But taking all these citizens with you, now that's mass murder."
Sharona frowned. "You can't be serious."
"Try me," Dredd growled.
"These people have agreed to follow me wherever I go. If that means jumping to their deaths, they will do so."
"I'm not convinced."
"You're not convinced?"
"No," Dredd said, shaking his head. "The citizen on your right, for a start. He didn't seem too sure when I came up the stairs. Since he's standing next to you, I'm guessing he's probably one of your assistants. Now, if you can't convince your assistants that suicide is a bright idea, well..."
Sharona glared at Dredd malevolently. "Have you quite finished?"
The Judge nodded.
"Fine. Then I shall prove how wrong you are. I will step off this roof and fall to my death. And all my acolytes will follow me. Now, if you don't mind."
"Go right ahead. Turn yourself into street pizza. No skin off my chin."
Sharona rolled her eyes before readying herself. "On my mark. One. Two. Three!" She stepped off the roof and began falling.
It was then Dredd realised all the cultists were tied together. Once Sharona went over the side, the others followed, whether they wanted to or not. Dredd began running towards the edge of the roof but was too late to grab the last of the sect members before they were dragged over. Instead he dived off the roof after them.
By the time Stammers and Riley reached Oswald Mosley, more than a hundred residents had blocked the entrance to the building. The two Judges had been called off escort duty to help with the aftermath of the Anton Diffring pile-up. They were now faced with another angry mob - only this one hadn't been immobilised with a bombardment of riot foam. The protesters had surrounded the hoverbus filled with aliens and were trying to tip the vehicle over.
"Terrif," Stammers muttered darkly. "As if this night couldn't get any worse." He fired six shots into the air. Most of the crowd scattered, falling back to the block's entrance. But a hardcore of two dozen remained around the hoverbus, all wearing flak jackets and helmets marked with CITI-DEF insignia. At the front and in the centre of this group was a woman with a face like thunder. She marched towards the two Judges.
"How dare you fire upon us! These are decent, law-abiding citizens staging a non-violent protest!" the woman snarled with venomous fury.
"Trying to turn over a hoverbus? Not exactly a page from the passive resistance handbook, is it?" Stammers replied sarcastically. "Anyway, we didn't fire on you. Those were warning shoots. What's your name, citizen?"
"Conchita Maguire, leader of Oswald Mosley Citi-Def."
"Well, you're not setting much of an example," Riley observed. "You're supposed to welcome and protect new residents - not attack them."
"So it's true! You intend to bring these alien scum inside our building!"
Stammers decided to take a more placatory approach. "Look, lady, I ain't any happier than you about this. But the situation is just temporary. Tomorrow morning they'll probably be moved to another facility."
"Temporary - that's an interesting word," Conchita said. "I had a friend in Robert Hatch who was temporarily moved out to make way for the vultures and all the other freaks. How many years did that temporary measure last?"
"Citizen, you can bitch and moan all you like. That ain't changing the fact these aliens are being housed here for the night," Riley replied.
"Where?" Conchita demanded. "Every con-apt in this building is already full beyond capacity. Where do you intend to put these, these, things?" She spat on the ground between the two Judges to underline her hatred.
Stammers smiled. He'd tried being nice but that didn't get him anywhere. He was fast losing patience. Time to put an end to this. "I'm told the top floor refurbishment is nearly done. The aliens can spend the night up there. We'll move them out in the morning."
That was when Conchita lost it. She could see her one dream, her last hope disappearing before her eyes. If the aliens shifted into the new home meant for her family, would the monsters ever move out again? She would remain trapped in her con-apt for Grud knew how many more months or years! Even if they were relocated, she wasn't sure she could stand to live where the aliens had been. It would be like sharing her body with them.
The red mist descended and Maguire went into a frenzy, running towards the hoverbus and throwing herself at the doors. One fist smashed through the glasseen, tearing the skin off her knuckles in the process. "I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna kill you all!" she kept screaming, over and over. The rest of the Citi-Def squad took up her chant, banging their fists against the side of the hoverbus. Inside, the alien passengers cowered back from the windows, huddling against each other, terror and anger in their eyes. Meanwhile the rest of the residents were cheering the Citi-Def squad on.
The two Judges exchanged a glance.
"Stumm gas?" Stammers asked his partner.
"Stumm gas," Riley replied, already reaching for a canister of the paralysing liquid attached to his utility belt. The Judges pulled the pins simultaneously and rolled the smoking tubes towards the hoverbus, before pulling down the respirators on their helmets.
Stammers stepped away from his motorcycle and drew out his daystick. "Let's bust some heads!"
Dredd dived headfirst from the roof of Maurice Waldron Block, streamlining his body shape so he fell faster than the cultists below him. Sharona Moore and her ninety-nine disciples were tumbling slowly through the air like a human charm bracelet, each member tied to another at the wrist. Maurice Waldron was a hundred storeys high, giving the leapers plenty of time to scream for help as they fell towards the pedway below. Dredd activated his helmet radio.
&
nbsp; "Miller, can you hear me?"
"Yes. Dredd, the cult kooks have just jumped off the roof!"
"I know. I jumped after them."
"You did what?!"
"I jumped after them. Are the block safety measures fully functional?"
"Yes," Miller replied. "I can control them from the onboard computer on my Lawmaster. Do you want me to deploy them?"
"Not yet."
"Why the drokk not?"
"I want to arrest these creeps on the way down," Dredd said.
"Well, I estimate you've got another sixty storeys and half a minute left."
"Roj that. I'll keep this channel open!" By now Dredd had caught up with the last of the cult members, a gibbering woman. Being at the end of the human chain, only one of her wrists was tied to another disciple. Her purple and gold gown was flapping around her face, revealing that she was otherwise naked. "You're under arrest," Dredd announced, "Attempted suicide, disturbing the peace and gross indecency. Six months for each charge, eighteen months in all."
"Are you crazy?" the woman screamed. "We'll all be dead in a minute!"
"If that happens, I'll let you off the attempted suicide," Dredd replied, handcuffing himself to her free wrist. "But the other charges still stand."
"You are crazy!" his prisoner replied.
Dredd ignored her and shouted so the other leapers could hear him. "You're all under arrest for attempted suicide and disturbing the peace! Come along quietly or there will be trouble!"
Misch had watched as the two Judges attacked the protesters outside the hoverbus. She felt waves of hatred and anger surging from the crowd but this turned to terror when the stumm gas canisters began billowing clouds of paralysing smoke into the air. Some of the gas seeped into the hoverbus through a broken window. The arthropod Gruchar began spewing green bile into the air while a family from Wolfren were sent into a frenzy of howling and tears. Misch was grateful for the R'qeen respiratory bypass system. The gas made her a little dizzy but that was the limit of its effects.
