by David Bishop
I'm having a nose bleed, Ryan realised. The other five were also bleeding freely from their nostrils, some trying to staunch the flow.
Do not be alarmed, Kara announced. The nose bleeds are a side effect of my psi-probing. They will pass. Brace yourselves. The worst is yet to come.
Pain lanced through Ryan's head, like a cold knife slicing into his brain. His body went into spasm, a scream crying out through clenched teeth. Moisture soaked his seat as the juve lost control of his bowels, a dark stain spreading out from his crotch. Ryan clutched at his temples, unable to cope any longer. Stop this - please!, his mind begged.
It was then one of the strike team's head exploded.
Dredd had spent the afternoon visiting each of the foreign delegates to ensure they were safe and sound. As night fell over Mega-City One, the Judge shifted his attention to supervising final safety checks at the negotiations venue. An entire floor in the Grand Hall of Justice had been set aside for the talks. All turbolift access to that level was locked off for anyone lacking the proper security clearance and passcodes. Nobody could get in or out without Dredd's personal authorisation. He had received word about the warning from Ryan. If Bludd was planning to directly attack the talks tomorrow, the strike team would have to do so over Dredd's dead body, and that wasn't going to happen.
Satisfied with security for access to the venue, Dredd strode around the rooms set aside for the negotiations. A central chamber was the main gathering point, with tables and chairs facing each other in a ring. Doors led out to a corridor that encircled the main chamber. Surrounding these in an outer ring were smaller rooms for each of the delegates to use during breaks or for one-on-one sessions. The visitors had been given secure scrambled lines of communication back to their own citi-states, to help them maintain a dialogue with their respective leaders. Hershey had personally assured the Chief Judge of each delegate that these lines could not be monitored or intercepted.
Dredd was making a final sweep of the outer chambers when his helmet radio crackled into life. "Control to Dredd, come in."
"Dredd responding. I said I didn't want to be disturbed."
"Giant requests you meet him at the corner of Cartier and Klugman."
"I'll be there in an hour. I want to-"
"Giant says this is urgent. He called it a Crazy Zhivago and Wild Wallaby situation. Says you'll know what that means."
"Stomm," Dredd snarled with disgust. He had insisted all those involved with securing the safety of the delegates use discretion during radio transmissions. It was Giant who came up with codenames. Crazy Zhivago meant the East-Meg Two delegate had disappeared from his private quarters, while Wild Wallaby indicated Judge Bruce was also involved. "Tell Giant I'm on my way!" Dredd was already running for the nearest turbolift.
Ryan opened his eyes. "I'm still alive," he whispered and smiled. His clothes and face were spattered with viscera from the headless corpse still sat opposite. Skyhook's reward for accusing another member of the strike team was to have his brain exploded by Kara's formidable psi powers.
"Skyhook was the traitor?" Angry Sanderson asked, bewildered. "But you said he had accused one of us..."
Kara smiled, walking around the table to the chair containing Skyhook's remains. "He did. Your late team member accused Ryan of being a spy for the Judges, sent to infiltrate the Bludd Group. Skyhook even claimed to have seen Ryan sending messages to Justice Department from within the penthouse." She placed a hand on each of the dead man's shoulders, a gaping absence where Skyhook's head should have been. "What he didn't know is Ryan was acting on my orders, passing disinformation to the Judges about tomorrow's mission." Kara fixed the juve in her gaze and licked her luscious red lips.
"We have no illusions about Ryan's loyalty. I have tested it personally."
Tattoo Sue was wiping blood and bone fragments off her ample chest with a linen napkin.
"So why kill Skyhook, if he was just mistaken?"
Bludd answered that question. "Disloyalty will not be tolerated, as I said before. You must trust each other utterly, otherwise your mission will fail." He smiled broadly. "Any more questions? No? Then I suggest you all retire to bed. Tomorrow we make history. Tomorrow we change the future. Tomorrow, we show the so-called rulers of this world just who holds the real power." Bludd threw open the double doors and beckoned Kara to him. Once she was at his side, the crime boss wrapped a proprietorial hand around her waist and they strode away together.
In the dining room, Ryan found it hard to tear his eyes from Skyhook's corpse. Fincher approached the body and examined the cadaver with professional detachment. "Remarkable," he said in a Brit-Cit accent. "Not many birds can boil a man's brain in his cranial juices until it explodes." Fincher dipped a finger into the ghastly wound where Skyhook's neck had been. "Still hot, too."
Ryan ran from the room to find the nearest bathroom, an unequal battle with the contents of his digestive system about to be comprehensively lost. Fincher looked up in mock surprise, a disingenuous smile crossing his face.
"Was it something I said?"
THREE
Giant was the third helmet to reach the crash scene on the corner of Cartier and Klugman. One look inside the remains of the hoverpod confirmed what he had heard from Control. Giant shook his head in despair before turning to acknowledge the other Judges, a female veteran called Glass and her partner Daley. "You were right to have Control call me. How long have you been here?"
"Twenty minutes," Glass responded. "We saw the hoverpod weaving across Anton Diffring Overzoom before it plunged down to the skedways, nearly decapitating a jaywalker. We pursued the vehicle but the driver didn't seem aware of our presence. Eventually the hoverpod swerved to avoid a little girl and flew straight into Emporio Kneepad."
Giant glanced round the scene. This part of Sector 87 was a high-priced shoppera zone, lined with expensive outlets like Tommi Illfinger and The Gyp. A crowd of bystanders was already gathering despite the late hour, straining to get a better look at the crash and any unfortunate victims. After failing to contact Dredd directly, Giant left a message for him with Control before assigning Glass and Daley to keep the cits back. Once a cordon was established the Judge approached the crumpled hoverpod.
The Maxi Zoom Dweebie 5000 was wedged fast in the window display of Emporia Kneepad. The hoverpod's front had collapsed backwards on impact, trapping the two occupants within the vehicle. Having been stuck inside for so long, Giant would normally expect them to be dead or crying out in agony. Instead the two men were singing in slurred voices.
"What's the matter you? Hey! Why you looka so sad?" Leading the tune was a broad, nasal accent Giant recognised from earlier in the day. The other person in the hoverpod tried to join in, his broken English and East European accent making nonsense of the lyrics.
"Ahh, shut up off your vase!"
"Nah, mate, it's 'shuttupa your face'!"
"That's what I said, tovarisch!"
"Nah, you said vase; not face, vase!"
"That's what I said; vase!"
Giant used a small but powerful torch from his Lawmaster to illuminate the scene inside the crumpled hoverpod. Smirnoff was wedged behind the steering wheel, a half empty bottle of synthi-vodka clutched in one hand while gesticulating at his passenger with the other. Bruce was sprawled in the other seat, draining the last dregs from another bottle. The air inside the hoverpod was close to forty per cent proof.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Been out for a little excursion, have we?" Giant asked, his sarcasm wasted on the inebriated delegates.
"Gidday, Gigantor!" Bruce shouted.
"That's Judge Giant to you."
"Yeah, whatever. See, I wanted to show Ivan here all the sights."
Smirnoff nodded vigorously. Bruce smiled. "We were trying to find the Sstadue of Juddment, bud I think we took a bid of a wrong turn. Now, if you'll juss point uss in the right direction, then everything'ss apples and we'll be on our way."
"Apples?" Smirnoff asked. "Why woul
d everything be apples, comrade?"
"She'll be right," Bruce replied. His drinking partner looked bewildered so the Oz delegate tried again. "As good as gold? Fair dinkum?"
Smirnoff just shrugged, belching loudly.
"You, gentlemen, will not be going anywhere else tonight," Giant announced, "except back to your beds to sleep this off. In the morning we can talk about the limits of your diplomatic immunity. Do I make myself clear?"
The man from East-Meg Two smiled at Giant and offered him the bottle of synthi-vodka. "Ahh, my dusky tovarisch! Drink with us! Here, drink!" Giant took the bottle but, to Smirnoff's dismay, emptied the contents on the ground. "You didn't have to do that, you know. But don't worry, I have more back at the hotel."
"It's not a hotel, tovarisch," Giant replied tersely. "It's a Justice Department safe house. You're supposed to be..." He gave up, realising Smirnoff had fallen asleep at the wheel. "Terrif." Giant stepped away from the vehicle and summoned a rescue detail to the scene, along with Med-Judges and other support teams. Less than a minute later the sound of a Lawmaster could be heard approaching. The bystanders stepped aside to let the new arrival through, Dredd barking at the crowd to move further back.
Once he had dismounted from his motorcycle, Dredd strode directly to Giant who offered a brief report. The younger Judge knew from experience that his former mentor had little patience for extraneous detail and less for bad news. Sure enough, Dredd's face grew sourer by the second as Giant outlined what had taken place. Once the report was finished, Dredd marched to the wrecked hoverpod and ripped open the passenger door. Bruce tumbled to the ground, a sloppy grin plastered across his face.
"Gidday, Dreddy! How's it going, cobber?"
"Are you injured?"
Bruce's brow furrowed. "Ssay thad again, mate?"
"Are - you - injured?" Dredd snarled through clenched teeth.
The Oz Judge smiled again. "Nah, no worries. I'm right as rain!"
Dredd nodded before gesturing for Giant to join him by the hoverpod. "You told my colleague you were planning a visit to the Statue of Judgement."
Bruce pulled himself into a sitting position. "Yeah."
Dredd crouched beside Bruce, his voice a murmur so low Giant could only just make out the words. "Then listen up, cobber. As far as you're concerned, I am the Statue of Judgement. Unless you want to see my fist up close and personal, I suggest you and the Red Menace get your stomm together and get back to your quarters, now. Otherwise I'll be more than happy to drop kick you both back to the misbegotten hellholes you call home, diplomatic immunity or no diplomatic immunity. Do I make myself understood, mate?"
The Oz delegate nodded hurriedly, scrambling to his feet. Bruce leaned inside the hoverpod and shook Smirnoff awake. "Come on! Rattle your dags, Ivan, it's time to go. Move it!"
By the time the two drunks had stumbled out of the wreckage, an H-wagon was descending from the sky to collect them. Dredd made sure the pair were loaded safely inside and gave the pilot orders about where to deliver them. He also put a Med-Judge in the H-wagon.
"Give these two something to dissolve the alcohol in their systems, but make sure they still have a hangover in the morning," he said. "The more fragile they feel during the opening session of negotiations, the quicker Hershey will get her treaty."
Giant observed all of this while supervising the clean-up crew assigned to remove all evidence of the accident. He joined Dredd as the H-wagon rose into the air.
"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you say so many words in a row as you did to Bruce just now."
"I had to get his attention."
Giant smiled. "Is it my imagination or are you trying to stack the deck in the Chief Judge's favour for the treaty talks?"
"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner these clowns get out of the city." Dredd jerked a thumb at the remains of Emporio Kneepad. "You've seen what two of them can do when they get together. Imagine what it'll be like when all five of them are in one room with Hershey."
"Control to Dredd, respond!"
"Dredd here. What now?"
"The Chief Judge wants to see you in her office. Immediately."
"On my way. Dredd out."
Giant knew what was coming next. "Go. I'll stay here and supervise."
Dredd nodded before returning to his Lawmaster. Tyres squealed in protest as the motorcycle roared away towards the nearest ramp up to Anton Diffring.
Jesus Bludd stood on the balcony of his penthouse, a glass balloon of brandy cradled in one hand, a silk robe wrapped around his body. Stretched out in all directions he could see the Big Meg in its nocturnal glory, a billion lights in the night, millions of souls wondering what tomorrow would bring, if they even thought of tomorrow at all.
Bludd smiled to himself as Kara came out on to the balcony, pulling a similar robe tightly around her naked figure. A chill breeze made her gasp in surprise. "Sweet Jovus, it's cold out here!" She walked on tiptoes along the pathway of slates to join her lover by the balustrade.
"The breeze comes directly from the Arctic," Bludd replied. "This close to the Black Atlantic even Weather Control can only do so much to regulate climatic conditions. I find the wind quite bracing."
Kara slipped one of her hands inside his robe, searching for warmth. "So I can feel. Were you thinking about me, by any chance?"
"I was contemplating the next twenty-four hours. By this time tomorrow everything will be different. Reality will be revealed to those who purport to be our rulers and I will emerge from the shadows at last."
"I suppose I should be disappointed," Kara replied. "I thought only I could get you this... excited."
Bludd reached for her, his hands pushing her robe off to reveal the taut body within. "You do, my dear." He pulled Kara close, wrapping his own robe around her, fingers hungrily reaching for her. "I've never understood how the Judges can deny themselves the pleasures of the flesh."
Kara let herself be pulled off her feet, legs wrapping around Bludd's waist. "Perhaps they prefer to save their energy," she said languidly, "for enforcing the Law."
Bludd smiled, baring his teeth. "Then they are fools. Fools who will soon be parted from control of their city." He arched an eyebrow at Kara. "You do realise this balcony is under constant surveillance from the Judges, don't you?"
"But of course!" Kara replied, her face smirking wickedly. "Let's show them what they've been missing all these years..." She pushed the robe off Bludd's shoulders so both of them were naked in the moonlight. "Let's give them a show they won't forget."
Max Normal stabbed his cue forward, sending the white ball careering across the lumpy undulations of the shuggy table. The wayward shot brought a snort of derisive laughter from his opponent, a four-armed, green-skinned refugee from Rexel 56 called Bonjo. But the hilarity died in the creature's throat as the ball somehow wound its way on a seemingly impossible path to the far corner of the table, politely tapping the black and white eight ball into a pocket.
"And that's the way your cookie crumbles, my emerald-hued dude!" Max announced, snapping his fingers with delight. "I think that's ten thousand credits you owe me now. Care to go double or nothing - again?"
The alien howled with rage, gibbering in some extraterrestrial tongue. Perched atop Bonjo's shoulder was a dwarf version of the Rexellian, called Mr Rogan. He had introduced himself as Bonjo's interpreter and manager when the alien challenged Max to a little competitive shuggy earlier in the evening. Normal had been reluctant to accept - creatures from Rexel were infamous for their foul temper and tight-fisted ways - but was persuaded by the other denizens of the Acme Shuggy Hall. Bonjo had hustled his way to a small fortune in recent evenings, reducing several men to abject poverty in the process. Since Max was reckoned to be the best two-armed shuggy player in the sector, it was up to him to restore the honour and reputation of the Acme.
"He says you cheated," Mr Rogan announced loudly, struggling to be heard above Bonjo's angry jabberings. "He says you a hustler."
Max rolled his eyes. "Hey, cool your jets and stay awake! Lose the rude 'tude or I'll be forced to get in a mood. You dig?"
Mr Rogan was not listening. Instead he continued to translate Bonjo's ravings. "He says you a liar and a thief. Give back his money or you suffer."
"I was afraid you cats would lose your manners. Damn, it does this pinstripe freak no good having to kick your ass!"
By now Bonjo's rantings had finally run their course, leaving Mr Rogan free to hold a conversation. "Pardon me, please. What is pinstripe freak?"
Max stepped away from the shuggy table and held out his hands, displaying the full finery of his immaculately tailored black suit with white pinstripes. If the Big Meg Dictionary ever used pictures to replace the words in its definitions, then Max Normal would appear in the space reserved for "dapper". His three-piece suit was perfectly pressed, discreet yet stylish cufflinks held his crisp white shirt in place, and his shoes were adorned with the shiniest of spats. The ensemble was topped off by a black bowler hat, perched at a jaunty angle atop Max's slicked- back hair. In a city where crumpled clothes, oversized kneepads and synthetic fabrics were all the rage, Normal was a walking anomaly. "I got style, baby!" he said.
Mr Rogan translated this for his client but Max's cultured garb only goaded Bonjo further. The Rexellian smashed his shuggy cue across one knee and began stamping towards his human opponent, brandishing both broken halves. Max just raised an eyebrow at the approaching alien.
"I see style is not in fashion on Rexel 56 this season," Normal noted. "Anybody care to back me up?" He looked over his shoulder to see the other shuggy players quietly retreating to the far side of the hall. "Don't all volunteer at once, you cowardly cats!"
Bonjo towered over Max, making a complex series of angry gestures while bellowing Rexellian invective. Mr Rogan began to translate. "He says you prepare to die. You shall suffer and die of thousand ignominies. Then there's quite a detailed explanation of where he intends to insert those-"
