Judge Dredd

Hershey felt the color rise to her face. “Okay, it’s been awhile. My shifts keep changing a lot. It’s hard to stay in touch, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see anybody. And I will, when things settle down.”

“Things won’t,” Dredd said.

“Maybe not for you. I don’t think you want things to slow down…”

She was sorry as soon as she said it. If he heard her, though, if he cared, he didn’t let it show.

“You’ve only been on the street a year,” he told her. “You’re still a Citz-head. You’ll get over it. You’ll be a Judge.”

“I am a Judge, damn it!” Hershey turned on him. “I’m a Judge right now. And I don’t care for that name, either.”

“What name is that?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Citz-head. The word makes it sound like Citizens are in a… a different class, or something. They’re the people we’re supposed to protect, Dredd.”

“Exactly. We have to protect them because they won’t take the responsibility for themselves. They don’t have to do anything. They can be as ignorant and as irrational as they want. They can make mistakes because we’re there to look after them. We can’t let what we might want to do interfere with what we have to do, Hershey. Anyone who doesn’t understand that doesn’t have what it takes to be a Judge.”

Hershey reached out and stopped him, touched his arm and turned him around.

“Is that really how you feel—it’s just you out there, you against them? Don’t you ever feel like… haven’t you ever had someone you felt close to? Have you ever had anyone you could call a friend?”

“Yes. Once.”

“What happened?”

She saw it, then, just for an instant, a shadow of pain across his features and then it was gone. Dredd turned quickly and walked away. She felt it, knew it at once, as if he’d spoken the words aloud. That’s how it had happened. He’d had a friend, and he’d had to decide between friendship and the vow he’d taken to uphold the Law. It had been an agonizing decision, even for a man as dedicated as Dredd. In the end, he had judged his friend. Kept his vow and lost his soul. Shut it all out and left himself hollow inside.

Why did I have to ask, Hershey thought, why the hell couldn’t I leave him alone!

“Dredd, wait a minute, please!” She ran to catch up with him. He stalked through the doorway into the tunnel, into the thunder of a hundred growling machines.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching his side. “I didn’t have any business asking you something like that. Your life is your own, and I had no right to—”

“Forget it, Judge Hershey. It is not important.”

“It is to me,” she said. “I opened my big mouth and I’m sorry. I apologize.”

Dredd looked her with no expression at all. “Do whatever you want. I have work to do. So do you.”

Dredd set his helmet on his head, flipped down the visor and walked away. Hershey wished she could rewind the morning, run it over again. Try not to screw it up, try to get it right.

She wondered which of the many Lawmasters was hers, tried to remember the number the maintenance sergeant had given her and couldn’t make a guess. Completely irritated with herself, she turned and started back inside. It was bad enough totalling a Lawmaster, even in the line of duty. But then you had to listen to everyone make the same, tired jokes about—

Hershey stopped. They walked out of the semi-darkness at the curve of the tunnel, four of them, visors down. They were dressed in combat armor, like every other Street Judge there, only it was not the same at all. Their stance, their manner, marked them as a breed apart—Judge Hunters, the men who watched the watchers, the Law within the Law.

As Hershey watched, too stunned to move, they drew their Lawmasters, made a tight left turn in perfect step. Everyone in the tunnel stood still. The Hunters walked past Hershey, past the other Judges—and stopped in front of Dredd.

No! Hershey tried to breathe, but her throat went tight.

“Judge Joseph Dredd?”

Dredd was the only Judge in the tunnel who had completely ignored the group. He turned and gave them a curious stare.

The Hunters took a step back. “Don’t move, Dredd.” The leader held his weapon to Dredd’s chest. Another stuck a paper in Dredd’s face.

“You are under arrest, Joseph Dredd. We have the right to confiscate your weapon. We have the right to remove your badge. Should you choose to resist, we have the right to—”

“I know your rights,” Dredd told him. “What is this, what’s the charge?”

“Murder.”

“What? Who did I kill?”

“We have the right to remain silent, we have the right to subdue you in any manner we may choose, including Greengas, Skidders or electronic restraint. Do you have any comments to make at this time, Joseph Dredd?”

“Yes,” Dredd said, “just one. You groons can go straight to hell.”

THIRTEEN

Fergie couldn’t think of any painless way to die. There were a lot of ways to do it. People did it all the time. There were illegal shops in LA if you knew where to go. If you had enough bucks, they’d fix you up fine. If you had a whole lot, you’d leave your miserable life feeling like a thirty-ton orgasm blasting off for outer space.

The only thing wrong was, he wasn’t in LA any more and he didn’t have a Reagan dollar to his name. That, and the fact that he was down in a concrete pit somewhere, waiting for the shuttle to whisk him off to Aspen again. Other than that…

Someone threw up nearby. That inspired somebody else. Fergie didn’t care. There were sixty-two men in the pit and they’d been there crowded up together for twenty-nine hours or more. He’d done his throwing up the first three. He couldn’t get sick anymore, and there was nothing on earth he hadn’t smelled by now.

Fergie spent most of his time thinking up tortures for the guy with purple ears. He knew the droog was dead, but he was very much alive in Fergie’s head. Alive and in excruciating pain. Every time he died, Fergie brought him back again. Sometimes he thought about Dredd, and the good-looking Judge who’s name he couldn’t recall. He didn’t have any quarrel with them. Judges were simply a fact of life. You don’t look where you’re going, a truck’ll squash you flat. You stay in a cheap hotel, a rat’s going to bite you on the ass. When you’re in the law-breaking trade, you’re going to get caught now and then.

What drove Fergie nuts was the fact that he hadn’t done anything at all. That wasn’t right. Fate didn’t have any business pulling such a lousy trick when he just got out. If you steal you get caught, but they shouldn’t ought to cheat you like that.

When he got tired of thinking so hard he closed his eyes and slept. Sometimes the dreams were awful, sometimes they weren’t bad at all. One was a real good dream about him and Maggie. It was a real lazy day and they’d paid to ride up the Electric to the top of the LA Wall. They had a big railing up there but it was still real scary if you stood and looked down. The sign said the Wall was two thousand twenty-seven feet high. Who could get over that? Fergie wondered. Who the hell was dumb enough to try?

It was hot on the Wall, but Maggie leaned in close and trembled against his shoulder. Fergie didn’t blame her. It was an awesome thing to see. Cursed Earth stretched out to the east, the land disappearing in a wavy mirage that looked like a pig-iron sea. The sky in that direction was always brick-red from the dust storms that howled day and night across the Cursed Earth.

There were telescopes on the railing. You could put in a token and look out over the wasteland and bring