"Billy?" She looked at him in confusion. "What happened? I haven't heard from you in weeks."
"You are under arrest." His voice was emotionless. Judge to perp. "Two years for Breaching Penal Code seventeen, Section two."
"Billy?" Her mouth fell open. "What's the matter with you? Is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke. That extractor vent is a health and safety violation." He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and threw them on the counter. He didn't want to touch her. "Put those on."
"Billy? Why are you doing this?" Her face was ashen. She reached out towards him. "It's me... Melinda-"
He hit her hard, jabbing the end of his daystick into her stomach. The air exploded out of her as she fell to her knees. He jumped the counter and stood over her as she lay sobbing on the floor. His hand was shaking.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be." He grabbed the cuffs from the counter and dropped them beside her. "Put those on. Now."
"But you said you loved me." She looked up at him. He saw blue eyes crying.
"Shut your face!" The sight of the tears spilling down her cheeks fuelled his rage. "You ever breathe a word of that to anyone and you'll be sorry." He felt his own tears burning beneath his helmet. "No one will believe you. They'll put you in a psycho-cube for indefinite observation." Tears of shame. "If you tell anyone, I'll hear about it. I'll come and get you. I'll have to you put in the cubes for life. I'm a Judge. I can do anything to you I want. You understand me, you bitch?"
"I understand," she said.
Night. Bad dreams. Him and Melinda. Him and Elvins. Elvins's death. The last day at the hottie stand. Melinda crying. Blood seeping from the wound in the back of Elvins's head. Sometimes in his dreams he was there at Elvins's death, paralysed and unable to stop it. Other times he dreamt of killing Melinda, beating her with his daystick until all that was left of her face was a bloody pulp. Dreams and memories. Memories and dreams. Sometimes it was a wonder to him he ever slept at all.
The Sector House. He had worked a double-shift, then come back for his mandatory eight hours' natural sleep. He woke one time too many. He had risen from bed and sought out conversation, anything to keep the dreams from returning.
He had found a group of Judges standing gossiping outside Judge Hass's office. Keller. Chung. Jurgens. Mattski. Pelleto. Whitby. He had listened to them talk, not offering much in the way of comment, just glad of the company, glad of anything that kept the night at bay.
The lights went out.
A power cut. He heard the voices of the others around him. Expressions of surprise. Bad jokes. Complaints. "Justice Department must've forgot to pay the power bill," someone said. The others laughed. Then, closer, as though from right beside him, he heard another voice.
William Brophy. The sound, a barely audible murmur.
William Brophy. A strange voice, malign and knowing.
William Brophy. A whisper, in the darkness.
It is time to be judged...
"Anderson!" He heard another voice. Shouting. More insistent.
"Anderson!" A light, burning through his eyelids. A hand at his wrist, checking his pulse. The sound of other, more distant voices raised in panic.
"Anderson!" This is wrong, a voice said in his mind. This is not who I am. I'm not a man. I'm not William Brophy. I'm...
"Anderson!"
She opened her eyes. She saw concerned faces in the darkness. A torch beam shining blindingly in her eyes. Confused, she wondered where she was. It came flooding back to her. Brophy. She had been deepscanning Brophy.
"Anderson?" Med-Chief Rodriguez breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Grud. For a minute there, I thought you weren't going to snap out of it."
"I was so close," she said. The words reeled out of her, uncontrolled. "Brophy, he had a lover. An Unjudicial Liaison. Another Judge died. Guilty secrets. He felt ashamed. And then he was outside Hass's office. He heard a voice, whispering to him in the darkness. I was so close. So close. Why did you have to go and bring me back so-"
"Anderson," Rodriguez's voice was calm and patient. "Look around you. The lights went out three minutes ago. There's been another power cut, across the entire Sector House. Just like the last time."
"The last time?" She was still confused. Groggy. Looking around her she saw only darkness.
"Anderson! Don't you understand?" Rodriguez grabbed her shoulder, trying to make her focus. "It's happening again."
SEVEN
CITIZEN QUEEG
For Jeffrey Queeg it was the end of another long and dispiriting day, a day little different from all the thousand days before it. It had certainly begun like all the others.
6:00am. He had been woken by the buzzing of the alarm by his bedside in his thirty-ninth floor apartment in Charles Whitman Block.
6:10am. He had eaten his breakfast: plasti-flakes, synthi-caf and a dry piece of munce toast.
6:30am. He had showered, shaved and brushed his teeth.
6:59am. He had left the apartment, careful to lock the door behind him.
7:00am. Time to find a job.
"Too old," the manager at the Juve-Mart said. "Too young," the Personnel woman at Life Experience Counselling told him. "Too dumb," the Recruitment Facilitator at Applied Computer Ultra-Dynamics sneered at his résumé. "You're kidding, right?" the guy at the pole-dancing place said, refusing to even let him audition.
Just another day. With unemployment running at over eighty-seven per cent, finding a job in Mega-City One was hard work. Yet, day after day, Jeffrey pounded the pedways in search of a salary and a sense of fulfilment. He queued. He filled out forms. He attended interviews. He begged and pleaded, only to find doors slammed shut in his face everywhere he applied.
Another day. Followed by another evening, just like all the evenings before it. He had arrived home at 7:54pm, wincing as he passed the apartment next to his and heard the booming bass lines reverberating from inside it. Experience had taught him that once his neighbour Kowalski started playing loud music on his quad-sound, it could go on for hours. He considered ringing the Judges to complain, but he thought better of it. Kowalski was a big man with a temper. Even if the Judges took him to the cubes, he would be back and Jeffrey would have to live alongside him. It was better just to try to make the best of it. Anything for a quiet life.
As he opened the door, Jeffrey had learned his day had taken an unexpected turn for the worse. He had been burgled. The apartment window had been forced open and all his most prized possessions had been stolen. The not-quite-yet-antique tiepin collection his father had left him. His Tri-D slugs, including the rare complete first season of "You've Been Fingered". The talking leprechaun figurine he had picked up on his vacation to the Emerald Isle. His best kneepads. Recovering from his initial shock, Jeffrey had noticed the message light blinking on his phone. It had been an automated message from the Justice Department, telling him property believed to belong to him had been found in the possession of a recently arrested bat-burglar. If he wanted to reclaim it he was to report to his local Sector House with all relevant receipts and paperwork, bringing enough money to cover a twenty-five credit fine for negligence. Of course, he had headed off to Sector House 12 at once.
Ten hours later, Jeffrey found himself still sitting in the waiting area opposite the Sector House's check-in desk. By his watch it was 5:52am. Ten hours. He might as well have been there forever. Jeffrey had heard the wheels of justice could grind slowly, but he couldn't help but feel there were limits to what a citizen should be expected to put up with. Enough was enough. He refused to endure this shabby treatment a moment longer. Driven beyond all restraint, he resolved to make a stand. He wanted his property back and he wanted it now.
Advancing on the bullet proof screen of the check-in desk, Jeffrey fixed one of the Judges behind it with a steely glare and made ready to demand his rights.
"My name is Jeffrey Queeg," he said. It seemed better to establish the particulars as swiftly as possible. "My apartment was hit by
a bat-burglar last night and I've come here to reclaim my-"
"Take a ticket." Without looking up from his computer screen, the Judge nodded toward the ticket dispenser beside the counter. "Wait until your number's called, then come back to this desk with your documents and you'll be told what to do next."
"I don't think you understand," Jeffrey said. "I already have a number."
"You from out of town?" The Judge briefly raised his eyes to glower at him. "You from Hondo City maybe? Simba? East-Meg Two?"
"No." Locking eyes fearlessly with the Judge, Jeffrey did his best to show he would not be intimidated. "I-"
"It's a religious thing, then? You're a member of the Seventh Day Non-Comprehensionists?"
"No, I..." Jeffrey faltered. This wasn't going quite the way he had expected.
"So, you're an alien who only looks human? You're a shape-changing pod person from the planet Dumb-As-Drokk Five?"
"Uh, no..." Jeffrey found himself wilting helplessly beneath the Judge's stare.
"And here's me thinking there was some reason you didn't speak the local lingo," the Judge said. "Otherwise, what part of 'take a ticket and wait until your number's called' don't you understand? Now, sit down before I decide to book you for Aggravated Time-Wasting and put you in the cubes."
Jeffrey returned meekly to his seat. He looked at his watch and saw it was 6:00am. He had been awake for exactly twenty-four hours, with no sign of an end in sight. I'll give it another two hours, he thought. Then, I'll complain again. I won't let him put me off this time, either. What the hell did he mean, "Aggravated Time-Wasting", anyway? Like his time is any more important than mine! Like I don't have things to do myself. It's another day. I got jobs to be applying for. Yeah, and for all I know, this could be the big one, the day when I finally get somewhere. The day everything changes.
The lights went out. What a way to run a Sector House, Jeffrey thought. Lights going out and people having to wait forever to claim their stuff. No wonder they're planning on closing this place down. He could hear the groans and curses of the other citizens in the waiting area, but he did not join in with the chorus of disapproval. He was distracted by the sound of someone quietly calling his name nearby. There was something about it, something so compelling he could not help but listen. The sound, a barely audible murmur. A strange voice, malign and knowing.
A whisper in the darkness.
The elevators were out as well as the power. Running headlong down the Sector House's emergency stairwell, Anderson realised she should have had the foresight to order an anti-grav chute from the Armoury after the last power cut. At least that way she would not have had to run breathlessly down nine flights of stairs with only the beam of her torch to guide her. Still, she could cry over split synthi-milk later. Right now, she needed to get to her destination, and fast.
The holding cubes. She might not know where the strange voice that had whispered to Brophy would strike next, but the holding cubes seemed as good a place to start as any. Six times out of seven, the killer had used them as his hunting ground. Granted, even with the bloody message appearing on the wall outside Hass's office, she could not be certain the voice Brophy had heard had anything to do with the deaths of the perps in custody. Her instincts said it was all related, the same instincts now telling her to get to the holding cubes.
"Anderson?" As she emerged from the stairwell and ran into the holding pens area, she saw Chief Warder Sykes waiting with half-a-dozen Judge-Warders in riot gear. "Grud, woman, you look like you've just run the Megathon."
"Thanks," she rasped, lungs burning. "Elevators out... The perps... Anything... wrong?"
"Nothing to report so far," he replied. "All the same, we're ready for the worst-"
There was a scream in the darkness, shrill and terrified. Sykes and the warders ran off in search of the sound with Anderson trailing behind them.
"Cube Two-Twelve," she heard one of the Judges yell. "Grud! It's the cube right next door to Barclay's."
"Open that drokking door," Sykes thundered as his men shoved crowbars in place and tried to force the door open. "I'm not letting another damned perp die, not on my watch."
Slowly, inch by torturous inch, the door came open with a protesting screech. Through it all, the screaming continued. When the door opened wide enough, Anderson shone her torch into the cube and saw the face of the perp inside blinking back at her from the darkness. He was still alive. Unharmed and apparently undamaged. His face transfixed in the beam, the look of terror on the perp's features abruptly softened and evaporated, giving way to a childlike expression of comfort.
"Something's wrong here," she said. "It's like we aren't in the right place."
"I don't drokking believe it," Sykes muttered incredulously as he pushed his way past her and stared into the cube. "Cube Two-Twelve. I should've made the connection earlier." He pointed at the perp. "Aaron Jingles. Sentenced to six months for Persistent Noise Annoyance. He screams whenever it gets dark. He came in three hours ago. Supposed to be on his way to the psycho-cubes for observation, but the transport got held up." He addressed the perp directly. "You don't like it when the lights go out, do you, Aaron?"
"Please can I have a nightlight, Judge?" the perp moaned pathetically, eyes wide in the glare of the torch. "I don't like being in the dark."
"Drokking psychos!" Sykes kicked the doorjamb in aggravation while inside the cube Aaron Jingles shrank back.
The power came back on, bathing the corridor in light.
"It's over," Sykes said, his face dark with suppressed fury. "False alarm. Looks like you ran down all those stairs for nothing, Anderson. Or who knows? Maybe you being here scared the killer away. Either that, or the bastard's playing with us. Enjoying it as he watches us go running around chasing shadows. I tell you, I get my hands on this creep and..." He paused, regaining his composure. "Anyway, like I say, whatever the reason it seems to be over for now."
"What about the rest of the Sector House?" she said. "The killer could've struck somewhere else."
"Negative to that, Anderson," one of the Judge-Warders said, fingers working inside his helmet as he adjusted the comms earpiece inside it. "I've patched into the Sector Control frequencies and I'm reading no incidents anywhere else in the Sector House. Looks like we got through this power cut unscathed."
"So much for instinct," she muttered.
"Hmm? What was that, Anderson?" Sykes turned his head sharply towards her.
"Nothing," she told him. "Guess you're right. It's over for now."
Even as she agreed with him though, she felt a gnawing sense of unease. So far, every time there had been a power cut, somebody inside the Sector House had either died or gone crazy. Which raised an unsettling question.
If neither perps nor Judges were the targets this time, then who was?
Opposite the check-in desk, the return of the lights was greeted with sarcastic applause by those waiting there, until the hard stares of the Judges behind the desk caused the clapping to stop. By then, Jeffrey Queeg was already gone. He was standing just inside the automatic doors that led out of the Sector House, ready for them to open as the power came back on. As it did, he left unnoticed. Just another citizen on his way home.
Jeffrey had had enough of waiting. He had waited his entire life. Waited in queues. Waited for jobs. Waited for dreams and opportunities that somehow never came to pass. And through it all he had been forced to endure the constant bullying of those around him. Judges, neighbours, complete strangers, the juves who were bigger than him when he was at school. Jeffrey had finally had enough. He was going to make a stand, and he was not going to be put off, especially when he no longer needed to fear being bullied. For now he had a friend to help him.
They are sinners, Jeffrey, the voice - his new guardian angel - whispered to him. They are sinners, all of them. They must be judged.
"If you say so," he answered the voice cheerfully. "Sinners. All of them. They need to be judged."
Noticing that th
e people he passed in the street were looking at him strangely, Jeffrey realised he had spoken to the voice out loud. Better be careful of that, he told himself. People hear you talking to yourself, they'll start to think you're crazy.
Yes, Jeffrey, the voice agreed in his head. You have enemies. You must be careful. There are sinners everywhere. They must be judged.
"Judged. Right you are," Jeffrey said, then chided himself as he realised he had spoken out loud again. He could see this business of having a special friend that only he could hear was going to take a bit of getting used to. They're all sinners, he told the voice, talking back to it in the same way it talked to him - in his head. They need to be judged. Every one of them.
Yes, Jeffrey, the voice agreed with him again. It really was the most agreeable friend Jeffrey had ever had. You will strike them down. You will punish them for their transgressions. You will purge this city with fire and blood.
Fire and blood? thought Jeffrey. That sounds kind of messy. Couldn't I just shoot them all instead?
Very well, the voice said. But first you must arm yourself. Not only with a warlike aspect and the armour of righteousness, but with-
Guns, thought Jeffrey. I'll need guns. Lots of them. And plenty of bullets too, what with there being so many sinners about in need of killing.
Very good, Jeffrey. The voice seemed pleased. Yes, you will need guns. And I know exactly where you can find them.
The voice whispered a name to him, a name he knew well. Hearing it, Jeffrey smiled. And, with that smile, he felt a warm and happy sense of kinship suffuse him.
It was still early days, of course. But it really looked like this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Fear the Darkness Page 9