Eclipse

by James Swallow

  Dredd shook his head and turned up the gravity again. "You're spinning me a line, Vik. Your story is so full of holes I could drive a roadliner through it!"

  Umbra coughed and choked. "No, spug it! You didn't let me finish! When M-Haul went down, all their assets, including the storage dome where they kept their salvage, got bought out cheap by their major shareholder, see."

  "Which was who?"

  "Another old face from the past, Dredd. The MoonieCorp company got it all. The same business that used to be run by CW Moonie, the famous lunar explorer. Until you put him in prison for life, of course..."

  "Moonie?" Dredd's brow furrowed. "But Moonie Enterprises was sold off when he was convicted. He lost control over all his holdings. It's an independent entity now."

  "Yeah," Umbra gurgled sarcastically. "Sure it is." He wheezed in a breath. "So, I did what you asked, I talked. Now, how are you gonna keep me safe from these guys? I don't wanna end up freeze-dried out in the Oxygen Desert."

  Dredd tapped the chin guard on his helmet and a wire-thin microphone pickup extended to his mouth. "Don't worry, Vik. Where you're going, there's plenty of bars on the windows to keep people out." He glanced around the room. "You're under arrest for multiple violations of Code Twenty, contraband statutes. Ten years in the iso-cubes."

  Umbra began to thrash around on the floor in a desperate attempt to get up, his face flushing red, spitting and swearing at the Mega-City Judge.

  "Dredd to control. Catch wagon required at the Harsh Mistress nightclub, Odyssey Loop." He paused, sizing up Umbra's obese form. "Better make sure you reinforce the hull first and bring a couple of anti-grav jacks."

  It took another hour and a half for the Luna Judiciary to get Vik Umbra out of the building and into a vehicle big enough to carry him. In the end, Dredd had been forced to commandeer a couple of demolition meks from a construction yard off Buzz Aldrin Street to laser a hole in the nightclub's wall and remove the fatty with crane grabs. As he supervised the arrest, the Judge considered the chubby man's words. CW Moonie - it was a name he hadn't heard in years, but the Moonie bust had been the signature event of Dredd's tenure as Luna-1 Judge-Marshal.

  Early in 2100, a couple of months after beginning his tour as the colony's Chief Judge, investigations into attempts on Dredd's life had led him to suspect the Moon's best known but most reclusive millionaire was intent on having him killed. Almost at the cost of his own life, the Judge had pursued and arrested the crime lord and incarcerated Moonie in the forbidding Farside Penitentiary, a prison dome on the lunar dark side. If Moonie had maintained some sort of connection to his old powerbase while he was in jail, he could be a valid suspect.

  At last, Umbra's protesting form was inside the catch wagon and the vehicle's suspension squealed under the weight. Dredd waved them off and mounted his zipper bike, rising back into the air. It was just as likely that Umbra was trying to shift suspicion off himself as it was that an ageing criminal locked in a lunacrete vault was behind the Kepler Dome weapons, but Dredd couldn't afford to discount anything at this stage. He angled the bike at the distant shape of Justice Central and opened up the throttle. On the inner surface of the dome above him, Luna-1's solar reflectors folded closed, marking the start of the city's night-cycle.

  The rest of the taskforce was waiting on one of the upper levels of the Luna Grand Hall of Justice, in a ready room where Judges going on or off shift could grab a quick cup of synthi-caff or a bite to eat. Windows around the edge of the room showed the glowing vista of the city as streetlights and holo-signs winked on. The sight momentarily captured Kontarsky and she lost a few seconds staring at it.

  She caught Tek-Judge J'aele's eye and the African's face split in a smile. "It's really a sight, isn't it?" The Simba City Judge's voice was rich and deep. "I've been here for quite a while and I still find myself drifting off at the windows."

  Kontarsky fought down a surge of discomfiture. "I was just observing."

  J'aele's smile widened. "You don't have to impress me, Kontarsky. I'm not Dredd. I won't hold it against you if you behave like a human being now and then."

  "I'm not trying to impress anybody," she said, a little too quickly than she'd have liked. "I'm just doing my duty."

  The Tek-Judge let the sharp words roll off him. "Of course," he allowed.

  Kontarsky's gaze dropped to the datapad in her hands. "Your report on the Kepler crime scene is very thorough. I don't think there's anything else I can add to it."

  "If I may ask, are you not concerned by the evidence of Sov-made weapons at the incident site? Such a factor may reflect personally on your involvement in the taskforce."

  He's testing me, she realised. "That information has no bearing on my role as deputy commander," she said in a practiced, clipped tone. "Besides, the larger percentage of the weapons were of NorthAm or Nu-Taiwanese manufacture."

  J'aele was going to press the point, but a sharp expletive from across the room distracted them both. Rodriguez was close to the windows, hands clenching and unclenching at his hips, his body set and tense. "Madre de dios! Will you look at this snecking stomm!"

  For a moment, Kontarsky couldn't understand what Rodriguez was talking about, until part of the city view outside the window moved - and she realised she was looking at a massive ad-blimp cruising over the Armstrong Hub Plaza. She and J'aele and a few other off-duty Judges, crossed over to get a better look.

  The blimp was a big one, the size of a small sky-cruiser, shaped like an enormous cowrie shell with huge billboard screens sprouting from it on every side. Laser projectors cut slogans into the night air with neon-bright flickers and loudspeakers broadcast sales messages in a dozen languages; or at least, that was what the ad-blimp was supposed to be doing. The screens and holograms were flickering and blinking in and out of focus, as if something inside the craft were fooling around with the tuning.

  "It's malfunctioning," said Foster.

  "Yeah!" Rodriguez snapped angrily. "That's one word for it!" Even as he spoke, the blimp's display of garish off-world colony recruitment commercials reappeared for a few seconds, only to be suddenly replaced by a grinning cartoon figure.

  "Kiss kiss, hi hi from Moon-U!" it squeaked, the synthesised voice carrying for dozens of blocks. "They try 2 stop me but they can't silence Moon-U!"

  "Hackers," said J'aele with a grimace. "They're like a plague of rats. Every time we plug a hole in the network, they find another one." He plucked a hand computer from his pocket and worked at it. "These Moon-U people are the worst yet."

  Scenes from the Kepler Dome riot - including images that Kontarsky knew were supposedly secure footage from Justice Department spy cameras - were running over the screens now. Far below, traffic was coming to a halt and pedestrians were craning their necks up to see what the giggling cartoon had to tell them. Moon-U gave them all a comical wink and beamed. "Here's what the Judges don't want U 2 know! It's not enough that they wanna shut us all down down down!" The caricature put a finger to its lips in an exaggerated gesture of conspiracy. "Now they gotta secret death squad on the streets - and they're coming for U!"

  "Death squad?" said Foster, "What is this drivel?"

  "Where's the anti-aircraft cannons?" Rodriguez said, becoming increasingly agitated. "Shoot the drokker down!"

  "Over the most heavily populated area of the city?" J'aele retorted.

  Moon-U produced a picture-in-picture and held it up. It was all Kontarsky could do to stop her jaw dropping open in shock as she recognised the faces in the image: it was her and Rodriguez, but slightly distorted and behind them were J'aele and Foster. The warped screen-Judges were feral and hateful-looking, weapons drawn with a blood-hungry cast to them. As she watched, the screen showed the four of them dashing down a corridor in the starport, gunning down citizens left and right with vicious abandon. The fake Foster ignored the dying pleas of an old woman and shot her squarely between the eyes; the screen J'aele produced a Masai war spear from out of nowhere and ran three men through with i
t, skewering them like a shish kebab.

  Under other circumstances, the affable Simba City Judge might have found the ridiculous image amusing, but here and now it was enough to make his stomach turn. Up on the billboard, an obviously drunk Rodriguez flailed around, randomly shooting explosive bullets into the crowds and the virtual Kontarsky looked straight into camera before firing her weapon into the lens. Static flickered, then Moon-U reappeared, shaking his head sadly and wearing a black armband. "That was taken earlier today, my friends! 2 many people were killed, just for speaking their minds! And U could B next, so we have 2 make them stop! Tell them, we want free elections! If Judge-Marshal Tex don't step down, then we'll fight 'em!"

  The dart-like shapes of two L-Wagons flickered through the air toward the ad-blimp and Foster saw the glints of sucker guns as the crews fired boarding cables at the floater. He shook his head. "What is this rubbish? Nobody's going to be dumb enough to fall for some doctored video footage!"

  "Don't be so sure," said Kontarsky, pointing to the street below. Already, there were citizens yelling and waving their fists at the Hall of Justice. "Propaganda can be a very powerful tool. It is most insidious."

  "It's not just the ad-blimp," J'aele noted. "They're also broadcasting on a dozen public vid-channels and street-screens."

  Rodriguez's face was crimson with anger. "It's gotta be silenced! They make me look like some slack-jawed idiota drunkard!"

  "Oh! Oh!" cried Moon-U, big tears forming in his saucer eyes. "They're coming 2 shut me up up up!" The cartoon character loomed large and brushed at the edges of the screens, as if he were trying to flick away the Judges crawling over the blimp like bothersome insects. "U have to know B 4 it's 2 late! Dumb old Marshal Tex has called in the most vicious killer of all to lead the death squad! He's a menace 2 society!" And with those words, a massively over-muscled but uncannily accurate imitation of Judge Dredd appeared over Moon-U's shoulder, a Lawgiver the size of an artillery piece in his spiked-gloved hand. Hellish red light glowed under the eye-slits of the false Dredd's helmet. Barbed wire was wrapped around his forearms and the Eagle of Justice on his shoulder pad was sickle-clawed and vicious. "It's Judge Dredd! The man who killed a million billion people... just because he could!" Moon-U screamed like a girl and cowered as the monstrous lawman turned the gun on him. The words No Justice, Just Us were clearly written on the barrel.

  "Better Dredd than dead!" roared the screen Judge and with an ear-splitting roar, the gun spat white light that overwhelmed the screen.

  From behind Kontarsky and the other Judges, a voice remarked, "That's not a bad likeness."

  The real Dredd studied the blimp, now silent and dark, as it began to drift slowly toward the ground. Rodriguez took a step toward him, a balled fist smacking into his palm with an audible thwack.

  "Dredd! How can you let that happen, man? These hacker pendejos make us a drokking laughing-stock!"

  "Get a grip, Rodriguez," said Dredd. "There are worse things to have than a bruised ego."

  "Says you!" the Pan Andes Judge retorted hotly. "This whole taskforce is turning into one big La Luna Loca!"

  "You have a better idea of how to run things?" Every one of the other Judges caught the warning tone in Dredd's voice, but Rodriguez seemed oblivious to it.

  "Sure! We tool up, not with these toy guns, but some proper pistolas and make a few examples of these punkamentes!"

  "So your advice is to do exactly what those hackers are accusing us of?" Dredd's lips twisted in a sarcastic sneer. "I'll take it under advisement. In the meantime, get yourself down to the barracks and take an eight-hour stand down. I'll be generous and assume the poor judgement you just displayed is a side-effect of your space-lag."

  Rodriguez pulled off his helmet and gave Dredd a hard look; then the ire seemed to drain right out of him and he gave a tight nod. "Sí, sí. You're right, Dredd. It just rattled me, seeing my face up there like that."

  "That goes for all of you," Dredd addressed the other Judges. "All taskforce personnel are to have the mandatory eight. We'll pick up on the morning shift. J'aele, accompany me to the docks. The rest of you will check out the offices of M-Haul, over in Von Braun Territory. Dismissed."

  All the team members nodded their assent and drifted away. Dredd caught a snatch of quiet conversation between Foster and J'aele as they passed him. "What was with Rodriguez back there? For a second there, I thought he might do something stupid."

  The Tek-Judge answered with a shrug. "It must be that fiery Latino temperament I've heard of..."

  Kontarsky lingered a moment, before passing Dredd her datapad. "Here's the summary of the Kepler Dome investigation. I hope you'll find it in order."

  "I'm sure I will."

  "If I may ask, what is the connection you have found to this M-Haul group?"

  Dredd paged through the files. "I'm not sure yet. You've got a good eye for detail. You'll know it when you see it."

  The Sov-Judge accepted this without comment, then asked: "Anything else?"

  He nodded. "Rodriguez. Watch him, Kontarsky. If he steps out of line once more, I want him locked in the cargo bay of the next transport Earthside, understand?"

  "I concur."

  "Good. Now, go take your down time. I want you at the top of your game tomorrow."

  She turned to go, then hesitated. "What about you? Or is it true what my kadet instructors told me, that you don't need to rest and dream like other people?"

  "I'll take my ten minutes in the sleep machine," Dredd told her gruffly, turning to direct all his attention to the pad. "I gave up dreaming a long time ago."

  7. OFFICER DOWN

  The perp ducked as he wove between the oil drums, a heavy calibre spit gun in his hand. As three more go-gangers in identical colours rushed up to join him, Dredd snapped a command out of the side of his mouth: "Level three."

  The STUP-gun gave an answering beep and the Judge fired: a sun-bright flash of yellow crossed the distance to the perp and hit him in the chest. He fell back, the spit gun vanishing as it left his fingers. The ganger's pals weren't fazed and kept on coming. The insect buzz of low-velocity bullets sang past Dredd's helmet as they fired. Dredd mentally picked out a shooting order for the men and squeezed the trigger three times. The last man took a pulse blast in the face before the first ganger had even hit the ground. Their inert bodies lay there on the floor for a few seconds before they popped out of existence in a blink of glowing pixels.

  "Four discharges registered," said the range monitor droid. "All targets hit, ninety-seven per cent critical strike percentage."

  "Better," Dredd said aloud. The lightweight beam gun took a little getting used to, but after an hour or so on the firing range picking off holographic criminals, the Judge was almost up to the same level of proficiency he exhibited with the heavier ballistic Lawgiver. "Reset," he told the robot. "Let's try for ninety-nine per cent."

  Even as he spoke, Dredd became aware of someone else in the room. "Always the perfectionist, huh Joe?" Judge-Marshal Tex walked out of the shadows and joined Dredd at the firing stalls. The Texan was carrying a heavy silver revolver and a box of bullets.

  "Tex," Dredd greeted the other man with a nod. "It's late. What are you doing down here?"

  Tex loaded his pistol. "I could ask you the same thing. Ah, you know what it's like, Joe. The older you get, the less you sleep. Sometimes I come down here in the middle of the night, take in a little practice."

  Dredd nodded. "Good discipline."

  "Keeps me sharp," added Tex. "These days, it's the only chance I get to field a weapon, what with me flyin' a desk." He cocked the gun with a well-oiled click. "Targets up!"

  This time, eight perps emerged from the corners of the simulator chamber and the two Judges made short work of them, both Dredd and Tex placing careful shots into shoulders to disarm or heads and chests to kill. In as many seconds, the eight holo-targets were dispatched. "All targets hit. Judge Dredd registers ninety-eight per cent critical strike percentage, Judge-Mars
hal Tex registers ninety per cent critical strike percentage."

  Tex swore softly. "Gettin' slow in my old age."

  Dredd studied the gun. "That's not a standard firearm."

  "Nope, this here's an heirloom." He handed the pistol to Dredd. "Been in my family for more than two hundred years. It's gotta micro-thin diamond layer sealed over the metal, so she'll stay in perfect order for two hundred more. A genuine Colt Model 1873." Tex nodded down-range. "Go ahead, try her out."

  Dredd ordered up two targets and fanned the Colt's hammer, blasting the last two bullets out of the barrel. "Both targets hit. One hundred per cent critical strike percentage," reported the monitor.

  Tex removed his hat and ran a hand through his greying hair. "Shoot, Dredd. You can even handle an antique like a pro! Y'all never cease to amaze me."

  Dredd handed back the pistol. "It's a good weapon. It doesn't matter how old it is. It can still do the job."

  The comment hung in the air between them for a long moment, before Dredd finally broke the silence. "What's on your mind, Tex?"

  "You know, it's funny. Seein' you step off that shuttle, seein' you wear a Luna-1 star. It's like no time has passed since you were Judge-Marshal yourself... Then I realise it's been a quarter century and I'm feelin' every damn day of it."

  Dredd did not speak, letting his old friend give voice to his thoughts.

  "Why'd you do it, Joe? Why did you make me the sheriff of this godforsaken rock? Back before you were marshal, we had a new Chief Judge every six months, but then you came in and the last thing you did before you went back to the Big Meg was make me the honcho, permanently."

  "You know why, Tex. Luna-1 needed someone like you back then, someone who knew the city and could keep it in line. You were the right man for the post and you did it better than anyone before you. You've served longer than anyone since the days of Fargo."