Judge Dredd: Year Two

by Michael Carroll

  Novena said, “Not this time. In two hours this whole town will be gone.”

  “I reckon she’s right,” O’Donnell said. “Seriously, Maddox... You need to clear out. We’re heading for the mines. That’s the only chance we have of riding out the storm. That’s if the Earthers don’t get us first. So get to the mine, and bring all the supplies you can carry because we don’t know how long we’ll be trapped in there.”

  “Not gonna happen, Red. I’m happy where I am.”

  “Then I hate that you’re making me do this...” O’Donnell drew his gun and aimed it at the barman’s head. “You can stay here if you like, but I’m taking your supplies.”

  Maddox stared up into the barrel of the gun. “Thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. But food and water are no good to a dead man. So what’s it to be?”

  IN THE CHIEF Judge’s office at the top of Mega-City One’s Hall of Justice, Goodman stepped back from his monitors and slowly shook his head. The screens showed a real-time satellite feed centred on the town of Ezekiel. To the east of the town, the rad-storm was beginning to grow. Already, the hyper-charged storm was blocking out all radio communications with the town.

  But that one was a wet slap compared to the body-blow that was coming: eight separate storms had been brewing for weeks, slowly drifting north and east, from the Slough of St Louis in the west and the Alabama Morass to the south.

  Little more than zephyrs at first, the storms had grown steadily larger and stronger. The Justice Department’s weather-control computers had predicted they would all converge just south of Lake Erie.

  Instinctively, Goodman turned toward the window, but there was nothing to see from this distance. Most of Mega-City One would be safe. Perhaps a few of the sectors close to the western wall would suffer a little damage, but nothing that couldn’t be easily fixed. The city’s weather-control technology was the best in the world. It could trigger localised rainfall to an accuracy of twenty-three metres—handy for dampening the spirits of protest marches—or give specific temperatures to individual sectors. Wind-speed, humidity and cloud-cover were all easily adjusted as required.

  But the satellites only covered the city itself, not the Cursed Earth. Out there, the weather was unpredictable.

  Goodman had occasionally wondered if maybe controlling the weather in Mega-City One only made things worse elsewhere.

  He contacted Judge Robertson of Weather Division again. “Give me some good news, Robertson.”

  The older man’s voice came back, “I’m sorry, Chief Judge. We just don’t have the time.”

  “You only need to adjust one satellite, for Grud’s sake! How long does it take to reprogram it?”

  “Sir, it’s not that simple. Right now there are thirty-four active weather control satellites covering the city. They—”

  “And I’m just telling you to reassign one. The one closest to Ezekiel.”

  “If we adjust that one, sir, then that leaves a gap over Sectors 195 to 201. We’d be exposing close to thirty million people to the storms. We’re not just talking about rain, wind and lightning. The storms carry irradiated dust. That gets into the city’s water supplies, and we’re looking at a major catastrophe. The only way to do it is to spread out all the satellites to continue to provide even coverage, and that’ll take the best part of a day.”

  “Robertson, I know something about satellite control. You don’t have to move them, just reassign their targets. That should only take a couple of minutes.”

  “That’s true, but unless you want a simple change like an adjustment to the humidity levels, it takes hours for each satellite’s effects to be felt. To change the weather in a specific location we have to generate precisely-targeted bubbles of adjusted gravity, each one lasting only a few milliseconds. But we’d need to create hundreds of thousands of bubbles to have any noticeable effect on even a standard rainstorm, and every change has to be monitored carefully.”

  “So what are the people in Ezekiel supposed to do?”

  “Same as they always do when there’s a big storm, sir. Find shelter. And if they can’t, then find a pen and start writing their wills.”

  Goodman glared at the monitors. “You think this is funny, Robertson?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I just—”

  “If we can’t stop this storm, then maybe we can prevent the next one. Start looking into ways to extend weather control coverage to the entire continent.”

  “But that’ll cost trillions of credits, sir! The weather regions are not isolated from each other. Tweak the weather in one, that has an impact on the neighbouring regions, which in turn impact their neighbours. Every time we add a new region, we have to recalculate and adjust the effects on all the others. To do the whole continent—”

  Goodman sighed. “Just... get your people working on it. We have to do something.”

  JUDGE RAMINI WALKED away from the town’s plaza with her Lawgiver in her hand, clearly visible. With her were Eloise and Travis Crow, also carrying guns.

  Behind them, most of the population of Ezekiel had assembled, many of them clutching bags of food or precious belongings. But far too many townsfolk had chosen to barricade themselves in their homes, sure that they would be safe from the coming storm.

  Travis glanced back as he walked, then said to Ramini, “They’re scared.”

  “They’re not scared enough.”

  “The mercs are going to resist,” Eloise said. “They only follow Hanenberger’s orders.”

  “I know,” Ramini said. “But the mine is big enough to hold everyone; they are going to let us in. You two spread out—don’t give them a single target. And hold fire until it’s unavoidable.”

  The burly mercenary, Santiago, stepped out from the entrance as they approached, hands resting on her guns. “What do you want?”

  “You know what we want,” Ramini called. “I’m Judge Izobel Ramini of Mega-City One, and the people of this town are under my protection. That includes you and your friends. So you’re going to let everyone take shelter and you won’t have to go searching for a med-kit. Or a coroner.”

  Santiago shook her head. “Miss Hanenberger gives the orders, and she’s already in here with her people. Her orders are that no one else gets in, and as soon as the storm hits, we seal off this entrance.”

  Ramini took a deep breath, held it for a second, and then exhaled slowly. “Okay... Let’s consider what you’re doing. There are hundreds of people in this town, and when the Earthers come and the storm starts tearing the place apart, all of those people are going to die unless you allow them into the mine. You want that many deaths on your conscience?”

  “I don’t have a conscience.”

  “That so? Then maybe you have a sense of self-preservation. If the town dies, so does the mine. Then you’re out of a job.”

  Santiago smiled. “Yeah, good one. But Miss Hanenberger’s accountants have done the math. The mine’s almost played out, and the town’s gonna get blown away anyway. It’ll cost more to rebuild than we’re gonna earn from what’s left in the mine. Plus all those townies would need to be fed and watered.” She shrugged. “Miss Hanenberger wishes you well, but she’s not under obligation to save anyone.”

  Ramini stepped closer, and Santiago tightened her grip on her guns. The mercenaries behind her did likewise.

  “Look,” Ramini said, “We don’t have to make this difficult.” She looked around. A gust of wind propelled a small dust-cloud along the street. “Wind’s picking up, which means that time is running out. Stand aside.”

  “No.”

  From somewhere far to the south, Ramini could hear the roar of approaching vehicles.

  “They’re coming,” Eloise Crow said. “The Earthers will be here in minutes.”

  “Just enough time to say your prayers, then,” Santiago said. “See, Judge, there’s seven of us here, and one of you. Oh, I know you’ve got your little pals with you, but look at them. They barely know how to hold a gun. They’re
not like us. We know what we’re doing. You open fire, you might get one shot off—might even kill me—before my friends retaliate. And we’ve got plenty of ammo. You’ll end up with so many holes we’ll be able to freeze your body and use you as a cheese-grater. So you go ahead, if you’ve got the guts. Take your one shot before you die.”

  Slowly, Ramini raised her Lawgiver.

  Santiago grinned. “Really? You’re going for it? I’m impressed. So which of us are you going to shoot, huh? Me? Seems like the obvious choice because I’m the one talking to you, but... that doesn’t mean I’m the leader, does it? Or the best shot. Maybe it’s one of my friends you should be targeting. Which of us poses the greatest threat? Which shot will give you the best chance of making it out of this alive? And, hey, you might get lucky. Maybe our first shot will miss, or only wound you. You might get to shoot two of us. But which two?”

  “You done?” Ramini asked. “Because I’m going to say one more thing, and then you’re going to do as I say.”

  “And what is that one thing, Judge?”

  “Hi-ex.”

  Thirteen

  DREDD AND O’DONNELL—followed closely by Novena—reached the mine entrance as Ramini and the Crows were dragging the mercenaries’ body-parts clear.

  “Heard an explosion...” O’Donnell said, shielding his eyes against the column of acrid smoke billowing out of the mine.

  Ramini turned to Dredd. “Gave them the opportunity to stand down. They didn’t feel inclined to take it.”

  “How many?” Dredd asked. He looked back toward the south. Now, the roar of the Earthers’ approaching engines was too loud to ignore.

  “Seven,” Ramini said. “Means there’s still four more inside.”

  “Deal with them. O’Donnell, go to the plaza, get the people moving this way. They need to be ready to get inside as soon as Ramini gives you the all-clear.” Dredd began to scoop up the mercenaries’ guns and ammunition.

  “Got it.” O’Donnell said. To Novena, he added, “Wait here, okay?”

  “What about my horse?”

  “There might not be room inside... Look, just wait here! I’ll do what I can!” He darted away.

  Dredd scraped lumps of charred flesh from a shotgun. “You need back-up, Ramini?”

  She checked her Lawgiver. “Probably not. As soon as everyone’s in, I’ll join you on the front line. Dredd, most of those weapons are damaged beyond use.”

  “Worth checking anyway.”

  “What about Montag? She still guarding the prisoner?”

  “For now. I’m about to set him free.”

  Ramini hesitated. “I was thinking execution. He did attack the town.”

  “Considered that. Figure he’ll be killed by the storm anyway.”

  Ramini nodded. “Your call, Dredd. If we don’t all make it through this... Just want to say it’s been an honour. The Department’s lucky to have you.”

  “Likewise.” Dredd gestured toward the mine entrance. “Good luck.”

  He turned and ran, heading back through the town toward the jail cell.

  A sudden gust of wind slammed the door open as he reached it. Inside, Montag was in the process of unlocking the cell’s door. The young prisoner was clearly anxious to get out.

  The old man, Abraham, asked, “Where’s my daughter?”

  “At the mine entrance,” Dredd said. “Suggest you head there now, too. And you, Montag. Keep the prisoner safe.”

  “No, you need me at the front line, Dredd.” She slid open the barred door and the prisoner darted out.

  Dredd grabbed him as he tried to duck past. “What’s your name?”

  “Bobby!”

  “Well, Bobby... You run north, and you keep running. You got that, punk?”

  “I’ll never out-run the storm! I want to go into the mine with everyone else!”

  “And how do I know you won’t go back to your fellow Earthers and take up arms against us?”

  Abraham said, “He won’t, Judge. I can see that. He’s done with them, just wants to lay low.”

  The entire building creaked, and the windows began to shake.

  Dredd pulled Bobby closer: “It’s getting bad out there... You get the old man safely to the mine! You screw up, you’ll answer to me. Understood?”

  Bobby nodded. “Yessir!” He linked his arm with Abraham’s and together they made their way outside, shielding their eyes against the stinging dust.

  Dredd tossed one of the mercenaries’ guns to Montag. “Let’s go. You’re a weapons specialist: see if you can fix that while we’re running.”

  BRIAN O’DONNELL HAD to shout to be heard over the wind, but it wasn’t really necessary: the assembled townsfolk had been watching out for someone to give them the signal to start moving toward the mine.

  “C’mon, let’s go! Keep it orderly! Slow and steady, that’s it!”

  Among the crowd he was relieved to see Maddox, the barman from the Brazen Hussy, dragging four twenty-litre bottles of water on a wheeled cart. “Knew you’d change your mind!” He yelled.

  Maddox pulled his bandanna away from his mouth, and called back, “Your tab is fifty-nine credits, Red! Not going to let that go!”

  O’Donnell grinned, and waved the crowd on. “Keep going. Assemble outside the mine, got that? Wait for the Judges to give the all-clear before you go in.” He stopped the nearest man. “You hear that, Mitch?”

  “I heard ya, yeah.”

  “Make sure everyone understands, all right?”

  He stepped back and watched them shuffling forward. Over three hundred people, and he knew them all on sight. How many of them will still be alive tomorrow? He wondered. How many of the others hiding in their basements will crawl out in one piece?

  Beyond the crowd, O’Donnell could see Hanenberger’s shuttle. He was one of only a handful qualified to fly the craft.

  For a moment, he considered taking it. It was fast, it could outrun the storm. And it had a pretty good range, too. It could easily take him north, past Lake Huron and into the Canadian Wastes.

  O’Donnell shook his head. It wasn’t even an option. You don’t abandon your friends to save your own skin.

  If the shuttle had been armed, he could have used it to help defend the town, but it wasn’t much more than a small cargo vessel, fairly cheaply retrofitted with collapsible passenger seating.

  If we had bombs... O’Donnell thought. But then he realised that maybe the shuttle could be used for a different purpose: I can set it on autopilot, he thought, plot a course to take it over the raiders, crash into them. Might take a few of them out.

  Or, better still, keep it buzzing them from a low height. They’ll waste their ammo trying to shoot it down.

  He was pushing his way through the crowd, heading for the shuttle, when an unexpected sound caught his attention.

  JUDGE MONTAG THOUGHT for a second that the storm had come even earlier than the old man had predicted: the southern horizon was a rapidly-growing blur of billowing dust and sand.

  No, she told herself, that’s the dust kicked up by the Earthers’ vehicles... Grud, there are hundredsof them!

  Standing next to her on the roof, Judge Dredd remained impassive. Everyone else assigned to defend the town was hunched over, shielding themselves against the wind, but Dredd just stood there, watching.

  “Dredd?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “There is no way we can stop that many.”

  “True.”

  “Even if every round was a kill-shot, we’d still be overwhelmed.”

  Dredd nodded slowly. “Reckon so.”

  “So... What do we do?”

  “We do our job.” Dredd turned slightly toward her. “Judge Celia Montag, twenty-four years old... trained as a tech and had no real experience of the streets until a few months ago. And now you’re stuck in the Cursed Earth, facing impossible odds.”

  “Yeah, I don’t need a reminder of how dire our situation is.”

  “Then consider our
assets. We’re Judges, trained in the toughest academy on the planet.” Dredd pointed toward the growing cloud of dust, now seemingly only minutes away. “Out there is a bunch of nomads and misfits and farmers. All of them untrained, each one desperate. And desperate people make mistakes.” He walked to the edge of the roof, and shouted down toward the townsfolk guarding the single gap in the barricade. “Drop the drawbridge!”

  A pause, then Esteban shouted back, “What?”

  “You heard! Drop it—and get clear. Give the Earthers a clear way in!”

  “You’re drokkin’ insane, Dredd!”

  Montag almost smiled as she realised what Dredd was planning. “He’s right!” She called down. “Do it!”

  Below, Esteban ordered his people to lower the drawbridge and get clear of the barricade.

  “Now, clear out!” Dredd called. “Everyone down off the roofs, make sure you can’t be seen from outside!”

  Fourteen

  RAMINI WISHED SHE’D taken the time to explore the mine. She knew the basic layout from Dredd’s description, but seeing it in person was different.

  The main entrance tunnel wound its way through the rock, following the course of the first iridium seam that had been discovered, before it reached the central cavern.Hanenberger’s mercenaries would be lying in wait for her: there was no way they could have missed the sound of the hi-ex shell that had taken out their colleagues.

  Ramini didn’t regret the deaths of the mercenaries. She’d given them fair warning, and they should have known better than to threaten a Mega-City Judge.

  From somewhere far ahead came a soft, deep clunk, then the lights in the tunnel went dark. Ramini immediately dropped to the ground.

  A voice drifted out to her. “That you, Dredd?”

  She resisted the temptation to mimic Dredd’s voice. “No. Ramini.”

  “Okay. So, I know you Judges are devious little drokkers. Just like I know you’ve got heat-seeking and ricochet rounds. So just in case you get the idea of firing off a few shots in the hope of hitting us, be warned that we’re not alone in here. We’ve got hostages.”