The Righteous Man

by Michael Carroll

  JUDGE DREDD: YEAR TWO

  THE

  RIGHTEOUS

  MAN

  Michael Carroll

  An Abaddon Books™ Publication

  www.abaddonbooks.com

  abaddonsolaris@rebellion.co.uk

  First published in 2016 by Abaddon Books™, Rebellion Intellectual Property Limited, Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK.

  Editor-in-Chief: Jonathan Oliver

  Commissioning Editor: David Moore

  Cover: Neil Roberts

  Design: Sam Gretton & Oz Osborne

  Marketing and PR: Rob Power

  Head of Books and Comics Publishing: Ben Smith

  Creative Director and CEO: Jason Kingsley

  Chief Technical Officer: Chris Kingsley

  Copyright © 2016 Rebellion. All rights reserved.

  Judge Dredd created by John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra.

  ISBN: 978-1-84997-993-1

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Judge Dredd: Years One and Two

  City Fathers, Matthew Smith

  The Cold Light of Day, Michael Carroll

  Wear Iron, Al Ewing

  The Righteous Man, Michael Carroll

  Judge Anderson, Rookie

  Heartbreaker, Alec Worley

  The Abyss, Alec Worley

  Judge Dredd

  Bad Moon Rising, David Bishop

  Black Atlantic, Simon Jowett & Peter J Evans

  Cursed Earth Asylum, David Bishop

  Deathmasques, Dave Stone

  Dread Dominion, Dave Stone

  Dredd vs. Death, Gordon Rennie

  Dreddlocked, Stephen Marley

  Eclipse, James Swallow

  The Final Cut, Matthew Smith

  The Hundredfold Problem, John Grant

  Kingdom of the Blind, David Bishop

  The Medusa Seed, Dave Stone

  Psykogeddon, Dave Stone

  The Savage Amusement, David Bishop

  Silencer, David Bishop

  Swine Fever, Andrew Cartmel

  Wetworks, Dave Stone

  Whiteout, James Swallow

  Judge Anderson

  Fear the Darkness, Mitchel Scanlon

  Red Shadows, Mitchel Scanlon

  Sins of the Father, Mitchel Scanlon

  Mega-City One

  2080 AD

  One

  “NO WAY, RICO. I’m taking you in.”

  Seven words that marked the end of everything. They echoed through Joseph Dredd’s mind as he watched a squad of more experienced Judges go into action.

  Joe had already cuffed Rico’s wrists and stripped him of his weapons and equipment, but no one was taking any chances. They put a second set of cuffs on Rico’s wrists, two more on his ankles. A Med-Judge hit him with a heavy tranquiliser, then allowed him to topple backwards onto a stretcher.

  Four street Judges carried him out of the block, another four walking alongside them, all with their Lawgivers already drawn.

  As they carried Rico’s barely-conscious body past Joe and toward a waiting H-Wagon, one of the Judges muttered, “How the hell do we know we got the right one?”

  Joe ran his gloved hand over the back of his neck; it came away damp with sweat.

  He glanced back toward the block. Inside, Virgil Livingstone was dead, face-down in a drying pool of his own blood. So far, the other Judges had only barely glanced at him. That made sense: a rogue Judge needed to be dealt with immediately, and Livingstone wasn’t going anywhere.

  Joe moved to follow the Judges into the H-Wagon, but a senior Judge stepped in front of him, palm out. “Not a chance, boy. You stay put—the chief’s on the way to see you.”

  “Understood,” Joe said.

  They were all watching him, he knew that. He didn’t blame them. He and Rico were identical, down to the names on their badges. Few of their fellow Judges were able to tell them apart.

  Until they spoke, at least. Joe’s voice was a little deeper, his manner more calm. Where Rico was talkative, Joe was taciturn. When they were together, one sure way to identify them was to see who spoke first in any given situation. Odds were, that was Rico.

  Joe was the cold one. He was aware that some of tutors at the Academy had believed him to be too dispassionate to make it as a Judge. Once, during preparation for a training exercise to the Cursed Earth, he’d overhead Judge-Tutor Semple talking about him with Judge Ruiz: “Judges have got to be calm and assured, but this damn kid’s a robot. He’s good at what he does—the best—but a Judge needs empathy. Joe’s about as empathic as a rock. You meet Rico, he asks you how things are going. Joe asks you what needs to be done.”

  Judge Ruiz had said, “Have to say, I prefer the latter. We’re not here to be friends.”

  “At least you can have a conversation with Rico. You get the feeling that there’s more behind those eyes than a law-book. Joe Dredd needs to learn how to engage, because right now his attitude is holding him back. Rico has friends who’d take a bullet for him; Joe has colleagues who are cautious around him. No Judge works alone. Joe will only become an effective Judge if he has the full support and trust of the rest of the Department.”

  So he’d tried harder to fit in with the other cadets, to join in their conversations and sometimes offer opinions even when he hadn’t been asked. That hadn’t been easy, and he wasn’t completely sure that it was as important as Judge-Tutor Semple believed, until he realised that it wasn’t just for his benefit; it was also for theirs. A suggestion here, a subtle prompt there, and soon Joe found that the other cadets were coming to him for advice. Only on judicial matters, of course; for almost anything else they came to Rico.

  All those years in the Academy, a year on the streets... And it had come down to this. Rico had turned bad. Somewhere along the way, he’d strayed from the path.

  Every cadet strayed to some degree, of course—that was only human—but most of them realised their mistake and turned back. Joe himself had experienced moments of doubt about the system, but unlike Rico he’d never chosen to subvert that system.

  He’d put his doubts aside. If the Law was wrong—and it sometimes was—then the correct approach was to temper that error with justice and mercy. Rico’s approach had been to say, “Drokk it,” and do whatever suited him in that moment.

  The H-Wagon rose silently and Joe watched it go, very much aware of the many Judges still at the scene of the crime.

  Now, another senior Judge stepped up to him. Kimber was a tall, lean, fifty-year-old man sporting a non-regulation grey moustache. “Chief Judge Goodman is on the way, Dredd. Hand over your Lawgiver, daystick, boot-knife and utility belt.”

  Joe didn’t move. “I’m under arrest?”

  “Just hand them over.”

  “You didn’t answer.” Every other Judge present was now looking in his direction. Some of them already had their Lawgivers in hand, held pseudo-casually by their sides.

  “I don’t answer to you, Dredd. I’ve been on the streets since before you were mixed in a test-tube. So either you give me your weapons, or I take them from you. Trust me, you will not enjoy the latter option.”

  Another H-Wagon was approaching. The other Judges would never let him anywhere near the Chief Judge if he was armed. He unclipped his belt and handed it over, along with his Lawgiver and everything else.

  Kimber passed them to another Judge, then removed a set of cuffs from h
is own belt. To Joe, he said, “Arms out, wrists together.”

  “Do you think I’ll be any less dangerous wearing cuffs?”

  Kimber regarded him for a moment. “All right. Your decision. If the chief won’t see you like this, it’s your loss. But you ought to understand that the word has already spread. You arrested your own brother, Dredd. That’s not won you any new friends.”

  “He broke the law, Kimber. The only reason we exist is to uphold the law. If you’re implying that I should have let him walk, then—”

  “Shut the drokk up, you stupid punk! You think you’re the only decent Judge in the department? That the rest of us are looking out for each other and to hell with the citizens? Rico was armed, he’d just gunned down a civilian, you had the drop on him, and you arrested him. Didn’t even fire your weapon once. You were within the law to blow his drokkin’ head off.” He leaned closer. “He’s a killer, and you protected him. Now do you understand me? If your brother kills again, that’s on you.”

  CHIEF JUDGE CLARENCE Goodman dismissed the other Judges—they retreated out of earshot, but remained close enough to act should anything go wrong—and stared at Joseph Dredd for a full minute before he spoke.

  During that time, he ran through a dozen opening sentences, but none of them felt right. In the end, he just sighed and said, “Stomm.”

  Dredd didn’t respond to that. Goodman hadn’t expected him to.

  “Joe... When did you know?”

  “Sir?”

  “You know what I’m asking. When did you realise Rico had turned?”

  “I... Sir, that’s hard to say. I wasn’t ever sure, but I had suspicions. On several occasions, citizens I’d never met before greeted me as though they knew me. Obviously they thought I was Rico. It’s likely the same thing happened to him.”

  “But?”

  “On three of those occasions, the conversations seemed to imply that they were low-level perps operating under Rico’s protection. Without further evidence, that wasn’t reason enough to question them, or even talk to him about them. Sometimes a Judge must allow some things to slide in order to—”

  “Do please keep teaching me the finer points of the law, Dredd,” cut in Goodman. “I’m only the damn Chief Judge!”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “Rico’s been residing in an apartment belonging to a citizen who’s currently out of the city. That’s not against the rules. I checked out the owner. Everything Rico said was confirmed, and the owner himself was clean. He had been implicated in a body-sharking racket, but was cleared by subsequent investigation shortly before he relocated to Texas City.”

  “All right,” Goodman said. “His apartment will be vacant, so he asks a Judge to live there while he’s gone. That’s not uncommon. It helps keep the Judges among the people as well as protect the apartment. There’s even a tax-break the owner can claim for that.”

  “Sir, Rico was the investigating Judge in that body-sharking case.”

  “That’s not proof of anything, Dredd.”

  Dredd glanced back toward the building. “The body of Virgil Livingstone is pretty solid evidence.”

  Goodman took a step closer to Dredd, his eyes narrow and his face grim. “Funny. I didn’t know better, I’d swear that’s Rico talking. There’ll be a full investigation. Into both of you. You will return to the Hall of Justice. Once there, you will remain in your quarters under house-arrest pending the outcome of this investigation. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I mean it, Joe. You are forbidden to engage in any judicial activities unless and until specifically requested to do so by a senior Judge.” Goodman started to move away, then stopped and turned back. “Of the two of you, you were the one I had the most hope for. If you’ve let me down, I swear to Grud I’ll...”

  He couldn’t finish the sentence. He felt like he’d swallowed a ball of concrete. His opponents were going to have a field-day with this. They’d been arguing against the use of cloned Judges for years, and now they had all the ammunition they needed to put the programme on ice for good.

  Damn Rico. Always just a little too smug, too cocksure, for his own good. From the moment the kid learned that he was a clone of Judge Fargo, he’d thought of himself as special, better than the other cadets.

  And he had been good, that couldn’t be denied. Rico and Joe had been by far the best cadets the Academy had ever turned out.

  From the moment they were removed from the accelerated-growth units—Rico first, then Joe—they’d been monitored every step of the way. For the first few years, at least. It was all on file; Goodman briefly wondered how much of that archived footage would become part of the investigation.

  Goodman climbed back into his shuttle. Despite the situation, he had to suppress a smile as he recalled Joe and Rico learning to walk. They’d looked to be the equivalent of about five years old, but—fresh from the cloning vats—they’d been as weak as newborn infants.

  Rico had been the first to walk, of course. Rico was always first. His chubby little legs had been supporting his own weight for a couple of days as he carefully made his way around the nursery, holding onto walls and chairs and anything that he could use to keep his balance, grinning and giggling as he grew steadier on his feet. For most of that time, Joe had sat in the middle of the room, just watching him.

  Then Rico had cautiously let go of the chair, first with one hand, then the other, and took his first real steps.

  Goodman had been watching. He’d spent a lot of time watching the twins, probably far too much time, he knew, but they were fascinating. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with children, and had been captivated by the rate at which the clones were developing.

  Rico had walked eight steps before collapsing onto his backside with fresh burst of giggles. Moments later, he was up again. Twenty-one steps. Third attempt, almost fifty steps before he fell. And then he got up once more, and never crawled again.

  Joe had started walking the next day. He’d crawled over to a low plastic table—one of those ones with geometric holes and matching brightly-coloured blocks—pulled himself up, and began walking. He never fell, not once. It was as though Joe had learned from his brother’s mistakes and avoided making them himself.

  Where Rico led, Joe followed. That’s how it had been throughout their years at the Academy. But it wasn’t that simple, Goodman knew.

  Rico had been the first to learn how to talk, but Joe had been the first to learn when to talk.

  Rico had been first to challenge the Tutors on contentious points of law, but his brother had been the first to offer feasible solutions.

  They were cloned from the same source, but they were far from identical.

  As the Chief Judge’s shuttle descended toward the Hall of Justice, that thought was his only comfort. They’re not the same man. They have embraced different aspects of their father, even though neither of them realise that.

  The investigation was going to turn over a lot of rocks that the Department would rather stay hidden, Goodman knew. Rico was guilty; there was no doubt of that. But the investigation wasn’t really going to be about Rico. On the surface, yes, but beneath that... There would be questions raised about not just the validity of clone Judges, but about the competence of the people who had supported the cloning programme.

  When he pulled the trigger, Rico Dredd hadn’t just murdered that citizen Virgil Livingstone. He’d painted a target on the entire Department, and Grud knew that it was already riddled through with more than enough holes.

  As Chief Judge, he was in the unique position to understand exactly how everything worked. Sure, from the outside, the Justice Department of Mega-City One was a solid, implacable force, but that was an illusion. When you got right down to it, the Department was made up of people, and people are fallible.

  All of them. Every Judge had skeletons in the closet. Hell, even Fargo’d had them. All it would take was the right push at the wrong time, and thos
e closet doors would come crashing open, disgorging their damning contents into the laps of their enemies.

  If Joe Dredd isn’t clean, Goodman thought, if he has a single speck on his ledger, that’ll destroy the cloning programme and everyone who supported it. It could rock the foundations of the Justice Department. And if we fall, the rest of the city will fall with us.

  Two

  IN THE CHIEF Judge’s office, Goodman sank deeper into his chair and read Joseph Dredd’s case history.

  On the whole, the Judge-cloning programme was not regarded as a major success. The initial idea was flawed, Goodman thought. Judges aren’t grown—they’re built. A fifteen-year stint in the Academy was what made a Judge, not an artificial womb filled with Morton Judd’s chemical soup.

  Sure, the accelerated growth had been a boon, but Judd’s ultimate plan—to create fully-grown Judges already programmed with everything they’d need to know—was a very long way from bearing any fruit.

  Goodman recalled telling Judd, “There are too many things that can go wrong. You’re hurtling down a skedway at five hundred kph, then the slightest pot-hole can send you careening off-course. Slow and steady. That way, you actually reach the end of the road in one piece.”

  The sealed records listed hundreds of failures before the first viable infant had been pulled from the vats. Judd’s people had begun crowing like they’d just beaten Grud at his own game, but Fargo himself had cut them off. He’d looked down at the child and said, “This isn’t a Judge. You made a baby. Any pair of horny teenagers can do that, and with far less time, effort and money.”