by David Bishop
There was one ray of hope that kept her sane. For the past month decorating droids had been refurbishing the top floor of Oswald Mosley Block. Half a dozen spacious new con-apts were being created and the Maguire family was at the top of the list for relocation. Moving day was coming soon and then everything would be different, Conchita promised herself. Maybe then she could learn to stop hating so much.
Conchita had rejoiced in the carnage at Robert Hatch but had not dared visit the scene of the blaze herself. Her anti-alien sentiments were well known and she would be a prime suspect unless she could prove otherwise. To make sure of her alibi, she had deliberately drawn attention to herself at the public meeting. Judge Dredd himself had seen her and Deputy Sector Chief Temple had singled her out from among those attending. Nobody could blame the fire on her.
"They'll be home soon, go back to bed," Conchita said brusquely.
"When's soon?"
"It doesn't matter! Go back to bed."
But the child ventured closer to her mother. "Why did you lie tonight?"
"What?"
"In that big room full of people. Why did you tell that man I fell over? That isn't how I hurt my face."
Conchita pulled back a hand, ready to slap her daughter. "I warned you, Kasey! We don't tell outsiders what happens inside these walls. Remember?"
The girl shrank back, shielding her face from fresh blows. "I remember," she whimpered.
Conchita closed her eyes. What has gotten into me, she wondered. Why am I so angry that I hit my own daughter? Conchita crouched beside Kasey and gave her a hug. "I'm sorry, my darling. I didn't mean to frighten you."
Kasey was sobbing quietly, sniffing and snivelling.
"For Grud's sake, Kasey, stop crying!"
But the girl kept on sobbing.
Conchita could feel anger growing inside her again. Why did the child always have to do this? Why did she have to antagonise her? "Did you hear me? I said stop crying!"
Kasey's hands began shaking in fear. A dribble of mucus hung from each of her nostrils; Urine soaking the front of her night-gown, dripping down on the floor. Conchita lost control of her temper shouting with frustration as she lashed out. It was only the return of Dermot and Ramone that stopped her raining blows down on Kasey's head and arms. The little girl ran into the bedroom as her mother began mopping the mess from the floor.
Dermot winced in disgust. "Jovus, don't tell me she's done it again! We've got to sleep in here!"
Ramone jabbed his twin brother in the ribs with an elbow. "Save it. We've got good news for you!"
Conchita smiled at her boys. "I know, it was on Channel 27. Did anyone see you go into the basement?"
Dermot shook his head. "No way. We planted that thing more than an hour ahead of time, then went to the shoppera like you said. When the device went off, we were being cautioned for defacing a plastic tree."
"Yeah, it was sweet. Just like clockwork," Ramone agreed.
Caine listened while the Street Judges gave their differing accounts of what had taken place outside Robert Hatch. Dredd restated his belief Stammers should receive an official reprimand for conduct unbecoming of a Judge. Caine asked Miller for her opinion.
"Why me?"
The Sector Chief smiled. "With all due respect to Dredd, he has only been assigned to 87 for a few hours. You have been here much longer and have worked alongside Judges Stammers and Riley. Do believe they should be reprimanded as Dredd suggests?"
Miller shifted uncomfortably under the accused officers' gaze. "Dredd believed only Stammers should be punished."
"But surely Riley is just as culpable. If he failed to report his partner's failure, is he not just as complicit?"
Miller nodded unhappily.
"Well," Caine demanded, "should Riley and Stammers be punished?"
"Yes," Miller replied, aware of the growing hatred etched on their faces.
The Sector Chief folded her arms. "I disagree. Stammers's comments were personal opinions obviously made in the heat of the moment, when he was unaware that the hovercam was recording him. While his attitude does him no credit, I shall not punish a Judge for having opinions. As long as Stammers continues to enforce the Law equally for all residents of this sector, I am prepared to overlook this lapse in judgement. The same applies to his partner. As for you, Miller, you would do well to think twice before accusing fellow Judges in future. I doubt such actions will encourage them to help you in future."
Dredd cleared his throat. "Permission to speak, ma'am."
"I was wondering when you were going to stick your helmet in," Caine said. "You've only been here since eight and already you are finding faults with my Judges. What exactly is your agenda here, Dredd?"
"I have no agenda. My first and only ambition is upholding the Law."
The Sector Chief laughed. "We both know that is far from being the truth."
"If you don't believe me, use a birdie." Dredd retrieved the palm-sized lie detector unit from his utility belt.
Caine shook her head. "Another of your grandstand gestures? I think not. Fooling a birdie might impress younger Judges but that doesn't convince me."
Miller pointed at Nyon and the other offworlders. "What do we do about these survivors?" she asked Caine. "They can't spend the night out here. It might be warm enough but Tek-Judges say the building will probably collapse before morning. The fire has left it structurally unsound."
The Sector Chief turned to Dredd. "You seem to be full of ideas for how to improve performance here. What do you suggest we do?"
"House them in temporary accommodation overnight. Some citi-blocks in this sector have spare capacity. Displaced Persons can find new homes for these unfortunates in the morning."
"Finally, something we agree on!" Caine said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Stammers and Riley, since you have such a close relationship with the aliens, I suggest you help them into temporary accommodation. The refurbishment projects at Enoch Powell and Oswald Mosley are nearly complete. Take the aliens there for tonight." The two Street Judges saluted and bustled Nyon and the other survivors away.
Dredd stepped towards Caine. "Could I have a word with you in private?"
She smiled broadly. "Why in private, Dredd? I have no guilty secrets. Perhaps there is something you wish to conceal from your partner?"
"Of course not!"
"Then let us speak freely. I encourage a lively debate," Caine said.
"Very well. I believe you are making a grave error. From what I saw at the public meeting earlier, both Oswald Mosley and Enoch Powell are focal points for anti-alien activists, especially from within their Citi-Def squads. Moving these offworlders into those blocks is an act of folly, bound to provoke reprisals."
"Really?" The Sector Chief turned to Miller. "Do you agree with your partner's assessment?"
"I would suggest there are less volatile places the aliens can be sent."
Caine leaned closer to Miller. "Are you dancing to his tune already? That doesn't say much for your powers of judgement or your loyalty."
"You asked for my opinion, ma'am. I gave it to you," Miller replied. "This is not about loyalty, it is about common sense."
"Indeed?" Caine turned back to Dredd. "Well done. It seems you have gained one ally for your little crusade. But remember this, it was you who suggested the aliens be shifted into citi-blocks temporarily. If this goes wrong, I will make sure the decision leads directly back to you."
"But-" Dredd began.
"Silence!" Caine snarled. "I have nothing further to say on the matter. Now get back on patrol. This graveyard shift is short-handed as it is. We need Judges visible on the skedways, not arguing with their superiors. Dismissed!"
23:00
Dredd and Miller accelerated away from Robert Hatch on their Lawmasters, both remaining silent for several minutes. Miller had expected her partner to rant and rave about Caine's behaviour but he kept his own counsel. She was about to ask for his opinion when Control got in touch. "PSU has finishe
d analysing the crowd from the meeting at Leni Riefenstahl. All civilians present were residents of Sector 87. More than twenty of them have convictions for crimes against aliens, mostly xenophobic abuse and threats. PSU has backtracked their movements to before the meeting and has monitored them since it ended. No one has been within sight of Robert Hatch for more than twenty-four hours," Control reported.
"Among those with convictions, how many have affiliations with their block's Citi-Def squad?" Dredd asked.
"Hold for that," was the reply. A few moments later the radio crackled back into life. "More than half. In fact ten of those all belong to the same squad."
"Oswald Mosley?" Miller interjected.
"Yeah, how did you-"
"Call it an educated guess," she replied. "I made several of those arrests. A citizen named Conchita Maguire is the ringleader."
"That's a roj. But she was at the meeting," Control noted. "No way she could have been involved with the arson attack."
"Tek-Division is convinced it's arson then?" Dredd asked.
"Preliminary report lists the blaze as suspicious, yes. Tek-Judges Kendrick and Osman are analysing samples from the scene now. They estimate having a final report ready within an hour or two."
"Dredd to Control, standby for a moment." He switched channels so that only Miller could hear his transmission. "The presence of all those anti-alien activists at that public meeting when Robert Hatch caught fire - it's too much of a coincidence."
"You think they used it to establish their alibis?" she replied.
"That would be the smart move," Dredd agreed. He reactivated the link to Control. "I have another request for PSU. We need a list of all Sector 87 residents with convictions for crimes against aliens who weren't at the public meeting. How long will that take?"
"At least an hour," Control said.
"Also, we need a name and residential address for the boss of Summerbee Industries. Get back to us - Dredd out!"
Tarragon Rey did not believe in bad luck. He did not believe in good luck either, not any form of good fortune, happenstance or kismet. To him all such notions were the sort of superstitious nonsense that should have been left behind in the twenty-first century. For Grud's sake, this was 2126! Surely the human race should be beyond blaming its own errors and missed opportunities on the fates, the stars or any other random scapegoat.
Rey's view stemmed from the bizarre death of his mentor, the celebrated thinker and skysurfer, Osvaldo Carlos. Carlos liked to muse on the nature of human existence while soaring high above Mega-City One. He began to ponder the way so many people credited responsibility for their own flaws and foibles on random elements. After spending five days and nights atop his surfboard half a kilometre over the city, Carlos had a brainwave. All superstition was self-delusion and only those who foreswore such foolishness could hope to achieve true nirvana.
Carlos told another skysurfer of his vision and convinced them of the truth behind this belief. Soon word spread of a messiah in the sky, preaching a new gospel of accountability and modernist rationalism. Rey had only been seventeen years old at the time, an impressionable juve who fell under the spell of this charismatic speaker. But it was the manner of Carlos's freakish demise that convinced Rey this doctrine was worth demonstrating to all those still trapped on the ground, trapped with their witless beliefs and fears. Few men are killed by a number thirteen hoverbus carrying thirteen mirrors at 13:13 in the afternoon on Friday the Thirteenth. The fact that the hoverbus was operated by The Black Cat Pet Transportation Agency was just coincidence, nothing more.
So Tarragon Rey gave up skysurfing as a hobby and devoted the rest of his life to exploding the myths of superstition. His first step had been forming M-CASS, the Mega-City Anti-Superstition Society. For its emblem the group chose an image of Mama Cass, an obscure and obese singer from one hundred and fifty years before who had choked to death on a ham sandwich. Her passing had little to do with superstition, Rey once admitted, but her name fitted the initials perfectly.
For the past decade M-CASS had been staging events across the Big Meg to prove its case against the belief in luck of any kind. The society had always staged these extravaganzas on Friday the Thirteenth, the ultimate bad luck day in the minds of most people. If Rey and his fellow members could defuse any notion that this random date held any special terrors, then eliminating irrational worries about breaking of mirrors or spilling of salt would be easy.
The last series of events had not gone well. For a start, shouting the name "Macbeth!" at actors had proved to be rather limited as a visual spectacle. Driving a hover pod through thirteen large mirrors had seemed a good idea in principle, but the practicalities of it were rather painful. The driver and all the passengers had been cut to ribbons by the shards of glass and had only got as far as the eighth mirror before crashing to a halt. Channel 27 dubbed the fatalities as "Bad Luck Plagues Anti-Superstition Loons,", not exactly the publicity that M-CASS had been seeking.
But Rey believed this time was going to be different. This time everyone would see luck, good or bad, was just a myth. Stealing thirteen black cats had proved easy; the home for endangered domestic animal species had little funding to spend on security. Getting the felines lined up on one side of Anton Diffring Overzoom was another matter. The cats insisted on doing whatever they wanted, and not what Rey desired. Whenever he had most of them together, two would immediately wander off, another would start licking its backside and the rest would just glare at him with withering contempt.
Finally, he resorted to stuffing them back into their carrying cages and lining these up along the side of the overzoom. Rey had planned to release the cats at midnight but a call from one of the society members posted on lookout back along the overzoom hastened his hand. "Pair of Judges on their way," the society's treasurer warned. "PSU cameras must have spotted you."
Rey dismissed this suggestion. "We chose this part of the overzoom because it isn't covered by a camera tower."
"Maybe a spy-in-the-sky hovercam?"
"No, I don't think so." Rey had tried to keep watch for the roving devices but coping with the cats had taken most of his attention. He glanced around but could see no sign of a silver globe floating nearby.
"Must just be bad luck then," the treasurer suggested. "Oh! Sorry!"
"Don't say bad luck," Rey fumed. "There's no such thing!"
"Well, that 'no such thing' will be beside you in less than a minute."
Rey looked at his watch - still more than half an hour until midnight. But the Judges would surely see him and intercede. It was now or never. Rey ran along the line of cages, pulling up the flaps and tipping the cats out on to the edge of the overzoom. "Go, you so-called talismen of misfortune. Show the people of Mega-City One there is no such thing as badluck!"
"Control to all units, Sector 87! Major collision is taking place on the Anton Diffring Overzoom, between exits 13 and 13a. More than a dozen vehicles already involved with more impacting by the second!"
Dredd and Miller were passing exit 12 when they received the bulletin. "Dredd and Miller responding!"
Misch did not like the two humans herding them into the hoverbus. Lleccas was helping Nyon into a seat while Misch waited outside. The humans had hurt her broodfather. They wanted to hurt him again, given the chance. She didn't need metema to sense that, it was obvious. But she couldn't understand why they hated offworlders like herself so much. What was wrong with them? Without thinking about the consequences, Misch closed her eyes and reached into the mind of Judge Eustace Stammers.
The little boy heard his mother crying out. She was in pain, he had to help her. He pushed against the door but couldn't open it. He reached up and turned the handle, opening the door a fraction. Inside, he could see her on the bed, pinned underneath a monster. It had blue skin and yellow markings. It kept pushing against her, straining and sweating. Another monster was standing nearby, touching itself and muttering in words beyond understanding. The boy could see his mother's
face contorted strangely. She was urging the monster on, telling it to go faster. She reached down between her legs and-
The boy screamed at them to stop, to leave his mother alone. She shouted at him to get out of the room. The monster standing up pushed the boy out and slammed the door shut. The boy hammered at the door with his tiny fists but got no response. He then collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
Later the monsters left, gurgling in satisfaction and leaving a handful of credits by the front door. The boy's mother came out and began beating him. She screamed at him never to interrupt her again when she had visitors. The little boy had never understood the words scrawled across the front door to their tiny con-apt before, but now he did: ALIEN WHORE.
Misch snapped back out of the trance to find Stammers standing over her, one hand clutching at his helmet. "You little slitch," he snarled. "I know what your kind can do. Stay out of my mind or else!" The Judge drew back a fist, ready to lash out at the R'qeen broodling until Riley intervened.
"Stammers! For Grud's sake, leave her alone. Haven't you gotten us into enough trouble for one night?"
"She was poking around in my head," Stammers protested. "I could feel it. She's got no right to-"
"She's just a kid," Riley replied. "Get her in the bus and let's go."
Stammers picked up the R'qeen broodling and held her in front of his face. She could smell his shame and anger, sensed his frustration. "You tell anyone what you just saw," he hissed in Allspeak, "and I'll kill your parents. Then I'll do to you what your kind did to my mother. You understand me?"