Whiteout

by James Swallow

  The involvement of Vedder and her controllers remained hidden. She liked it that way, hovering on the edges of things, a guiding hand when it was needed, and a stern rebuke if it was required. It had even been enjoyable in its own way, with the little games she played with Nolan. She gave a thin smile. Poor Hollis. So very bright and yet so terribly naïve. He had been attracted to the danger she represented, drawn to her. The simplicity that allowed him to fall for her and let her rule him was almost pathetic in its weakness. With Hollis under her influence, Loengard silenced by his own arrogance and ViSanto her willing colleague, everything had been in perfect place for Vedder to use the project to advance her own agenda; and she had done so, discarding the others as the moment came.

  Loengard, ViSanto and the others... All cold meat now. What had the Skorpion felt at the moment it killed them, she wondered? Anger? Relief? Sadness? She tried to imagine the machine intelligence processing the analogues of emotion, as it realised that its creators had abandoned it. What must it have thought when it knew it was being sent to its end? Vedder felt a strange pang of motherly longing at odds with her other sentiments. She could not bring herself to blame the Skorpion for wanting to lash out. Vengeance, after all, was a most human quality. She would have done the same.

  Perhaps she should have been afraid that it would mark her for death as well; but no, her involvement in the project was so secret that not even the Chief Judge herself would have been able to access the files that proved it. There were only a handful of people who knew how close she had been to Skorpion's creation, and now all of them were corpses. All of them except Hollis Nolan. Vedder frowned. The gun had been doing her a favour, eliminating the project staff. She had no doubts it would have come after her, had it known. But while Hollis was still breathing, her secret was unsafe. That wouldn't do.

  Eventually the Skorpion would locate him and use its meat puppet to end his life; but Vedder found herself becoming impatient. Dredd was getting too close, and he would jeopardise everything she had worked for. Without Hollis, Dredd would have nothing but hearsay and circumstance to back him up, and Hershey would have no choice but to bow to COE pressure and dismiss the investigation. She sighed. Vedder had hoped, honestly hoped, that it would not have to come to this. Hollis had been an amusing diversion for her, and she thought of him with what could be considered fondness. The woman allowed herself a small moment of regret before she removed her gun and checked the magazine. Hollis Nolan was going to die tonight. It was necessary.

  A noise drew Vedder's attention. A lone figure was running toward her along a decrepit alleyway, pursued by a gang of armed youths. She looked away, disinterested, and tapped her helmet microphone. "Connect, asset six-five-six. Scramble and process." After a moment, she heard the hiss of a signal encryption circuit kick in and then a voice.

  "This isn't a good time."

  Vedder sneered. "Are you forgetting the dynamics of this relationship? You are helping me, remember? I decide which times are good and which ones are not. I wouldn't want it to slip your mind that your were the one who approached the COE. We can just as easily ensure a catastrophic end to your career as a glittering future, Judge Keeble."

  "Don't use my name!" Keeble hissed back.

  She rolled her eyes. "This channel is secure. Don't panic yourself, it's unflattering." Vedder glanced at the alley. The running figure was a woman about the same age as her. Her face was bloody and her clothes were ripped. The agent looked away. "You're at the Carnivale crime scene, yes? What's Dredd doing?"

  "He's with that SJS bitch Woburn. They're arguing about something."

  "What about Tyler?"

  "The Luna-Tek? Dredd's got him working on a file. I heard him say a name. Roland? Noman? Something like that."

  "Nolan?" Her eyes narrowed. "Listen to me, this is important. I want to know whatever Tyler learns about Nolan. Contact me the second you have anything, understand?"

  "All right. And then you'll square things for me? I want that transfer outta this cesspool sector."

  "Of course. The COE never forgets its friends." Vedder cut the signal and turned as the woman raced toward her.

  "Judge! Judge!" screamed the girl. "Oh Grud, please! They're trying to kill me!"

  Vedder had her Lawgiver drawn as the gangers emerged. They had clubs and blades. The largest, the leader, gave her a greasy smile. "Woo. Look here. We gotta two-fer. What ya say, Lady Judge? Wanna join the party?" The rest of the punks rattled with laughter. They knew Vedder would be hard-pressed to fight them all.

  She glanced at the woman. "You," she said in a low voice. "You're a victim. You brought this on yourself." Vedder aimed and shot the woman dead.

  Silence fell like a hammer. Suddenly the gangers had nothing to say.

  "Get lost." Vedder dismissed them with a jerk of the gun, turning away to kick-start her bike. They broke and ran; but she was already on her way.

  "You've gone too far this time, Dredd," snarled Woburn. "The law isn't something you can rewrite every time you feel like bucking the regs!" She shook her head. "Drokk! I don't know where to start, what with re-tasking a Citihawk, unauthorised traffic interception, unwarranted search and seizure-"

  "Unwarranted?" Dredd snapped. "Last time I looked, this was Sector 88," he pointed a gloved finger at the ground, "and Sector 88 is in the midst of a crime sweep."

  Woburn snorted. "That doesn't apply sector-wide! That would be a universal suspension of citizen rights - which is a whole different set of paperwork!"

  "Mega-City One Criminal Code, Section 59 (D). A Judge may enter a citizen's home to carry out routine intensive investigation. The citizen has no rights in this matter."

  "Don't quote the book to me!" replied the SJS Judge.

  Dredd jerked a thumb at the Carnivale. "Then pay attention, Woburn. The key phrase there is 'a citizen's home' and if I'm not mistaken, that mopad was where Ruben Cortez lived, correct?"

  "We had an undercover man in there, checking out a possible corruption lead," Woburn's voice dropped to a low growl. "Your showboating tactics put him in jeopardy."

  "Ditta was already dead," the Judge replied. "Tek-Div found a recording from Cortez's office. He was killed hours ago."

  Woburn paled but didn't let up. "That still doesn't excuse what you did. You're tearing around the city looking for this phantom shooter and what do you have to show for it? Supposition? Guesswork? The famous Joe Dredd gut feeling?" She sneered. "I've always known that one day you'd bend the rules too far. This is shaping up to be that day, Dredd. You read me?"

  He took a step closer and looked the SJS officer in the eye. "Are you done?"

  "For now. I'll have more to say when the Chief Judge gets back."

  "Fine. We'll finish this then. Meantime, I've got a killer to find."

  The H-Wagon parked on the highway apron was open to the air, the gull-wing hatches on the command pod raised. Tyler glanced up from the MAC console as Keeble sauntered past, a smirk visible under his helmet.

  "That guy's luck is going to run out sooner than he thinks," said Keeble, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

  Tyler didn't need to look to know whom he was talking about. "Think so?"

  "I know so. He's been on the street for what? Forty years or more? Turned down the job of Chief Judge a couple of times, but he still rides around like he owns the city." Keeble shook his head. "Oughta take the Long Walk and do us all a favour."

  "You're not a fan?"

  "No," Keeble spat the word, as if the very idea was anathema to him. "Sure, he's made a lot of big collars in his career, but the man stopped being a real Judge years ago." The lawman leaned into the H-Wagon cabin, casting a casual gaze around inside.

  Tyler stopped what he was doing and gave Keeble a level look. "How do you figure that? From where I'm sittin', seems like Dredd is makin' a good show of it."

  "He's a gimmick. A tourist attraction. The Council of Five wheel him out whenever they want a high-profile bust. Dredd gets to cherry-pick duties while
the rest of us are knee-deep in the scum of the city." He threw Tyler a sneer. "Wouldn't expect you to know, what with you being from Luna-1. Bet the Loonies buy all that stomm about Dredd being some sorta superhero, right? But you only got to look at him to know, he's too long in the tooth."

  The Tek-Judge smirked. "I don't wanna rain on your parade, pal, but somethin' tells me Dredd's not gonna be steppin' down anytime soon."

  "Well, maybe someone's going to have to convince him," Keeble said.

  The reply came from behind him, cold and low. "You're welcome to try."

  Keeble spun in place to find Dredd watching him closely. "Hey, Dredd. I was just talking about you." He smothered his surprise with a grimace.

  "Uh-huh." Dredd glanced at Tyler. "Got anything?"

  "Check," nodded the Tek-Judge. "You were right about Nolan. There's a code tag buried in the file, an apartment in Gothtown."

  Dredd grunted. "Terrif. Geeks in black lipstick and puffy shirts. Shouldn't be hard to find him."

  Keeble couldn't resist the chance to make a comment. "Guess you won't need any back-up there, eh?"

  The senior Judge faced him. "I'm getting tired of your attitude, Keeble."

  The other lawman gave a sarcastic smile. "Don't mind me, Dredd. I just got a problem with speaking my mind, that's all."

  Dredd nodded. "I noticed. Unless you want a reprimand for insubordination, I'd advise you do something about it."

  Keeble clamped his jaw shut and walked off toward his bike.

  Tyler shook his head. "You got a way about you, don't ya, Dredd?"

  "I'm not here to win any friends. Keeble's kind are the worst sort of Judges, too busy bitching to get the job done. We have to follow the orders we are given. That's the law. That's what we do." He nodded at the console. "Give me Nolan's location code."

  "Done. It's already in your Lawmaster's computer."

  "Vedder."

  "It's, uh, Keeble."

  "Talk to me."

  "Nolan's in Gothtown. I didn't get the full address, but it looks like a con-apt on Anne Rice Boulevard."

  "That's a start. Good work, Judge. You can expect to find that transfer order in your data stack in a couple of days." A pause. "I don't have to remind you that the Covert Operations Establishment will expect you to remain discreet about this arrangement, do I? After all, I'd hate to have to arrange for the Special Judicial Service to perform another physical abuse test on you. They do take such a professional pride in their work."

  "I got what I want. I'm sick of Double-Eight, busting rapists and druggies and all the stinking derelicts. I've been in this toilet of an assignment since I got my Full Eagle. I want a clean beat. This place makes me feel dirty all over."

  "I know what you mean. Vedder out."

  "Wait."

  "Was there something else?"

  "Judge Dredd is on his way there now. What are you going to do about him?"

  "That's none of your concern, Keeble."

  "I guess so. Just don't let that stone-faced drokker off easy."

  "Don't worry. Dredd will get what's coming to him."

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  At first sight, Gothtown looked like someone had taken a chunk of Old World Europe from the pages of a nineteenth century bodice-ripper fantasy, and slammed it down in the middle of Mega-City One. The flat ferrocrete roads of the city proper stopped at the borders of the zone, turning into grey cobbles. Streets that were well illuminated became shadowy, gloom-filled byways. Fake holographic gas lamps cast flickering glows around the doors of the bloodclubs and industrialist bars.

  Tourists and weekenders frequented the outer circles of Gothtown's dark drinking pits, soaking up the dismal atmosphere and snapping the odd holo of the pale-skinned locals, but the serious doomers and DedRok fanatics had the core of the district to themselves. There was a permanent pall of dark cloud over the place, and the only kind of weather there was rain. Hard rain. Soft rain. Cold rain. Grey rain. All kinds of the stuff, pre-programmed by special dispensation to Weather Congress. The residents liked to suggest that Gothtown wrote its own rules, that the outsider culture they espoused was somehow a thorn in the side of the government - but like the rest of Mega-City One, the G-Towners paid their rent and their taxes. The Judges had long ago realised that it was better to let ghetto quarters like this exist and play them softly, softly rather than come down hard and force anything illegal underground, where it would be harder to catch. Undercover Wally Squad Judges were regularly rotated in and out of Gothtown, and in turn they kept this little pocket of anti-establishment sentiment from getting too out of hand.

  And that, as far as Judge Joseph Dredd was concerned, was an affront to the law. The pseudo-vamp wannabes and lycanthrope misanthropes were nothing but a bunch of poseur kooks, sporting canine tooth bud implants to scare the straights while they wrote their bad poetry and sipped at blood-coloured mocktails. His face was set in an expression of permanent scorn as he rode down to the corner of Anne Rice Boulevard and Lestat Avenue. Vampires. Creatures of the night. Dredd had seen the real things up close and personal more times than he cared to recall, and they were never willowy guys in opera capes, lamenting their lives; they were animals, predators with nothing on their minds but the red in your veins and how they were going to get it.

  He found a dark alley - which in Gothtown was like finding sand in the desert - and parked his Lawmaster, setting it to stealth mode. The apartment block where Nolan was hiding looked like something from a slasher vid, but it was isolated and concealed in the lee of a huge highway pillar. The scientist had picked a place where spy-in-the-sky spotters and the COE's orbital satellites would never be able to get a reading.

  Hollis drummed his fingers on the window frame, watching the people passing by along the boulevard below, black-clothed figures wafting in and out of the club across the street. The Raven, as it was called, was a popular haunt in G-Town. As he observed, a small commotion broke out. A broad-shouldered man with an angular moustache and a cigarette holder in his hand was plainly being asked to leave. Nolan caught a glimpse of an odd-looking medallion around the man's neck. The management were in the process of calling him an autocab, and although Hollis couldn't hear what was being said, he caught the cadence of a Brit-Cit accent from the moustachioed man. The big guy was clearly quite drunk.

  A hard knock at the door grabbed his attention instantly, and Nolan spun away from the window, grabbing the laser carbine on the table. It had a thermographic scanner scope on the barrel, and the scientist used it to look through the door. There was only one hot shape outside, tall and stocky. The knock came again, and this time with a stern demand behind it.

  "Hollis Nolan. This is the law. Open up."

  "Judge Dredd?" The voice was unmistakable. Nolan deactivated the limpet mine on the door and released the lock. "Quick, get in here," he snapped. "They could be watching!"

  Dredd followed Nolan into the room. The only light came from the crimson glow of the Raven's neon sign. The Judge noted the mine, along with two more on the other walls and the Mauley laser in Nolan's hand. "Expecting company?"

  Nolan shot him a look. "You know what's out there, Dredd." He gestured at the explosives. "These are all I could sneak out of West 17 before I ran, and even this lot will barely scratch it."

  "It?" Dredd echoed. "The Skorpion?"

  The scientist sagged and set the laser carbine down. The Judge could see that Nolan barely knew one end of the firearm from another. "How many are left now? ViSanto was still there when I ran."

  "Just you," said the Judge.

  Nolan looked up at him, a curious expression on his face. "And Thessaly? I mean, Judge Vedder?"

  "Vanished. But she's too slippery to die that easy. I'm betting she's still out there somewhere."

  He nodded. "That figures. She's a survivor, that one. Always got a plan. An angle on things."

  Dredd watched his reaction carefully and filed it away. "We need to talk."

  Nolan gave a half-smile. "Yea
h. That was me. Guess you being here means that you figured out the whole thing, right?" He blinked nervously. "I want protection, Dredd. I don't want to die. You keep me alive and I'll blow the whole thing wide open." He patted a laptop computer at his side. "I've got everything in here. The entire Skorpion Project, from concept to deployment. I want immunity from prosecution, a new face, a new life."

  "We'll see." The Judge moved to the window. The ruckus outside was over now, the drunk long gone. He scanned the street with a watchful eye. "Why all the song-and-dance, Nolan? You could have just come in Justice Central."

  "Yeah, sure!" he said bitterly. "And wound up like Loengard? I don't think so!"

  "Let me take you in," said Dredd, reaching for his belt mic. "I'll get an H-Wagon here and we'll airlift you straight to-"

  "No!" snapped Nolan, snatching up the laser. He aimed it in the Judge's direction. "No, I'm not moving from this place!"

  Dredd froze, his stance neutral and unthreatening. "You said it yourself, you're not safe here."

  "Don't you get it?" Hollis spat. "I'm not safe anywhere! That's how we made it, smart and deadly! It will find me!"

  "Then tell me how to kill it."

  The laser drooped in his grip. "Oh Grud, Dredd, I don't know. We never intended..."

  The Judge found a chair and turned it so he could see the whole apartment from where he sat. Dredd's hooded gaze never left Nolan. "Start from the beginning. Tell me how this happened."

  Smyth heard the voices through the wires like fingernails on a blackboard, the resonance of them squealing through the metallic sinews in his body. He watched the temporary antennae the Skorpion had secreted from his forearm waving in the air like plant fronds seeking sunlight. They issued out of his skin, thin little tentacles with fans of spines like radio dishes at the ends. His stomach flipped over as he watched them dance, the invasive sense of the weapon inside him now like a dense black stone in his chest. Communications threaded through the wires, garbled loads of encrypted Judge-speak plucked from the ether. The gun was listening, sifting through the signal traffic.