Swine Fever

by Andrew Cartmel

  Zandonella prayed that Dredd would arrive soon.

  "I am not begging," said Mac, on his knees by the pool. "I am merely trying to get our point across to our friend here. As one businessman to another."

  "I am not a man, nor do I do what you call business," said the dolphin.

  "Then why are you interfering with it?" persisted Mac. "What do these pigs matter to you? If you just promise to keep your mouth shut - I mean promise to say nothing about the meat trade - we can let you go." Mac beamed hopefully. "You'll be back snapping snow crab at the ambassador's reception in no time."

  "If it will clarify the situation," said the dolphin, "I will outline my position on this matter."

  "Please do."

  "I will in no way, now or ever, through any action or inaction on my part, allow your bloody and evil trade to continue. I will do everything in my power to put a stop to it, and to bring you and your red-handed fellows to justice. You have been guilty of unimaginable atrocities but at last they are at an end."

  The dolphin's words rang in the tiled room with unmistakable authority and conviction. The hairs on the back of Zandonella's neck stirred in response and she felt a ludicrous impulse to applaud. But she knew there was no cause for celebration. The Cetacean Ambassador had just signed his own death warrant.

  "Hmm," said Mac. "That's pretty clear, I suppose."

  "I told you we were wasting time," said Leo. He started towards the swimming pool, pistol in hand.

  "Never mind," sighed Mac. "It was worth a try. Say goodbye to the ambassador, folks." He rose slowly from his kneeling position, an old man with rusty joints.

  "Wait," said Zandonella, moving quickly and getting between Leo and the dolphin. Everyone was staring at her. It was now or never. Once again she felt sweat breaking out on the body that was not hers.

  "Get out of the way, Theo," said Leo.

  "No, wait."

  Leo grinned crookedly. "Suddenly become a fish lover? Maybe you'd like to climb in the pool and swim around with your new boyfriend? That might be fun for you. I understand they have unfeasibly huge willies."

  "Actually, that's true," said the Cetacean Ambassador modestly.

  "Let me do it," said Zandonella quickly. "Let me kill him." She held up her own shotgun.

  "I don't care which of you boys do it, just so long as it gets done," said Mac gloomily. He seemed depressed at his failure to win over the dolphin.

  "Leave it to me," said Zandonella. "The rest of you get out of here and I'll follow."

  Leo's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What's the sudden rush?"

  "We've been hanging around here too long. The Judges could be arriving any second." As she said these words, Zandonella was praying that they were true.

  "Theo's right," said Mac. "There's no point in us staying here." He looked at the dolphin still floating calmly in the pool, as serene as a smiling Buddha. "Not now that our offer has been so peremptorily spurned," he added bitterly. He turned to the tattooed couple. "Let's get out of here and go somewhere convivial to discuss the terms of our new partnership."

  "Who says there's going to be any partnership?" said the tattooed man.

  "That's exactly what we need to discuss," beamed Mac. He had recovered his usual bonhomie. He put his hands on the shoulders of the tattooed pair and steered them towards the elevator. "I'm sure we can come to some agreement." He looked back over his shoulder. "Theo and Leo, you follow just as soon as you get rid of that uncooperative sea creature once and for all."

  "I'll see to it," said Zandonella quickly. "Leo, you take that robot you love so much and go with them." That seemed to hit an authentic note of sibling insult. "I'll catch up with you."

  "No," said Leo stubbornly. "I want to kill the dolphin."

  "Why?" said Zandonella through Theo's lips. Her exasperation was unfeigned.

  "I just want to. You got to do the abduction. You get to have all the fun."

  "Oh, for grud's sake."

  "Boys, boys," Mac called back to them.

  "I want to shoot the dolphin," said Leo petulantly. He raised his revolver and clicked the safety off. Zandonella could see that he wouldn't be swayed. She thought quickly.

  "I'll flip you for it."

  "Flip me?"

  "Sure. Have you got a coin or something?" asked Zandonella. Leo lowered his gun and began to look in his pockets. She relaxed a fraction. Now at least she had a fifty-fifty chance. As the blond moron dug out an old relic - a coin - from his pocket, his eyes gleamed meanly. She had judged the rivalry between the two brothers correctly.

  "Funnily enough, I keep this antique with me as a lucky charm. Heads or tails?" said Leo.

  "Heads," said Zandonella. Leo flipped the silver dollar coin and it sailed up in the air, glinting. She held her breath. Fifty-fifty. If it was tails, she was going to have to start shooting. First Leo. Then who? Both of the tattooed kids were dangerous, but so was the robot. She'd have to make the right decision and she'd only get one chance. She had to get it right. The robot would have faster reflexes than any human. So first Leo, then the robot, then the tattooed couple. By then there'd be no element of surprise and they'd be firing back. So after she took out the robot, she'd jump into the pool. It would make her a more difficult target. They'd have to approach the pool and she'd have the advantage. She could duck under water. Also, she'd be in position to protect the ambassador...

  All these thoughts flashed through her borrowed brain as the coin spun in the air. Leo held out the back of his hand and the coin landed on it. Leo covered it with his other hand with a slapping sound. He looked under his hand and then looked at Zandonella. Zandonella felt her throat go hollow, her whole body weightless with a rush of adrenaline, the shotgun heavy in her hand.

  "Heads," said Leo sourly. He pocketed the coin and walked away, following Mac and the tattooed couple to the elevator. The robot hurriedly clanked after him. They crowded inside, the elevator doors closed and they were gone with a rumble of ageing machinery. As simple as that.

  Zandonella dropped her shotgun and sat down on the floor. Her legs wouldn't support her any more. She laughed, quietly at first, and then at such wild volume that her laughter rang off the tiled walls. It was the bass laughter of a big man but it carried an erratic quiver of hysteria. Zandonella didn't care. She laughed until she felt utterly drained and her face was wet with tears. Then she cried for a while. It was always like this when the pressure was off after a dangerous mission.

  "Do you mind telling me what is so amusing?" said the dolphin via his voice box. Zandonella dragged herself to the edge of the pool. She was still so weak with relief she could hardly move. She sat down on the rim of the pool and let her legs dangle over into the cool water. Theo Barkin's shoes were getting soaked but she didn't care. The dolphin stared up at her with its bright intelligent eyes.

  "I'll tell you," said Zandonella. "I am not actually Theo Barkin. I'm a Psi-Judge who has jumped into his body to come to your aid. My name is Zandonella."

  "Delighted to make your acquaintance," said the dolphin with a preternatural calm that was only enhanced by the synthetic tone of the voice box. "You seem to have done your job very well."

  "Not that well," said an even more inhuman voice.

  Zandonella turned to see the robot standing there. Astonishment and disbelief pulsed through her borrowed brain. The robot had departed in the elevator and the elevator hadn't returned. She would have heard it. Then Zandonella noticed another door in the far corner of the room; a door that led to the stairway. She hadn't heard its approach but it had heard everything she had said.

  All these thoughts and more flickered through Zandonella's mind as she turned and saw the robot standing behind her. The robot was holding a streamlined riot gun with a circular magazine that looked like it held a lot of ammunition. One of the other thoughts that came to Zandonella in that instant was just how far away her own gun was, lying there on the floor halfway between her and the robot. Exactly where she'd dropped it in her
moment of relief. Bad move.

  Time for a different move.

  Zandonella threw herself forward, towards her gun. The robot began to open fire at the same time. Zandonella heard bullets sizzle overhead and drill into the far wall, shattering tile and sending fragments splashing into the swimming pool. Zandonella hit the floor, rolling. The robot adjusted its aim. Again bullets burned overhead, but closer now. She heard them plop into the swimming pool and as she rolled across the floor her mind flared with fear for the safety of the Cetacean Ambassador.

  She stopped rolling and picked up her shotgun. She could still hear the tiles at the far end of the room fragmenting and falling into the pool. The robot changed its aim, its reaction time faster than a human's, and kept firing at her. Bullets whispered past her head, chewing into the floor instead of hitting the water in the swimming pool. Good. The dolphin was safe. Zandonella raised her shotgun and took aim at the robot. The red metal skeleton swelled out at the hip, chest and head. Pick a target. Zandonella could still hear the shattering tiles spilling into the pool at the far end of the room. The noise was increasing, as though the tiles were shattering ever faster. That didn't make sense. It didn't matter. No time for that now. The robot was correcting its aim again. Now the riot gun was pointed straight at Zandonella. She aimed at the robot's chest and fired.

  The robot lurched back as it took the hit of buckshot. It hinged on its knees, its head and torso dropping backwards while its feet remained firmly planted, like a toy bending in half. Zandonella pumped her shotgun and fired again. She missed. The robot was still falling backwards. Her shot went cleanly between its spread legs and over its chest and head as they bent back to touch the floor. Behind her Zandonella could hear tiles breaking and falling into the pool along with what sounded like larger blocks of concrete. The whole wall was falling apart by the sound of it but she couldn't turn to see what was happening.

  The robot was getting back up, its head and torso rising from the floor by the force of its firmly planted legs, like a bouncy toy springing back into position. It was still clutching the riot gun. Zandonella pumped her shotgun again. Try for the head or the chest. She'd hit the chest last time and that hadn't done her much good. The robot's head was already rising back into view. That made her decision easy. She fired. The robot took the blast of shotgun pellets right in its head. The head bounced back down to the floor like a metal basketball, but it remained connected to its neck, and its neck remained connected to its shoulders, and the entire robot, solid and intact, began to rise inexorably back up. Zandonella pumped her shotgun again while a flood of cold feeling began rising up her spine. The shotgun was the wrong weapon for the job. Its barrel had been shortened which meant it lost accuracy and the pellets began to spread as soon as they left the barrel. By the time they hit the robot there wasn't enough payload to do any permanent damage. She had to get closer.

  Zandonella stepped forward. Behind her there came an almighty splash as what must have been a huge section of wall toppled into the deep end of the pool. What was happening? A few stray bullets couldn't cause damage like that. The entire wall was falling apart. No time to think of that now. The robot was bouncing back up from the floor. It was coming up with its gun first this time. Zandonella had to fire now. The shotgun blast hit the robot low in the chest box and slammed it back down. Zandonella kept moving forward. She had to get closer if she was going to deliver a killshot. Behind her there was a thunderous noise as the entire wall began to give away. Zandonella couldn't help herself. She had to look.

  As she turned around she felt a rush of cold air on her face, bringing a smell of diesel fuel with it. The air was rushing in through a hole in the wall at the far end of the room. Tiles were spinning off in all directions and large chunks of concrete were falling free. The debris spilled into the deep end of the swimming pool. The Cetacean Ambassador had fled to the shallow end and was sheltering at the bottom of the pool. A piece of wall the size of a door fell into the pool with a thunderous splash. The hole in the wall was growing, enveloped in a cloud of smoke and dust. Then a gust of air dispersed the cloud and Zandonella saw the yellow shape of the Mk 4 Pat-Wagon.

  The Mk 4 Pat-Wagon was a special penetration unit used for busting into dwellings on raids by Judges. It was a modified anti-grav bulldozer with armoured plating and turret-mounted street cannons. Normally it had seven Judges riding in it. This one had six. Judge Dredd was at the controls, the Karst sisters and Darrid sitting to his left in the gun bays. To his right sat O'Mannion and Carver. The sixth position was filled with a med-bed containing an unmoving figure.

  With a queasy dislocating shock, Zandonella recognised her own body. It wasn't a new experience, but seeing herself this way was always like a premonition of death. She turned away from the spectacle of the collapsing wall to face the robot once again. She had only looked away for a fraction of a second, but it had been too long. The robot was back on its feet and aiming at her.

  Zandonella fired. The robot fired. She saw the robot's head part company with its shoulders. A lucky shot. That should slow the bastard down. But the robot kept firing as the head bounced away across the floor. Zandonella felt bullets hit her on the arm, the shoulder and in the head.

  The world tilted and everything faded to a deep, blood-coloured haze a moment before it was swallowed by blackness.

  "Zandonella's been hit!" shouted O'Mannion as she jumped down from the perpdozer. She landed in the now muddy grey water of the swimming pool. She was standing on a jagged tangle of wreckage in the deep end of the pool: concrete blocks and twisted bars of rust-red iron from the wall. Fragments of pale green tile were scattered everywhere like leaves shed in autumn. O'Mannion dived off the mound of rubble into the murky water and started swimming across the pool, chopping through the water with desperate speed. There was a vast splash and the water in front of her frothed in a fury of bubbles. Someone else had dived in, landing in front of her. It was Dredd. He was carrying something, something as big as he was: the med-bed, with Zandonella in it. Dredd had realised the urgency of the situation.

  Zandonella, in the perp's body, was seriously wounded. They had to get her body to her and make contact before the perp's body died. Dredd was dragging the med-bed behind him as he cut through the water with powerful strokes. A blue shadow flashed up from the depths of the water, a lithe streamlined shape. It was the Cetacean Ambassador. The dolphin swam under the med-bed and pressed its head against it, propelling it through the water.

  The dolphin was pushing Zandonella's body for Dredd.

  Dredd and the dolphin reached the shallow end of the pool. Dredd scrambled out, shedding water in a spray of speed, taking the dripping med-bed with him. O'Mannion stroked desperately to catch up. As she reached the shallow end, the dolphin swam around her, ghostly and agile, grazing her with a gentle passing caress. O'Mannion reached the far end of the pool and erupted from the water, running after Dredd. He'd reached the perp's body; the black-haired Barkin brother. He was shot in the head, his skull a grisly ruin. Dredd shoved the med-bed down so that Zandonella was next to Theo Barkin.

  O'Mannion joined him, grabbed Zandonella's wet, unmoving hand and pressed it onto Barkin's body.

  "Contact," she said.

  After a PNE jump, a Psi-Judge normally received a statutory ten days off duty to recover.

  Zandonella spent the first two days asleep. She was profoundly exhausted and beyond the reach of ordinary consciousness, but she would nevertheless awake occasionally from jangled fragments of a nightmare to see the pig, Porkditz, standing in the doorway of her bedroom peering at her with every sign of concern. She found his presence reassuring and went quickly back to sleep.

  On the third and fourth days she still slept, but less deeply. She was no longer shielded by utter exhaustion and the noises of the Mega-City kept her awake. The usual urban din had been supplemented by a constant boisterous haranguing of the advertising dirigibles that floated outside her window, exhorting her to come down to her local
Wiggly Little Piggly outlet and take advantage of the special offer on all pork products, "Including Crunchy Bacon Wunchies, Down-home Dracula Cajun Blood Sausages, Offal Lot of Fun Buckets of Offal and Sweetbreads and, for this week only, special edition Spicy Ricey Chinese-Style Ribs!"

  Half a dozen other competing pork franchises were also advertising in an attempt to win themselves a slice of the obviously huge and hugely lucrative market. Zandonella had hoped the fad would have peaked by now. But if anything, the mania for the new food seemed to be on the increase. "The citizens of Mega-City One are eating Mr Piggy in a bun," as a maddening jingle from Wiggly's leading competitor, Pork Lane PLC, put it.

  On the fifth day Zandonella had recovered sufficiently enough to make some vegetarian meals for herself and Porkditz, and to watch the History Channel. Zandonella subscribed to an expensive premium pay per view channel so she only had to suffer through an ad break every five minutes or so. Virtually all the ads were for competing pig meat franchises. Wiggly Little Piggly had struck back against Pork Lane with an even more annoyingly catchy jingle: "Get some fast pork on your fork", which was so hypnotically upbeat and joyous that even Zandonella found herself humming it in unguarded moments.

  In between ads she and the pig sat through documentaries about Louis XIV, trench warfare and doomed polar explorers with handlebar moustaches. But even during these fascinating snippets of ancient history, the noise from the dirigibles outside, all advertising pork products in a cacophony of nifty slogans and jazzy jingles, was so deafening that Zandonella could hardly hear her Tri-D set. So she dug out a pair of headphones that provided the soundtrack in 17.1 surround sound while blissfully shutting out all external noise.

  Then, after a moment's guilty reflection, she dug out a second pair and fitted them carefully over Porkditz's large, delicate pink ears. He seemed to appreciate the high fidelity sound, grunting cheerfully along to the Wiggly Little Piggly jingle whenever it played. Zandonella went into the kitchen and mixed them both a large dry martini. Porkditz liked his with extra lemon rind.