Swine Fever

by Andrew Cartmel

  "Touchy," said Featherman, turning away from the photo. He loomed over Streak, who was reclining helplessly in a red leather chair which had once been used at a dentist's surgery, accommodating people receiving a different sort of voluntary torment. Featherman smiled at Streak. "He's doing a dandy job, isn't he?"

  Streak turned away from Featherman's grinning face. He tried to catch Lucky Jack's eye. "What is this creep doing here, Jack? Letting people like this into your joint only lowers the tone of the place."

  "That's not very nice, is it?" said Featherman, shaking his head mournfully. "I merely dropped by to discuss with Jack the possibility of adopting a new supplier who might be able to offer him improved service and a superior product at a lower price."

  "Superior product," sputtered Streak. "Jack, this scumbag sells the skankiest, most diseased-"

  "Diseased?" said Featherman. "Now that really is the tea pot calling the kettle black. From what I've heard, your canned pig products have to be zapped with so much radiation that you can eat them in the dark. Combination main course and table lamp. Just open the tin and cover your eyes."

  "Guys," said Jack in his gentle lisping voice, "no arguing in the shop please. Arguments bring bad vibes and bad vibes make for bad tattoos." The way he said it, it sounded like "bad tattooth". Streak always found the contrast between Jack's rugged appearance and his soft lisp puzzling. But maybe there was no puzzle. The poor guy probably had to become a body builder and develop all those muscles to stop people bullying him over his absurd lisp.

  "Of course, Jack," said Featherman silkily. "Sorry. I'd only like to note that the vibe was perfectly serviceable before our friend in the chair here arrived."

  "Wait 'til I'm finished with Streak's picture of his lady here and then we can all have a cup of coffee and discuss business in a civilised fashion," said Jack.

  "In my case, a cup of tea," said Featherman. "Perhaps that rather nice mint concoction you offered the last time we..."

  As grateful as Streak was for the sudden silence, he wanted to know why Featherman had stopped talking. He looked over at the man. Featherman was staring at the closed circuit Tri-D screen. But only for a moment. Then he flashed a quick glance back at Jack and Streak before he turned with a sudden swirl of white judo robes, and was gone, fleeing out the back door without a word.

  "What the sneck?" said Jack, looking up from the tattoo.

  Streak was staring at the Tri-D screen and seeing what Featherman had seen. Judges. Judges pouring into the front of the store. Judges and a pig, scuttling in, sniffing. Leading the Judges right behind the pig was Dredd himself. Streak leapt up from the chair, painfully grazing himself on Jack's needle as he did so.

  "Hey, Streak. Watch it," said Jack.

  But Streak was already snatching up his shirt from the chair where it hung. He fled through the back door, clutching the shirt to his bleeding chest.

  "I don't know anything about any illegal pork operation," said Lucky Jack. Zandonella felt sorry for the big tattooed man, standing there lisping his way through such obvious lies.

  Judge Dredd shook his head ominously. "Our deputy here says different." Lucky Jack looked down at Porkditz who was sitting on the floor, peacefully curled up at Zandonella's feet.

  "That's your deputy?" said Lucky Jack.

  Zandonella frowned. "What of it?"

  "Nothing, nothing," said Jack. "He's a very nice-looking pig. But I'm afraid I can't help you out with this black market pork thing. I don't sell any kind of food here. It's a tattoo parlour, for grud's sake." The way he said it, it sounded like "for grudth thake".

  "What about downstairs?" demanded Dredd.

  "Downstairs?" said Jack nervously.

  "Your basement." Dredd crossed the room to a trapdoor in the middle of the bare wooden floor. "According to schematics on file at Justice Central, the basement area of your business is twice the size of the upstairs rooms."

  "Ah, the basement," said Lucky Jack. "Actually, you see, that's nothing to do with me. I rent it out."

  "Rent it out to who?"

  "Some kind of religious group. They hold their meetings down there and..." Jack fell silent as Dredd reached down and tugged the trapdoor open. From the basement below came the clatter of cutlery, the cheerful babble of happy diners and the warm steamy smell of cooking pork.

  Dredd turned to the other Judges. "Get ready for a mass arrest." He swung down into the opening in the floor. An instant later, the happy voices and tinkle of cutlery ceased, to be replaced by shrieks and screams as the perps tried to flee the scene.

  Carver and the Karst sisters quickly followed Dredd into the hole. Zandonella stayed upstairs with Porkditz and their prisoner. Lucky Jack looked at her and said, "My grud. They're running some kind of restaurant down there. I had no idea."

  "Save it," she said.

  It took the rest of the afternoon to process the arrests of the fifty or so pork eaters who were caught red-handed in the basement of Lucky Jack's, plus of course the tattooed owner himself. By the time the processing was complete, Zandonella's shift was over and she took Porkditz home for a well-earned rest. But as soon as she stepped into her con-apt, she knew something was wrong.

  She could smell a tart, floral fragrance in the air: a trace of expensive perfume, an all too familiar perfume. Porkditz was sniffing too, trying to identify the odour with his ultra-sensitive nose. But Zandonella already knew where it was coming from. Or rather, who it was coming from.

  Psi-Judge O'Mannion was sitting on the pale blue sofa in the middle of Zandonella's living room, looking perfectly comfortable and at home. She didn't even get up as Zandonella and Porkditz came in. She smiled instead and said, "Hard day at the office?"

  "Isn't this called breaking and entering?"

  "Not when I use the copy of the domiciliary key card you're required to file at Justice Central." O'Mannion held up the card. "Hope you don't mind me making myself at home, but I got bored waiting outside."

  Zandonella sighed and sank into an armchair piled with pale blue cushions beside the window. It was the second best seat in the room. O'Mannion was sitting in the best. Porkditz came and settled at Zandonella's feet. "What is it this time?" she said.

  "You don't sound particularly enthusiastic."

  "I'm not."

  "Is that because you regard me as being invariably the harbinger of bad news?"

  "Harbinger?" said Zandonella.

  "Sort of a messenger."

  "I got it."

  "In any case, I wouldn't say it was bad news this time. In fact it could be very good news, both for you and the department."

  "Really?" said Zandonella cautiously.

  "Really. The Council of Five has devised a new strategy for the war against pork."

  "The war against pork?"

  "That's what they're calling it. Like the war against drugs."

  "I got that, too. So how do I feature in this strategy?"

  "Not as prominently as your roommate here." O'Mannion smiled at Porkditz. "You see, we've decided that Porkditz could use his nose to detect living pigs as easily as he does dead pork."

  "I suppose that's true. So what?"

  "So it would be a vastly more effective deployment of resources. Don't you see? Instead of busting all these little pork parlours one by one, like Lucky Jack's today, we can go to the source of supply and root out the problem once and for all."

  "You want to go after the factory farms."

  "That's right." O'Mannion rose from the sofa and came over to crouch beside Porkditz. She scratched him behind the ear and the pig grunted contentedly, accepting the attention. Zandonella felt an irrational flash of jealousy. O'Mannion looked up at her and smiled as if sensing this.

  "He's going to sniff them out for us."

  "I'm telling you, we've got to do something about that pig," said Blue Streak. His voice rang out loudly in the control room. Mac the Meat Man was busy scrutinising something on one of the screens and he didn't reply. Blue Belle glanced up
at Streak but she didn't say anything either. She was still sulking. He scratched the bandage on his chest. Why was she giving him the silent treatment? He was the one who'd suffered. It wasn't his fault and the damned thing still itched like hell.

  No one said anything for a long moment. There were just the three of them here at the factory farm today - along with tens of thousands of pigs, of course. Leo and his beloved robot were off on some mission. Streak cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

  Belle pulled on latex gloves then took a syringe and a sealed sterile bottle of antibiotics out of the medical supplies kit which lay open on one of the folding tables. Mac kept staring at the screens high on the wall above them. Most of the screens featured silent, monochrome images of pigs. Pigs waiting in masses in the waiting areas, breeding in the breeding rooms, and being killed in the killing chutes. But the particular screen Mac was watching showed a different image, a coloured map of the Mega-City. Mac zoomed in on a certain neighbourhood and studied it for a moment in frowning concentration, his furry white eyebrows pressing together like kissing caterpillars. He then turned to Streak and said politely, "Sorry?"

  "We have to do something about that pig," repeated Streak.

  "I'm doing something," said Belle impatiently. She finished filling the syringe, put the bottle back into the med-kit, and turned to the big slumbering shape that seemed to fill half the room. Lying there on the floor, snoring from time to time with a soft, almost human sound, was a full grown female pig with a brass ring in her nose and the words "Satan's Sow" tattooed on her back in large letters. Streak had done the tattooing to make her easier to identify. On the screens, all pigs tended to look the same, and they didn't want this one going down the killing chutes by accident. Giving her the markings made her distinctive. Streak had borrowed Lucky Jack's tattooing needles for the job. Now he felt a hot flush of shame thinking about Jack and remembering how he had abandoned him that day, leaving him to face the Judges. He forced the memory from his mind.

  "Not that pig," he said. "The one the Judges are using to sniff out illegal pork rings."

  "Mmm, pork rings," said Mac jovially. "Sounds like a delicious new snack." He turned away from the screens and smiled at Streak and Belle. If he keeps smiling at her like that, thought Streak, I'm going to kill him.

  "Who cares if the Judges are using this pig?" said Belle. She went to the sleeping pig and stuck the syringe into its back, pushing the plunger down to send the antibiotics racing into the animal's bloodstream. The sow snorted in her anaesthetised slumber. "There, as good as new." Belle threw the disposable syringe into a bin and snapped off her latex gloves. "What does it matter if a few crappy little pork joints get busted?"

  Mac shook his head. "As it happens, my dear, Streak is correct. We should be concerned about this pig the Judges are using."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's no longer just a 'few crappy little pork joints,' as you put it, which he is sniffing out. In the week since Lucky Jack was arrested, the Judges have changed their tactics. They've been using the pig to detect larger operations. Supply operations. In a word, pork farms."

  "Like us?" said Belle.

  "Precisely like us."

  "That's what I've been saying," said Streak. "We should do something about that pig. I've been saying so ever since they took down poor Jack."

  "Poor Jack?" said Belle, a rising note of fury in her voice. She strode over to Streak and, before he could do anything to stop her, she tore the bandage off his chest. Streak started to cover it with his hands, but what was the point? He let his hands drop to his sides and let them both stare at the tattoo.

  After a moment Mac said, "Uh, it's a very... a very fine likeness. Jack did a fine job." Belle said nothing.

  Streak stared down at the tattoo. It was indeed a very fine likeness of Belle's face, exactly as Lucky Jack had done it just before the Judges busted in.

  "Except for the, uh..."

  "Except for the moustache," snapped Belle.

  Streak felt himself redden with shame. There was indeed what looked like a moustache, a bold curving blue line, across the upper lip of Belle's tattooed face. It was the mark made by Lucky Jack's needle when Streak had jumped from the chair and fled. He put the bandage back on his chest, covering this permanent memento of his cowardice. It was like a moustache on the Mona Lisa. Belle hated it.

  Mac broke the awkward silence. "You're quite right, Streak. You have been saying we should do something about the Judges' pig. But we don't want to act too soon."

  "Why not?" asked Streak. His face was still burning with embarrassment.

  "Because all the factory farms they've detected so far have been run by our rivals. Mostly by Featherman."

  "That bastard," said Streak.

  "Right, my boy. So you see, it's been good business practise to let the Judges close them down. Allows us a bigger share of the market. But now..." Mac turned back to the screen with the map glowing on it. Streak saw that it was a street map of the municipal swamp area. "Now they're getting too close for comfort."

  "Then why don't we do something about it?" demanded Streak. There was a sudden buzzing noise and a series of red lights flashed on the control panel. It was the sound of the airlock being activated.

  Mac turned and smiled at Streak. "We are, son, we are. That's exactly what Leo and his metallic friend have been doing. And now they're back." He turned to Belle. "Is she ready, our prize sow?"

  Belle smacked the pig on its rump. The pig trembled and opened its eyes, groggily coming out of its anaesthetic daze. "She's fine," said Belle. "She's got enough antibiotics in her to keep her going another month or two."

  "That's just grand," said Mac. "We wouldn't want her picking up an infection. She's our number one Judas pig. Take her back to the holding sheds, would you, my dear?"

  "Come on, fatty," said Belle, tying a length of cord to the pig's nose ring and pulling on it. The pig tottered to her feet and followed Belle towards the door, still moving a little unsteadily from the after effects of the dope. But before Belle could push the door control, someone opened it from the other side.

  Standing in the doorway were Leo and his robot. At their feet was a little pink pig who wore a miniature replica of a Judge's badge on a ribbon around his neck. The badge read "Porkditz". The little pig and the big sow stared at each other.

  Leo grinned and said, "Porkditz, meet Satan's Sow."

  The little pig lowered his head and squealed forlornly.

  "What?" said Zandonella.

  "Look, just calm down," said O'Mannion.

  "He's been kidnapped?"

  "No, of course he hasn't been kidnapped. Only human beings can be kidnapped. He's been stolen, technically speaking."

  "He is an intelligent creature. He has been kidnapped."

  "All right, all right. Just calm down." O'Mannion paused to look at Zandonella. Both Judges were standing in the corridor outside the briefing room in Justice Central. There was no one else in sight. For a moment it seemed as if O'Mannion might drop her sardonic façade and offer some sympathy. But the moment passed.

  "What's happening to him now?" Zandonella tried to control her trembling voice.

  "We can't know and there's no point in trying to guess. But they didn't kill him outright. They took him alive. There's hope in that."

  "He looked so cute, with his little badge..."

  "Pull yourself together, Judge," said O'Mannion in a cold, cutting voice.

  Zandonella looked at her, blinking away tears. "I should have never agreed to him going out on patrol without me."

  "Don't be ridiculous. You had other duties to attend to. Porkditz was a valuable resource who had to be shared throughout the department."

  "I should never have let him go out with those idiots Carver and Darrid."

  "There you may have a point," said O'Mannion. "But don't say anything when we go inside. It's unprofessional for one Judge to publicly criticise other Judges." There was a glint of humour
in her foxy eyes. "Or physically attack them."

  They stepped into the briefing room. Carver and Darrid were sitting waiting for them at the table; a cylindrical ebony slab made of shining black wood. They shot Zandonella identical guilty glances. At least Carver had the good grace to try and stammer out an apology. "We're sorry about what happ-"

  "Exactly what did happen?" Zandonella interrupted.

  "There was nothing we could have done," blustered Darrid. "There was nothing anybody could have done."

  "I doubt that," said O'Mannion. "Where was Judge Dredd?"

  "We'd just supervised a big bust at one of Featherman's factory farms in Baden Powell Park. It was a combined operation: farm, farm shop and restaurant."

  "Farm shop?"

  "They were selling salamis," said Carver. His voice had a certain nostalgic tremor, but when he saw the way Zandonella was looking at him, he quickly added, "It was disgusting."

  "The point is," said Darrid, "we had numerous perps to process; several hundred in fact. So Judge Dredd was busy supervising that. But we didn't have anything else to do and we..."

  "Decided to act on your own initiative," said O'Mannion acidly.

  "Yes. That's right. We took Porkditz out to see if he could sniff out any further black market meat operations in the area. He seemed to pick up a trail right away. In fact, he took off so quickly that we had trouble keeping up with him."

  "He ran away from you," said Zandonella bluntly.

  Darrid frowned at her. "You should have trained that pig better. It's your own damned fault."

  "Judge Darrid," said Dredd in a dangerous voice. Zandonella looked up with a start. She hadn't seen him enter the room.

  "We were hurrying after him," said Carver. "And we were about to catch up with him."

  "But then there was this explosion," said Darrid. "The gruddamned Peace Pagoda in the middle of the park was blown to pieces."

  "A diversionary explosion," said Dredd. "Exactly the same ploy they used when they kidnapped the Cetacean Ambassador." He didn't bother to disguise the contempt in his voice.