Swine Fever

by Andrew Cartmel

  This was not a totally inappropriate result for a craft whose pilot was drifting into unconsciousness while pigs ran wild in the cockpit.

  The flashing lights woke up the three drunken pigs and they attacked the sow, jumping on her and dragging her away from the control panel. That was the last thing Streak saw before a big red pulse filled his head and he was gone.

  The sound of the mayday signal continued to reverberate throughout the cockpit, as it pulsed out to receivers in all directions.

  "I'm going to take this glove off."

  "You can't do that."

  "The damned thing is hurting my wrist."

  "Do I need to remind you that you need the glove? The glove is waterproof."

  "The glove is uncomfortable. The glove is killing me."

  "Your hand is made out of metal and is it a good idea to expose a metal hand full of expensive micro-electronics to the water of a swimming pool? No, it is not."

  Esma did not reply. She sighed with disgust and then let herself float away from her sister. The swimming pool was a large, irregularly shaped "lagoon" with plastic boulders and real palm trees fringing the water. The floor of the lagoon was blue neon under glass, which caused the water to glow eerily. Beyond the palm trees Tykrist could see the rooftop of the building, and beyond that, the purple sky of the Mega-City night.

  At the centre of the lagoon was a plastic island with a large house of glass set on it. Inside the glass house, activity was revealed on three floors where shrouded figures in lime green radiation suits and yellow goggles hurried around, attending to the everyday business of running a large nuclear reactor. Every corner of the glass house was full of flourishing green plants that seemed to be thriving in the warm humid atmosphere and possibly also the stray radiation. Dotted around the glass house's island and on the outer perimeter of the pool were diving boards and towers containing lifeguards wearing full-body radiation suits and goggles.

  Esma and Tykrist were situated between a diving board and a lifeguard tower, lolling in balmy shallows beside a plastic pirate's chest that gaped half open to reveal plastic gold coins and jewels. "Look at that," said Esma suddenly. "It's Carver."

  Tykrist looked across the pool to see Judge Carver wading shyly towards them, wearing lividly gaudy swimming shorts.

  "What's he doing here? He must be off duty."

  "He doesn't have a bad six pack," said Esma.

  "Just so long as he doesn't start farting," said Tykrist.

  "Oh ugh, yes, can you imagine it, bubbling up in the water?"

  "It's the synthetic crap he eats. I'm beginning to wish they'd make pork legal again."

  "What kind of talk is that?" cried a jovial voice. Tykrist and her sister turned in surprise to see Judge Darrid in the water a couple of metres away, wading inexorably towards them, his pale pot belly, sparsely matted with wiry grey hairs, jutting in the water like the prow of a ship in front of him. He was wearing a pair of swim shorts even more garish and hideous than Carver's. Above and below the painfully brilliant colours of the shorts, his bulging belly and spindly legs were slug white. "Legalise pork? That's no way for a couple of Judges to be talking. Especially two such beautiful ones."

  "What are you doing here, Darrid?" demanded Esma.

  "They gave us the rest of the night off. We were supposed to be assisting Dredd on one of his crackpot, hare-brained schemes. It went wrong, of course. Turned into a fiasco. Poor planning, as usual. And after, they gave us the rest of the night off. Me and young Carver." He nodded to the distant edge of the pool where Carver had stopped in his tracks. He had spotted Darrid and looked as mortified as the sisters.

  Darrid moved closer to the women, his bulging paunch threatening to touch them. Both sisters bobbed back in alarm. "This Aquatomic pool is quite something, isn't it?" And he proceeded to give an utterly unnecessary explanation of how the pool worked.

  "You see, the water flows in there under the reactor complex, and some of it is turned into steam, and some of it flows through the cooling bays where it cools the reactor and circulates back out, making the water nice and warm for us, and keeping the reactor at a safe temperature." He went on and on, endlessly explicating the obvious. "And they take the power they produce with the steam and sell it to the grid," he concluded. He tapped his nose. "Shrewd business sense, that."

  Then, suddenly and awfully, Darrid ran out of small talk, like a machine grinding to a halt. There was a terrible, awkward silence while Darrid stared at the sisters, panic growing in his eyes. He had no idea what to say to them and the sisters felt the embarrassment as acutely as he did. Finally Darrid clapped his shaking hands together and said, with mortifying forced cheeriness, "Now why the hell doesn't Carver get his smelly butt over here and join us?"

  Carter was still standing on the other side of the pool. But he wasn't looking at them. He was staring up into the sky. Tykrist followed his gaze. Then Esma and Darrid looked up. Soon they were all staring at the same thing, a long grey craft with Russian symbols painted in white on the side. It was some kind of shuttle and it was hurtling through the sky, towards the Aquatomic rooftop.

  "Why, that damned fool has dropped out of the traffic pattern," said Darrid, squinting upwards. "It's a disgrace, driving like that. Somebody should arrest him. I'd do it myself if I wasn't off duty."

  The shuttlecraft grew larger, dropping like a stone. "Doesn't the damn fool know this is a no-fly zone?" said Darrid indignantly. "After all, it's a nuclear power plant." He edged closer to Tykrist, making a transparent attempt to stare down the top of her swimsuit. She automatically edged away as she continued to stare up into the night sky.

  As the shuttle fell towards the rooftop, a second shape appeared in the night above it. It was a small, glowing shape trailing a tremulous lavender flame. "Why, it's a jet pack," announced Carver. "Some other damned fool is getting in the way with a jet pack. It's not bad enough we have this clown who can't park his shuttle but now there's this joker. We're getting them all tonight."

  "It's a Judge," said Esma, staring up at the figure in the jet pack as it swooped towards the dropping shuttlecraft.

  "It's Dredd," said Tykrist. The figure with the jet pack had matched velocities with the shuttlecraft. The lavender flame cut out as Dredd dropped towards the shuttle and seized hold of hand grips on its hull. He was now clinging to the vessel as it fell, like an ant on a watermelon.

  "What the hell does he think he's doing?" demanded Darrid, answering himself an instant later. "He's using the emergency access shuttle. He's going on board. What the drokk?"

  Dredd disappeared inside the shuttle which continued to plummet towards the rooftop. Tykrist looked down from the falling craft to the point where it was going to hit: right on top of the glass house containing the nuclear reactor. Her mouth went dry and hollow, and a cold feeling began to spread across her stomach. She started to silently formulate a prayer. Then the shuttle twitched in the air, altered the course of its fall, and began to move under its own power again.

  It pulled out of the dive, clearing the roof of the glass house by two or three metres, rising back into the night sky to circle cautiously, then rejoin the traffic pattern.

  Darrid watched these events with a sour, discontented expression. Finally, he shook his head. "Imagine Dredd getting involved in a trivial traffic violation like that. You'd think he'd have better things to do, what with Psi-Judge Zandonella missing and in danger and all. And using the jet pack like that. Flagrant misuse of departmental resources. The egotistical show-off. Someone should report him..."

  FOURTEEN

  Zandonella only spent one night in the med-bay, back in her own body and recovering from her recent ordeal. She was discharged the following morning and arrived back at her con-apt to find Porkditz waiting for her. The pig followed her happily into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of gin.

  "We never did get a drink on the shuttlecraft," she said. The pig grunted happily, as if he understood her, and h
e watched avidly as she dug out the ice and vermouth and a lemon. She mixed and poured two generous dry martinis, setting one on the floor for Porkditz. "You saved my life, you know," she said.

  He looked up at her brightly, snorted once, and began to lap up the drink. The doorbell rang and Zandonella sighed and set her own glass down beside the sink. She wasn't surprised to see O'Mannion there, but Judge Dredd was with her and so were Carver and Darrid, both looking sheepish. They must have learned how close they'd been to a radioactive death at the swimming pool last night.

  "Come in," said Zandonella. "We were just having a little victory celebration." She looked for Porkditz but he remained in the kitchen, shyly hiding.

  "You deserve it," said O'Mannion, stepping into the living room. "With your help we've crushed the biggest black market pork ring in the Mega-City. Tell her the good news, Dredd."

  Judge Dredd shrugged. "The Council of Five has decided that you will receive a decoration for uncommon valour."

  "A decoration? You mean a medal?"

  "Correct."

  Zandonella discovered that, despite herself, she was glowing with pride. "When is the ceremony?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon. It will be held in the rooftop forest we seized from Featherman," said O'Mannion. "In fact, it's going to be the site of the departmental picnic. All the Judges involved in the recent crackdown on pork will be invited to attend." She scrutinised Zandonella. "You'll be expected to attend and to receive your medal."

  "Of course," said Zandonella happily. "Will I have to make a speech?"

  "No," said Dredd.

  "Perfect." Zandonella smiled at them. Why did they all look so glum?

  "That's the end of the good news," said O'Mannion. "Now for the bad news."

  "What do you mean?"

  Dredd looked at her. His face was expressionless. "The Council of Five has studied your report very closely."

  "I imagine so," said Zandonella. There was something in his voice that chilled her, and she responded with an edge of sarcasm as she spoke. "I imagine that's why they're giving me a medal."

  "And you deserve it, Judge. But what concerns us here is the Council's conclusions concerning the mutant pigs."

  The chill that Zandonella felt suddenly deepened. "What conclusions?"

  "It's clear from their attempt to blow up the Aquatomics nuclear reactor that the pigs are even more intelligent than we suspected."

  "Than you suspected," said Zandonella acidly.

  "More intelligent," continued Dredd, "and much more dangerous."

  There was silence in the small room. Zandonella thought she could hear Porkditz moving around quietly in the kitchen. Her mouth was so dry she found it hard to speak. "So what?" she managed to say.

  O'Mannion shrugged. She looked tired. "The combination of high intelligence with the desire for revenge against human beings..."

  "Well of course they want revenge," snapped Zandonella. "We've been torturing them and slaughtering them and eating them for generations."

  O'Mannion sighed. "I'll get to the point. The Council has decided that the mutant pigs are too dangerous to be allowed to roam free in the Mega-City."

  "So what are you saying?" said Zandonella. "That they'll be exiled to the Cursed Earth?"

  Once again there was silence in the living room. "No," said Dredd finally. "That's not what we're saying." He looked her in the eye. "The Council of Five is still mindful of the nutritional value of the mutant pork."

  "Nutritional value?" said Zandonella. But her voice was only a whisper.

  "That, combined with the intelligence and the obvious hostility of the pigs towards humans, a hostility which your report describes in detail, Judge Zandonella, has led the Council of Five to a decision."

  "Oh no," said Zandonella.

  "Is that pig you call Porkditz here, Judge?" Dredd's cold gaze bored into her. Zandonella nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Dredd signalled to Carver and Darrid. They moved towards the kitchen.

  "No." said Zandonella. Carver and Darrid wouldn't meet her gaze. They disappeared into the kitchen and a moment later they reappeared, dragging Porkditz by his hind legs. The little pig was agitated and squealing so loudly it hurt her ears. Zandonella tried to go to him, but Judge Dredd restrained her. Carver and Darrid dragged the squealing Porkditz out the front door. Just before the door slid shut Porkditz's gaze met Zandonella's, his eyes intelligent and imploring and hopeless.

  Zandonella began to cry. Judge O'Mannion touched her on the shoulder briefly and headed for the door. She was gone in an instant, eager to be on her way. Only Dredd was left in the con-apt. He looked down at Zandonella.

  "You'll be there for the ceremony tomorrow, Judge," he said. "No excuses."

  It was a beautiful warm day with just enough breeze to blow the pollution away and leave a clear blue sky above Featherman's forest where there had once been a plastic dome. The only fumes were those rising in hot smoky waves from the barbecue pit. They rose to combine with the clean green astringency of pine scent from the surrounding trees.

  In a patch of sunlight in a clearing in the forest stood the tank of the Cetacean Ambassador. The dolphin was in the middle of a speech that was being broadcast from speakers rigged in trees all over the rooftop. Among the hundred or so Judges present was Psi-Judge Zandonella, standing erect and tall in her dress uniform, the bright yellow and blue ribbon of her new medal fluttering on her chest.

  The dolphin's voice came from the speakers, sonorous and mellow in its human translation. "I am here to congratulate all of Mega-City's Judges on their successful battle against the vendors of black market pork. You are here to enjoy a well-earned reward in the form of symbolic honours," the dolphin glanced at Zandonella, "and ritual feasting. But you may be asking yourself why I am here, with my tank and translator, when my people so recently insisted on citizens' rights for that same mutant pork." The dolphin spun in his tank, looking at the Judges ranked in front of him. Near Zandonella stood the Karst sisters, Carver and Darrid, and Judge Dredd, tall and implacable.

  "My advocacy on behalf of the pigs was based on their unquestionable intelligence," said the dolphin. "What I and my people didn't know at the time was that this intelligence was bent purely on destruction and bloodshed: blind, vicious vengeance against all human beings, as senseless as a shark among the infants of the pod. Just as the pod must protect itself against the shark, you must protect yourself against the threat constituted by these intelligent swine."

  The Cetacean Ambassador paused for a moment. The breeze carried the cooking smells from the barbecue pit to the waiting line of Judges. O'Mannion glanced at Zandonella and then looked away again. "The wise and pragmatic decision of your Council," said the dolphin, "is to legalise once and for all the consumption of pork in the environs of the Mega-City. This is a most shrewd judgement, since it allows exploitation of a rich source of food while also ridding you of a threat. You are going to eat your enemies."

  The dolphin paused, bubbles rising in his tank. "I and my people are also pragmatists and applaud the elegant economy of that solution. What's more, your Council of Five has decided that as the factory pigs are reared for slaughter and prepared for your tables, they will also be dumbed-down by genetic manipulation so that future generations won't prove so troublesome. The gene sequence for their reduced IQ is to be taken from a human source: the Mega-City's least bright - but most tractable - citizens."

  There was laughter and sporadic applause from the Judges. The merry smile on the Cetacean Ambassador's face seemed to grow wider. "Let the festivities begin! While I feast on snow crab generously provided by your city, you shall celebrate with a special barbecue."

  There was loud and sustained applause from the Judges for a minute or two, then people began to make their way to the barbecue pit and return with full plates. The sizzle and smell of pork floated lavishly on the air. Zandonella turned and walked away from the pit and the cooking smells, passing among the pine trees. In a moment she came to another cl
earing full of sunlight. In the golden light a team of caterers were busy laying out glinting cutlery and white linen napkins on a wide table with a red and white checked cloth spread across it. Food was heaped in the centre of the table. Zandonella realised she had stumbled onto the VIP's table. But before she could turn to go, one of the caterers set a wide silver platter down on the table. On the platter was a pig's head, roasted, with a cooked apple in its mouth. Even with the apple, the gaping mouth and the closed eyes, the pig's face was unmistakable. Zandonella could still hear the screams he had made as he was dragged from her con-apt.

  She turned and blundered blindly out of the clearing, back through the trees, fleeing what she had seen. She emerged from the forest and almost collided with Carver, who was carrying a plate stacked high with roast pork. He stared at Zandonella who stood trembling in front of him. "Would you like something to eat?" he said.

  "Eat?" said Zandonella.

  "Sure. Why don't you try some?" He dug a fork into a thick slice of pork and offered it to her. Judge Zandonella said nothing. She just turned and walked away from him, away from the other Judges, and away from the greasy smell of the barbecue.

  "What's the matter with her?" said Carver.

  The rich aromatic smoke rose up from the pit and disappeared into the clear blue sky.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Andrew Cartmel was the script editor of the legendary science fiction epic Doctor Who before moving on to become senior script editor on another BBC hit, Casualty, which he helped to launch on its record breaking run. His television career also encompasses a stint as lead writer on the cult sword and sorcery classic Dark Knight for Five. Outside the realm of television, he has also scripted comics for 2000 AD and for Marvel UK, written a successful stage thriller, End of the Night, and has published several novels, including The Wise.