Kingdom of the Blind

by David Bishop

  Still without his weapons, he was forced to improvise while dealing with the rest of the crew. Two more Med-Judges fell before Dredd's physical onslaught, allowing him access to the med-wagon's small onboard armoury. Inside the locker was a tranq gun for dealing with out of control patients, three grenades of stumm gas and a daystick. "Very resourceful," Kara offered by way of commentary for his action. "I can see why so many perps fear you."

  "Why did you switch back to communicating by radio?" Dredd asked. "Telepathy is more private, less likely to be intercepted."

  "The PSU is too busy chasing its own tail to even think of looking for this signal," Kara replied. "Soon I'll be too far away for psi talents to be effective, even with my power. Now get on with your task!" Dredd pulled his respirator back down over his nose and mouth before releasing stumm gas into the vehicle's air conditioning system. He burst into the cockpit twenty seconds later to find the pilot and copilot both unconscious. The med-wagon was slowly tipping forwards, dropping into a steep dive.

  "I'd get the nose up, if I were you," Kara suggested snidely. "Otherwise you'll make a hell of a mess when you crash into that building ahead."

  Dredd glanced up to see St Peter Root Hospital filling the windows of the med-wagon. He dragged the pilot out of the way and pulled back on the controls. The vehicle's descent slowed as the nose began clawing its way upwards again, but the hospital was getting closer by the second. The med-wagon would never get enough height to clear the building.

  "Think fast, Joe!" Kara shouted. "Ten seconds to impact!"

  Dredd gritted his teeth and yanked the controls sideways, sending the med-wagon into a desperate banking manoeuvre. Still the hospital grew nearer, close enough to see through the windows. Patients inside were screaming in terror as the vehicle hurtled towards them.

  Kara kept up her running commentary, teasing and taunting Dredd. "Five seconds to impact, Joe! Four! Three!"

  "Shut the drokk up!" Dredd shouted over her words, his body shaking as the med-wagon tried to tear itself apart in protest at the near impossible change in direction, G-force dragging the skin across his face.

  "Two seconds! One!"

  The med-wagon hurtled over the front of the hospital, the base of the vehicle just scraping the outer wall in a shower of sparks. Then it was gone, flying freely through the air again. Dredd righted the controls, gasping for breath as the med-wagon levelled out again.

  "Well, that was exciting!" Kara said breathlessly. "I'm feeling all a-tingle."

  "I did what you asked," Dredd growled. "Now release me."

  "Sorry, but the fun's just getting started. Find a quiet place to land - a dust zone or something similar. Then we shall begin the hunt."

  On Justice Seven, the lighting, life support and guidance systems were back online. But propulsion and manoeuvering remained disabled, and without them the orbital platform was heading for a fiery death. Scattergood was reporting this status to the Chief Judge via a scratchy audio-only connection.

  "Everyone's performing miracles up here, ma'am, but it may not be enough," the commander conceded.

  "What about the escape pods? In a worst case scenario you can still get the crew off before re-entry, can't you?" Hershey asked.

  "Only half the pods are still functional. We lost the rest when the energy pulse fired," Scattergood reported grimly. The Chief Judge's voice kept fading in and out, overwhelmed by white noise and interference. "For the love of grud, somebody stabilise that signal!"

  Hershey's voice phased back into audible range. "-did you say, commander? Your signal is breaking up and-"

  "Stomm!" Scattergood spat out in frustration. "Now we've lost her altogether!" She slammed a robotic fist through the comms unit, destroying any chance of reinstating radio control soon. The commander looked round the control room to see most of her staff watching. "Nobody said stop working!"

  "Ma'am! I think I've found the problem," a voice cried out.

  "Who said that?" Scattergood demanded.

  A hand appeared from beneath a console unit. "Over here!"

  The commander stomped across to find Grissom's face protruding from beneath a mess of wiring and circuitry. The PSU analyst was clutching two blackened connections.

  "Well?" Scattergood asked tersely.

  "We've tested most of the routing systems. This is just an auxiliary, but it could give us a bypass for the-"

  "Speak English, Grissom - I'm a street Judge, not a Tek!"

  "Yes, ma'am." The analyst swallowed hard. "If I reconnect these two junctions it will either restart propulsion and manoeuvring or... disable everything on board. Probably for good."

  Scattergood glanced round the others. "Anybody got a better idea?" Nobody answered. The commander looked back down at Grissom. "Do it!"

  Grissom pushed the two connections together, closing his eyes as they made contact. For a moment nothing happened, then control panels began surging back into life. "Did it work?" the analyst asked meekly.

  Scattergood smiled as she dragged Grissom to his feet. "We're back in business! Now, let's find the satellite that fired the energy beam and take it out of action - permanently."

  The Chief Judge was shouting at Control, exasperation evident in her voice. "For the love of grud, how hard can it be to re-establish contact with Justice Seven? Do I have to do everything myself?"

  "Sorry, ma'am. All radio contact has been lost with that location."

  "What does that mean? Has it already burnt up on re-entry?"

  "No, ma'am. Justice Seven is still showing on our system. Looks like they've restored motive power. Manoeuvring thrusters are firing too. We just can't talk to them at the moment."

  "Let me know when we can. Hershey out!" The Chief Judge deactivated the comms unit in her office and slumped back into her chair. Only a few seconds passed before the comms unit was calling for her attention again, the screen flashing up AUDIO ONLY. "What the drokk is it now, Control?"

  But the voice that answered did not belong to Justice Department. It was male, authoritative and richly resonant. "Feeling under pressure, Chief Judge? I am sorry to hear that. Things getting out of hand, I believe."

  "Who is this?" Hershey demanded. "How did you-"

  "Never mind about that for now, my dear lady. You shouldn't get bogged down in the details. As leader of Mega-City One you would be better devoting your time to the bigger picture, preparing for the chaos to come."

  "Bludd!"

  "How gratifying it is to be recognised by a woman of such importance."

  "Spare me the sarcasm, scumbag. What do you want?"

  "Scumbag? I hardly think that's called for, or advisable, considering I can decimate large sections of your city and its people in seconds."

  "It's your city too, Bludd," Hershey replied.

  "Not anymore. I have departed the Big Meg, with no immediate intention of returning. Knowing what is still to come tonight, it seemed the safest course of action. Alas, such measures are not available to you."

  "You've been dropping hints and making veiled threats all day. Why should I believe this one? Your so-called strike team didn't get within twenty blocks of the extradition treaty negotiations."

  "I would have thought the destruction of Joe Chill Block clearly established my bona fides. I can organise another such demonstration if-"

  "That won't be necessary," Hershey snapped.

  "Very well, then. Don't suffer from any illusion I may be bluffing, Chief Judge. I am quite serious in what I am about to say - deadly serious. Unless the Justice Department transfers one hundred billion credits into an untraceable offworld account of my choosing before midnight, your city will be plunged into a crisis that makes Necropolis look like inclement weather."

  "You're blackmailing us?"

  "I prefer to think of it as an insurance policy."

  "It's extortion, plain and simple."

  Bludd chuckled to himself. "We can argue about semantics all you wish, Chief Judge, but it will get you no closer to saving
your city. The time is now approaching 9:30 pm. That leaves you a little over one hundred and fifty minutes to pull together the sum I require and complete the transfer."

  "Even if I wanted to do as you ask, that isn't enough time."

  "Don't insult my intelligence!" Bludd snarled, all humour suddenly draining from his voice. "Your precious Justice Department spends that much on covert operations in other mega-cities every year. Divert some funding, be inventive... A little creative accounting can do wonders."

  "The Justice Department does not negotiate with terrorists or criminals," the Chief Judge maintained.

  "Then I hope history will forgive you for such a foolish policy. I will call in ninety minutes with the account details you require, then once more at midnight. If the transfer I have asked for is not completed before the deadline, the consequences will be more terrible than you can imagine. Goodbye."

  The comms unit went dead. Hershey quickly reactivated it, calling the head of the PSU. His stern face appeared on the Tri-D screen. "Niles, I've just had a call from Bludd. He stayed on the line for several minutes. Were you able to run a trace?"

  "Negative, ma'am. Systems are still recovering from the energy beam."

  "Drokk it!" Hershey slammed a fist down on her desk. "Then perhaps you can tell me how that punk was able to call direct to my office?"

  "Security is shot to hell across the comms network, a side effect of that strike on Joe Chill. Bludd must have known that would happen, so he's using it to his advantage. It'll be midnight before we're secure again."

  "What about the spy-in-the-sky network? Creep suggested he was shifting operations offworld. Where did he go after leaving Dredd at the diner?"

  "We lost him in the confusion after..."

  "What happened at Joe Chill."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "He's still winning the game," Hershey said wearily. "We've only got one trick up our sleeve and no way of playing it, unless we can find Bludd."

  "I'm sorry, I don't follow you, ma'am."

  Hershey realised she had been thinking out loud. "Never mind. Does the PSU know Dredd's location? We may need him after all."

  "He went missing twenty minutes ago, along with the med-wagon taking him for treatment. It nearly flew into St Peter Root Hospital, then disappeared. No reports of a med-wagon crashing yet. Sorry, ma'am, I thought you knew. We've got search teams looking for wreckage in surrounding sectors."

  The Chief Judge shook her head despondently. "Contact the Council of Five, along with Shenker from Psi-Division. I'm calling an emergency meeting here at the Grand Hall, beginning in an hour. We need to know what Bludd has planned for midnight and we need to be ready for it. Hershey out!"

  "The rules of the hunt are simple," Kara said via Dredd's helmet radio. "You have two and a half hours to reach the Grand Hall of Justice. You are not permitted to speak to another Judge, nor use any code to ask for their help. You cannot use any Justice Department vehicle to assist your journey. You cannot call Control or relay a message to Control via a third party. You cannot remove your helmet. Break any of the rules and we will detonate the explosive charge embedded within the disc attached to your helmet. You are currently..." Kara's voice trailed away for a second before returning. "You are currently twenty-one miles from your destination. Marathon runners are expected to cover greater distances in less time, so it shouldn't be a problem for you. Of course, most marathon runners don't start the race covered in rapi-heal patches."

  "What's the catch?"

  "Four members of the strike team that raided the Dustbuster earlier today are going to hunt you to death. Other than that, I foresee no great impediment to your journey," Kara said cheerfully. "Except one. That disc on the side of your helmet, it's also a homing beacon for the hunters to follow."

  "Why are you doing this?" Dredd demanded.

  "It's just a little diversion to keep my lover and I amused while we wait for the Justice Department to pay our ransom."

  "What ransom?"

  "Enough questions, Dredd, it's time for the hare to begin running from the hounds. Reach the steps of the Grand Hall in time and you're safe. Otherwise... let's just say it's been nice knowing you."

  "This isn't over," Dredd vowed. "You can run, but you can't hide from me!"

  "You're the one doing the running, remember?"

  The helmet radio fell silent. Normally it transmitted a constant, low level hum of updates and information from Control. Now there was just quiet. Dredd had landed the med-wagon in an abandoned dust zone. He made a final check on the crew before emerging into the cool night air. Bullets thudded into the ground at his feet, sending him tumbling backwards into the vehicle. At least one of the hunters had already found their prey.

  Dredd used the med-wagon's infrared scanners to locate his enemy. A squat heat flare appeared at the edge of the dust zone, moving towards the vehicle. Judging from the size of the image it had to be Sanderson the dwarf. "The sooner I get out of here, the safer the crew will be," Dredd said to himself. Looking round the cockpit of the med-wagon, he noticed a lever beside the pilot's chair marked EJECTOR SEAT.

  It was against safety regs to operate such a device while on the ground. The seat would be flung a hundred metres into the air, not giving the parachute enough time to fill with air before impact. But Sanderson was closing in fast and another figure was approaching from the opposite side. It was now or never. Dredd sat down in the pilot's chair and began buckling himself in. He reached a hand towards the ejector seat lever.

  Fincher was looking forward to killing Dredd. It had irked him enormously to let the Judge walk untouched into the diner earlier, but orders were orders and contradicting Bludd was only for the suicidal. When Kara had told the strike team about the hunting party contest with Dredd as their quarry, Fincher couldn't wait to get started. Bludd had offered no prize for the winner, but he didn't need to. Any bounty hunter who could produce the corpse of Mega-City One's most famous lawman would be set for life, just by collecting the many rewards offered by the underworld for Dredd's demise.

  Then there were the fringe benefits. Become the man who killed Dredd and you could pick and choose bounty hunting assignments, charging any fee imaginable. Better yet, your name would become legend, forever associated with the murder of Old Stony Face. It was a sort of immortality, Fincher decided. Not to mention the added pulling power such kudos would give him with the ladies. Oh yes, he was determined to claim the prize for all those reasons.

  But most of all, Fincher liked killing. The expatriate from Brit-Cit enjoyed the terror in his victims' eyes as he flayed the skin off their still-living bodies: the agony of their pain as he cut and sliced and mutilated them, the sickly sweet taste of their blood as it spattered his face and hands. Fincher's murderous ways found an outlet by killing and maiming for the Brit-Cit criminal underworld.

  Having grown bored with the quality of victim on offer in his homeland, the young Brit had relocated to the Big Meg. Fincher found he had to kill at least once a week to sate his yearning for murder. Despatching the juve Ryan earlier, that was just a palate cleanser, a light apéritif before the main course.

  Fincher was cursing under his breath when he reached the dust zone. That stunted simpleton Sanderson had beaten him to the killing ground, alerting the prey to their presence. Dredd was no fool, Fincher knew that. You did not acquire such a formidable reputation without learning how to defend yourself. But the bounty hunter remained confident of being equal to the task. He could hardly contain his excitement at what lay ahead. Fincher approached the med-wagon from the opposite side to Sanderson, thinking the blundering dwarf might send Dredd his way. When the Judge did not emerge from the vehicle, Fincher began to creep closer, his laser blade ready for the kill.

  Suddenly the glasseen roof of the cockpit exploded outwards, startling both hunters. Moments later a heavy object shot up into the air. Fincher's gaze followed the projectile as it rose into the night sky. He realised it was the med-wagon's ejector seat when
a parachute burst open above the chair as it neared apogee. A figure in the seat confirmed his deduction. Clever sod! But Sanderson was already shredding the parachute with machine gun fire and the ejector seat began plummeting to the ground at an ugly angle. It crashed into rockcrete with a sickening thud, throwing the occupant to one side.

  Fincher ran towards the body, preparing to finish Dredd off and claim the kill for himself. It might not be satisfying but the rewards on offer were worth the sacrifice. "Get away from him, he's mine!" Sanderson screamed. The dwarf was still some distance away, his stubby legs not able to generate much speed. Angry was living up to his nickname, the midget's face red with rage at the prospect of having the glory of killing Dredd stolen from him.

  Fincher grinned wolfishly as he reached the crumpled figure on the ground. Pulling back the laser blade ready for the killing blow, the bounty hunter rolled the body over. But, instead of Dredd, Fincher was confronted by a blank-faced dummy. There was a small speaker where its mouth should be. "Hello!" the mannequin announced. "My name's Bobby and I'll be your training partner for today's lesson in mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Pucker up!"

  "Bollocks!" Fincher shouted angrily. "It's a trick!" The Brit turned to see Sanderson approaching the med-wagon. Fincher saw a shadow lurking beside the downed vehicle, an all too familiar shadow. "Angry, look out! Dredd's right there!"

  "Don't give me that stomm!" Sanderson shouted back, shoving a new clip of ammunition into his machine gun. "You just want-"

  Thwack! Dredd smashed his newly acquired daystick into the dwarf's face, sending the short man into a backward somersault. As Sanderson's body hit the ground the Judge followed up with another blow, ramming his truncheon into the killer's throat. There was a hollow crack as the dwarf's windpipe broke. Dredd grabbed the discarded machine gun and began firing at Fincher, who took cover behind the ejected pilot's seat. The Brit cried out in agony as one of the bullets shattered flesh and bone.