What of all those years now? Dredd wondered. What had it come to, his faith in the system, in himself?
Dredd had never imagined he could look at this man with any feelings except those of respect, devotion. Fargo had been like a father to him, the only father he’d ever known. Now, with the twisted irony of truth, he knew that Fargo was his father, in blood as well as name. And with that realization came the shadow of doubt, the confusion of love and hate—rage, sadness, despair.
Dredd felt the heat rise to his face, the heat of sudden shame. Emotion of any kind had always troubled him deeply, and now those emotions battled with one another, clashed like dark and angry stormclouds in his head. That terrible conflict paralyzed him with doubt. He wanted to turn away, be anywhere but here. He wanted to reject his father for what he’d done… to go to him, tell him he understood, that he, himself, felt the torment of the decision this man had been forced to make. Right or wrong, he had followed his heart, served in the best way he could…
And as he watched the old man in the long duster coat, watched him as he looked out at the cold night stars as if he sensed Dredd’s thoughts, as if he knew that he, too, was being judged, judged by the son he had created, loved, and finally betrayed, as Dredd watched his father’s tall silhouette, another shadow rose, stirred, brought itself up on its haunches, came out of the dark with the quickness, with the awesome blurring speed of a snake, striking before Dredd could move, before the message of danger could flash from his senses to his brain.
Mean Machine screamed, a high-pitched senseless babble of sound, a hymn of joy and death. Fargo sucked in a single breath. His arms and legs went rigid, his head snapped back, his hat slid across his face. Mean Machine’s blade arm ripped through Fargo’s back, lifting him off the ground.
Fergie sat far away from the ruins, alone out in the night. He didn’t like it out there. It scared the hell out of him to be alone in the dark. But it didn’t scare him half as much as staying back there. Not after what had happened, not after what he’d seen. Sitting out here with the scorpions and centipedes and the god-awful spiders bigger than his head was better than being back there. Better than being in that building with Dredd.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“This is Duncan Harrow with the news…
“I’m sure most of you were watching less than twenty minutes ago when we interrupted our programming to bring you a bulletin on the explosion at Blue Quad Heights’ Mega-City Bank. Reports have been confused and scattered, with conflicting stories of a daring daytime robbery, a utilities explosion and the crash of an inter-city shuttle. Judge squads and Mediks are on the scene. An area between Nine-hundred-fifty-seventh Street and Nixon Avenue has been sealed off tight. And while authorities are not answering questions, this reporter has obtained an interview with a source close to the disaster scene.
“Here, in an exclusive story, are the facts as we know them behind the explosion in the heart of Mega-City’s exclusive Blue Quad Sector. At nine-thirty-five this morning, just thirty-eight minutes ago, an All-Judges call reported Citizen Unrest in Blue Twelve. According to our sources, a squad of seven Lawmaster-mounted Judges arrived on the scene at the Mega-City Bank. Minutes later, four more Street Judges reported in at the site. The Judges entered the bank in what is reported as a standard intervention wedge. Only seconds later, an explosion ripped through the building, sending flaming debris into the street. While we don’t wish to anticipate official word on this incident, early reports indicate that all eleven of the Judges are casualties, as well as an undetermined number of bank employees and Citizens. At least four stories of the bank were destroyed, as well as a number of public and commercial vehicles in the streets nearby.
“Death tolls already mount into the hundreds, and many severely- and critically-wounded persons have been admitted to area hospitals…
“Ah, yes—here it is, our first video coverage of the disaster from our News-Drone unit over the scene. There are the… remains of the entrance to the bank. You can see isolated fires still burning in the building. There is a… a Judge Emergency Van, I believe, and I believe there are at least a dozen vehicles, including a ground shuttle, destroyed there in the street. That’s all the video we have at the moment, but there’ll be more as additional news units arrive.
“Let me say that since officials have not issued a statement, we have no indications at this time of the cause of this explosion. We’ll be going into the Hall of Justice now, where Willi Cupp is standing by. Willi… ?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Duncan Harrow here with a special bulletin…
“Only moments ago, tragedy struck again in Mega-City. This time, unknown perpetrators struck at the heart of the social order. At two minutes after one this afternoon, an explosive device of undetermined strength detonated in the Street Judge locker room, deep inside the Hall of Justice itself. There are no casualty reports as yet, but an anonymous spokesman at the scene has reported that the death toll will almost certainly be high. The device exploded moments after the mid-day shift change, a time when the locker room is normally filled with personnel coming on duty, as well as those just finishing their tours.
“Though no official will comment at this time, there is little doubt that this tragedy and the earlier massacre of Judges and civilians at the Mega-City Bank are most certainly connected. Our news-drones are on the scene, and we’ll bring you an update on this story as soon as possible.”
TWENTY-NINE
The six Lawmasters stopped in the street, just at the entrance of the darkened alley. The deep throb of muffled engines was the only sound except for the steady drip of water overhead. Senior Sergeant Landdale knew the city as well as any man could, and he didn’t like this place at all. Downtown, as deep as you could go. If the underbelly of Mega-City was a cesspool, the stink started here.
“Dispatcher said a Six-Oh-Three, Sergeant. If there’s an Armed Robbery in Progress here, they’re being nice and quiet about it.”
“Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Colter. You haven’t seen the dog, don’t go telling me what color it is.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Colter felt the color rise to his cheeks. He didn’t have to look at the other Judges. He knew they were grinning behind their visors. Senior Sergeant Judge Landdale was always putting him down with shit Colter didn’t understand. “Don’t start singing till they pass out the music” was last week’s helpful hint. This week it was the damn dog.
“All right,” Landdale said finally, “Bolo, take the point. Pierce, you back him up real close.”
Landdale spoke softly into his visor-comm, telling the dispatcher there was no sign of a Six-Oh-Three or anything else except a lot of bad smells, and they would henceforth investigate the said area in question, stand by.
The harsh headlights of the six Lawmasters had enough power to light up the cellars of hell, but they scarcely ate through twenty feet of the murky atmosphere of the alley. Landdale didn’t care for that at all. He had stayed alive as a Street Judge for fifteen years by religiously following Landdale’s Law: “If it’s light, yell ‘Halt!’ then shoot and bring up the body bags. If it’s dark, just shoot and check it out the next day.” The only thing wrong with this practice was it never got light in this part of town. Never did and never would.